The following morning greeted them with warm sunshine and Walkers, a combination they were well used to these days. The presence of the shuffling corpses was a mere nuisance, something that interfered with their hasty departure from the sports field. Thanks to an earlier drive around the town, the group was confident that there weren't going to be any major surprises, and so were at relative ease when they loaded the cars and set off for the gas station to prepare for another day of driving.

Sighing, Rick checked his watch and saw that it was fast approaching eight o'clock in the morning. As he knew it would, his impatience to reach the prison had returned, especially given how unwell Carl had become overnight. The thought of securing a place where Carl could recover within four safe walls increased the urgency of his desire to get on the road. Nevertheless he had no choice but to wait. Manually pumping gas out of an underground tank was a task of long duration. Given that they needed enough to fill a large truck, two cars and dozens of spare gas containers, Rick was quietly surprised by how quickly it was going. They had been there for an hour now, and they were up to the sedan now. They would be back on the road soon enough. The roads surrounding the prison ought to be clear. Pending drama, they should arrive at the prison two hours after they departed…two and a half at the most.

Turning to Carl, who was awake at the moment, Rick stroked his hair, ignoring the eye roll this gesture earned him. He and Tobin had finished giving blood a little while ago, but Carl was still receiving it, the jar of thick red liquid hanging from the headrest of the seat in front. He was still pale, but no longer sweaty and clammy, and he reported feeling a lot better. Rick mentally kicked himself again, wishing he had requested another transfusion yesterday afternoon. How could they have expected one to be enough? He had seen for himself how much blood Carl had lost…two of their towels had been discarded after being used to stem the flow. How could they have been so negligent?

Looking around the car, Rick cast his eyes over the mess that had been left. Carl's blood was smeared all over the interior of the door and window, large droplets spattered onto the carpet floor. Even with the windows open, the metallic smell of blood lingered in the air, a constant reminder of what had happened. Coming to a decision, Rick double checked that Carl was alright and then left the car. The others were busy pumping gas, and so he quietly went about his work.

Climbing into the removal truck, he swayed as vertigo struck him momentarily, but quickly carried on. He collected a bucket, an old sponge, and some dishwashing detergent before heading to their enormous canteen of water. Making up a soapy solution, he returned to the car and started cleaning up, scrubbing at the dried blood and dabbing the stained carpet. He cleaned as much as he could, knowing there was no use even trying to clean the seats. Moving on, he gave the rest of the interior a wipe over, as though blaming the console for hanging onto the lingering smell of blood. Soon enough the smell of lemon scented detergent filled the car, masking the reminder of Carl's injury.

Giving everything a final once over with a new cloth, Rick glanced at his son who was currently frowning at his fingernails, picking at the dirt underneath them. Carl's injury brought a whole new element to their supply run. He was almost completely immobilised by the gunshot, following Aidan's strict instructions to rest as much as possible. An injury such as Carl's should have required internal stitches…minor surgery at least. Even if they did have a method of anaesthetising him safely, none of them were competent enough to know what they were doing, to investigate the true extent of his injury. The uncertainty of the extent of his injury meant Carl was even more vulnerable. He couldn't protect himself if danger presented.

Rick had planned for him to help in this supply run, not because they needed the extra hands, but because he knew Carl needed to help…he needed to feel strong. Facilitating this for him, Rick had planned to have him by his side every step of this supply run…but now that had to change. Running through the implications of Carl's injury, Rick tried to plan ahead, to figure out who would be protecting Carl while the others were getting supplies.

"Rick," Glenn's voice distracted him. Seeing him up and about, he left the others to come and investigate. "What are you doing?"

Cleaning a spot of blood on the window, Rick looked at Glenn in annoyance. Wasn't it obvious what he was doing? "I'm just cleaning up."

Glenn nodded, and it was clear he was choosing his words very carefully. Perhaps he was concerned for Rick, worried that he would be feeling short tempered. "You need to rest…you've given a lot of blood since yesterday."

"I'm aware of that."

Seeing their discussion, Aidan too approached him, he and Glenn sharing a glance. "You shouldn't be up, Rick. You should be resting. Tobin is…"

Glancing at Carl first, Rick made one last wipe with the sponge before picking up the bucket. Leaving the car, he tipped out the soapy water and headed for the back of the truck. "The sooner we get things done, the sooner we're back on the road."

