Chapter 12
This is it. This is the moment he's been waiting for. So why can't he move?
Carl rarely freezes in battle. In battle, fear keeps him alive, keeps him on the tips of his toes and scrambling to the next position. He could shoot people in cold blood, cut a man's balls off, and drive through a herd of biters in a humvee because each time, he had a goal that kept him focused. Defend the position. Find the location of the enemy's camp. Recover the bodies and escape the building. Keep Ben alive. He could deal with the guilt, the number of mistakes he had made, and the number of people that had died because of him later. He could deal with it all later as long as he had something to focus on. A goal. A mission.
But this isn't a battle. This isn't even a fight. This is something else entirely. Before him is the man he had spent his entire life looking up to, the man he had betrayed, and there is absolutely nothing telling Carl what to do. There are no instructions, no rules.
But Shane has never needed rules. He charges forward just beyond Carl's line of vision, yet the teen can still hear the voices and footsteps echoing beyond.
Rick doesn't notice the other man, at first. He's still addressing the king, speaking in an official manner. The tone in his voice reminds Carl of the man they had first encountered in the woods, before his friends were beaten and his people terrorized. He's a leader speaking to another leader, talking of alliances and a common enemy that needs to be stopped. It's a speech that King Ezekiel has heard before, Carl knows, but the king doesn't let on. In fact, from what little Carl overhears, Ezekiel hasn't told Rick anything at all, the two speaking like they've only just now heard of one another.
Rick's group must not have been here long, Carl realizes. But before he can learn more, the conversation comes to a faltering halt as Shane lets out an incredulous, "Rick?"
Carl wants to move forward. He wants to see what's happening, wants to gauge his father's reaction to the arrival of his estranged best friend. It might let him know how he would react to his own estranged son.
"Shane?" His father's authoritative stance stumbles, replaced with disbelief and wariness. But despite Rick's alarm, Carl can see Shane's long strides in the distance, and knows from personal experience that the ex-deputy is barrelling to hug the other man. And from what Carl can hear, it's an embrace that's returned. The two aren't the only ones in the audience before the king. Small whispers of disbelief reach his ears. In the distance, he can't ascertain exactly who is in the crowd, only that they are happy, if cautious, to see the other man.
"I thought-we thought you might be-after the Governor- what are you doin' here?" His father asks shakily. Rick is trying to keep himself together, still very aware that he's a visitor in someone else's court, but Walsh doesn't bother holding back, all emotions out on display. And the ex-deputy hadn't listened to the conversation, hadn't put together exactly how little their guests knew.
"You didn't…..you didn't tell them?" Shane demands, confused. He's not addressing Rick anymore, Carl realizes, but the king, who sounds almost sheepish as he responds.
"You must forgive me, Rick Grimes, but I have not been-entirely forthcoming since your arrival. This is not the first time I have heard of this tale, or of you, for that matter. But I wanted to see for myself what kind of people you were, before you learned exactly what kind of people we are." Ezekiel responds, vague as ever. If Carl wasn't too busy shitting his pants right now, he'd be rolling his eyes at the theatrics of it all.
"…..and what exactly haven't you told us?" Rick questions slowly. There's as much wariness to his tone as there is hope, and it suddenly dawns on the teen how suspicious all of this must look to the Alexandrians. This could be an ambush for all they know, given the Kingdom's relationship with the Saviors.
And with that, Carl has a goal. A small, made-up goal that allows him to step forward into the room and into the others' line of sight. Keep things calm. Let them know we're on their side. Let him know you're here.
Stop. Being. Quiet.
"Dad." He manages at last, his voice breaking as he stumbles forward. He can see more now, see the group of people gathered at the bottom of the stage, Ezekiel sitting proudly side by side with Shiva. Rick's hand is clasped on Walsh's shoulder, but as Carl speaks, Rick's head snaps up to assess the newcomer.
When his father's eyes meet his, the man freezes, his mouth agape. All traces of the composed, self-assured leader are gone. And for a moment, Carl is reminded of the expression on his father's face during their last confrontation with Negan. There's something utterly raw about the way his dad is staring at him, and Carl is every bit as vulnerable as he was in the infirmary room, with Daryl confronting him about things he'd rather keep quiet.
But then he sees it. He sees it, and another emotion overwhelms him entirely, causing tears to run and his jaw to wobble.
His father is wearing his hat.
"Carl?"
For a moment, it's like Rick is stuck in a loop. His free arm moves aimlessly between his hips and the air as he struggles to speak, like his brain is still stuck in its conversation with Shane. And in that moment, all of Carl's insecurities assault him at once. All of the accusatory glances his father had shot towards him in Alexandria, all of the loathing and begrudging looks.
His father should hate him for the position Carl put him in. He should hate him for putting Judith in the execution circle, for risking their lives again by escaping. He should hate him for blindsiding him this way, catching him off guard in a stranger's land. He should hate him for everything that he's done. So for a moment, Carl is utterly raw, too. And as overjoyed as he is to see his father here, that he's alive, he's still afraid. They remain like that for a moment, each stuck in a moment in time, his father with his mouth agape and Carl with his head ducked low.
"Rick." Michonne murmurs, softly touching the man's forearm. The normally unreadable woman is actually teary-eyed, a smile breaking out across her face.
And with her touch, it's as if a spell has been lifted. His father is striding towards him with Carl's name still caught in his throat, and Carl feels twelve years old all over again as he rushes forward. The sheer momentum of their impact nearly causes them both to stumble. Carl isn't sure where his blubbering begins and where his father's ends, but as he buries his nose into his father's shirt, he swears it carries the same scent from when he had left for work all those years ago.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry-" But his sentence is broken off, his father pulling away from the embrace and grasping the back of Carl's head with his hands. Carl nearly flinches, but forces himself to relax as he catches his father's gaze. This is entirely different than Negan. His father's hold is comforting. Not controlling, not threatening, but protective. Rick lowers his head, their foreheads touching.
"None of this is your fault. None of it. I should have known...I should have realized….God, I thought you were….I thought he had….how….?" Rick turns, one hand still on Carl's shoulder as if to reassure himself the teen isn't going to disappear, and faces Ezekiel.
The king has the utter gall to look smug about the whole thing.
