Recap as Requested: AU Timeline Differences:

- Due to a misunderstanding from a note left behind by evacuating teachers, Carl was never picked up from school at the beginning of the outbreak.

- Abandoned, he traveled with various groups at first, 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 story, 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.

-(new) The Morales family were the ones trapped in Hershel's barn, not Sophia. This event motivated her to learn how to defend herself.

- 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. Having not 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 get lengthier the longer the story goes on due to timelines diverging.


Chapter 14

Today is the day of the memorial. It's the same day that King Ezekiel will announce whether the Kingdom will go to war.

It's also the day that a quarter of the town wakes up hungover.

The combination of those things makes for an interesting morning, especially for someone who hadn't been drinking. As an early riser, Carl makes a point of keeping an eye on the place, as the guards seem too hungover to do it, themselves. It's not that he suspects his father of anything, but he doesn't know his father's people very well. Who's to say one of them isn't actually a traitor? That one of them won't take advantage of the populace's inebriated state to stage an attack?

The grey tabby that roams the hallways seems unimpressed with his paranoia, flicking her tail as she rests comfortably on a windowsill. He doesn't know her name, only that she's unusually lazy today, her belly filled with scraps from the feast rather than rats from the storeroom. She stares at him, and he stares right back at her.

He's seated in a small recreational area outside of the bunk rooms, one that people occasionally use to scarf down breakfast or play boardgames. The visitors were put in the rooms beside Carl, likely for the same reason he'd been-so they would be closer to the guards' quarters. But the arrangement is pointless, because right now, there isn't a guard in sight. So when Carl hears a door creaking, he looks up suddenly, his fingers lingering near his belt.

But there is no threat. There's only Michonne, uncharacteristically wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. No bra. She practically looks like a college student sneaking out of a dorm, a far cry from the stone-faced, sometimes teasing guardian he had become familiar with. He's surprised that she would let her guard down like this, while sleeping in a stranger's court. But then again, he's also paranoid enough to sleep in a corner with his boots on, so he supposes he might be overreacting.

He swears that the cat raises its eyebrow at him.

Do cats even have eyebrows?

For a moment, Michonne is startled to see him, but her expression completely changes the moment she lays eyes on the feline.

Ok, so this is the most feminine he's ever seen her. She practically ignores him as she approaches the tabby, cooing and outstretching her fingers to let the animal sniff her. And then, the same cat that has ignored and judged him the entire time he's been in the Kingdom has the gall to rub her ankle affectionately.

He swears it looks smug.

"Never took you for a cat person." He says, watching the two of them. Michonne grins back, practically glowing as she pets the animal.

"Most people don't. You a dog person, then?"

"Don't know. Never really had either."

"Thing about cats…." She says slowly, rubbing the animal's chin, "...is they do things in their own time. Sometimes they're cuddly. Sometimes you cuddle them and it's too much, so they bite you back. But if you let them do their thing and don't get too worked up over things like that? They'll love you for life." She says softly, still cooing.

"Feeding them helps, I've heard." Carl says smugly, smirking, noticing how the cat is sniffing the air. "You gave her scraps last night, didn't you?"

Michonne shrugs. "Might have. Same thing worked on you, once upon a time, if I recall."

"Are you comparing me to a cat?"

"No, but I am comparing Shane to a cat." She says smartly, still petting the feline. As predicted, the cat has decided it has had enough, and with a flick of its ears, goes to swipe at her. Michonne shrugs, withdrawing her hand.

Carl isn't amused by the analogy. "If this is about yesterday, I'm not mad at him." He says flatly, crossing his arms. Michonne nods, giving him an approving look.

"Good, just make sure he knows that. I've seen that man as an angry drunk, before, but I've never seen him as a crying one. Rick had to put him to bed and everything. The man's afraid he's messed things up, with you."

Carl shrugs. "He's afraid he messed things up with Dad, you mean. Especially since Dad looked ready to pummel him last night. Shane only looks after me because I'm Rick's kid."

"Shane and I never liked each other from day one." Michonne says, taking a seat beside him. "He was suspicious of the lady with the swords. I didn't like his temper. He tied me up and took me to the Governor, and I gave him a pretty good beating when I escaped. We've never seen eye to eye. So when I say he thinks of you as a nephew he never had? I mean it."

Carl raises an eyebrow. "He tied you up? Really?"

"It's a long story. Your father's grief causes him to shut down. Shane's grief causes him to make impulsive decisions. I was the dangerous newcomer, so delivering me to the Governor was one of those decisions. Probably the only time him and Merle agreed about anything."

"Merle?"

"Daryl's brother. Imagine Daryl, but where all the white trash stereotypes are actually true. Crackhead, racist, temper, potty mouth, issues with the law, you name it. But he loved Daryl, enough to work alongside Shane if it meant protecting his little brother."