"Hey," Aidan said, grabbing his wrist and stopping him from climbing up into the truck. "In a few hours we've got a prison to clear."

"Yeah?"

"We're going to need you…you know the layout, the weak spots."

"Sitting it out never crossed my mind."

"Great," Glenn stepped in. "But if you want to fight with us at the prison, you need to take the time to rest."

"I'm fine," he argued, tossing the supplies into the truck haphazardly. "I didn't even give a whole pint today, that's less than a normal donation."

"Yes," Aidan agreed. "But you also gave a pint yesterday, and you've got a head injury. Having you faint halfway through through clearing the prison will put us all in danger."

"I'm not going to-"

"This is not a request, Rick," Aidan said sharply, straightening his shoulders. "If we're not confident that you're well enough, you'll be sitting this out today."

Raising an eyebrow, Rick turned to Glenn for support, glaring when he realised he wasn't going to get it. In a rare occurrence, Aidan and Glenn were in agreement, banding together against him. Letting himself think for a moment, Rick quietly acknowledged that they were right…if they weren't confident in his abilities today, he couldn't expect them to team up with him. If the situations were reversed, and he wasn't confident in Glenn's ability to last, he would make him stay behind. They were right…if he faltered, he would put them all in danger.

He gave a slow nod, accepting that they were right. "What do you want me to do?"

"Eat and drink," Aidan said automatically. "You'll be in the back with Carl today. Sleep the rest of the way to the prison, please."

"Now would be a good time to start," Glenn added. "We've got this covered."

"Alright," he reluctantly agreed, scratching the back of his head as he headed back to the minivan. "I'll get some sleep."

"Thank you," Aidan said gratefully. "Make sure you eat a lot today…I might want to take some more blood after we clear the prison…we'll have to see how Carl is."

Doing as he was told, he accepted one of the candy bars and a sports drink they had found inside the gas station. Resuming his former position, he was glad to see that Carl appeared to be sleeping once again. Taking two Tylenol from the centre console, he took them and then settled himself back against the pillows, trying to get comfortable. Frustration lingered in the back of his mind, Rick knowing he would struggle to fall asleep even before he actually tried. It was too difficult to turn his mind off, to relax long enough.

Opening his eyes again, his gaze straight away stopping at a few brown spots on the ceiling. Somehow blood, most likely Carl's, had managed to find its way to the ceiling of all places, and it lingered there looking down at him…mocking him. It shouldn't surprise him, the droplets most likely cast off from someone's hands…everyone had been smeared with blood yesterday, Abraham in particular…but still, its remaining presence after Rick had so thoroughly cleaned only set his nerves on edge. Distracting himself, he watched the progress being made with the gas, his eyes following one person more than absolutely necessary. Carrie was supervising the gasoline that filled the spare containers, diverting the hose into a new container as the first one filled up.

He needed to thank her, not only for what she had done that morning, inserting Carl's cannula, but for what she had done the previous day. The bravery of her actions were not lost on him. She had cut Carl out of his seat belt, pulling him away from the Walkers that were steadily breaking through his window. When the gunfire had started, she had pulled him underneath her, hoping to protect him from stray bullets with no regard for herself. Though her attempt to protect him hadn't prevented him being shot, her intentions deserved acknowledgement.

She was the only one Rick hadn't thanked yet, and he knew why he hadn't. She was very much a part of their group now. She had even taken a shift on watch the previous night…he shouldn't feel awkward around her. But everything that Daryl and Glenn had said, mainly innocent jests to tease him, rang a little too true. He had a crush on her, that much he had acknowledged, and though he was a grown man, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward…embarrassed. That was why he hadn't thanked her yet. In fact…he had been outright avoiding her all morning.

Christ. He was acting like a teenager.

Fifteen minutes had passed since Aidan and Glenn banished him back to the car. Checking his watch, he suspected they would be leaving soon. Looking at Carl, he anticipated what he would eventually need, especially given that he was receiving another bag of IV fluids.

"Carl?" he gently roused him, stroking his hair again. "Wake up."

"What?" he grunted, opening his eyes with a sigh.

"We'll be going soon. Do you want to go to the bathroom?"