"Your boy came to us seeking refuge, with quite the tale to tell. At the time, we believed we were doing him the favor, but he has more than earned his place here in the Kingdom. And….as much as it bereaves me to interrupt your reunion, I hope to have one of my own. Carl, what news do you have of Prince Benjamin?"
News of who? It takes a moment for Carl to snap out of his haze, but he nods slowly, clearing his throat. "Yeah, he's back at the...uh...car. I told him to wait. When the guards said you had visitors, I thought there might be trouble."
"Car, he says." Shane snorts in amusement, wiping his nose as he struggles to keep his breathing steady. The others look at him oddly, but Ezekiel doesn't miss a beat, nodding appreciatively and visibly relaxing.
"And yet you came to my aid, not knowing who you might find here. And you have brought Prince Benjamin home. For that alone, we are in your debt, Carl Grimes." Ezekiel says earnestly. Carl can practically feel the crowd shuffling in disbelief, and as he continues to try to snap himself out of that haze, he starts to recognize faces. Michonne. Carol. Father Gabriel. Sophia. Jesus. The Widow. There are several more, some he knows the names of, others he doesn't, but they all have one thing in common. They are absolutely flabbergasted to see him here.
It's not everyday that someone goes from a one-eyed traitor to being lauded by a king, to be fair.
The king rises to his feet, Shiva flicking her ears at her master's movement. He speaks louder, to the audience at large, even as he meets Rick's gaze. "Forgive me, but a decision of this magnitude, a decision of war should not be made in one day. Stay with us. Feast with us. Rest alongside us. By the morrow, I shall have your answer. But know that regardless of that answer, the Kingdom would be proud to call Alexandria and Hilltop her friends." Ezekiel booms, spreading his arms to address the overwhelmed crowd.
It would all be very grand and theatrical, if it weren't for Jerry giving them all an enthusiastic thumbs up from behind the throne.
For once, Carl doesn't bother holding back a grin.
"Is that….?"
"That is exactly what you think it is. And yes, they did exactly what you think they did." Shane says snarkily, grinning as both the King and their visitors stare at the gore-ridden humvee. Carl thinks he sees a biter hand lodged in one of the hubcaps, and grimaces as it twitches.
"Carl drove. It was awesome." Ben finally appears, looking questioningly towards the guests even as he smiles. Rick blinks, looking back towards his son.
"I thought you couldn't drive?" He drawls questioningly, his eyebrows practically at his hairline.
"Shift. I can't drive shift." The teen mutters back, feeling red-faced from all of the stares. "And that thing is…..surprisingly an automatic."
"I don't know, it was a pretty rough ride. Although we were being shot at, at the time, so I guess you have an excuse…." Ben jokes, nodding towards the bullet-sized indentions littering the side of the vehicle. He's beaming, acting like this is something to be proud of, completely oblivious to the look on the Kingdom leader's face.
"Which is why you should never have gone at all." Ezekiel rumbles overhead, bringing the teasing atmosphere to a screeching halt. Carl winces, drawing his shoulders in tightly as Ezekiel looks down at his friend. It's at this moment that Benjamin must remember just how badly he's screwed up, his grin slipping from his face. But the king continues. "What were you thinking? There is a reason we go on raids together and patrol in pairs. You could have been killed. Carl could have been killed trying to find you!"
Oh, Carl sooo does not want to be in the middle of this. He shuffles awkwardly, not sure what he should be doing or who he should look at. He knows things are different in the Kingdom. He knows that Ezekiel is more lax on discipline than the Saviors could ever dream. But if Carl had done something like this to Negan? He'd be lucky if he got out of it without being branded in iron.
Ben, always the goody-two shoes, does have the sense to look ashamed. But even with an apologetic look in his eyes, he still glances at the other teen. "Carl wouldn't have been hurt. You should have seen him out there, Zeke. He took on a herd single-handedly-"
"So has Sir Richard. And now he is dead." Ezekiel thunders grimly. He points to Carl, who freezes at the attention. "I stood in front of his father, wondering what I was going to tell him. Thinking that I was going to have to admit that I had found his son, only to lose him. Do you understand the effect that would have had between our communities? You have risked your friend's life, and for what? An adventure?"
Ben's eyes widen as he takes in their visitors, as he takes in Rick, realization dawning about exactly who they are. Shocked, he doesn't immediately have an answer for the king, only a guilty look that reminds Carl of a scolded dog. Carl knows he should stay out of it. Every fiber of his being is telling him to stay out of it, that this isn't his business, and that he shouldn't risk the king's wrath. But he finds himself walking to the humvee all the same, opening the back door and casually revealing the rotting bodies within. He takes his newly acquired rifle and lazily slings it over his shoulder, not quite meeting the king's gaze.
"I'm not the only one that got my dad back today." He says bluntly, leaning back on one foot and trying to look like he isn't nervous as all hell. It must work, because the silence that follows is overwhelming. But as he risks a glance towards Ezekiel's way, the king isn't offended, or angry. He's stunned.
"You went….you went to the National Guard center." He realizes, his eyes softening as he reevaluates Ben. Ben nods, his head ducked low.
And then, to Carl's utter surprise, the king pulls the boy into a hug.
Carl swallows uncomfortably. He doesn't know what to make of the array of emotions floating in the air, of the confusion and the sympathy. But he doesn't have long to dwell on it, because he spots another head of bobbing blond hair in the distance.
It's Henry. And he's running straight for them.
A sudden chill runs through the teen. Henry doesn't need to see this. He doesn't need to remember the stench of his father's rotting corpse, or see the spear impaled through the man's face. Before Carl can even think about what he's doing, he's running towards the little boy, dashing over to the side and stretching out his arms to block Henry's path.
"Hey, hey hey, hold on a sec, kid." He's managed to hold him back, somehow, but Henry is squirming and scrunching his nose in annoyance. He's obnoxiously quick, his short arms scrambling to get out of Carl's hold. "You don't need to go over there, just yet. Benjamin is-uh-getting chewed out pretty good."
"I knew you could bring him back, I knew you could! Just like you promised! Let me see him-"
"Hey." Carl snaps suddenly, struggling to keep a grip on the little boy without hurting him. "I never promised anything. He's safe, alright? I found him, and he's safe, but he might not have been. Sometimes people die. Sometimes they get hurt, no matter how much we try, and I don't make promises I can't keep. Got it?"
Henry nods glumly, finally beginning to still. His eyes scrunch, peering into the distance, and he cocks his head to the side. "Who's that?"
