Warning: There are brief mentions of past sexual assault and a graphic description of a past suicide in this chapter. Please be advised.
Recap as Requested: AU Timeline Differences:
- Carl was never picked up from school before the evacuation to Atlanta. It is unclear why.
- Carl traveled with various groups, eventually ending up alone and targeted by the Claimers. He was physically and sexually abused.
- When escaping the Claimers, Carl ran into the Saviors. Negan saved Carl and killed his pursuers. Carl continued to serve the Saviors until the events of this fic, earning the nickname 'Patch'.
- Instead of telling Sophia to hide, Rick stayed with her after she ran from the highway due to his concern over another lost child. As a result, Sophia lived.
- Rick was adamant about Carl's survival, whereas Lori grieved and accepted that he was dead. Rick thought about leaving the group to search for him, but ultimately stayed due to lack of leads and Lori's pregnancy.
- Rick and company have had their own run-in with the Claimers. Sophia was threatened, but unharmed. The remaining Claimers were killed by Rick's group.
- Events within Alexandria have unfolded differently, with the Wolves becoming a problem the same time as Negan. Deanna was killed by Peter Anderson.
- Shane is still alive. He was separated from Rick's group after Woodbury, and was under the impression that Judith was dead. He found Abraham's note about the new world needing Rick Grimes, not Morgan, and came to DC searching for Rick. Not having found Rick, he joined The Kingdom.
- Carl has run into Commonwealth soldiers scavenging a helicopter. Richard was killed by the Saviors instead of Benjamin. This happened before Rick's arrival instead of afterwards.
- Daryl was taken as a hostage by the Saviors well after he was taken in the show.
- Sherry is missing, but unlike the show, foul play is suspected. She is pregnant with Negan's child.
Please let me know if you think this recap is too long, annoying, or if it's super helpful. It was requested by some readers and is a fantastic idea, but it will lengthier the longer the story goes on due to timelines diverging. A LOT of AU material is introduced in this chapter alone.
Chapter 13
The more Carl walks, the hungrier he becomes, and the better the distant aroma of cooking food smells. He hadn't intended to sleep for so long, hadn't intended to waste the precious few hours he had left with his father. But at least now that it's close to sunset, the cafeteria workers will have had time to prepare an actual meal rather than a quickly whipped together soup or chili. Hopefully something solid, something he can eat this time.
He's still half asleep and somewhat disoriented as he walks, letting Rick and Shane banter among themselves without pitching in. When they finally reach the showers, he raises an eyebrow at the two.
"You gonna follow me in there, too? Wanna compare dick sizes or somethin'?"
"Nah, I already know who'd win." Shane retorts breezily, waving him off. "We'll wait out here. Better hurry up, princess, or we'll be late."
Carl wants to let out a sigh of relief, but doesn't let on, instead heading inside on his own. He's always managed to shower at odd times, when nobody else was using the communal area. He never felt like being asked questions he didn't want to answer.
As he turns on the water, he embraces the cold water even as it makes it harder to wash off the biter gore. It startles him awake, urging him to snap out of whatever daze he's been in and get moving. It's also loud enough to make Shane and his father think he can't hear them beyond the gym room doors. But either the door is cracked open or the walls are just too thin, because he hears them all the same.
"I appreciate you lookin' after him, Shane."
"Ain't no problem. Least I could do. Judy….is she….she doin' ok?" There's an awkward silence before his father cautiously responds.
"She's walking. Managing a few words, here and there. Alexandria has been good for her. Was good for her, until….well….you know. Carl-is he-how is he doing, really? That back there, is that him all the time?"
"Kind of. And kind of not. He's been mouthier since you got here, rougher 'round the edges. It's usually hard to get more than a few words out of the kid, but Ben's gotten him to relax some."
"Benjamin seems like a good kid. Never would have imagined them as friends, though."
"Don't think Ben gave him much of a choice. Just teamed up with that little brother of his and annoyed Carl until he caved in. He hates the school here, but he's a hard worker, and a better fighter than most of our guards. Someone I'd want on my six, if even half of Ben's story is true. He does whatever you want him to do the first time, no questions asked, no whining, nothin'. I think today's the first time I've seen his temper come out."
His father is quiet for a moment, before letting out a deep, wavering sigh. "That reaction at lunch? That's what he was like the entire time, back home. Gruff. Defensive. Michonne and Daryl could get him to let his guard down a bit, but the moment he got around me he would clam up. I didn't realize it was him, then, I just thought it was an authority figure thing….but now, I don't….I don't even know how to talk to him, Shane. I've spent….this has been everything. Everything. Everything I've done so far, it's all been for him. For Judith. For my people. I've spent years trying to find him, but now that he's here, now that he's safe…..it's still like I never found him at all."
"That's not on you, not with everything that's happened. You kinda skipped straight into the angsty teenager phase. And he's got more reason than most to be broody, from the sounds of it." Shane says.
"You have no idea. Hell, I don't even think I know the half of it. The things Negan said….the things he implied…. I should have been there to protect him. I should have-what the hell happened back then, Shane?"
"He says he was at that school, Rick, but I was there. There was no sign of him."
"No sign of him. Kind of like there was no way I was alive in that hospital room?"
A chill runs through the air, colder than the water streaming down Carl's face, colder than anything else in the room. He doesn't understand the underlying context, but it's easy to tell it's been a point of contention between the two men for some time.
"What are you implying, Rick?" There's a pause, but no reply. He can hear his father pacing, sense the two men squaring off. Shane is the first one to break the tension.
"Say it. Just say it. I'm tired of us dodging each other, pretendin' like everything since the farm didn't happen. If we gotta fight it out, let's fight it out. And then let's be done with it. I want a clean slate, Rick. You're….you're my brother, I've traveled states lookin' for you. And maybe I did some things, maybe I said some things I shouldn't have. But I would never, ever, knowingly abandon that boy, and you sure as hell know Lori wouldn't have. He wasn't there. Nobody was. The teachers were gone."