Raising his head, Carl looked towards the gas station. "Is there an actual bathroom?"

"There's a tree."

Accepting that, Carl nodded, letting Rick help him slowly sit up. Knowing how quickly he had grown ill, Carl was more willing to take it easy at the moment, following Rick's instructions when he was told to sit and rest for a moment. Taking the bag of fluids and the jar of blood, Rick slowly helped him shuffle over to the door before helping him stand. Again he made Carl stay and let his body adjust, knowing his blood pressure could fall again now that he was standing. But it appeared to have little effect, Carl patiently waiting until Rick allowed him to start moving.

"Wan' a hand?" Daryl asked. He had been banished from the vicinity of the gas station when he wanted to light his cigarette, but stomped it out and came straight over to help.

"Yeah," Rick thanked him, giving him the bag of fluid and jar of blood.

Frowning, Daryl muttered under his breath as he tried to ensure the cords didn't get tangled, his eyes following them down to the back of Carl's hand and the crook of his elbow. "We got a pin cushion 'ere."

Carl laughed, letting Rick bear the weight of his left leg. "This is nothing…you should have seen Dad when he first came out of surgery after getting shot. He had everything sticking out of him."

"That's lovely Carl, thank you," Rick said sarcastically.

"I didn't even recognise you," he continued. "I walked straight past your bed. Mom had to make me come back."

"Just concentrate on walking."

With Daryl hanging behind them, Rick helped Carl towards a private spot, glad that this time he wasn't so proud he tried to make him go away. He feared what might happen if he let go of Carl's arm, if he stepped away and wasn't there to catch him should he fall. As he waited he looked around the town, surprised by how calm it seemed. Only an hour and a half from the prison, they should have made frequent runs here, but the town sat at the bottom of a few hills, meaning that most of the Walkers who ended up there tended to stay. It was over run the first time Rick had led a group there, and they hadn't even bothered trying to scavenge. He knew Michonne had passed through here on her solo horseback treks, looking for The Governor…it would have been an ideal spot for him to hide out.

However the majority of the Walkers appeared to have moved on, although to where Rick was unsure. Nevertheless they were very lucky that they had made it through the night relatively undisturbed. In the hour since they had been there, the others had taken down around twenty Walkers in the vicinity. A short while ago Daryl had taken the sedan for a quick ride to the opposite side of the town, doing a couple of burn outs and firing a flare to attract them in that direction. It seemed to be working, for they hadn't been disturbed since then.

Once Carl was done, Rick and Daryl helped him back to the car, pleased when he lay down immediately without protesting. Rick hung the fluids and jar of blood from the coat hook on the ceiling and then helped Carl take a drink of water, watching as the others finished up with the gas containers. Soon enough they had filled their last gas container, Aaron closing the lid to the underground tank with a shout of accomplishment. Fully prepared, they distributed the spare gas amongst all the cars, Abraham consulting with everyone and finalising their plans.

"I want at least one original prison resident in each of the cars. You know the area. If things go shit-shaped, you'll take charge and navigate to safety. What's our rendezvous point in the case of emergency?"

"Lindon Creek," a few people answered, dutifully pointing it out on the map.

"Good. Aidan? I want you driving the minivan…you need to stay close to Carl today…now everyone has a medical kit, but Aidan's going to have the main stockpile, just in case. Tobin? You should be riding with Carl too."

Their plans confirmed, everyone began filing towards the cars, pent up energy flowing as they prepared to hit the road again. Keeping track of where everyone was going, Rick took note of who travelled in which car. Glenn took the removal truck with Abraham and Rosita, while Daryl waved Carrie over to the sedan with he, Aaron and Nicholas. Michonne was the last to choose a car, but was clearly pleased to be riding in the minivan with Rick and Carl. As Tobin took the very back seat to stretch out and sleep, Michonne and Aidan took the front. The last to enter their car was Rick, taking one last moment to look around. As the engines started and Aidan whistled impatiently, Rick resumed his place on the floor beside Carl.