Carl turns, realizing that they're still close enough to have an audience. Shane seems to have taken the hint, hopping in the driver's seat of the humvee and fenangling with controls for a moment before closing the driver's side door. When the door shuts, Carl sees his own dumbfounded father behind it, watching the two of them curiously.
"Folks from Hilltop and Alexandria. You see that guy with the beard? The one looking this way? That's my dad. Your drawing must have been a good luck charm or something, because I found him. Or I guess-I guess he found me."
Henry looks a little downcast at this, bowing his head guiltily. "I never got the chance to give Richard his. Maybe that's why-"
"Hey, no. Don't think like that, man. What did I just say?"
"Uh….that man's your dad?"
"No, before that. About promises."
"That you don't make ones you can't keep. And sometimes you can't stop people from dying."
"That's right." Carl nods. "It's nobody's fault except the guy that killed him. King Ezekiel's a good fighter, and he was with him, right? And all the other guards, they're good at their jobs, too. Everyone did the best they could. But it's not their fault, and it's not yours."
"Except Colton. He's not good at his job." Henry says suddenly, scrunching his nose again. Carl blinks at the boy.
"What?"
"He naps on wall duty. And he snores like a moose! I've seen him. He snorts really funny when he sleeps, too."
Lord, help. Carl's stuck with two Miller boys, and neither of them can focus on a single thing for more than a few seconds at a time. But for once this works to Carl's advantage, as Shane has driven off with Henry none the wiser about what's going on. A hesitant Ben and weary Ezekiel stand where the vehicle once was, the king motioning with his hand. A grateful smile adorns his lips.
"Mercies upon you for your quick thinking, Carl Grimes. He may pass. "
Henry doesn't need to be told twice, tearing through Carl's arms and slinging himself full throttle at Benjamin. For a moment, Carl wonders idly to himself whether he could ever be like that with Judith. He had always wanted a sibling, growing up, had always asked his mom for a brother to romp around with. But as he watches the two brothers horse around, Ben apologizing even as he ruffles Henry's hair, Carl thinks that maybe a sister won't be so bad, either.
He still can't read the look on his father's face.
If there's anything King Ezekiel is good at, it's shoving food at newcomers and sending the cafeteria folks into a panic. Once Carl rejoins the group, Ezekiel leads them down the familiar trek to the cafeteria, passing the stenciled inspirational quotes as they go. But as they walk, Carl doesn't know what to do. What to say. How to act.
It's easier to be Patch than it is to be Carl.
He never realized just how much he relied on the savior persona, on the stoic, no-nonsense, gruff attitude. Those traits aren't entirely a lie, they're still a part of him, he knows. But there are times where he doesn't want to be gruff, where he wants to loosen up and just take part in the festivities around him. This is one of those times. He's not sure what stops him. Is it because he doesn't want to be vulnerable, in front of these people? Or is it because he doesn't even know how?
The cheerful atmosphere is a good thing, he knows. Kingdomers, Alexandrians, and Hilltop folk alike are tentatively intermingling, joking around as they each find seats in the dining hall. King Ezekiel has even summoned a flute player from the choir, who plays an upbeat tune to go along with the mood. But the disconnect Carl experiences with the crowd isn't specific to strangers. While Carl's father doesn't leave his side, he's facing everyone but Carl, talking to people around him even as he's careful to keep his son at his shoulder.
Now that the adrenaline rush from their reunion is fading, Carl's mouth feels like it's full of cotton, every step unsure and awkward. And what else did he expect? The Kingdomers might respect him, but the Alexandrians have seen him in his true state. They've seen him awkwardly sitting in a stall for days, with only a horse as company. They've seen him sobbing pathetically in the dust, with a baseball bat lingering near his head. And they've seen him smiling as he tortured a man, unperturbed by the blood and appendages strewn across the floor. The Alexandrians have good reason to be suspicious of him. He's a wild card, partially pitied, partially blamed for his involvement with Negan. Tolerated only because of who his father is.
He doesn't know what to say to them. He doesn't know what to say to his dad. Carl has so many questions, so many years of lost opportunities, but now that Rick is finally at his side again, he can't bring himself to ask them. The other Alexandrians occasionally glance at him warily, some happier about his presence than others. Michonne looks pleased as punch, but Sophia looks like someone punched her in the face, her lips settled into a scowl.
Carl had wondered before, in Negan's cells, whether she would have missed him. He guesses he has his answer.
And while she doesn't look happy in the slightest to see him, she keeps staring at him, her gaze leaving his tongue heavy in his mouth. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to ask, so as the others talk amongst themselves, he keeps his trap shut, awkwardly watching as the others mingle around him.
It's now that Carl is seated opposite of Ben that he realizes how much he has come to depend on the other teen's constant chatter. While he once found it annoying, it filled a void, and blocked any expectation that Carl had to provide anything more than single word replies. But Carl's father seems to be expecting more, wanting more from him, occasionally prompting small talk that Carl politely but awkwardly shuts down. His father wants a proper reunion, but Carl can't give it to him. He doesn't know how.
So instead, the flow of conversation mostly ebbs and flows between King Ezekiel, Shane, and Rick, with others interjecting occasionally and holding their own conversations on the side. Ben just listens, too emotionally exhausted from the events of the day to carry on his usual conversation. But Henry, ignorant about the emotional toll of the day's events, is chatty as ever.
"I thought he'd have a peg leg." The boy pouts, practically glaring at Rick as if the leader has somehow personally let him down. Carl rolls his eyes, picking at the food in his bowl. Stew. Why did it have to be stew?
"I never said he'd have a peg leg. You came up with that." Carl grunts, watching a carrot bob as he presses down on it with a spoon. While soup had been easier on his stomach during the first few days of his stay, now that he can hold down solid foods again, it's infinitely more difficult to eat. Carl could chew on the good side of his mouth without leaking through his sutures. But drinks? Liquids? He practically needed a mop by the end of it.
But Rick doesn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by the choice in meal, taking a spoonful of it himself while cocking his head to the side. An amused expression flickers across his face, an expression Carl hasn't seen since he was young.
"Peg leg?" Rick questions, his eyebrows furrowed even as he smiles. On his other side, Michonne seems equally invested, those microexpressions of hers flickering too fast for Carl to read.
