A/N: Friendly reminder; with this chapter, we return to Tanner's point of view. Enjoy :)
The downpour is stronger now.
We lost the herd hours ago in the trees. It hadn't been easy. Hungry walkers are persistent and they chased us for what seemed like miles. Nevertheless, our saving grace was that walkers aren't particularly smart and, before long, we managed to give them the slip. Of course, by the time we did, we were all soaked to the bone. Luckily for us, however, we eventually broke through the trees and reached the abandoned car-littered highway. Making it back to Alexandria tonight is out of the question. The storm alone makes it too dangerous, but the herd lurking somewhere in the trees, coupled with the chances that Negan and the Saviors could eventually come looking for us, doubles that risk. Instead, Rick proposed that we find some vehicles to use as shelter from the storm for the rest of the night and then take off towards home once morning arrives. We easily locate a cluster of vehicles, which are in an agreeable arrangement, on the opposite side of the road, to use for our makeshift camp. Both Rick and Daryl volunteer to stay up and keep watch, though they too will be using a vehicle to get themselves out of the rainstorm.
There is an air of somberness between us all as we clamber into our respective vehicles. Tara's death has hit us all profoundly. I don't see anyone sleeping particularly well tonight. Least of all me. The pain swelling in my chest is nearly unbearable. Everytime I close my eyes, I can see her face staring up at me, her hands keeping the gun in my own hands locked tightly against her forehead. Images of her using her own thumb to force me to pull the trigger. I wince painfully everytime it replays in my head. Every bone and muscle in my body aches with exhaustion, yet I cannot find sleep. Tara's death, practically at my own hands, haunts me worse than any ghost could. The pain is so immeasurable, it seems as though I have even lost my ability to cry about it anymore. The stinging sensation of tears stabs the back of my eye sockets, but nothing will come out. The silence of the car Carl and I had chosen to sleep in only deepens these thoughts and makes them more persistent. I shift uncomfortably, unable to sleep, and that's when I remember, or rather notice, that I'm resting in Carl's lap. His hat sits, soaking wet, in the passenger seat in front of us, and he is wearily staring blankly out the front window.
Nevertheless, somehow, he senses I am awake.
"You should sleep." he says. "You're exhausted, Tanner."
My eyes lightly drift away from his visage and down towards the ground. I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.
"Can't." I reply simply, softly.
"Of course you can't." he huffs. "How can you sleep in those soaking wet clothes?"
Not why I can't sleep, but he raises a good point.
My clothes are drenched, as are his. The result is a cold so gripping, it almost feels as though my bones themselves have turned to ice. Even ignoring everything that has happened, sleep is nearly impossible in clothes this wet. And yet, I can't find the willpower to take them off. Its not like I have a change of clothes anyways.
"Here." Carl says.
I'm suddenly enveloped in warmth. It takes me a moment to register what Carl has done. My love has removed his thick wool jacket and wrapped it around my body like a blanket. I've never worn Carl's jacket, so I never noticed. The jacket is much thicker than it looks, so while the outside is soaked, the inside is still dry and very warm. Its a sweat gesture because I know Carl is not benefiting from it at all. I can now feel him shivering ever so slightly in the cold, stormy, night air. I feel terrible. Carl risked his life, and the lives of others, to come and rescue me and I have yet to so much as thank him. To be honest, I don't think he minds; a lot has happened since then and I think even his mind is racked by the severity of it all. I still want to thank him, though, so I gently raise my arm, which is draped over the side of the back seat, and rest my hand gently against his knee; giving him a gentle squeeze to draw his attention.
"Thanks for coming after me." I mumble once I see his eyes are on mine.
Carl studies me briefly.
His eyes are murky with sorrow and confusion. Its only now that I see just how heavily this is all affecting him. One of his hands comes up from the side and sweetly brushes my hair out of my face, the way I so often do to him. Its only momentary, but the rough skin of his palms lightly brushes the smooth skin of my face as he does this, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. His touch almost always has that effect on me, even now, after three years and being thoroughly used to Carl touching me. My mind wanders again, traveling back to Tara. I just can't wrap my head around it. I can't believe she's gone. Tara was important to me. After Carl's old group reunited at Terminus, she was the first one I'd become friends with. By the time we came to Alexandria, the two of us were close enough that I would ask her advice, knowing to expect her snark in return, without even thinking about it. We were always jokingly arguing about our love lives, giving each other a hard time over silly shit in public, but most of all, she was always supportive of Carl and I. And I do mean always. In many ways, I considered her to be as close to me as Michonne and I are, and that's saying a lot, considering I regard Michonne as an older sister figure. But now Tara is dead.