Carl fidgets, chewing at his fingernails in thought. "I shut down too, I think. If I don't have somethin' to do, I just blank out for a while. In a fight? It's fine, don't have time to think about it. But after it's done? Like when I was in the cell, at Sanctuary? Havin' nothin' to do drives me nuts."

"Me, too." Michonne admits, looking at him knowingly. "After the outbreak, I lost myself for a long time. I was just walkin' with the walkers, survivin' day by day, but I wasn't anymore alive than they were. Took good people to bring me back. People like your father. You're a lot more like him than you realize."

Carl harrumphs, rolling his eyes and watching the cat. She's still judging him.

"He's trying, you know." Michonne says softly. "He's spent the last few years being a leader and a father to everyone else, trying to make up for a sin he never committed. He puts on a good face, but when it comes to uncomfortable conversations? He's just as awkward as you are." She smiles, leaning over and poking him in the ribs. Carl scowls, but can't help the smile that comes across his own face. He shakes her head at her antics.

"I just don't know what to say to him. Or anybody, really. Keep expectin' all of this blow back up in my face, for Sophia to poison me or somethin'. For one of y'all to turn and tattle to the Saviors."

"Because of what happened to Buttons? And anything you cared about with Negan?" Michonne asks knowingly, her chin bowed as she tries to make him meet her gaze.

"It's not just the damn horse. It's….it always happens. Open up, talk about crap like this, and it always gets used against you somehow. It's easier just to keep it in."

"The only reason I made it this far? The only reason any of us have? Is because of the people we met along the way." She says firmly. "That doesn't mean there aren't bad people out there, or that the people we love won't hurt us. But we can't survive this on our own, not anymore. Living alone, not trusting anyone, not letting anyone in? Do that, and you're just another walker."

The cat has decided it has had enough of Michonne's dramatic speech, and instead struts over, rubbing at the woman's ankle again. The edges of Michonne's lips twitch in amusement.

It's at this moment another door creaks open, and Carl straightens in his chair, having been far too relaxed and distracted in his conversation with the woman. He hasn't been on his guard, hasn't been watching like he should have.

He doesn't know what he expected, but his father walking out of Michonne's room in only his boxers isn't it.

His father blinks sleepily at the two of them, but within seconds he's wide awake, his mouth agape and his ears flushing red. The man has a wadded up shirt in his hand, one that, flustered, he hastily struggles to pull over his head. Carl looks at Michonne. Then he looks at his dad. Then he looks back at Michonne.

He didn't see that one coming.

"Carl, I…. we weren't keeping it from you...I wasn't trying to…..I kept meaning to talk to you-"

Carl has never had the desire to think about his father's sex life. But now he's pondering over the mornings his father had emerged in a similar state of undress from his parents' bedroom, over his father's reaction over Ron's mother, and over how how utterly weird it is that Michonne has seen both Rick and Carl naked, from back when he was injured and couldn't even take a piss on his own. It's all bringing up mental images he's quick to be rid of. He wrinkles his nose.

"It's, uh, cool, Dad. It's cool." He mutters, surprised by the honesty in his words. Michonne elbows him.

"See what I mean?" Michonne smirks, rolling her eyes. "It's like I said. Bring up an uncomfortable topic? And he's just as awkward as you."

When Carl was a child, he always thought it was supposed to rain at funerals.

The apocalypse had been quick to correct him. As the crowd makes its way to the makeshift graveyard, the sun is still shining, horses are still nickering, and even that grey tabby they had left behind is nonplussed by the whole affair. When the epidemic started, there hadn't been a rapture; nothing had blotted out the sun from the sky. Even with a congregation of people gathered together, even with the series of bodies rotting in the ground, the world still spun on. The world hadn't stopped for death.

It isn't nearly as solemn of an affair as Carl had been expecting, either, but then again, it isn't under usual circumstances. For many of the Kingdomers gathering here, the fact that there are seventeen bodies to bury instead of one is actually a good thing. They can finally put their loved ones to rest. Having a body to bury rather than hastily leaving a loved one behind to a walker herd was a luxury, nowadays.

But there is still tension in the air. The large swaths of civilians are unclear about exactly what happened to Richard, and everyone that knows what happened is looking to King Ezekiel to see what the town is going to do about it. But the king's face doesn't give anything away, his expression as stony as Shiva's alongside him.

The good thing about the amicable weather is that it allows anyone that's hungover to look formidably solemn for the occasion. Shane has taken full advantage of this fact, wearing sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes. Carl can't tell if the other man is willing to make eye contact, but even with Michonne's words still ringing in his ear, he knows now isn't the time to broach the matter with the ex-deputy. So instead, Carl ignores the man, focusing on the people before him.