"Show him the drawing, Carl! I made the beard a little too thick, though." Carl nearly drops his spoon at Henry's suggestion, frowning slightly as he shakes his head.
"Nah, kid. Not now."
"Aww, Carl. C'mon-"
"-no. It's in my room, anyways." He lies, reddening from the attention. "And I didn't say anything about him havin' no pegleg. You made that part up."
"But he's the pirate king! Of course he'd have a pegleg."
Rick blinks at the nickname for a moment, looking to Ezekiel for answers. But the royal man is equally confused, having apparently not having heard of the matter before. Carl can't see how not. Henry doesn't ever shut up about it. He doesn't really shut up about anything, for that matter.
"...what made you think I was a pirate?" Rick begins slowly, his head still cocked to the side.
"Well, Carl's a pirate. And you're his dad, right?" Henry asks innocently, as if it was the most normal subject matter in the world.
Others don't find the matter so mundane. Stew goes flying in the air as Shane chokes out a laugh, which quickly develops into boisterous snickering. Carl scowls at the other man, eyeing the bits of broth that have overflowed onto the man's beard. "It's not that funny." Carl growls, but to his disappointment, he sees others suppressing laughter as well. Shane shakes his head lowly, holding tightly to his own thighs as he struggles to breathe.
"I just never put together-he's been on a pirate kick lately-I didn't realize that was-because of you!" The man gasps out, wiping tears from his eyes. Carl rolls his eyes, shaking his head.
"Bein' a pirate's better than Patch, isn't it? Or Frankenstein Grimes? Least the kids don't think I'm a biter, with the eyepatch on."
"I didn't think you were a biter." Henry supplies helpfully, a bit confused about what others are finding so funny. "And what's a Frankenstein?"
Carl shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "It's a monster, kid."
"Actually, it was the scientist that created the monster. Not that you're a…..and the themes in the book are about how he actually isn't the real monster-" Benjamin contributes, only to be interrupted by his mentor.
"Have people called you that here?" Ezekiel's serious tone overshadows the amused chatter, and Carl is uncomfortably aware that the king almost seems angry. He blinks at the royal, not sure what he's done wrong.
'Uh…..no. Nah, it was back at Sanctuary, when I was in a cell. That was my letter, F. Didn't really matter, Dwight was usually the one on duty, and he still called me Patch." At this, Ezekiel's anger simmers down into concern, and Carl realizes that Ezekiel hadn't actually been angry at him, but the idea that his people would make fun of him for his scars.
"Letter?" Rick questions. Talk of the Saviors has wiped away the others' cheerful demeanors, and Carl suddenly wishes he hadn't said anything at all. His mouth feels full of cotton again, but he tries to ignore it, tries to play it off like none of this is a big deal. And it isn't. It shouldn't be. Right?
"It's part of the whole prisoner routine. They come up with an insulting name for you, and only call you by that until you're broken in. Only they weren't actually trying to break me or nothin', so they were kinda lax on it. F was just for fucker originally, until someone started the whole Frankenstein thing."
"I don't get it. Do they call you by the nickname or by the letter?" Shane asks, practically staring at him like he's an alien. Carl's reminded of his time in Alexandria, of the bewildered looks Michonne and Sophia would give him when he talked about Sanctuary. It all seems normal to him. He doesn't understand why Ezekiel seems almost offended on his behalf, or why the others are so alarmed.
"They call you by the nickname, and write the letter on your jumpsuit so the other guards know which one you are. Most prisoners are new recruits, so the guards don't want to bother with learnin' names, especially since most people die on wall duty, anyways. But since they already knew me, they didn't really stick to the rules. No torture or nothin, just music and the cell. Hell, they even fed me."
"Music?"
"Yeah. Max volume 24/7. Forces sleep deprivation. Makes people too tired to fight you." He admits bluntly. Shane shares a sharp look with Rick, whistling.
"That's some Guantanamo shit, right there." Shane mutters lowly.
"And what about the 'actual' torture? What do they do to prisoners then?" For the first time since their arrival, Sophia speaks up, her expression sharp as she looks at Carl. The Alexandrians begin to shuffle uncomfortably, and Sophia's mother is equally attentive, leaning forward in her seat as she spares a glance at her daughter. Carl blinks in confusion, casting an uncertain look at Henry.
"Uh. Not sure I should go into it in front of the kid."
"Henry, go to your room. Bring a tray with you." King Ezekiel booms suddenly.
"Aww, but Zeke-"
"Now, Henry. It involves matters of state. You don't-"
"I already know about the Saviors. That's what it's about, isn't it? They're the ones that killed Richard. And they're the ones that hurt Carl, right?" Henry insists suddenly, sitting straight in his chair. The king throws an accusatory glance towards Ben, who holds his hands up innocently.
"Don't look at me, I haven't told him anything."
"I've heard you talking about it with Richard, before. I know you don't want anyone to know, so I haven't told nobody. Whatever is going on, I can handle it. I-"
"Enough!" Ezekiel breaks through, his eyes blazing. "Regardless of what you know, I've told you to do something, and I need you to do it. Go, Henry." The little prince nods glumly, sulkily grabbing his things and stomping off without bothering to grab himself a plate. King Ezekiel lets out a sigh.
"Sorry." Carl murmurs, wincing apologetically. Ezekiel waves his arm in the air.
"It is no matter. I should have known what we would be discussing. There is much to catch up on, for all of us. And not all of it suitable for a child's ears." The king is silent for a moment, the joking and mirth from before long gone. He turns his gaze from Carl to Rick, looking nearly apologetic himself. "We thought to contact Alexandria after Carl's arrival, Sir Walsh especially, but we did not wish to risk the Saviors' wrath. Carl tells me that things are-harder for you. The Saviors do not enter our walls, but they walk freely among yours. If they had found us visiting you….."
Rick nods heavily, but this time, it's Jesus who speaks up. Carl had nearly forgotten the biblical ninja was even there, but he is, looking like a kid in a candy store. The long haired man holds up a radio, smiling. "We tapped into their radios. We know enough of their codes to tell when they're coming and going."
"Carl gave us the idea, actually. Negan had been doing the same thing to us. Figured we should turn the tables on him, for a change." Rick says, leaning back in his chair.