Killed.
Killed by a gun that was in my hands.
How could I not stop her?
"Does it ever get easier?" I suddenly blurt out into the silence.
Carl silently regards me again.
He knows what I'm talking about. Carl doesn't need me to explain a whole lot to him anymore, like he used to. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, our relationship has definitely evolved. He just gets me now. I don't know how he does it, but I think I can do the same thing for him. One of us can say something and, without even having to elaborate, the other just understands. Carl understands me, because he's gone through the same thing. I cannot count the number of times I've woken up to find him in a very emotional state, having woken up due to a night terror about his mother, Dale, or Shane. Nights when I would simply cradle him and let him recount the dream to me. Even though none of their deaths were explicitly his fault, he blames himself for all three of them. Its a burden, I believe, he will take with him to his grave. Now I know what that feels like.
"No." he eventually replies. "It never does. You just make room for the hurt and move on. That's all you can do."
What a profoundly wise response.
I have to admit, even I sometimes underestimate Carl's wisdom at times.
"I killed her, Carl." I go on, chest suddenly swelling with grief. "That gun was in my hand."
"She pulled the trigger." he points out. "She made her choice. You can't put that on yourself."
"I could've stopped her."
"Yes," he admits. "Or at least, its easy to say that now. In the heat of the moment, its hard to act on what you could have done."
I sigh aloud.
He's right.
The thought didn't even cross my mind when it was all happening. It happened too quickly. The combination of fear, panic, and exhaustion severely hampered my ability to think clearly. By the time I knew what she was trying to do, it was much too late for me to stop her. She pulled down on my finger and the hammer went off, putting and end to my friend's life.
"How do you do it?" I find myself speaking again. "All your friends' lives from before? How do you cope with all that loss?"
I've never asked him that before.
Never saw the need.
I've always known that somehow, someway, Carl always copes with the losses he's been presented. I never wanted to touch a soft spot by asking him, but now I feel its finally time to ask. To know. Carl isn't the type to get angry at me for asking a question like that. A stranger? Maybe. But not me.
"I don't know." he breathes cryptically. "I just... I just do, I guess."
I nod.
That's all I can expect.
"But..." he goes on. "I have you. That helps."
Leave it to Carl to actually make me smile, despite the circumstances. I shift again in his lap, resting my head so that I can look straight up at him. In the darkness, I can make out very few of his features, but I can still see the glint of his cobalt eyes. The eyes I've fallen in love with so many times, I've actually lost count of how many times I get myself trapped in their gaze. For what must be the billionth time, I'm reminded of just how lucky I am to have him in my life. It was only by freak accident that the two of us met. We very easily could've left that neighborhood at separate times and never have known the other was there, but somehow, fate found a way to get us together. Now, three years later, and with a wedding band around my ring finger, I can't imagine a single day of my life without him. The soft expression on his face tells me he feels the same.
"Carl?"
"Hmm?" he hums.
"Hold me?"
I can't ever recall having asked him to do that once in our three years of togetherness. I've never needed to. He always would whenever the moment felt right, or just before we would fall asleep. Now though, I need him to. I have no qualms about asking him. My modesty and pride, which were highly present when the two of us were younger teenagers, has dispersed with age and experience.
And Carl is all too happy to comply.
I scoot over slightly in the back seat, allowing him to lay on his side behind me. Once comfortable, he wraps his long, but thin arms tightly around my waist and then tugs his warm jacket over as much of us as he can cover. Its even warmer like this. Carl pulls me into himself tightly and rests his head in the crook between my neck and shoulder. Perfect. Like this, all of him is touching all of me, and I can finally feel close to him again. I always like holding him like this, but it is much better, in my opinion, when he holds me. His touch is more delicate, more careful, and yet there is a firmness to his embrace that makes me feel safe and calm. Even though my heart is racked with guilt and pain, Carl's loving embrace eases it ever so slightly.
"This what you had in mind?" he whispers into my ear.
"Yeah.." I hum with a sigh. "Its perfect."