Avoiding the two cords attached to his son, Rick settled himself in and arranged his pillows, leaning up against the door. Almost immediately Carl's eyes fluttered closed as he drifted back off to sleep, not noticing Rick who was absently running his fingers through his hair. Their convoy started off, the sedan leading, followed by the minivan and the truck. Trusting that his group knew where to go and what detours to make, Rick listened as voices came over the radio, every car checking the strength of their signal. Content, Rick did as he was told and closed his eyes, placing his hand on top of Carl's and listening to his soft breaths. He remembered that sound from when Carl was a baby, and more recently from Judith. Although it wasn't the best habit to develop, he loved it when Judith fell asleep in his arms, or when he brought her into the bed with him after she awoke at night. The sound of her and Carl's breaths in sync was soothing, and as it often did, the sound finally lulled Rick straight to sleep.

When Rick awoke next, he was greeted by surroundings that were wonderfully familiar. His head still resting on the seat where he had fallen asleep, but he just happened to open his eyes as the car passed a road sign warning drivers of hitch hikers who may be escaped inmates. Smiling to himself, Rick rubbed his eyes and raised his head, stopping to frown at something that confused him. Where Carl's brown hair should have rested, a pair of muddy sneakers sat instead. A moment of panic seized Rick, and looked up to see that it was Aidan stretched out on the back seat beside him…not Carl.

"Where's Carl?" he demanded, pulling himself up off the floor.

"I called shotgun," Carl's voice came from the front seat. Turning to look into the backseat, Carl smirked at him. "It's about time you woke up."

"Mmm," Rick groaned, glaring at him. Rubbing his eyes for a second time, he yawned as he checked his watch. "Is that really the time? One thirty?"

"It's been a long morning," Michonne sighed, sitting in the driver's seat. "Don't even get me started…"

Pushing Aidan's feet back a little, Rick sat up on the seat and rolled his shoulders, stretching out his muscles as best he could. "What happened?" he dared to enquire.

"Trees are down on the main road," Carl explained, gingerly lifting his left foot up onto the dashboard. "The truck wouldn't fit past, and we didn't want to split up."

"It took us ten minutes just to turn the truck around," Michonne grumbled. "Then we had to double back and try the other roads. Daryl and the others drove ahead of us, and good thing too. They radioed back, said there was bit of a herd lingering on the road, too much for us to get three vehicles through."

"That was another ten minute U-turn for the truck."

"Then Daryl went ahead again, made sure the road was safe, and then told us to come through…and here we are, five hours later."

"I slept through all that?" Rick said in wonder, taking a long drink.

"Yeah," Carl teased, passing him a candy bar. "Aidan wanted you to eat when you woke up."

Doing as he was told, Rick took the candy and opened the wrapper. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," he nodded. "I've still been sleeping most of the morning," he promised.

"Good," he muttered, smiling as they turned down the final road to the prison. "We're nearly there."

They travelled another minute or so before Abraham's voice came down the radio, requesting that they stop to reconvene. Stopping in the middle of the road, they each paused before opening their doors, checking out their immediate surroundings. As he stepped outside, Rick groaned and stretched out his limbs, feeling the discomfort of sleeping in a cramped position for five hours. Enjoying the familiar surroundings, Rick looked around and realised he knew precisely where they were. About five miles from the prison, it would only be a short drive away. Already he could picture the road ahead, remembering every twist, turn and pothole as though he had seen them that morning.

"Hey, Sleepin' Beauty," Daryl drawled, teasing him. "Get enough beauty sleep?"

"Clearly I have," Rick replied, yawning again. He opened Carl's door for him, helping him step out of the car and get to his feet. The blood transfusion had finished, the cord disconnected, but a little of the IV fluid remained, still draining into the back of his hand. "Stay here, alright?"

"No can do, Dad," Carl said, flexing his hands. "I've got a marathon to run."

"Ah, the smart ass returns," Rick rolled his eyes. "Now I know you're fine."

Joining the others who convened at the back of the removal truck, Rick hung back and listened to them talking, letting Abraham take the lead. As he listened, he knew that Aidan had been right to request he sleep. He felt significantly better than he had that morning, unaware of how unwell he really felt. Aside from the bruising he had sustained yesterday, he now felt awake and steady, his head ache having subsided. Letting Abraham recount a well established plan of attack, Rick caught Aidan's eye, indicating he wanted to talk to him.

"What is it?" Aidan asked, the two of them stepping away from the group.

Sighing, Rick glanced at the ground before making his request. "I know I've asked a lot of you, what with Carl and everything-"

"We do what we have to," Aidan replied nonchalantly.