"Now that's what I'm talking about. Shit, it was killing me, sitting here, twiddling my thumbs while I knew you were out there." Shane digs into his pocket, bringing out a familiar piece of paper and planting it in front of Rick's plate. It's the map of DC, with the block print writing scribbling out Rick's name. Carl's father blinks owlishly at the document for a moment, his eyes widening. Shane grins, shrugging.
"Don't know who the hell wrote it, but it led me here. Next thing I know, I'm in law enforcement again, working for a freaking king, and your boy is walking through those doors looking like the Governor and a walker had a baby. Didn't even recognize him."
"I didn't, either." Rick admits guiltily, pointedly not looking Carl in the eye. He lets his fingers pass over the writing and nods, handing the paper over to a young latina woman, who raises an unamused eyebrow at him before taking the document. But as she looks it over, her jaw slacks, her guarded expression falling.
"It's Abraham's handwriting." His father says to her softly. Many of the Alexandrians take sudden breaths, and Rick continues, explaining. "He's one of the people the Saviors killed. The first one they killed, actually."
"Well, shit." Shane says, shaking his head. He casts a tentative look towards Maggie, whose expression has been carefully still throughout the discussion. "He told me about Glenn. Damn shame." Maggie nods curtly in response, but in an attempt to lift the mood, Shane smiles. "He also told me you're pregnant?"
Maggie nods, her hands moving towards her belly. Carl is surprised she made the journey at all. He's not sure how much time has passed since his imprisonment, or even since the execution circle, but it's enough for her to be showing. But despite her smile and Shane's laid-back attitude, she's stiff as she responds. Carl doesn't know what the hell happened between Shane and the others before they were separated, but whatever it was, all of them seem to be keeping the ex-deputy at arm's length, not just Rick.
"Patch seems to know an awful lot for someone I've only met once or twice." Maggie jokes, a polite smile stitched to her face. "First time I saw him, his boss killed my husband. Next time I saw him, he shoved me in a closet and hid me from his friends. Have to admit, I was pretty confused there, for a while. Wasn't till Rick came knockin' at my door that it all started makin' sense."
"Patch?" Shane blinks, looking back and forth between the two of them. "You mentioned that before, but I didn't realize that people actually called you that."
Carl shifts uncomfortably beneath the stares, shrugging. "It's all anyone's ever really called me for the past few years. Told you, nobody really cares about your name in Sanctuary, unless you're one of the big dogs. Most people don't last long enough for it to matter."
"Years? Jesus, how old were you when you lost the eye?"
Carl shrugs again. "I dunno. 'bout a year after the outbreak, I guess. Might have been twelve, thirteen. Old enough to know that I should have dodged the bullet."
An awkward silence fills the hall for a moment, and it's like it's a repeat of his conversation with Sophia all over again. For once, her glare has simmered to knowing look, even as the Kingdomers are revolted at his words. "You tellin' me the Saviors tried to shoot you in the head? At that age? Christ, Ezekiel. Threatening to kill kids is one thing, but this-"
"Weren't the Saviors. They killed the bastards that did it, though." Carl defends, crossing his arms uncomfortably.
"What about your mouth? They did that, right? What the hell did they even do it with?" Carl glares at the other man, irritated that he's bringing this up now of all times.
"A baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire." Rick answers for him softly, looking sick to his stomach.
If there was an awkward silence before, this one is breathtaking. It never occurred to Carl how little the Kingdomers knew about exactly how things went down. While the origins of Carl's scars were implied, nothing had ever been confirmed out loud. But everyone at this table is aware of who that infamous baseball bat belongs to, and Rick's words send the rest of the table flinching. The Kingdomers because they had never realized the gritty details of it all, and the Alexandrians because they actually remember what happened.
"Why are you defending them?" Sophia says suddenly, breaking the tension. Carl blinks at her, not sure how to respond. "You keep downplaying what they've done to you, what they've done to us. Sure, Negan killed some bandits that hurt you. But he's killed a lot of innocent people, too. We're sitting here pretending everything is good and happy because you're Rick's long lost son and you're safe, and we're in some fairytale land where a king and some princes think you're some big hero knight or something-"
"Sophia." Carol warns, her eyes darting to King Ezekiel, seeming concerned that they'll offend their hosts. But Sophia plows on, her gaze harsh and accusing.
"-and we're all just supposed to just ignore the fact that you're sitting in front of us wearing a Savior jacket? Would you ever have even helped us, if Rick wasn't your Dad? Or would you still be working for them?"
Her words cut Carl to the bone. He's nearly forgotten what this feels like, to be hated. To be reviled. He's been spoiled by the Kingdom's appreciative gazes for too long. And while he had been preparing for the eventual blowback, he's absolutely blindsided for it to be coming from Sophia, of all people. Everyone is looking at him expectantly, interested in his answer. And he isn't going to lie. Not anymore. He's so utterly tired of lying. So he swallows hard, pulling up his walls once more.
"I'd still be with them." He admits, shrugging. Rick stiffens beside him, but Carl continues. "Negan's a monster. But he's a monster that kills worse monsters. I had food, a roof over my head. I was safe. Sanctuary made sense to me. This?" He postures, pointing around them, gesturing towards the flute player. "This doesn't."
"You don't mean that." Ben interjects, his somber state dissipated. Carl rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, I do. People are studying Shakespeare here, Ben. In Alexandria, they're mowing their lawns. You did good today, but you got tree'd like a damn racoon by less than a dozen biters. You barely know how to shoot. Alexandria is stuck in the old world, and the Kingdom is trying to create some new, magical fantasy one. But when groups like the ones we saw this morning come for us? Spears aren't going to take helicopters down. HOA's and town meetin's aren't going to do shit about the wolves, or cannibals, or rapists."
"You call missing half of your face safe?" Sophia shoots back, glowering. "Daryl thought you were better than them. I did, too. But that was when I thought you were helping us because it was the right thing to do, not just because you were just lookin' out for your daddy."
"Wait a second. What's this about helicopters?" Rick drawls carefully, swallowing hard like he's very aware he's treading on thin ice. A shard of guilt runs through Carl, and for a second, he wonders what kind of position he's forced Rick into. How Rick's managed to keep a hold on his people after they realized his son had been working for the men that killed his friends.
"We ran into some trouble at the National Guard Center." Benjamin admits on his behalf, looking a bit sheepish as he does. Shane sits upright in his chair.