The two of us go silent for awhile, the noise of the outside storm rushing in to fill the silence. Carl's embrace is warm and it is comforting. Perhaps, with him here, I can actually manage to make it through a few hours of sleep before dawn breaks and we're forced to move again. That, as it turns out, is false. Minutes turn into an hour and even still I can't sleep. Its frustrating at first, because I suspect Carl has fallen asleep easily. But just after thinking that, I make a realization. Carl's breathing hasn't steadied and he's still shifting around every now and then. He hasn't fallen asleep yet either. Carl often talks a big game, especially when it comes to looking out for his loved ones. He's always been like that. But when it comes to taking his own advice, Carl is terrible at it.
"What's on your mind?" I speak out into the silence.
Carl stirs suddenly.
"I thought you were asleep?" he murmurs, sounding genuinely surprised.
"No more than you were." I reply. "Care to clue me in?"
He goes silent again for a moment, likely gathering his thoughts. When he speaks again, its slow, almost unsure;
"Tanner?" he breathes. "Can I-...? Can I ask you something?"
Curious now.
"Anything, Carl. What is it?"
"Yesterday." he elaborates. "When you... When you tricked Negan into thinking you were Dad's kid... You used our name. You called yourself 'Tanner Grimes'."
My mind cycles back through the events of the last twenty-four hours. I certainly remember the moment he is speaking about.
"What of it?"
"Did you say that just to deceive Negan?"
No.
I hadn't. I mean, yes, I had said it to trick Negan into thinking I was Rick's relative, specifically his son, but I was pretty certain, at that point, that we were all going to be killed. I'd taken Carl's last name in symbolism, as well as deception, to let Carl know where my loyalty and my heart belonged, in the event that Negan killed me then and there. Clearly Carl has picked up on that meaning and is confused by it. To be honest, I hadn't expected him to, nor did I expect him to act on it and ask about my reasoning. Still, in the end, I suppose he deserves an explanation.
"No, Carl, I didn't." I reply. "I did it for that reason, of course, but I also wanted to have your name. In case the worse happened."
Carl pauses a moment.
"But didn't we agree that-?"
"Yes, we did." I cut him off. "And it was a stupid decision. Stupid on my part, anyways."
"Why?"
For some reason, his persistence elicits movement from me, twisting in his grasp until our faces are literally centimeters apart; his eyes, pools of clear cobalt, completely taking up my field of vision. For a moment, I purposely stay that way, allowing him to stare directly back into my own murky aqua eyes. His breath, much warmer than the frigid night air, brushes gently across my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. Outside, the sky splits open, delivering a ground shaking blast of thunder. Without realizing it at first, I instinctively curl my fingers tighter into Carl's thin shirt, as if clinging to him like some fearful puppy. He notices this, however, and a grin slowly begins to curve across his face. One thing I've learned about Carl over the past couple of years, is that he loves to feel needed. I first started to figure this out during our initial journey to Terminus years ago. It seemed, at that time, the only time Carl was truly happy is when his father, myself, or Michonne needed him for something. Runs, protection, comfort, company, you name it, Carl enjoyed it. I suppose it made him feel like he had worth; that he wasn't just some kid, he was a valuable member of the group who could contribute. So when my fingers tightened their grip on his shirt, I think he got the sense, even if it was involuntary, that I need him for protection or comfort.
"Because, Carl." I eventually speak, softly, since he is so close to me. "I'm yours. Its only fitting, then, that I take your name."
"But-"
"No." I cut him off sternly. "No buts. Its always been this way. Right from the moment we bumped into each other, quite by accident, in that neighborhood. I protected you, assisted you on most of our runs, when we got stranded in that funeral home and you couldn't fend for yourself, I put my life on the line to get you medicine I knew I may never find. And when that man tried to rape you..." I shutter at the thought. "It took everything in me not to join your father in mutilating his corpse. Yesterday, what I did; pretending to be your dad's kid to protect you; that was just the latest symptom. I had given up on my life and this world before I met you. I just kept moving for the sake of moving, but I didn't have survival in mind. Not in the slightest. Losing your family, your mom, dad, brother, and sister... grandparents, cousins, all your friends. It changes a person. Changed me. Losing my camp outside of Atlanta... well, that was just another nail in the coffin."
The memories all come rushing back.
These past five years of the end of the world have seemed like an eternity. Even as the memories bubble forth from the abyss that is my mind, the events contained within seem so far away. The initial stories on the news, the outbreak, the camp in Atlanta, the road. Much of the first two years were bathed in darkness - broken suddenly by a bright burst of light.