King Ezekiel and other important players gather to the front, Shane among them. The humvee hasn't been moved, and while the crowd seems startled by the sight of it, the king stands on its hood so he can easily be seen from afar. He motions to the town choir, who softly sing various hymns. It surprises Carl, as he has never known Ezekiel to be a religious man. But the crowd is moved by the music, especially when a violinist joins in.

For ten minutes or so, Ezekiel leads a moment of silence for the fallen. He stands silently on the hood of the humvee, and his people follow suit, some remaining family members moving to the front or talking quietly among themselves. But at last, he raises his hand, and what few people that have been talking fall quiet, waiting to hear their leader's words.

Carl has almost forgotten the sheer respect King Ezekiel can command without uttering a single word. These people are nearly as revenant in their love for the man as Sanctuary is for Negan, but while Negan's worship is founded on brute strength and fear, Ezekiel's is founded on their belief in the magical world he has created for them. But from the pained expression on Ezekiel's face, that belief is about to be shattered.

"Over three centuries ago, men and women came to these lands with a dream. A dream that they could create a city on a hill, a righteous land that their people could be safe and happy in. A place to raise their children in freedom. And since my arrival here, I have done my best to recreate that dream. Drink from the well, replenish the well. Give back as much as we take. A land without oppression, without violence, where people can begin to rebuild again."

"But that city on a hill was not perfect, in the beginning. Even in America, freedom often depended on the color of your skin. And people, good people who disagreed with slavery still stood by and let it happen for years, for fear of tearing their country apart. They feared war, and justly so. Seventeen men lay dead before us, and that is no small thing. Sixteen of these men were killed during the beginning of our settlement here, dying for a chance to help their loved ones and families. They were consumed by the dead. It was my call, my decision, and they died for it. I swore to myself to do all I could to prevent anyone from dying under my lead again. But in doing so….I have become little different than those men who stood by and watched their fellow countrymen be enslaved."

There's a murmur in the crowd at this. Below Ezekiel, Shiva paces on her chain, although if it's because she's anxious or because she can sense the crowd's anxiety, Carl isn't sure. Ezekiel's attention is drawn by her movement, and he frowns sadly.

"Shiva is beautiful and proud, as we are. But she has been caged for too long to survive on her own. It is a fate I have almost bestowed upon my own people. For while these sixteen men were killed by the dead, Richard was killed by the living. He was killed by a group of people who call themselves the 'Saviors'."

Holy shit, Ezekiel is doing this. He's actually doing this. The guards exchange looks between one another, shifting uncomfortably, not knowing how the people will react.

"This is not the first time we have had dealings with the Saviors. They have threatened violence, they have threatened to rain fire down upon us, and they have the weapons to do it. They are….more powerful than us. If they wanted to kill our people, they could. Which is why for over a year, we have been providing them with excess food to stave off their anger. They have been holding us at ransom, and it is a ransom I have paid to avoid bloodshed. In exchange, they promised us freedom, that they would never step a foot inside our walls. They would not kill anyone as long as we cooperated...but that promise is a broken one."

"And it won't stop with Richard. Their treatment of Carl Grimes, of other communities….it only proves they will not stop there. I withheld this from you, because I wished to prevent unrest, prevent someone from lashing out at the Saviors and threatening our tentative peace. But now I realize that I have simply bound you in a gilded cage, just as Shiva once was."

"These men and women, all seventeen of them, died so that we might live, so that we might build the Kingdom we envisioned. To ignore what the Saviors have done, to ignore the threat of them looming over our kingdom…. it is to ignore their sacrifice. And by that, I cannot abide. America once learned that a lone cityon a hill was not attainable. It is not a dream we can accomplish by ourselves. We have lost friends this day, and in past days, but we have gained new ones, as well. Other communities that have been threatened by the Saviors, who have had more than one man killed by their brutality. We cannot build our dream alone. But together, united, we can survive this. We can ensure that our loved ones' sacrifices don't go unheeded."

People are scared, that much is clear. But they aren't sad, they aren't angry. Their belief in King Ezekiel hasn't beenshattered.

This might work. This might actually work.

Ezekiel turns his head, smiling fondly towards Benjamin. "I slept long and hard upon this decision. But I was reminded of what Tobias Miller, one of the men we are burying here today, always said. 'When someone asks you to be the hero: be the hero.' So that is exactly what we are going to do."

The choir continues to sing as King Ezekiel steps down from the humvee. He takes a fist full of the freshly unearthed soil, gently dropping it over one of the covered bodies. The flags Carl had grabbed from the armory are still visible from beneath the soil, and the king turns back to the crowd.