"Now hold on, you mentioned running into a group, but you didn't say anything about a damn helicopter. Where was this, exactly? None of our patrols have seen anything-"
"I don't think they were from around here." Carl admits furtively. "They were scavenging one of the helicopters on display. Either gettin' parts or actually gettin' it up and running, never did see which." He turns back to King Ezekiel, realizing how badly this conversation could go. "I don't think they're interested in your territory. Just that chopper. But that's my point. Together, if all of the communities fight back, we can take down Negan. But could we take on someone that size? Would you be willing to do what it takes? Torture whoever needs to be tortured?"
Ezekiel looks both disgruntled and unsettled at mention of the other group, and Carl can only pray he hasn't dashed their chances at getting the Kingdom to join the war. "Look, I meant what I said when we first met. Negan will get worse, and he'll target who you love. If you want to be free, want to stop Jared from shooting Ben next time? Then they need to be stopped. But they're not going to stop just by asking them nicely."
He continues. "None of you have to be worried about me turnin' traitor or nothin'. Daryl was wrong about me, I'm just another monster, too. But I'm a monster that's on your side."
Carl would feel a lot more confident in this speech if he could meet his father's eyes. Meeting Sophia's eyes alone feels like it's ripping him in two. But somehow, being put back into a world where everyone is suspicious of him, where everyone hates him is comforting. It's a world he's familiar with.
But as Sophia continues to purse her lips at him, something occurs to Carl. He looks down the row of seats, at the many sets of eyes looking at him. All the important players are here. All except for one.
"Where is Daryl, anyways?" He asks, continuing to search the many faces. "He holdin' down the fort in Alexandria?"
His words have a ripple effect across the observers, Carol visibly flinching at mention of the redneck's name. The cool anger in Sophia's eyes flares, and she crosses her arms as she speaks.
"They took him. Because of you."
Her words echo in the room, sending a chill down Carl's spine. He looks at her in horror. But now that she's on a roll, she doesn't stop there.
"We had a plan to get you out. If you had just waited a little longer, we could have gotten you out and sieged Sanctuary the next day-"
"Sophia-" Her mother cuts in, and Rick casts a sharp glance towards the king. But Sophia doesn't falter, merely raising her voice.
"-we could have gotten you out and none of this would ever have happened. But instead, Negan came for us. He thought we were hiding you. He held agun to Rick's head, callin' out for you, counted to ten, and pulled the trigger. It was a bluff. Just like him threatening to take Judith afterwards was a bluff. So guess what? Maybe you were right. Maybe he doesn't hurt babies, but that didn't stop him from insistin' on takin' a hostage to make up for the one he lost. If you thought you were lucky because they 'they didn't torture you or nothin', what the hell do you think they're doing to Daryl? Why do you get your dad back and I lose mine?!"
She's crying now. Angry tears, but tears all the same. Carl's world feels like it's crashing down, and he can't breathe. He stares dumbly at her, at the others. Suddenly, the accusing looks make sense. The blame makes sense. He shakes his head. "I don't-I don't understand. He threatened Judith? Why was she even there? Didn't Sherry warn you?"
Sophia's anger falters for a moment, for one blissful moment, because she's confused. She looks at the others, but they don't seem to have whatever answer she's looking for, either. It's his father who answers at last, his voice deep and bewildered.
"Who's Sherry?"
The revelation that those two simple words bring sends him reeling. He should have realized it before. His father had been surprised to see him here. If Sherry had made it to Alexandria, if she had warned them….. Rick would have known where Carl was hiding. But he didn't.
"What do you….what do you mean, 'who's Sherry'? She never made it? She never got there in time?!" He felt like he couldn't breathe before, but now his breaths are coming faster than ever. If she hadn't made it to Alexandria, then….
"Carl, what are you talking about?"
"She's….she's the one who helped me escape. That was the plan. If they caught her, they wouldn't kill her, so she was going to go to Alexandria, and I was going to go to the Kingdom. That's what she said to do. That was….she wouldn't lie, not about that. Shit, that means she's…..shit. Shit, shit, shit! I should have known she wouldn't make it out there on her own. I need to go. I need to find her-" He rises to his feet, only to have his father's grip send him back to the chair.
"Carl, Carl! Hold up. Slow down." As Rick attempts to keep him from leaving, Michonne's expression changes, her mouth parting as something occurs to her.
"He's talking about the woman Negan was looking for. His wife. She's the one that got you out?" He nods, shoving his barely touched soup out of his way and holding his head in his hands.
"Why wouldn't Negan kill her?" Michonne asks carefully. "You've said before that he's killed wives that try to run away. Why not her?"
For a moment, Carl tosses around the idea of whether he should tell them. Telling them the truth could make Sherry a target. But if she's missing….if she's in trouble…...as much time has passed, he's not going to find her on his own.
"She's pregnant. It's Negan's." He breathes, shaking his head. "She was trying to stick around before, for Dwight' sake, but she…..she couldn't stand the idea of raising a kid there." He hears mutters of breaths, sees Maggie instinctively curly a hand around her protruding belly.
"What does Dwight have to do with it?" Rick asks, choosing his words carefully. "Is he related to her? Is that why he works for Negan?"
Carl snorts, shaking his head. "Nah, the opposite. She was Dwight's wife, first. Last time they tried to run away, Negan was going to kill him, but Sherry offered herself up. So she married Negan and Dwight just got the iron, instead."
Rick blinks profusely. "That must have been when Daryl ran into him…...the iron….that's what happened to Dwight's face? It was a punishment?"
He gives a small nod, and Maggie snorts, shaking her head in disgust. "And Negan claims he doesn't endorse rape. Are all his wives like that? Women that are forced into it?"
Carl shifts uncomfortably, briefly reminded of the lap dance Negan made Sherry give him in front of Dwight. Of all the times Negan took delight in groping them in front of his men. "Not all of 'em. Some of them do it for the benefits, extra food rations, and jewelry. One did it to get psych meds for her mom. I mean, it sucks, but they agree to it. Sherry said the wives were angry with him when he locked me up, wouldn't put out for him. He manipulates people, but he doesn't….he doesn't force them, ya know?"
"Sounds like he does, to me." Sophia retorts sharply, crossing her arms.