"You say you want a clean slate…" Rick begins, slowly, "...but the way I see it, you're the same that you've ever been, Shane. And I love you, man, I really do. But I know you. If you'd come all this way for me, you woulda been knockin' on Alexandria's gates the moment you heard I was there. Hell, you'd be knockin' those gates down when you realized Judith was alive. So why didn't you? Why did you wait for us to come to you?"
"Rick, you know the Saviors…"
"I'm not talkin' about the Saviors, Shane, I'm talkin' about you. The man that hauled Michonne off with Merle to face the governor by yourselves. The man that drug those walkers outta that barn. When you get it in your head to do somethin', you do it, regardless of who you piss off in the process. But you didn't. Why?"
There's another pause, and as water cascades down Carl's back, a shiver runs up his spine. It's a fair point. Shane had practically crumpled in that throne room when he found out Judith was alive. So why hadn't he insisted on reaching out? It wouldn't be the first time the ex-deputy had circumvented the king's wishes.
"I had something I had to follow through with, first. Richard and me, we had a plan. We had to convince Ezekiel to go to war. And when Carl said Negan was controlling you the same way he was us, and that he had threatened Judy…. we had to finish what we started. And now..."
"...and now Richard's dead, but my son might have done the job for you, so it worked out in the end. Is that it?"
Shane is quiet for a moment. "Clean slate. That's all I want. I want you alive, I want Judy alive. And when this is all over, if we both make it through this? I want us to be friends again. I'm not sayin' I'm not an idiot. But I'll protect Carl like he's my own, brother. You know that."
His father doesn't respond for a moment, but when he does, his voice wavers, the man sounding far older than his years. "Do I?"
Carl blinks rapidly, taken aback by the animosity in his father's tone. Carl has never had any reason to doubt Shane's intentions. Shane is impulsive with a bit of a temper, but he's always been straightforward. There are no tricks or ulterior motives to the man, or at least, none that Carl knew of. So why does his father think otherwise? Rick continues, his voice shaking.
"Negan made me choose between Carl and Judith, did he tell you that? I had to choose who they were going to kill. And Carl-the entire time he was on that ground, he was calm, telling me it was ok….like he knew who I was going to pick before I did. And he was right. I couldn't-Judith was innocent, I couldn't- I chose her over Carl, Shane. If our situations were reversed, can you honestly say you'd do the same? That if you had to, you'd pick Carl over her?"
The argument sends Carl's head spinning. He knows Shane is attached to the little girl, but his father's point is lost on him. There's a story there, one he doesn't understand, and one that bothers him. But Dad doesn't stop, his voice lowering to nearly a growl.
"We don't get clean slates, not anymore. You told me once that I wasn't 'made for this world'. But you don't know what the fuck I've done to get my people this far, to get Judith this far. We are not the same men we were, before. And maybe that's a good thing, maybe we can be friends again despite it all. But that? That depends on you, Shane. I wasn't there to protect Carl, and with this war coming, and him hidin' here, I won't be here to protect him now. So if you keep lookin' after him the way you have been? Maybe we have a chance at that. But if you pull half the shit you pulled at the farm and the prison? And you drag Carl and Judith into it? I will put you down."
If the conversation continues much further, Carl's not sure it will be for the better. So he shuts the water off, making a point to cough loudly as he grabs a fresh set of Kingdomer clothes. He can hear the two men straightening up outside, and they're still avoiding meeting each other's eyes when Carl steps out. He raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of them.
"Y'all havin' that dick measurin' contest out here, instead?" Rick blinks profusely at this, swallowing hard and offering an unsteady smile. But he doesn't deny it, and neither does Shane.
They walk to the mess hall in terse silence.
Boisterous laughter echoes from the other side of the dining hall door. Carl braces himself for the the glares that are sure to be aimed his way, for the silence that's sure to fall when he enters, but as he opens the door, he encounters something else entirely. A dart flying at his face.
He almost dodges it, but still takes the hit with a flinch. He stands there for a moment, stunned, just staring dumbly down at the little object piercing his shoulder. An awkward silence follows, with several onlookers putting hands to their mouths to hold back their laughter.
"Oops." He hears, followed by uneasy chuckles. He looks up to see a rather guilty looking prince grinning at him sheepishly.
"See if I get ya down from a tree, again." He mutters to Benjamin, rolling his eyes and grimacing as he removes the offending object. His shoulder bleeds a little from the puncture wound, but the dart is lightweight and the pain only annoying, at best. He turns, spotting a makeshift dartboard the players have posted to the wall. Someone has drawn an outline of themselves on posterboard, with a crudely drawn outline of a bat appearing above their shoulder. While it looks nothing like the man, it doesn't take a huge leap of imagination to figure out who they had been attempting to draw.
"Sorry. My aim….er….needs some practice." Ben remarks. "Dinner isn't ready yet, so we're just killing time. Didn't mean to nearly kill you." Ben jokes, eyeing his friend in concern. Carl just shrugs, rubbing the sore spot in the meat of his shoulder.
"Nah, you're good. If we're playin' darts, I'm in." He says, much to the surprise of everyone else in the room. He almost takes the offer back, shifting uncomfortably under their befuddled expressions. But Ben's smile just widens.
"We're playin' Kingdom vs. Hilltop, right now. Me and Henry against Jesus and….uh….sorry, I'm not good with names."
"Maggie." The woman clarifies politely. There's a mischievous glint in the pregnant woman's eye, the game appearing to have brought out her competitive side. Rick and Shane move to take a seat, looking equally amused by the situation.