"They died as soldiers, and we will bury them as such. And I fear that we will bury many more, before the year is out. But we will celebrate the living, protect the living, and together, we will build a new world worth living for."

One by one, people step forward, taking a fist full of dirt and spreading the soil across the bodies. Some have brought flowers, tossing them in as well. But it's what Henry has brought, what the little boy has placed in the grave that draws Carl's attention.

It's Henry's drawing of Richard, complete with the superhero outfit and red cape.

Slowly, as more people move through, the drawing is covered in dust, the scowling caricature put to rest along with its namesake. And as Carl meets King Ezekiel's gaze, his jaw set and his eyes glazed, he thinks the king has finally put him to rest, too.

During Carl's stay at the Kingdom, any mention of his involvement with the Saviors had been spoken about in hushed whispers, with guards carefully trying to glean information without directly disobeying their king's order not to do so. Which is why, now that they're seated in a makeshift war room, Carl is overwhelmed with the millions of questions suddenly flying his way.

How do they operate? Uh….can you be a bit more specific?

How many outposts do they have? Five, one for each community.

How are pickups scheduled? However Negan wants them scheduled, that's how.

What are the most common routes? Carl has only ever visited one or two of the outposts, so he doesn't know. They should check the papers and maps he brought with him.

What kind of weaponry do they have? Once again, they should check the papers he brought with him. You know, the one he had been trying to get them to look at since day one? The one that lists all of the Saviors' safehouses and weapons rosters?

This is what he's here for, it's what he's been hoping for. But with a barrage of questions being shot his way all at once, he becomes increasingly aggravated as the morning wears on, biting his lip to keep his mouth shut as people toss plans back and forth. It isn't until Jesus speaks up that he's snapped out of his daze.

"You said there were originally five outposts, right? One for each town. But there are three of us…..so who are the other two?"

Jesus's quick catch causes every head in the room to swivel in his direction, realization dawning in their eyes. And of course Jesus would notice that sort of detail. He's apparently the one who introduced the communities to each other, after all. But Carl bites his thumb as he thinks, quick to shake his head.

"It doesn't matter. They won't help you. The junkyard people will turn on you in a heartbeat. They're shady enough to creep Negan out. It's more of an outpost to watch over them; he doesn't even really control them like he does you three. They're more like….unwillingly trading partners."

"Junkyard people?" Rick questions, his eyes sharp as Carl nods. "Creepy or not, the enemy of our enemy might just be our friend."

But Carl is quick to shake his head. "I'm telling you, you can't trust them."

"Because they're weird?" Jesus questions, his brow furrowed.

"Because they could be freakin' cannibals for all I know, they're that kind of weird. They speak like cavemen, and they're always asking Negan to trade goods in exchange for people. The few people Negan's been willing to give them, prisoners and the like, we never see them again. And if that was it, and we just had to deal with some weird, possibly cannibalistic folks to take Negan down? That'd be one thing. But they cheat and never keep their end of the bargain unless you're forcing them at gunpoint. So unless we're willing to give them actual people, my bet is they're just going to go to Negan and see if he has a better offer. Which he will."

A contemplative silence comes across the room then, with Rick's jaw tensing as he exchanges glances with the other leaders. But it's Jesus, as usual, whose evaluating eyes see past the distraction Carl's given them.

"That's the fourth community. What about the fifth?"

Hallowbrant.

"There is no fifth community." Carl says flatly, hoping to put the matter to rest quickly. "Not anymore."

But the matter is not put to rest. In fact, his answer only draws every eye in the room. A dark-haired woman with bright orange sunglasses snaps up in her chair, her mouth agape as she nervously looks around.

"Negan…. he killed them?" Jesus questions solemnly. "All of them?" Carl swallows hard, shaking his head.

"No. It was…..it was Simon's call. Which is why your assassination suggestion earlier? It won't work. Negan is the only thing stopping the rest of them from running rampant. When Simon did that? Negan tore him a new one, nearly killed him for it. Negan values people as a resource, that's why he hates dealing with the junkyard folks. Negan only kills to make a point. But Simon? When he doesn't get his way, he just shoots whoever is in his way. You can't just take Negan down, you can't even just take Negan and Simon down. Someone else will step up in the power vacuum. They'll still be a problem. You have to take them all down."

"Are you suggesting that we kill everyone in Sanctuary?" The preacher asks in horror, looking around the room to see if anyone else is actually entertaining the thought. When Carl doesn't immediately answer, Father Gabriel presses forward.

"We're talking about genocide here. People you've lived with, people like you. And what about the women who've been forced into marriages? Or people that have been taken against their will, like Daryl?"