Carl.
I tighten my grip on his shirt again, this time purposefully.
"I tried to die... but... then there was you. I don't know how you managed to do it, but somehow, you anchored me back into this world. Gave me something new to live for. So now... Now, my every thought is of you. Every breath is for you. Its been that way every single day I've known you... even right from the beginning." My eyes again dart up to meet his, which are now watering slightly. I can't help but smile softly at the sight of my handiwork. "So yeah... yesterday I made up my mind. I realized that if all of that is true, and it is, then I need to show it to you somehow. Taking your name was the best way I knew of to do so."
I lean in, just for good measure, and deliver a short peck to his lips.
"That answer your question?" I end that question with a mischievous smirk.
Carl pursues a second kiss in place of an immediate answer, this one slightly longer and more in depth.
"Yeah," he replies when we come apart. "Its perfect..."
####
Morning dawns with a bleak, grey sky.
The storm has finally died off, but its swollen rust-colored clouds still hang in the sky over us, forbidding the sun from gracing us with its warmth. Instead a cold winter wind sweeps over the desolate landscape, causing me to shiver violently as I step out of the car. Carl has been kind to me, allowing me to keep his jacket wrapped around me. Its a little small on me, with Carl being thinner than I am, but still does its job, for the most part, of warming me up against the cold arctic air. I hadn't taken it willingly. Carl all but forced me to wear it, citing my drenched clothing, which is still wet from last night, as a reason to let me wear it. The result is Carl standing next to me, in nothing but his thin t-shirt, and his jeans, arms crossed over his chest, shivering worse than I am. The group has assembled outside the cluster of broken down vehicles to take part in what edible food we could scavenge from the backseat of the cars around us. It wasn't much and no one has said anything about it. Tara's death still hangs over us like a guillotine. Though Carl and I's talk last night had managed to soothe me at the time, I can't help but feeling completely numb this morning. My chest cavity aches as though an elephant had been sitting on it all night.
I allow Carl to have most of my share of the rations, which composed of some crackers Rick and Michonne had found in a nearby truck. Of course, Carl being who he is tries to refuse me, but I am able to use the fact that I am wearing his jacket as leverage, which eventually causes him to relent. I'm not hungry anyways. How can one eat after losing one of their best friends? I certainly can't, though I do take a few courtesy bites just to keep Carl from worrying too much. Eventually, Michonne breaks off from the group and trots casually over to where Carl and I are nestled near the vehicle we had slept in the night prior. Without much of a greeting she promptly takes a seat in front of us, crossing her legs for comfort, before casting me a weary, yet concerned glance.
"You alright?" she mumbles.
I take a moment to respond, mulling over her question.
Am I?
On the one hand, my heart feels heavy and my chest sore. No matter how hard I try not to, I can't seem to block out the images of Tara kneeling in front of me; the gun that will take her life clutched in my hand. Each time I see that image flash through my mind, it feels like a part of me is dying. That alone is a reason to tell her that I'm not okay. But on the other hand, the others are still alive, Carl is safe, and everytime I look at him a small spark of life flickers deep within my aching chest. So, I suppose, all things considered, I am okay; just wounded. Hurting.
With that in mind, I nod to her reluctantly.
Michonne purses her lips and looks me over once before offering me an understanding nod of her own.
"I know it won't bring you any peace," she says. "But I know what you're feeling. I've lost an important friend as well. We've all lost important people. If you need anything, you're among family here."
The spark in my chest flickers into a flame.
Her words really go to show just how far we've come in the past few years. When I first met Michonne, Carl, and Rick, we all took our time warming up to each other. Gradually, Rick was able to consider us a close unit of some sort, not quite a family, but what Michonne had dubbed a "pack". It was fitting at the time, but not any longer. In the old world, the term "family" usually denoted people with blood relation. Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. Back then I can remember the term even applying to friends who were particularly close. But this... this group. These people. I think they fit the definition better. A group whom, despite most not sharing so much as a drop of blood in kinship, somehow manages to come together, to look out for one another, and care for one another's well being.
"Thanks, Mich." I reply weakly.
"We can't stay here." Rick suddenly speaks up, abruptly ending our conversation. "We don't know where the herd is or the Saviors. We need to get back home and check on everybody."
"Then what?" Glenn vocalizes the thoughts of, I'd bet, everyone present.