"Hey, if Kingdom gets another player, so do we." Jesus remarks, his tone light and teasing.
Shane shakes his head even as he smiles. "You sure that's fair, man? I mean, Carl might be a pirate an' all, but he's only got the one eye."
Wordlessly, Carl takes the bloody dart in his hand and aims. He hits the drawing of Negan square in the forehead, just slightly to the left of the bullseye. The others guffaw. He turns, offering them a lopsided smile of his own. "How'd you think I learned to aim a rifle? Don't have to waste bullets with darts. Just gotta aim to the right of what it looks like I'm goin' for."
"Crap. I've never thought about that, before. It screws with your depth perception, right? So when you aim, instead of aiming for his head-" Shane begins, scratching his chin.
"I'm aimin' for the wall to the right of him. The closer something is, the less I have to do it. I'm just used to figuring out how far off I am, I guess."
"Which proves Jesus's point. Anybody want to join our side?" Maggie asks, looking to the seated group. Most look away sheepishly, avoiding the game for one reason or another, so Carl is surprised when Sophia rises to her feet.
"I'll stand for Hilltop." She says, a smile tracing her lips. She looks more relaxed than she had before, although her eyes still don't hold the same warmth they had back in Alexandria. Maggie gives the girl a high five when Sophia joins them, a mischievous grin adorning both of their faces. Carl soon discovers why.
Sophia hits the bullseye. Every. Single. Time.
Which Carl should have known, really, since the two hatchets and assortment of knives strapped to the girl's hip are smaller than typical weapons. He had mistakenly assumed that she preferred smaller weapons because of her smaller hands, but the reality is that she prefers throwing knives, which must make darts a piece of cake for the other teen.
So while Benjamin's performance improves the longer the game goes on, their team is still slaughtered by the competition. Henry hits the poster at least once, much to his excitement. But between the biblical ninja, a tough-as-nails widow, and hatchet girl, they never had a chance. By the time the cooks bring the food, Carl almost thinks he needs another shower, sweating from the small effort. But something about the game has put doubts and awkwardness aside, and when Sophia meets his gaze, she's actually smiling. The sight of it makes his heart flip, especially after her accusing looks from earlier in the day.
But Carl's happiness completely disappears the moment he sees what's being served.
Spaghetti.
The meal is a delicacy now, he knows, and a cow must have been slaughtered especially for the occasion. He should be grateful, but his heart still sinks at the sight of it, at the meal that was Negan's specialty. He tries to tell himself that it's different enough to not matter. The chefs have mixed the ground meat in with the pasta, rather than cooking up meatballs like Negan had always preferred. And from the smell, Carl is sure that it will taste different, as well. The scent of basil is heavier and the tang of vinegar is missing altogether. But that doesn't stop his appetite from completely disappearing in a manner of seconds.
He had been happy back then, eating side by side with Negan and Frankie as a child. What had gone wrong? What had changed? While the others quickly take their spots at the table, fully invested in the array of food before them, Sophia notices his reluctance. She furrows her brow, but doesn't say anything, taking her own seat beside her mother. As plates are served, Carl merely picks at his meal.
But the morale of the others is instantly lifted, so he offers a smile as he listens to their stories. Rick talks lightheartedly about what a terrible cook Lori was, about how she would always burn pancakes. Shane talks about a steakhouse that offered discounts to anyone that showed up in a uniform. Ben talks about how he would do anything for a Whopper, again. Everyone talks about how long it's been since they've eaten beef.
But once again, Carl is stumped about what to say. All of his anecdotes are from Sanctuary, and are sure to kill the mood again. Does he talk about his meals with Negan? Or the days of dog food sandwiches? Or how excited he'd been, after his first pickup, to get actual chicken to eat? Does he talk about the bunker, and the plethora of food they had found inside? Every story leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and will lead to questions he doesn't want to answer.
But to his surprise, it isn't his comment that sours the mood. It's Michonne'shen she mentions how much she misses cantaloupe.
It isn't her fault. In fact, once she brings it up, the visitors talk among themselves about their favorite way to eat the fruit, some adding sugar on top with others preferring it plain. None of them notice the Kingdomers suddenly going silent, or are aware of the missing fruit's involvement in Richard's death. But thankfully, the topic moves on, the dour mood quickly replaced when everyone starts talking about what their favorite food is. Most of what's picked are things from the World that Was. Ice cream comes up often, as does steak.
Carl doesn't even really remember what his favorite food had been, back before the world ended. He's not even sure what it is now. But now they're all looking to him for his answer, so he shrugs, mentioning the first thing that comes to mind.
"Pudding." He says plainly, fidgeting with his gloves. He wants to do something to help move the conversation along, something to keep his hands busy, but the untouched spaghetti is practically congealing on his plate. If he made an attempt to eat it now, he's not sure the sauce would even stay in his mouth.
"That's it? Just 'pudding'. Any special type? Banana, chocolate-" Michonne begins.
"Just plain. Vanilla, I guess. Best thing I ever tasted." Carl remembers, thinking back. "This group I was in, one of their people had family in North Carolina. They were big doomsdayers, had a huge plot of land with an underground bunker. Tons of food, water filters, weapons, you name it. We walked all the way from Georgia for that bunker. By the time we got there, it was just me and him, and neither one of us had eaten in a while. First thing I grabbed was a giant pudding mix. Ate the whole container by myself." He smiles, thinking back on the memory.
"So that's why you came north. I was wonderin' what made you leave Georgia." Rick murmurs, almost talking to himself as he does.
"What about you? What made you leave?" Carl asks. Rick looks almost guilty at the question, sighing deeply.
"I almost didn't. Convinced myself that leavin' Georgia would mean leavin' any chance of findin' you. But…." He trails off, searching for an explanation. Maggie fills in for him.