"He never forced me to kill the people I have, either. But I did it anyways, for food and shit. Isn't that the same thing?" Carl shakes his head, swearing. "Fuck. I should've known. I should never have let her go off on her own. She was literally barefoot and pregnant, for cryin' out loud. An' even my jumpsuit woulda been better than that sequin dress of hers. All glittery and crap. Biters could hear her a mile away. "
"She made a choice and you honored it. That's more than Negan ever did, from the sounds of it." Michonne states flatly, looking up at Rick. "We'll keep an eye out for her. But Carl, it's been too long since your escape to go looking for her. If she hasn't been caught by Negan already, she could be anywhere by now."
She doesn't state what Carl already knows. That Sherry is probably dead in a ditch, or shuffling about somewhere in a forest, chomping down on somebody. But an unpleasant possibility curls its way into his brain, one worse than her dying. She might have lied. She might have never intended to go to Alexandria at all, just saying that to convince him to move on. If Lori Grimes had never made it to pick up her own son from school, was it that far of a stretch to imagine that Sherry had chickened out of warning some strangers she had never met?
Carl growls in aggravation, backing up his chair and rising from the table. Rick reaches out to him in alarm.
"Carl…" he starts, but the teen doesn't let him finish.
"I'm not runnin' off to do somethin' stupid, alright? Sherry's long gone, I get it. And I… I'm glad to see you, Dad, I really am, but I haven't slept in two days and if I stay here, I'm going to fuck all of this up. And this?" He says, gesturing towards the eating guests and the musician. "This is what our communities need. Flutes and feastin' and horsin' around and other shit that don't make sense to me, not scowlin' and pretendin' like you're not sharing a table with a Savior. I helped kill your friends, I get it, biggest buzzkill ever. When you need me to torture somebody or go off on a suicidal rescue mission, just let me know. Till then, I'm getting out of the way and going to bed."
He pretends he doesn't hear the hurt in his father's voice as he leaves. He pretends.
"Let 'im go, Rick. That's practically the first time the kid's actually shown emotion since he got here. Good to see him acting his age for once."
Shane's words echo behind him, mocking him as he walks away. His stomach growls in protest, reminding him of how little he's eaten, but he shoves it down. He can still feel the rot from before, twisting and twisting inside until he's practically ready to hurl. But he shoves down the hurt, shoves down the bile, and walks away all the same.
Nobody has been in his room, which is a small relief. The paper he left between the door and the frame hasn't fallen, and the tin cans he's hung near the hinges haven't been disturbed, either. He isn't sure what else he expected. The guards did the occasional room check when he first arrived, but they haven't done one in weeks. Yet with Sophia's words still ringing in his ears, their trust in him feels undeserved.
Maybe he wasn't the worst spy in the world. If he wanted to take this place for what it's worth, he could. He really could.
But he doesn't. He rips off Negan's jacket, rips off the Kingdom armor, and shoves them both in the closet. They're still splattered in walker blood, but he doesn't want to send them off to the laundry collection. It's nothing the laundry folks haven't seen before, he knows, but as much as he resents the jacket, he still feels oddly protective of it. He can do it himself when he wakes up.
His shower can wait until later, too. He's bound to stink. But he feels like he deserves it, somehow. He deserves the hunger in his belly, deserves the ache in his bones. It's not like he doesn't have food. Above the discarded clothing are various cans of beans, and other various items that the cafeteria workers had discarded at the end of the day. He didn't think King Ezekiel would mind, since they were supposed to be thrown out, anyways, but he's still mildly afraid that one of the guards might take offense to his hoarding if they found it during a room search.
The hunger makes it difficult to fall asleep, so he finally compromises, grabbing a water bottle and sucking down the liquid greedily. He swears the sutures are becoming more elastic by the day, because by the time he's done with it, half of its contents have leaked everywhere, soaking the blankets.
He sleeps in them anyways, curled up with his knife under his pillow, so when he finally drifts off, it comes as no surprise that he dreams of rain. He dreams of rain, he dreams of a well, and he dreams of a little boy that looks like Henry looking up at him with big sad eyes. But soon the rain turns crimson, and the little boy is falling down that well, a bullet hole through his head.
Carl's still dreaming in red when the tin cans begin rattling.
For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. He could be in the bunker, with handcuffs encircling his wrists. He could be in his room in Sanctuary, with a savior sneaking in to steal his food. He could be in his cell in Sanctuary, with the music dimming and Ron's form hovering over him. He doesn't know where he is, but that rattling lets him know that someone is there and that someone is coming for him.
Which is how he finds himself shoving Shane into a wall, a blade at the ex-deputy's neck.
It takes him a moment to realize where he is and what's going on. Someone else is behind him, holding him back, with an arm snaked under Carl's left armpit and pulled upright across his chest. The stranger's other hand is gripped tightly around his, preventing the knife from moving any further.
"What the-Shane?" He drops the knife, blinking blearily as he comes to. The cornered ex-deputy lets out a sigh of relief, gulping.
"See? Told you it'd be enlightening. Just didn't know how enlightening." Shane remarks with an uneasy laugh, rubbing where the knife had been. "Jesus, kid."
Carl is still gathering his senses, feeling trapped with the stranger's breath still on his neck, but relaxes the moment he hears the man speak. "Easy does it. Easy."
"Dad?" He asks, bleary-eyed. It is him. It's not some stranger, it's not even Shane. It's Rick. Carl relaxes, falling back into his father's hold.
"Yeah, it's me. Easy does it. There you go, it's me." Carl reddens as realization begins to dawn on him about what he's done, and as Rick slowly releases the hold, Carl stumbles back, dazed.
"Yeah, let's barge into a child soldier's room and wake him up from a dead sleep. What did you expect to happen, Shane?" He hears his father hiss, the calm tone in his voice fading as Carl finally comes to.
"How the hell was I supposed to know? He's always up at the buttcrack of dawn, never had him put a knife to my neck before. Sorry to scare ya, kid, they're preparin' dinner, and since I have it on good authority you haven't eaten in at least a day, figured I'd give you a wake up call. What, did you think we were gonna off you in your sleep or somethin'?"
"Wouldn't be the first time someone tried." Carl says grumpily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hell, that's how Dad took out that outpost. Wouldn'a happened if they had alarm system rigged up in their rooms."
Guilt flashes across Rick's face as readily as disbelief slips across Shane's. "Yeah, I keep hearin' about that." Shane mutters, casting a glance at Rick. "Still not sure I believe it, though. Then again, if someone told me I'd almost get ganked by a teenager today, I'm not sure I'd believe that, either." Shane cocks his head to the side. "Jesus, how did you sleep like that? You're rank. Boots still on and everything."