"Then we go see Ezekiel." Jesus replies in Rick's place, drawing all attention to him. He, instead, focuses his attention to Rick. "Negan has now done the unforgivable twice. We got lucky to escape. Given the opportunity, he'll do it again, Rick. You need allies. Hilltop is with you, but we're not trained to fight. Not like your people are. Not like Negan and his thugs are. We need him for what's to come."
Rick and the others go silent as they consider Jesus's suggestion.
In my chest, the flame becomes an inferno.
I can't stay silent this time. Jesus is right. Negan has caused the death of two of our own, sought to kidnap and kill Carl, though I ended up being the victim of that attempt, and will happily do so again when the opportunity presents itself. Not to mention, he and his thugs directly attacked Alexandria. They are too dangerous to left alive. Its no different then Terminus. If we let them live, we'll live in fear for the rest of our lives, defeating the purpose of our sanctuary. So there is only one option left on the table.
We fight.
"He's right, Rick." I speak up, surprising Carl next to me and even myself. I'm not usually one to speak up during these occasions. "If we don't fight them, it'll never stop. They'll keep killing. Keep taking our friends. They've already targeted your family... my family." I gesture to Carl next to me. "I wasn't there for the Governor, but I've heard enough about him to know. We can't let another Woodbury happen. If we let them go, they'll regroup, and attack us twice as vicious as before. This has to end and we have to be the ones to do it."
"Is that the opinion of everyone?" Rick asks, looking around at the rest of the group.
The response is unanimous.
These guys still remember the prison. I can't count the number of times Carl has recanted the story to me and he isn't the only one. They gave up trying to hunt the Governor down. The result was his return, with more supporters, and the loss of their home at the prison. That cannot happen again. We can't lose our homes and our loved ones. In Alexandria, we have a chance at a new world, one safe from walkers. We can't just let Negan take that from us. Not now. Not ever.
"Then that's what we'll do." the former sheriff's deputy declares.
####
We arrive home, on foot, shortly after midday.
The town isn't like it was before. Hardly anyone is out in the streets. The Savior's attack has clearly scared people and revealed to them the reality that they aren't safe behind these walls any longer. Not so long as Negan is on the loose. We are greeted at the gates by Abraham and Rosita, whom both seem quite relieved to see us. Well, most of us. Rosita takes Tara's death particularly hard. The two of them had traveled together with Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, and Eugene after the prison and were caught in Terminus together. They had history.
"So what do we do now?" Abraham asks Rick, after Rosita calms down some.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to see the leader of another group to ask for an alliance." Rick replies. "Negan has to be stopped."
"I can roll with that." the former sergeant responds.
"Good." Rick nods. "Check our stores and make sure we're good on guns and ammo. Starting now, we're at war."
A/N: A little bit slower paced chapter after all that suspense and action of the previous chapters, but some much needed character development in the first half of the chapter. Next chapter you will be introduced to some new characters and a new location. I can promise you this, you will see Tanner evolve as a character rather significantly in the chapters that follow. Like the characters we all know and love from the show, the death of friends tend to change people, and that still holds true for him. What evolution he will take on, you'll just have to wait and see, but I promise it will be satisfactory :) I've been watching the "Dead, White, and Blue" marathon all weekend. Good to have The Walking Dead back on television. Makes me even more anxious for Season 5! Thank you guys for reading and supporting this story! Don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments in the reviews and if you haven't favorited or followed the story, please do! I always look forward to hearing from you all!
On to the reviews:
lexie-king: Broke my heart writing it, believe me. Tara is one of my favorites among the new characters we got in Season 4. I hope she lasts longer in the show! She's definitely an interesting one! Thanks for the comment!
Obtained: I have death ideas for Negan too, and each person he kills makes those ideas more twisted and violent xD We shall see where the road leads him. Hopefully nowhere good! Thanks for the comment!
Guest: Its always sad when the good ones go isn't it? When Hershel died, it literally took me weeks to get over it, so believe me, I know how you feel xD hahaha Thank you for the comment!
IamwhoIam987: That's right. She's with her family now. Its always sad to see good characters die so violently, but its nice to think that they're in a better place. Thank you for the compliments! I'll do my best to keep up the good work and keep you guys on the edge of your seats! Thanks for the review :D
Thank you all again.
I really appreciate the support you all show this story. Means a lot to me :) Until the next one!
Later!