"We thought there was a chance for a cure." She says softly. "One of our members, Eugene? Not sure if you've met him or not. He claimed he was a scientist, that he needed to make it to DC. And all of us, we had just come out of a really bad place in Georgia. A really, really bad place. I think….we all wanted a chance at a new beginning. A cure offered that."
"I didn't give up on the idea you were alive." Rick says guiltily, his eyes glazed. "But I….I thought that I might not ever find you. And a cure...wherever you were, it would've made the world a better place for you. And for Judith. But it was all a lie…. there was no cure, never was."
"The new world's gonna need Rick Grimes….that's what the map was about? Gettin' you to join them?" Shane asks. Rick nods lowly.
"The cure might have been a lie, but that map wasn't." Maggie insists, her eyes sharp. "We're here, where we're supposed to be. And this? Our communities? Together, we can build a new world, one our children can be safe in." As others nod and murmur in agreement with her words, Jesus smiles smugly. Maybe Carl was wrong. Maybe the biblical ninja isn't the one pulling the strings at Hilltop, after all. The woman before him is a far cry from the sobbing, sick mess he had first seen her in. Her speech is steady, her posture every bit as authoritative as Rick's. They toast her words, and the more the night goes on, the more at ease King Ezekiel seems with his new guests.
Maybe there is hope, after all.
Carl gets nearly an hour into the lengthy dinner before he screws it all up.
He manages to stay quiet for the most part, even with a more lively Ben and a strangely friendly Michonne both working to rope him into conversations. He doesn't bring up Negan, doesn't bring up Sanctuary, and for his own sake, doesn't bring up Lori, so the crowd nearly forgets his relation to all three. While some of the Alexandrians still seem wary of him, whatever transpired between the time he slept and their dart game has set them at ease. And once alcohol starts flowing, tongues and attitudes only loosen more.
It's around the third round of drinks that Shane begins to bring shit up.
"Wouldn'a thought a Savior would be afraid of a little liquor." He smirks, his hand slightly wavering as he tries to offer Carl some hard cider. Again.
"You haven't had to share a vehicle with Martinez." Carl says, crinkling his nose. It's homemade stuff, a gift brought from the Alexandrians and made from their own orchard. But he's been blackout drunk, before. And he never intends to be that drunk, again.
"Who's…..who's Martinez?" Shane asks, slurring just enough to be noticeable.
"I forgot you hadn't heard that story." Carl grumbles, fidgeting with his gloves.
"Wha….what story?" Shane repeats, blinking. Rick leans back in his chair, rubbing his scruff as he contemplates something.
"I've only heard it second-hand, myself." Rick admits. "One of the saviors' trucks got into a car accident on the way to our pickup, and one the men claimed to be the only survivor. Turns out, he'd caused the accident after drinkin' and left the rest of them for dead."
"He always was an asshole." Carl mutters. "I tried to get him to let someone else drive, but he didn't want Negan to find out. So he fishtails the jeep and next thing I know, I'm waking up, stuck in my seatbelt, upside down, with windows busted and biters all crawlin' for us. Looked me dead in the eyes and left me behind so I wouldn't snitch on him. Jerk always did reek of booze."
"And then Jesse James here tamed a wild horse, and trots through our gates like nothing is wrong. Didn't say anything, didn't answer Negan's questions. Just shot Martinez square in the face." Michonne adds, shaking her head. "It's how he ended up in our infirmary for a while; He was pretty banged up from the accident. Negan left him with us until he could walk on his own again."
Ben's eyes widen, practically as big as the teen's gaping mouth. "That's what you meant about shooting people on horseback."
But Carl shakes his head. "Nah, I was talkin' about the wolves, then. Looters. It's….well, it's a long story. Never realized how tricky it is to do. Specially with a horse wantin' to rear up the entire time."
Shane whistles lowly. "Guess teenagers don't ever change, even in the apocalypse. Killin' men on horseback and taking humvees for joy rides, but still too self-conscious to eat damn spaghetti in front of other people." He chortles, taking back another swig of hard cider.
Carl glares.
The others are confused.
And then practically the entire table is staring at Carl's untouched plate. The ex-deputy's hovering nature is coming back to bite Carl now, the man somehow noticing what even Rick had overlooked during the feast.
"Self-conscious about...spaghetti?" Ezekiel inquires, his brow furrowed. Carl swallows hard, shaking his head in an effort to placate the king, but an inebriated Shane answers for him.
"Oh, he probably likes it. He just won't eat any of it. Or drink anything. Or do anything that might cause some of it to slip through his cheek and embarrass him in front of his friends. Especially in front of a pretty girl." He says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at a flustered Sophia.
"Fuck you." Carl growls, glowering warningly at the other man. But Shane doesn't know when to let up. He smirks, pointing jokingly towards the simmering Carl as he leans across the table.
"That reaction? That right there? That is 5% Negan, 5% Rick, and 90% all Lori Grimes. Down to the glare, I swear."
"Don't ever compare me to her." Carl scowls, clenching his fists. Shane's amused attitude has worn off, replaced by an offended one. Even Rick is taken aback, an eyebrow raised as he watches the two warily.
"Yeah? And why not?" Shane demands indignantly.
Carl doesn't want to go down this path. They're in a public place, and he shouldn't feed into whatever Shane's playing at. He should back off and keep to clipped, unemotional answers. That's what he would have done in Sanctuary. Doing anything else could've gotten him killed. But there aren't any repercussions, here. Princes ran away from home and barely got slaps on their wrists in return. And Carl is tired of holding back. If Shane is going to be gossiping about his attitude problems with other people and talking like he's a dog with behavioral issues, he might as well give the man good reason to.
"Do you know how long I waited at that school?" He seethes at last, glaring at the other man. Shane's eyes widen in response, but Carl doesn't give him a chance to butt in, continuing in a low voice.