Nodding, Rick agreed with him. "I have to make one more request…will you stay behind with him?"

Aidan pursed his lips, clearly having expected this question.

"I was going to ask Carrie to wait with him," Rick continued, needing to explain. "But with how sick he's been during the night…if he takes another turn for the worse, he needs someone who knows how to help him."

"Yes, I agree," Aidan said, still sounding reluctant. Rick understood what he was thinking. Aidan didn't want to sit back and let his supply run partner go into danger alone.

"Nicholas will be-"

"I'll stay with him," Aidan agreed, cutting him off. "You're right…he needs someone who knows what do to."

"Thank you," Rick said sincerely, clasping Aidan's shoulder. "I appreciate it."

"Let's say you owe me a favour," he added.

Rick faltered, having not expected this. "Okay…"

"Well I mean, helping Carl when he's hurt is a no brainer," Aidan smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "There's no debt there. But staying behind while I let Nicholas walk into a prison full of Walkers….I reckon that's deserving of a favour in return."

Though he dreaded the answer, Rick had to ask. "What's the favour?"

"I don't know," Aidan smiled, folding his arms and looking past Rick's shoulder. Turning around, Rick followed his gaze towards Carrie, who was patiently waiting by the sedan, unsure of her place in today's activities. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Alright…" Rick sighed, reluctant to agree to the favour. "I'll owe you one."

Leaving it at that, Rick returned to the group, watching from the corner of his eye as Glenn helped Carl hobble his way towards the tree line to relieve himself again. His injury required a high level of care at the moment…if he needed to owe Aidan a favour to make sure Carl was in safe hands, then so be it.

"Are you ready?" Abraham asked.

"Yes…I've asked Aidan to stay behind with Carl, just in case he get's sick again."

"Smart move," Abraham agreed. "Well, y'all know what to do. Form your teams and suit up!"

Distributing the riot gear, Abraham supervised everyone as they began to get ready. Waiting until everyone else was done, Rick approached Carrie who still hovered by the sedan, unsure of whether or not she would be allowed to help.

"Do you want to come with us?" he asked her straight out, not messing around. "To clear the prison?"

She looked surprised at this, brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. "You're going to let me?"

"Why not? You've proved you can take down a Walker."

"You'll let me have a weapon?" she questioned.

Grimacing, Rick knew he hadn't been subtle in his initial mistrust of her. "Something more than a children's butter knife, at least."

Smiling, Carrie nodded. "Yeah, I'll go with you."

Considering her, he took note of her absolute certainty, the same certainty she had shown when helping him choose gifts for Carl and Judith. Was she always so sure about things?

"Don't agree to this if you haven't got the nerve," he said, wanting to give her an out. "You gotta be willing to fight for your life if things go wrong, to fight for our lives too."

A flash of annoyance crossed her features. but she quickly covered it up. "I know how to protect a group," she said solidly, Rick noticing her jaw clenching.

Lingering on his decision a moment longer, Rick nodded and then pointed to Abraham. "Go on then…suit up."

Following her over, he grabbed a set of riot gear and took it over to Carl. Explaining the plan to him, he helped him climb up into the cabin of the removal truck, Carl situating himself on the edge of the seat with his feet dangling in the air. Rick passed up the riot gear and one of the radios with a new battery, making him promise to call for any reason at all.

"Hurry up, Dad," Carl told him, checking out his own gear. He slipped the helmet on, checking himself out in the side mirror. "You're going to be the last one ready."

Returning to the rest of them, Rick started distributing radios and the earpieces he had taken from the police station, plugging them in and helping the others situate the long cords underneath their clothing.

"We can talk to each other at any time," he said, using a little tape to fix the cord to the side of Tobin's neck. "We don't need to worry about the sound alerting walkers. This is the microphone here…you'll need to lean into your collar when you talk, otherwise we won't hear you."

"Nicholas, you need gloves…Carrie too," Abraham called out.

Taking the gloves Abraham offered, Rick checked that they had the rubber grip finger pads that would be best for Carrie. He helped her put them on and try them for size, fixing the velcro straps for her. Checking her over for any weak spots in her clothing, he used the duct tape to fix the hem of her jeans to her boots. As he leant down he noticed a gun holster tightly secured above her thigh, glad that someone else had thought to arm her. Glancing at the firearm, he approved of her choice of weapon.