Carl looks down, shrugging. "It's from bailin' the prince out of a tree. Too tired to bother with a shower or nothin'."
"Yeah, I've been hearin' about that, too. Benjamin's been fillin' us in on some of the details. Either he watched too much Die Hard growin' up or you earned that nap. You didn't tell us you were chased by the 'copter."
"We weren't." Carl groans, slapping his head with his hands as he bemoans his friend's tendency for tall tales. "The scavengers chased us a bit on foot, but that's only because I almost ran them over. The helicopter stayed on the roof the whole time."
Shane grins, clasping Carl's shoulder like he's ready to tell the world's greatest joke. "Guess you're officially a Grimes, then, gettin' in trouble with a chopper on horseback. Now you just gotta get stuck in a tank." The man says, wriggling his eyebrows pointedly.
Carl is unamused. "I'm lost. Was this at the prison? With that dictator guy?"
"Nah, nah. This was back when your Daddy was lookin' for you and your mama. Oh, c'mon. Tell me you've heard the story." Shane's grin can't get any bigger, and now it's his father's turn to redden. Carl blinks, looking between both men. His dad still hasn't seemed to recover from the whole 'knife to Shane's throat' thing, although it doesn't seem to bother Shane nearly as much as it should.
"Wait…" Carl murmurs, looking back at Rick. "That thing Daryl was goin' on about back in Alexandria. You tellin' me that's true?"
Rick nods, glaring at Shane even as a reluctant smile forms on the edge of his lips. "And none of them'll ever let me forget it." But Rick's smile soon falls as he takes in his surroundings.
"The mattress do somethin' to you?" He jokes, gesturing towards the stripped bed and the blankets shoved in the corner.
Carl shrugs. "I'm used to sleeping on the floor, I guess. Just easier."
"Does Negan not give his own people beds? Is that why he burned ours?" Rick asks carefully, his eyebrows furrowed as he assesses Carl's setup. Shane does a double take at his father's words, but doesn't get a chance to butt in.
"Nah, most people got beds, now. Just not the prisoners. But I was with Negan before he found Sanctuary, back when we were on the road. We just slept wherever we could, back then." He admits. He shifts uncomfortably at the subject, not sure how to explain it. It's more than just a preference. A floor, a nook, or a cranny just feels safer. He fidgets at his gloves, pulling at its rims.
"Explains why you took to sleepin' in Buttons' stall. Took us a few weeks to get used to mattresses, too, when we first came to Alexandria." Rick says, scratching his scruff. He swallows hard, his eyes almost glazed as he's lost in thought. "So you've been with him since nearly the beginning of all of this. Before he ever took Hilltop?"
"Yeah. He was just antagonizing some nearby groups, farmers and the like, back then. He did mercenary work sometimes, taking out local bandits and stuff in exchange for food. It made him look like the good guy, and he was takin' out competition at the same ti-hey! What the hell?"
Shane, seeming bored with the conversation, has taken it upon himself to do a sweep of the room, opening drawers and digging through Carl's things. "Are you lookin' for somethin' in particular?" Carl demands, annoyed.
"Those papers you brought with you. Rosters and shit? Whatever goes down tomorrow, whether the king's with us on this or not, Rick's people need to see it."
"You could have asked." Carl rolls his eyes, walking over to a nearby air vent. He untwists the knobs, loosening the metal frame from the wall, and digs around the bottom of the duct. He finds the papers where he left them, taped to its walls, out of sight. When he turns, he finds both men looking at him with gobsmacked looks on their faces. "What?" He asks indignantly, furrowing his brows.
"Like a damn drug addict or somethin'." Shane rolls his eyes, holding out his hands. Carl hesitates for a moment. He's copied some of the papers down, but not all of them. But he trusts Shane, and his father is standing right beside him.
"People died for these. Don't lose them." Carl warns. Shane rolls his eyes.
"What are they, the death star plans or somethin'? Jesus, kid. And here I was thinkin' you couldn't hide for shit. You didn't think we'd check under the mattress? And apparently you put a damn hat in a medicine cabinet?"
Carl swallows hard, looking over to his father, who rubs the back of his neck before speaking. "We caught up a bit while you were asleep. I've been….I've been meaning to ask you. Where did you even find it?" Rick asks, taking off the hat and looking down at it.
"The armory. I managed to convince some people to let me join 'em if I told them how to get in. Place was already stripped, but I found one of your old uniforms, and the hat came with it. Made the whole thing worth it, even if the group was mad at me afterwards."
Rick looks dumbfounded by this, then guilty, and then angry as he shakes his head. It takes him a moment to speak, but when he does, he sounds heartbroken. "I'm the one that stripped the place."
He doesn't have to say anything else. The significance of those words comes across painstakingly clear. Carl was still in town when Rick left for Atlanta. And if Rick is heartbroken at the idea of it, Shane is absolutely stunned, an unreadable expression flickering across the other man's face.
But suddenly, Rick holds out the hat, offering it to the teen. "Daryl….Daryl filled me in, after things went down. You kept it safe for this long. It's yours, if you still want it."
Carl's chest seizes at the sight of it. "I'm not….I'm not sure I deserve it." He admits softly. There's an underlying meaning to his words, ones he's not sure his father catches. But Rick presses forward, clasping a steady hand on Carl's shoulder before nudging the hat into the teen's hands.
"It's yours."
So Carl takes it. He takes it, and he wears it, and for the first time since he spotted his father in that execution circle, he feels whole again.
Negan's jacket rots in the closet behind him.
Author's Note: I'm not particularly satisfied with ending the chapter here, but this was already running into the 11k+ territory, so...
Be rest assured, I'm just as eager to get to the father-son moments as you guys are! But realistically, both Carl and Rick are going to be dealing with a lot of guilt and awkwardness while they get to know each other again. So there's that.
Please be sure to leave your thoughts and comments in the reviews! As usual, I'll try to respond to all of you wonderful folks via messaging, but those of you who review without FFN accounts, please be assured that I'm not ignoring you, I read and appreciate each one of your comments, too!
As a sidenote, if you want to see some of my poor attempts at graphic art for this story, be sure to check out this chapter on A03. My username is the same over there.