"Everyone else's parents came and picked them up except for mine. And the entire time it was happening, I kept telling myself, 'I just have to wait here. Mom's never been late. She'd never leave me behind.' Even when the teachers decided to leave with the other students, I wouldn't go with them. I fought them, threw a tantrum in the middle of the street with biters roaming around, until they were forced to leave me behind. I was that sure that she would come. But she didn't. I spent years telling myself that she had to have died, or been bitten before she had a chance to find me. But one day I walk into Alexandria and realize that not only did she live, she was alive long enough to have a freaking baby. Dad didn't have a choice, he was laid up in a coma in a freaking hospital. But Mom? She gave up on me. She gave up on me, made a fake grave for me, and left me for dead, just like Martinez did. So yeah, excuse me if I don't want to be compared to that bitch."
Chairs rumble across the floor, with both Rick and Shane reacting immediately to his words. But while Rick seems stunned, almost as if he's been slapped, Shane simultaneously looks like he's ready to throw a punch and he's ready to cry. Carl finds himself fingering his pocketknife as he glares back at the other man. Maybe there were no repercussions for princes, but if he pushed enough, there might still repercussions for him.
"Don't you ever call her that. Ever. That-that ain't-that ain't what happened. Carl, your mom and I-" Shane starts, nearly stuttering in aggravation.
"You keep sayin' that, but sayin' it doesn't make it true. Everyone from Alexandria keeps giving you these looks, Shane. Like you're about to implode or somethin'. And you said so yourself, you parted in bad blood after that Governor guy. Why is that?" The Alexandrians look uncomfortable at the topic, but Shane shakes his head rapidly, wavering as he does. But then the shaking descends into a nod, and the man's shoulders slump as he visibly deflates.
"Because I screw up everythin' I touch, that's why. It was….it was my fault. Is that what you want to know, huh? Is that what you want to hear?! It wasn't Lori's fault. It was mine, because I screwed up with you just like I screwed up with your dad and Judith." Shane's voice breaks, and under the influence of alcohol, Carl swears the man is starting to weep. Carl stares at him in shock, but Rick rises to his feet, knuckles popping as he stands.
"What do you mean, it's 'your fault'?" The other man asks lowly, clenching his jaw. Shane falters for a moment before bowing his head and shaking his head.
"We….went went to the school, Carl, we did. We looked for you. But there wasn't anybody there, nobody at the pickup line. The place was a ghost town. The doors were locked, and somebody had posted a note on the door….your favorite teacher, you remember her? Mrs. Mueller? She left a note saying that they had taken the kids that were left to Atlanta."
The words echo in Carl's head, echoing again and again until he can hardly think straight. But Shane continues, desperately. "We called for you. And your mom, she wanted me to break into the school, wanted to make sure you weren't there-"
Carl feels the cold, damp condensation of his school's basement against his brow. Feels the hunger that had crept upon him, leading him to discover the abandoned freezer's decaying contents. He feels the loneliness, the fear.
"But it was the first time biters were just roamin' in the streets, and for all I knew, you were in Atlanta. My goal was to get your mom somewhere safe. I owed it to Rick, I-she was hysterical, kept drawin' more of them. And I had to get her out of there. She wanted to keep looking, she wanted to make sure, but neither of us saw you, and I…..I convinced her to move on. To head to Atlanta, see if she could find you there. So don't you blame her. It was never on her, never. You, your dad….I was the one that screwed up, ok? I. Screwed. Up."
The man is crying now, but Carl only feels numb. He should hate the man. Or hate his mother. Or hate himself. But he doesn't really hate any of them, or feel anything at all. He just feels a grim, dull acceptance.
"I was hungry." He murmurs, glaring at the uneaten spaghetti. "I kept telling myself that I needed to wait at the entrance, but I was hungry, so I went to the basement to get food from the cafeteria freezers. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. I never left. I was there." His voice cracks for the first time in ages, ever since his voice deepened.
"You should have seen her….when she saw the bombs fall over Atlanta? It broke her, Carl. It broke her. We never knew for sure. We thought you and the other students might have been on the road when it happened, or that you could have been in the city, already. We didn't know. But we never….I convinced her to leave. I convinced her we didn't have time to look through the whole damn school. So it wasn't on her. It was on me."
For a moment, a pin could drop and Carl would have heard it. The entire table is enraptured in the little drama playing out before them. But Carl is tired, so utterly tired, and his entire life has been turned upside down. So the only eyes he really notices are Henry's.
The golden-haired little boy is old enough to understand the gist of what they're talking about, even if he's never heard the full context behind it. He's old enough to know what it's like to lose the people you love. And he's looking at Carl expectantly, like anything Carl is about to say is right. He's looking up to Carl.
Carl isn't a little kid anymore. He hasn't been a kid for a while, regardless of what Shane or his father thinks. So it's time Carl stopped acting like the little boy that was left behind at school, and start acting like the person Henry and Benjamin think he is.
"Sometimes people die." He repeats dully, Henry's eyes still meeting his. "And sometimes bad things happen, no matter how much we try. It was just a screwed up situation. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't….it wasn't anybody's." He says dully.
But it is my fault. He thinks, the words at the tip of his tongue. It's my fault for not being smarter, for having gone into that basement at all. For having left the bunker in search for food. For having lied to Negan, for having hidden who I was from Dad. For leaving Sherry back in the forest.
But with Henry's eyes on his, he doesn't say any of that. He doesn't say any of it at all.
He still thinks it.
Running away from uncomfortable dinner conversations is getting rather repetitive. But to his credit, Shane had left the table first, and then his father after him, so at this point, Carl doesn't care what anyone else thinks. He tries to pretend none of this exists, and leans back on the rooftop, using his hat to shield his eye. The sun peeks just above the horizon, low enough to paint the sky in a multitude of hues, but just high enough to blind him. But even with a glare in his eye, the view from the top of the stable is stunning. Almost stunning enough to distract him from everything that just happened.