Carl shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "I'm not tellin' you what to do. But what I am tellin' you is that as long as people live in that factory? They'll be a thorn in your side. That place isn't self-sustaining. The ground's ruined from all the chemical spills over the years. Either you kill 'em, or you take the survivors in. Anythin' else will just be kicking the can down the road."

Rick looks like he swallowed something nasty, his nose crunched in disgust as he rubs his temple. He looks pleadingly across to the different leaders, to his own people. "If we relived Terminus again…. would we still spare them?"

It's a reference only Rick's people understand, but they're quick to avert their eyes at mention of the subject. Rick clears his throat, beginning again. "If we had killed them, Bob and Otis would still be alive. It's the same damn thing over and over. If Negan had finished off the Claimers, we never would have even run into them. And then the Wolves…."

"We just condemned Simon for doing the same exact thing we're talking about." The preacher exclaims. He looks around desperately for an ally, and finds one in the last person Carl expected.

"Morality aside, Father Gabriel has a point." Michonne says lowly, setting her hands down upon the table, broadening her shoulders.

"There's a reason why conquerors have taken prisoners of war throughout history. If we back them into a corner? If we lay siege and they know there's no way they're getting out of this alive? They will fight us tooth and nail. Negan isn't just more powerful than us because he has more men. He's more powerful because he knows how to manipulate his men, and we need to do the same. If we kill without mercy? If we act like them? Not only will they unite against us, but our own people will lose faith in what we're doing. If we're doing this, we need Sanctuary to turn on itself. And we need to be willing to take prisoners alive, to offer them a way out."

Michonne's appeal sends the room silent for a moment, offering a logical, harsh middle ground to two largely opposing views of thought.

"Do cannibals deserve a way out?" Maggie challenges her, raising her chin. "Does Negan?"

"We can hold trials." Ezekiel suggests. "Form a council between our communities, and decide their fates according to their crimes." While the idea sounds reasonable, Maggie shakes her head, venom in her voice.

"Negan dies. If we form a council, that's Hilltop's contingency. He's not getting out of this alive."

"We need to be careful of revenge…." Father Gabriel begins, but doesn't get far before he's interrupted again..

"I don't want revenge, I want my goddamn husband back, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" Maggie spits, her eyes dark as they are foreboding. "Negan dies. Everyone else, we can hear witnesses or whatever the hell we want to do, but he doesn't get that chance."

Carl listens to their words numbly, drawing into himself. He agrees with Maggie. But memories of laughing with the man, of joking around and receiving appreciative looks…. something about it unsettles him. Carl wonders, briefly, if he could even survive a war trial. If they knew exactly the full extent of what he had done with the Saviors, whether they would still be so willing to forgive him.

He knows the answer.

They wouldn't.

After a long, boring interrogation, Carl finally gleans some information of his own.

Alexandria intends to militarize walkers. They have a large herd trapped in a nearby quarry, one that they can unleash at any time of their own choosing.

You know. Because why not?

Suddenly, the lack of biters around Alexandria and Rick's mysterious scavenging trips out into the forest are starting to make a lot more sense.

The general idea is to lead the herd straight into the heart of Sanctuary. They'll use nearby buildings to surround the factory with snipers, keep the facility pinned down with as few men as possible, and then launch a surprise attack against all of the outposts at once, with roadblocks set up in between to keep them from assisting each other or their headquarters.

The goal behind this approach is to eliminate the Saviors' biggest advantage: their numbers.

It's a brilliant, innovative plan, but it's also a risky one, one that could go wrong in a million different ways. Every single attack would need to be successful for it to work, especially the siege against Sanctuary. What fighting men they do have will be stretched thin, and losing against even one outpost could be devastating. It's also relying on the ability of Rick's people to safely lead an entire herd of biters. One wrong move, one traitor, and the herd could inadvertently be unleashed against their own people.

And that's not even mentioning the fact that according to the other Alexandrians, there's a very real possibility that the biters trapped in the quarry are very close to getting out on their own.

So when Rick asks for opinions about the plan, Carl tells him as much.

"It's risky. And if we're going to pull this off, we have to keep the plan to just this war room. Nobody talks about it. When we start implementing it, we only tell each squad what their role in it is. If someone turns traitor, or gets captured, we need to control how much they can tell the Saviors. Because Negan knowing about that quarry? Who's to say he won't just unleash it and let them surround you? He wouldn't even have to lead them, if it's as close as you're sayin', just open up the blockage."

Rick is confident that his people can be trusted, but everyone concedes that Carl has a point. And Carl knows he does. Because someone always snitches.

But there's another reason Rick has been waiting to implement his plan. There's been a limited supply of ammo, which they've been making up for by having that Eugene guy manufacture himself. The same guy who had lied to them about a cure. Go figure.