"Did you get a spare magazine?" he asked in concern, taking note of the hunting knife and machete hanging from her belt.

"Glenn gave me three," she answered, touching her pockets. "I don't think I'll use them."

"You will if you have to," he said firmly, remembering a previous conversation. She had claimed to be a poor shot…she had also confessed to accidentally shooting one of her group during a fight with Walkers. He would have to keep an eye on her today, to ensure that her lack of confidence didn't result in a death.

Not wanting to argue with him, she just nodded. "This is…different," she commented now, beginning to tie her hair back. She suddenly laughed, looking around at everyone. "We look like little martians."

"Little martians who won't be scratched by Walkers," he commented, he too smiling as he looked at everyone else. They looked ridiculous covered head to toe in police riot gear, silver stripes of duct tape keeping their clothing secure. Making her take off the chest guard, he handed Carrie one of the shirts Natalie Miller had sewn for them. "Put this on. The sleeves are padded, so Walker's will have a harder time biting through them."

"Like I said…this is different," she muttered.

Without preamble, she lifted her own shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground, slipping her arms into the one passed to her. Rick's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth gaping a little until he forced himself to look somewhere else. Busying himself by finding the end of the duct tape, he waited until she buttoned the shirt before looking up. Going through the same process as everyone else was, he turned her collar up and wound some duct tape around it, ensuring it would stay in place and help protect her neck. He turned to her wrists now, tucking the cuff of the shirt into the gloves and taping it down.

"You've never worn protective gear to take on Walkers?"

She shook her head. "Never had it."

Nodding, Rick understood. Not everyone was as well resourced as them. "We don't use it often…don't want to depend on it too much. But we're trying to conserve ammo, and we don't know how bad it's going to be inside. We don't want to take risks."

"It's smart," she commented.

He hesitated, gesturing to her waist. "You need to tuck your shirt in," he said. "Don't want your shirt riding up…if Walkers get you, I mean."

Obliging, she began to tuck it into the top of her light grey jeans, denim that wouldn't be that colour for much longer. Tearing off some tape, he wound it around her hips, fixing the two items of clothing together to ensure she was well protected. She helped him smooth it down, thanking him when he had finished. He couldn't help but remember her a few days ago, when he had patted her down for weapons. Even touching her shoulders elicited a response of fear, a flinch of discomfort. Things had changed significantly since then…he was about to take her into a Walker fight, depending on her to perform well for the sake of their group.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked one last time, helping her put the chest plate back on.

"Absolutely. I've gotta earn my place."

"No," he corrected her, concerned that she was doing this for the wrong reason. "You don't have to earn anything…you don't have to do this."

Giving a short sigh, Carrie looked at him intently, wanting him to understand. "I know I don't have to…you already told me I don't have to do anything I don't want to."

"Well, actually," he began, recalling the conversation they had upon first meeting. "What I said was you don't have to…you know…"

"Exchange sex for protection?"

"Yeah."

"I know that," she insisted. "But I want to join this group, if you'll have me. You seem like decent people, on the surface at least."

The words struck him hard…he often questioned whether they truly were decent people. It was one of the many thoughts that kept him up at night. "On the surface, at least," he agreed.

She didn't falter at this. "I won't be dead weight. If you've got a prison to clear, then I'm going to help."

Hesitating, Rick nodded slowly, accepting her explanation. He fiddled with the roll of duct tape, unconsciously leaning away as he scrutinised her. "You always sound so certain of everything," he blurted out, not thinking.

Carrie frowned, her dark eyebrows furrowing. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking around as he spoke. "It's kind of annoying actually…how do you do it?"

"I don't know," she said, surprised by his comments. "I wasn't certain this morning, when I was sticking you with a needle."

"You seemed certain enough."

She laughed, a hint of nervousness coming through. "Well, okay, but you should know I was faking it."

Without thinking, Rick again blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "You fake it often?"

She laughed again, sexual innuendo hanging in the air. "Once or twice…"

Shaking his head to himself, Rick was almost grateful when Abraham stalked over to them with an annoyed expression. Taking a quick look around, he realised that everyone else was prepared and filing into the two cars they would take to the prison. Resigning himself to an ear bashing, Rick knew what Abraham was going to say.