His hands are still shaking, much to his annoyance. He grabs a cigarette out of his pocket, grimacing at the coughing fit he's sure he's going to fall into.
"I didn't know you smoked." A soft voice sounds below, and he flicks his gaze downwards. He nearly rolls his eyes when he sees who it is. Sophia. Great. Just who he needed to help calm his nerves.
"I don't. But I'm thinking of startin'." He growls, flicking the lighter. But he struggles to light it, his hand still shaking. Sophia is quicker than he gives her credit for, hoisting herself up on the same hay bales he'd used and climbing onto the stable's roof. At first, he expects her to scold him, but instead she reaches towards the lighter with an open palm. "Here, let me." She urges.
He lets her light it, and sure enough, as soon as he's taken his first puff, he's nearly coughing as much as he had when he had first tried Sherry's fag, once upon a time. Sophia cocks her head to the side.
"Where did you even get that from?" She questions. Carl shrugs, looking across the pastures rather than meeting the girl's gaze. He can hear nickering beneath them, the horses not too keen on the strange noises above their heads.
"They grow some tobacco around here, in places the king don't go lookin'. Just traded it for some magazines I found." It was actually the skin mag Ben had found in the humvee, but he doesn't tell her that part. She nods.
"Mom smokes, sometimes, when she doesn't think I'm looking. I don't know why she bothers to hide it now, she never did back when Dad was alive." Carl offers her a side glance.
"Do you?" He questions. She shrugs. "Just never picked up the habit. Tried a homemade joint that Ron made, one time. Don't tell Rick that, though, I think he'd have a stroke if he realized there are still plants growin' inside the gates. Enid probably still smokes them. She used to get high with him a lot."
Sophia's sudden talkativeness unnerves Carl, so he takes another puff and looks the other way.
"Why are you here?" He asks bluntly, coughing as he does. "Did Dad send you or something?"
She examines him closely, like a cat watching a canary. But then she shrugs, shaking her head. "Nobody sent me. I don't think they've figured out where you disappeared to, yet. But I brought something for you." She says, digging through her knapsack. She tosses something at him and he barely catches it in time. He blinks at it, and she grins. It's a pudding cup.
"You don't have to eat it in front of me or anything. Shane explained the whole suture thing. Well, as best as he could while he was still out of it, anyways. I just figured….I haven't exactly…." She trails off suddenly, opening her own pudding cup and spooning at its contents nervously. Carl shakes his head, speaking first.
"You don't have to feel bad about hating me. Daryl's a good guy, and he's in trouble because of what I did. I get it." He says, contemplating the pudding. He marvels at where she got it, not remembering having seen it in the cafeteria before.
"That's why I was so angry, I think. I wanted to hate you. But I don't." she says simply, and Carl gives her a befuddled look. Girls are officially confusing. One minute she's being nice to him, the next she's yelling at him, and now she's offering him pudding cups.
When he doesn't reply, she continues on, her voice nearly as soft and hesitant as it had been when he first met her.
"Michonne said you figured it out, that they were using me to get you to talk more? That part's true. But I….you really weren't bad to hang out with, Carl. Honestly? I enjoyed hanging out with you more than I ever did Ron and Enid. When I first came to Alexandria and they were talking about video games and school drama it just….it was all so stupid and petty, and Ron was such a jerk. But with you, it was two birds with one stone, you know? I felt like I was doing something useful again, being more than just a stupid babysitter, and you were fun to talk to. Mom….she kept getting worried about it, telling me to be careful or I'd end up like her and Dad. My bio dad, I mean. And I kept telling her off, telling her that I was smarter than that."
Carl blinks. The idea that he had been the source of any arguments between Sophia and her mother is complete news to him.
"And when Negan came, and we found out who you were, it was like everything fell into place, you know? All my gut instincts about you were right. You were a good guy, Mom was wrong, and you had just been trying to help us all along….I kept defending you, even when everyone was in an uproar about it. Told them how you had always been respectful with me. And everything was falling into place. You were Rick's son, we were going to rescue you, we were going to show Negan who was boss, and everything was going to be ok, you know?"
"But when it fell apart, when you disappeared and they took Daryl…..it was like a slap in the face. You didn't….I know it wasn't your fault, I know that, but it felt like….it was like the universe was laughing at me for letting myself care about you, like if I had been more standoffish, maybe Daryl would be safe and none of this would have ever happened. And now….now, whenever we siege Sanctuary, there's a possibility that even if he survives that long, they'll kill him or he'll die in the attack. And I was just….I was so angry that it was all falling apart, and I needed someone to blame. So there you go. There's that." She says decisively, nodding as she dips into her pudding cup.
Carl is flabbergasted, trying to digest this slew of information all at once.
"There's….that?" He repeats dumbly. She rolls her eyes.
"Yeah. There's that. I messed up. It's a done deal, I can't take it back. What you said back there, about how sometimes bad things happen and it's nobody's fault? You were right. Daryl….he kept blaming himself for Glenn dying, but that wasn't on him. It was on Negan. So what happened to Daryl? That isn't on you, either. I shouldn't have lashed out at you. And now you're feeling bad, and I want you to feel better. So eat your pudding cup. Think of it as a peace offering."
He blinks blearily at it, nodding. "Thanks, Soph."
"And what Shane said earlier? Don't let it get under your skin. He's a loudmouth. A well-intended loudmouth, but a loudmouth. Everyone on Alexandria's side of things knows that."
Carl shrugs, taking another puff of the cigarette. His hands have stopped shaking, but whether it's from the nicotine or from Sophia's reassurance, he's not sure. "It's not his fault. I guess I was like you, I just wanted to blame somebody. Hell, I held a knife to his throat earlier today, so if anything, he should be mad at me."