"What about weapons? You said you need ammo, but are we good on guns?" Carl asks, confused. Rick smirks at this, sharing a knowing look with some of the other Alexandrians.

"We have some leftover from when we were attacked by the Wolves. They didn't have ammo, but they must have raided a military group at some point. Plenty of MREs, rifles, that kind of thing. There might not be enough for all of the Kingdom's men, but it's definitely enough for Alexandria and Hilltop, at least."

"How long can we safely hide them, though?" Michonne points out, casting a wary glance in Rick's direction. "Ron was with Sophia when she found those tunnels. If they bring him along on a pickup, he might think to look there."

Tunnels? Alexandria had secret tunnels, now? Regardless, Carl shakes his head. "You don't gotta worry about Ron. If he hasn't told them before, he sure as hell isn't gonna tell them now." He reassures them, chewing on his thumb.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Michonne cocks her head to the side, her brows furrowed.

"Because his head's bashed in, that's why." Carl says nonchalantly, still deep in thought. " Dead don't tell no tales, an' all that shit." It takes a moment for him to realize that he's caught everyone's attention again, with several people giving him wide-eyed looks..

"Ron's dead?" Sophia asks, blinking rapidly.

Oops.

He nods slowly. "Yeah. He...uh….he was the guard when I got out." He says warily. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the room as the others try to process it all. Surprisingly, it's someone who didn't even know Ron that speaks first.

"Do you….." Ben asks slowly, wide-eyed. "...do you bash people's heads in….a lot?"

Carl looks around the room. The room looks back at him.

"Not lately." He admits, feeling a bit defensive. Shane snickers even as some of the others seem horrified, and Carl resists the urge to glare at the man.

Michonne clears her throat, nodding deeply. "Well, then. That's one less thing to worry about, at least." She admits shakily, taking a deep breath as she tries to change the subject. "But according to these rosters, we're still outgunned. How reliable is that humvee? It'd be nice to have an armored vehicle for some of this."

"Not very. The kids beat it all to hell, and it's low on gas." Shane answers for him, leaning back in his chair. "Makes sense, since the Guard was just usin' it for display purposes. And I can't tell if the damn thing is gas or diesel. Put the wrong kind in and we'll ruin it, maybe even blow it up. What we really need is a tank. Do the same thing the Governor did, tear right through their fences and blast a hole in the side of the factory walls."

"Yeah." Rick nods wearily, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "A tank would be nice right about now."

Carl shifts his weight, a dangerous idea beginning to form in his mind. He swallows hard, looking across the crowd and gauging their reaction.

"Maybe we don't have a tank... but what about a canon?"

All sixteen heads swivel in his direction. Again. The amount of times he's been on the receiving end of baffled looks today is getting ridiculous.

"And…. you know where we can get this canon?" Shane asks incredulously, his head bobbing in disbelief. But Carl nods slowly, grinning from ear to ear. It must look frightening to the others, he knows. He can feel his sutures pulling from the movement, but he doesn't care.

"I know where we can get a dozen of them. But first-we're going to need some Mountain Dew."

They think he's crazy.

They're probably not wrong.

But the fact is that there are at least a dozen civil war cannons within a mile or two of Alexandria's border, and for a town that's about to go to war, trying to convince a ranger with a shotgun to hand them over isn't the riskiest thing Carl's ever done in his life. The Alexandrians seem convinced that Carl dreamed the place up, that it's some hallucination he concocted after his escape. Shane even points out how out of it Carl had been when he first arrived.

But Carl saw those cannons just as clearly as he saw that helicopter. And if he's noticed anything about Alexandria, it's that its civilians were pretty incompetant before Rick's arrival. So if you ask him, it's more likely that their scouts just screwed up. Badly.

So the war council makes a plan. They'll divide up into different groups, each focusing on a certain goal. One team will work with Eugene on finishing ammo production. One team will focus on finding and reaching out to other communities, one team will obtain weapons for the Kingdom, and one team will investigate Fort Ward.

And so before Carl knows it, the day is nearly over, and the Alexandrians are planning to leave soon.

He knows his father will leave with them.

He doesn't know if he's devastated or relieved by this. It's such an odd line to straddle, but here he is, watching as his father speaks to the woman in sunglasses in a hushed voice, no doubt making plans for when he eventually has to go. It's not clear whether Rick will be caught up in leading Alexandria or if he'll be joining one of the teams, but either way? He's leaving. And there's a very good chance that Carl won't be seeing him again, for a while. If ever.

Carl understands what his father meant, back at the showers. After all this time, after everything that's happened, he finally has his father back. But now that his father is here….it doesn't feel like anything's changed. Like he's still Rick, leader of Alexandria, not Dad, leader of their little house in Georgia.