"Why the hell are you always the last one ready?" he said in frustration, thrusting some gear at him. "You're the last to eat, the last to get in the cars, the last to-"

"Sorry," he apologised, purely to keep the peace. He pulled on one of the padded shirts over his tee-shirt, tucking it in.

"Lord, give me strength!" Abraham continued in frustration, throwing the chest plate over Rick's shoulders and securing the straps. "Give me the strength not to beat your ass in front your son."

"Go on," Rick encouraged, glancing at Carrie. "He'd only heckle."

"That's true," he nodded in agreement, passing Carrie the roll of duct tape. "You do his feet, and the bottom of his shirt."

Knowing he had annoyed Abraham, Rick patiently let him have his way, knowing he was indeed holding everyone up. He quickly removed his duty belt from his hips, watching as Carrie tore off a length of duct tape. Doing what he had done for her, she taped the top of his jeans to the tucked in shirt, ensuring that it wouldn't ride up and expose his skin to the Walkers. She worked quickly, and although he had just wound the tape around and let her smooth it down, Carrie actually pressed it onto the denim herself, making him wonder if she was doing that intentionally. He was suddenly very aware of her presence, of just how close the two of them were to one another. Were her hands lingering on his hip a moment too long? Scolding himself, he mentally shook his head and refocused, ignoring her.

"Thanks, Carrie. You're all done," Abraham told her, pointing to the minivan.

"What about me?" Rick asked. "Can I be dismissed?"

Glaring at him, Abraham turned on the spot and followed Carrie. Laughing to himself, Rick headed over to the removal truck where Carl and Aidan were making themselves comfortable. Still getting used to the heavy riot gear, Rick climbed the side steps and peered into the cabin to check in on Carl. Just as he had before, he was looking significantly better, his face showing more and more colour. He looked comfortable enough waiting with Aidan, having set up a pillow and blanket so that he could sleep some more. The half bag of fluids hung from the sun visor, the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff sitting on the dashboard just in case they were needed.

"Stay in here, won't you?" he asked Carl, unable to not worry. "You'll be safer up high."

Perhaps he was aware of his vulnerability, or he didn't want to antagonise Rick right before he went into danger, for Carl just nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I will."

"Radio if you need something," he continued, gesturing to the ear piece he wore. "Don't worry about the sound giving us away to Walkers."

"We'll be fine, Dad," Carl told him impatiently. "Just hurry up and get this done."

He was about to give a nod of understanding, but the engine of the minivan began revving loudly. Looking down at them, Rick gave a small smile as Abraham stuck his head out the window and looked back.

"Mother Dick!" he shouted, his patience finally breaking. "I'm going to leave without you!"

Shaking his head, Rick suppressed a smile. This kind of verbal sparring was exactly what he needed at the moment, the jovial quip putting them all into a good mood. Looking back to Carl, he pulled him into a quick one-armed hug.

"Stay safe, Dad."

"I will," he promised, giving Aidan a quick nod. "Thanks, Aidan."

Leaving their farewell at that, Rick jumped down and picked up his helmet, giving Carl one last wave before closing his door for him.

"Hey, Dad," Carl called out through the open window. He grinned down at him. "Check your rounds."

Knowing that's exactly what he made Carl do before departing, Rick nodded, pulling out his revolver as he headed back to the minivan. Just as threatened, Abraham was already rolling the vehicle forward, forcing Rick to run and catch up to them. Swinging himself into the front passenger seat, he looked at Abraham and shook his head.

"Calm down…everything's going to be fine."

The tyres squealed as Abraham took off quickly, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind them. The occupants of the car were silent as they made their way towards the prison, each of them consumed by their own thoughts, their own fears. Rick on the other hand, felt the weight of not just his own fears, but everyone else's too…they were his group, and he was leading them into a potential death trap, consent notwithstanding.

Mentally preparing himself, Rick dreaded that day's task.

Holy crap, 44 followers! That's awesome, thank you guys! I'd love to hear feedback and thoughts from anyone, but particularly those following who are (hopefully) invested in the story thus far. Prompts/plot requests are welcome and will be considered.

Anyone else majorly excited by the season 6 trailer?