"Did he deserve it?" Sophia asks, her head cocked to the side. He shrugs.
"No. He just woke me up out of a nightmare. I didn't know who he was, got spooked, was all."
"I have them, too." She says softly. "Nightmares, I mean."
He takes another puff of the cigarette. Even with the disgusting taste and the occasional coughing fit, he's beginning to understand the draw to it. He feels calmer now. Not just calmer than he had been after the disastrous dinner, but calmer than he normally does when talking to people, at all.
"Hadn't had 'em, in a while. But ever since I came to the Kingdom, they've been comin' back." He admits, fidgeting with his gloves.
"Mine were like that, too." Sophia says, softly. "When I was just focused on surviving? It was just another crappy thing that happened. But in Alexandria, when I was someplace safer and I wasn't going hungry….that's when they decided to hit me." She says, her own eyes glazed. She looks off into the sunset, biting her lip. "And the stupid thing about it all? Out of all the horrible things we've seen, out of everything we've been through, it's about something small that happened at the beginning of all of this. Wouldn't even phase me if it happened now, but back then? I was just a stupid, scared little girl."
"I was stupid and scared, alright. But it wasn't….I was older, I should have handled it better. I should have known better." He says, watching smoke curl as he breathes out. "I'm sorry I don't remember you." He says suddenly, turning to her. "I remember the fight, that those boys were picking on somebody. But I don't even remember what you looked like."
"That's probably for the best. Ratty clothes. Short hair, freckles. I never got rid of those, but I was so awkward back then."
"I'm still awkward. So you win the puberty prize, I guess." Carl says, smiling. Sophia shakes her head. "You're not awkward. You remind me of Daryl, sometimes, actually. Once you're done being puffed up and gruff, you're actually kind of sweet."
"Sweet. Lord, don't let Shane hear you say that, he'll never let me live it down." Carl guffaws, shaking his head. Sophia rolls her eyes.
"You've always stood up for other people, though, even back then. Me? I just watched Dad beat on Mom night after night, and didn't do a damn thing about it." She says darkly. She gets a strange look in her eye, and then reaches out towards Carl, her palm outstretched. "Mind if I take a puff?"
"Didn't you say you were trying to convince your mom that I'm not a bad influence?" Carl asks, his eyebrow raised.
"If you're the 'bad boy', that would make Prince Benjamin the 'golden boy'. And since you got him out of trouble, something tells me it's the other way around." Carl hands the cigarette to her, smirking as she coughs nearly as much as he did.
"Nah, he'll always be the golden boy. But he actually deserves the title. Pretty sure running away on that stupid ass mission is the first rebellious thing the kid's ever done in his life. And that was to get his Dad's body back, so I can't really fault him, on that."
"Huh. Guess he can join the dead dad club, too, then." Sophia retorts breezily, handing the cigarette back to him. Stupidly, foolishly, he feels a little giddy when it touches his lips again. Something about the fact that it touched her lips before his….crap. He's thinking with his dick. He has to stop thinking with his dick.
"Yeah, guess so." Carl agrees, trying to distract himself. He thinks of what fat Joey looks like naked. He thinks of what biters look like naked. But then he's thinking….he's thinking about what other people look like naked, and he knows he shouldn't. So instead he tries to blink all of it away and think of nothing at all, shifting uncomfortably as he looks out over the pastures. The sun has finally dipped below the horizon, enough to where he can look at the sky without being blinded, at last. Sophia leans forward, resting her chin on her knees.
"Daryl calls me 'lil cherokee', sometimes. When we were on the road, I got shot in a hunting accident. It's how we met Maggie, actually. I was watching this deer, but one of the guys from his farm was hunting it and didn't know I was there." She says, pulling down her blouse's collar. She pulls it just a few inches below her collarbone, revealing an old scar.
"I dropped my doll when it happened. Another little girl had given it to me on the road, before her family left for Birmingham. She was nice to me, and I'd never had a friend before, so it meant a lot, you know? So when I woke up, I pitched an absolute, hysterical fit about it. And Daryl, bless his heart, he…." She trails off for a moment, fighting to keep her voice from breaking.
"He went tearin' through the woods lookin' for that stupid doll. But he got hurt really trying to find it, and I felt terrible about it. All of this commotion was over me getting hurt, me acting like a stupid, scared little girl and running from biters on the highway. So when I started to feel better, I went and picked some flowers for him, to thank him for getting my doll back. He said they were cherokee roses. They were a symbol of hope, meant to comfort Native American mothers who lost their children on the trail of tears. And so I….I gave Lori one. For you." She says softly, looking a little guilty as she side-eyes Carl. "I made her cry. Everyone thought it was sweet, but it was stupid of me, really. To put her on the spot like that."
"But the thing is, that's the day I keep having nightmares about. Because….the place we were staying, Maggie's dad thought walkers were just sick people. He was keeping them trapped in his barn, but he wouldn't kill any of them. Shane went ballistic when he found out, so surprise surprise, he caused a scene and tore the barn open to put 'em all down. And there….inside…..it was the entire Morales family. They never….they never made it to Birmingham. And that little girl, the one that gave me the doll? She just stared at me, with those dull grey eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen a child biter, before. And it was someone I knew. Rick put her down. And then he put her parents down. But he couldn't….he couldn't put their little boy down. So Shane did it for him." She breathes deeply, taking a shuddering breath.