But if Rick is good at doing anything, it's at doing his rounds. And once he's communicated with his people and delegated orders, his gaze flickers back to Carl, and Carl finds himself struggling not to duck under his father's gaze.

"Let's take a walk." Rick says, his eyes softening. The affection in his father's eyes doesn't do anything to relieve Carl's nerves. Let's take a walk.

That usually means a serious conversation is about to go down. And Carl doesn't do serious conversations. Carl follows orders, adds his input, and shuts up. Serious conversations usually lead to people getting killed, or arguments, and right now Carl can't handle his father leaving and-

"I'm stayin' an extra day. I'll leave with you in the morning, if you're ok with it, that is." Rick says, plodding along the trail. It's one of the old school walkways, the sidewalk so old that it's paved in brick rather than concrete. Carl nearly stops in his tracks at his father's words.

"Uh….sure. Yeah, whatever. The rest of your group, are they…..?"

"They're goin' ahead and headin' back to Alexandria." Rick confirms firmly, his eyes on the trail rather than meeting Carl's eyes. "I'll meet up with them after we take a look at Fort Ward, tomorrow. Even now that we can track Negan's movements, someone needs to be there, keep people calm, keep supplies comin' in for tributes. Michonne's good at that. I've relied on her a lot lately, long before they took Daryl…."

There it is. That's the tone of a man that's dancing around a subject he wants to talk about, who's gearing up for a 'come to Jesus' meeting. It's the same tone he used when Carl had fought off those bullies, all those years ago. And it's the same tone of voice he used when Granny Mae died.

It's strange, being older and hearing that tone. When Carl was younger, his father was invincible. And even now, while his people look up to him with the same kind of reverence people held for Negan and Ezekiel, the man looks nearly unstoppable. But Carl is old enough now to see the cracks in his father's expression, the slump in his usually rigid posture. To see that Michonne was right. His father is utterly human, and while his tone is firm and wise, he's dancing around the subject because he's just as nervous about this conversation as Carl is.

"I….I nearly didn't stay. I wanted to give you your space, I thought-I thought after what you said to Negan, you'd want it. That you blamed me."

Carl isn't sure what he was expecting his father to say, but that certainly wasn't it. He blinks at the man, eyes widening as his brain struggles to catch up with Rick's reasoning.

"I don't….what….."

His last words to his father during his confrontation with Negan come circling back. He abandoned me. He left me. I didn't want anyone to know who I was because I hate him.

Oh. Oh.

"Dad, I don't-I never-I just said that to try to get Negan to back down. I never….if anything, I gave up on you. I thought you were dead. After I saw how overrun the hospital was, I just assumed it. Until I saw you in that execution circle, I never even…."

Rick sucks in a breath, nodding shakily with a watery smile. "Yeah, I figured that. After….after what you said to Shane, about blamin' Lori an' not me. I just… if you did? I wouldn't blame you, Carl. You've been through a lot, and I wasn't there to protect you. But if you'll have me, I'm here now. I'm not leavin. Not….not for good. We gotta get through this war, first, and we can't let Negan find out where you are. But after that? If you want to live with me, in Alexandria, the door is wide open. Findin' you is everything I ever wanted. And whatever's happened the last few years, whatever you think you've done? It doesn't matter. What matters is what we do from now on."

Carl wants to fall into the trap that is his father's offer. He does.

For once, he doesn't doubt that Rick is being genuine. He can see it in every ounce of his father's body language, in how watery his eyes are even as his jaw is set. But his father's words are too good to be true. They're words parents tell their children to reassure them that they're special and good and that the boogieman under the bed isn't real.

But the boogieman is real. And Carl knows from firsthand experience that he's not special, and he sure as hell isn't good.

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Carl mutters numbly, walking on. He's taller than his father now, but Rick easily keeps up with his strides. Carl is out of breath, still weak and out of shape from his time in the Saviors' cell. He needs to do more pig runs, maybe work with the Kingdom's construction team for a bit. He needs to do something that would make him feel like he's not gasping for air when he needs it most.

"Hey. I'm not. I mean it, Carl. You're always welcom-"

"And what happens the first time I tick someone off, huh?" Carl says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. His father is taken aback, but that doesn't stop the words from tumbling from his mouth.

"The only thing that was stoppin' people from lynchin' me in Alexandria a few months ago was because they were afraid of Negan. And now with Ron dead, do you really think they'll accept me with open arms? I'm not-I'm not what you think I am, Dad. I'm not the little kid you took walks with anymore, and I'm not some 'poor, brainwashed child soldier', either. I knew what I was doing, and I still do. I'm not someone you're ever gonna be proud of."