"It was just….it was a hard day. So when we buried them, I buried the doll with her. I promised myself that I would stop being that scared little girl. So I started beggin' Daryl to teach me how to use throwing knives, started learnin' how to use those hatchets. And when my hair grew out, I started wearing it in pigtails, so he started callin' me a 'lil cherokee'. I used to be annoyed by it, I thought it was insensitive, you know? I don't even have a drop of Indian blood in me. But now….now I miss it. And I can't….I could joke about the dead dad club before, because it was a good thing Daddy died, honestly. But Daryl? If he dies, I can't….I don't…..I'll just be that scared little girl again."
Carl doesn't know what to say to all of that, or how to respond. A hug would be too forward, and maybe even unsafe on the roof. So instead he just leans into her shoulder, hoping his actions will come across as comforting as he means them. To his relief, it seems to work, the girl able to swallow back the tears building in her eyes. Wordlessly, he offers her his cigarette once more, which she eagerly takes, sending smoke into the lilac sky.
They sit in silence for a moment, each keeping to their own thoughts. With neither of them sure of what to say, he finally grabs the pudding cup, opening it and taking the spoon she had given him.
"You don't have to eat it in front of me if you don't want to-" She starts to protest, but he waves his hand dismissively.
"Naw, that's….I mean, it's gross when I eat, so that's part of it, I guess. But….I'm just weird about food in general. Even before Negan screwed up my mouth."
"You seemed to handle tuna ok." She jokes, watching as he fidgets with the spoon.
"Tuna's crap food, though. I can handle that. Dogfood, beans, canned stuff. Give me any of that? And I'll gulf it down no problem. But anytime I eat good, bad things happen, or it's because of something bad I did. Just makes my stomach twist up." He lifts the spoon, watching as the vanilla jiggles.
"That guy I went to North Carolina with, who owned the bunker? When we got there, the place hadn't been touched. He had been so sure that his family would be there to meet us, that they all had this plan to go there if anything went wrong, but none of 'em made it. So when I was eating my pudding, he ate a bullet." He admits softly. This time, Sophia is the one that leans into him, but he feels dull as he recites the story.
"Only...he shot it in his mouth, right? So he missed the brain. Shot off a large part of his upper pallet, even blew off part of his nose. So he was still alive, bleedin' out, screaming in agony, and he kept beggin' for me to kill him. I don't even know if I was even thirteen yet, I might've still been twelve. But I did it. He was the first person that wasn't turned that I ever killed. I ate off his family's food for months, but eventually I still ran out. So I went scavenging, and who did I run into? The fucking claimers. If I had just figured out how to get more food, ate more worms, or just dealt with being hungry, I never would have run into them. And then, later, with the Saviors, whenever I ate good, it was because I made Negan happy or cause I was doin' pickups. And now, with Mom…..it's the same damn thing. If I hadn't gone into that basement, if I had just toughed it out a little longer, then who knows? I might have met you on the road." He examines the pudding, his stomach still flipping as he contemplates sticking it in his mouth. He can't look Sophia in the eye, not over this. Not over something as whiny and stupid as this.
"It's stupid. People are starvin' left and right, and here I am whinin' over spaghetti an' soup. But eatin' good….even without the damn cheek, something just feels wrong about it. Like I don't deserve it, or that it's going to make everything fall apart. Makes me lose my appetite."
"It's not stupid." She says softly, looking into the sky. After a moment's pause, she continues. "I'm still afraid of men." She admits suddenly.
Carl looks at her cautiously, but she's quick to correct him. "Not of you. I mean….older men. The claimers, they-they didn't even get far, with me. Had me pinned on the ground, were startin' to pull my pants down. But your Dad, he just-" She shakes her head, laughing nervously at the memory.
"Your Dad? Daryl? Our people? They're mine. They're family. I know they're safe. But when we first came to Alexandria? I kept flinchin' if any of the older guys so much as looked my way. Felt like I did when Daddy was still alive, like I was always expectin' a beatin' or for one of them to jump me out of nowhere."
I know the feeling. He thinks to himself, taking one last drag of the cigarette. He watches the embers dwindle as he puts the butt out, the sky nearly dark.
"I'm still waitin' for that beatin', too." He says.
"You losin' half your face don't count?" She teases. He shrugs.
"I expected that. Didn't expect it to happen when it did, but I knew I wasn't gettin' out of that situation without takin' a beating from somebody. But here? In the Kingdom? With a tiger and a magical well and knights and princes? With people looking up to me? None of it's gonna last. I don't...I don't miss Negan because I think he's a good guy. I miss him because, as fucked up as it is, for a while, he was safe, and I didn't have to make any hard decisions for myself, I just followed orders. I knew what to expect from him. He wasn't gonna leave me at a school, or put a bullet to his head and leave me alone in that bunker. If I screwed up or didn't follow orders, then yeah, I got a beating. But I knew it was coming. The rules made sense. This...this waiting? Just waiting for the dominoes to fall? Not knowing if screwin' up means being put in a time out or being fed to Shiva? That's what's making the dreams come back."
"What do you dream about?" She asks softly, curious as she is wary. He thinks about telling her. About how he dreams of dead little boys and their crying mothers. How he dreams of final warnings and bullets flying through the air. Or how the same things happen to Henry, to Benjamin, to Sophia, and that he's always the one behind the trigger.
But he doesn't say any of that. He doesn't answer her at all. He just takes the entire pudding cup, knocking it back like it's a shot of liquor.
"Ghosts." He says at last, ignoring how the pudding oozes through his sutures. "I dream about ghosts."
Author's Notes: So….writing conversation scenes isn't my strong suit, and this chapter was nothing but that, so please let me know your thoughts below, both good and bad! I hope this isn't coming across as too long-winded, but now that a lot of important players are coming together for the first time, there's a lot for them to hash out. We'll be back to your regularly scheduled action scenes and zombie killing in a little bit.
Also, I'm not trying to push smoking as romantic or cool, just trying to depict realistic, unhealthy coping mechanisms teenagers in the apocalypse might have.