"Is that why you didn't say who you were? You thought I'd be disappointed?" Rick asks softly, his eyes searching. The words send a lump into Carl's throat, and for all of the frustration that's building up and tearing within the teen's chest, he doesn't know how to respond. He expects his father to prod on, to find the words that are caught in Carl's throat and tear them out, but he doesn't.

"I'm not someone you're going to be proud of, either." His father says, sadly.

Carl can only blink at this, his brow furrowed. Rick sighs deeply, taking in the scenery. "I remember those walks. But...do you know why we started takin' them?"

Carl shakes his head, trying to swallow that lump in his throat. Rick continues.

"Parenting didn't come with a guide. They just stuck you in your mama's arms, and left us to figure out how to take care of this tiny, vulnerable little baby by ourselves. When we first took you home, I remember being so...so terrified about what to do. And that feelin' never completely went away, even when you got older. I was always afraid of sayin' the wrong thing, doin' the wrong thing, of lettin' you down. But those walks? You'd get all your energy out, and whatever was on your mind, you'd just let it out. You were a little chatterbox. You'd toddle along, and look up at me with these big ol' eyes like I was invincible while you were babblin'. But I wasn't, I was clueless."

"But those walks….they'd help me work through things, too. And whatever was goin' on, whatever happened at school, we'd talk through it, and it'd always work out, in the end. And this? Dealin' with people, leadin' communities? It's the same thing. These people need someone to look up to, someone to make the hard decisions for them. And I don't always know the right thing to do, but I do it, anyways. And sometimes...sometimes I make the wrong choices. Sometimes I make mistakes. It's part of it. People have died because of me, just like those men we buried this mornin' died because of Ezekiel. And as a leader, as a father, I've had to live with that."

The man takes a long, nearly shuddering sigh before he speaks again.

"I should have realized it was you." Rick says at last, sounding at least a decade older than what he really is. Carl swallows hard, shaking his head.

"No….Dad, that wasn't your fault. I didn't want you to know. I hid-"

"You reminded me of you." Rick interrupts, startling the teen. "When I thought you were Patch."

"You….what?"

Rick smiles wearily, turning to the bewildered teen. "When I lost your mama….I lost myself, for a while. I...I was seein' things, hearin' things that weren't there. Your mama was dead an' gone, but I was talkin' to her just like you and me are right now. And she wasn't the only one. I talked to people we had lost along the way. I...I even talked to you. Convinced myself that I had found you."

Carl blinks, vaguely remembering Michonne's words, about how grief causes his father to shut down. Maybe she was right. Maybe Rick and Carl are more alike than he had first thought. But for his father to completely lose it? To hallucinate things? He can't imagine it.

"If….if it weren't for our people, I'd be dead. Judith would be dead. But I worked through it, came to my senses. And my people held me together. But with everything that happened with Negan, after the executions….I was so broken down, that when I saw you, I thought-I thought I was startin' to see things again."

Carl's heart feels like it's pounding in his ears. He suspects. Daryl had said. Thinks he's projectin' or some shit.

Carl doesn't know what to think about what his father is saying. The teen feels watery himself, and he doesn't know if it's because he's touched or angry or sad, or-

"You looked different enough that I convinced myself it couldn't be you. And I…. I had to come to terms that I might have to kill you, this kid that reminded me of my own son, if you threatened my people. So I distanced myself, and I shouldn't have. I should have realized it was you, but I didn't. And I'm sorry for that."

"Dad, I…." Carl begins, the words stuck in his throat. "I'm sorry, too." He says at last.

"I meant what I said, before." Rick repeats gently, clasping Carl by his shoulder. He's doing the same thing Michonne did before, leaning down and trying to get Carl to make eye contact. "We're not too far gone. We've both done things we're not proud of, but we can come back from this. What matters is what we do now. And no matter what you do, no matter what we disagree on? I'll always love you. That's not changing."

For a few minutes, they continue to walk in silence, both emotional and unable to speak. But the awkward tension from before is gone. Carl isn't even sure when it had disappeared, only that relief had taken its place. Relief that his father doesn't hate him. And hope that this might actually work.

"I forgot about that, you know." Carl says at last, looking out over the fields, over the cattle grazing there. Rick cocks his head to the side, a question in his expression. The teen smiles, turning back to his dad. "About mom's cooking, I mean. Her pancakes sucked."

Rick chuckles at this, shaking his head through his laughter, before nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Yeah they did. But Lord help that woman, she never stopped tryin' to cook 'em."

"You put smiley faces on yours, didn't you?" Carl asks suddenly, the nearly forgotten memory suddenly flaring in his mind. His father nods.

"Yeah. Food coloring, too. You loved it. Drove your mama crazy. It was the one damn thing she couldn't cook right, and outside of grillin', it was the only thing I really knew how to make. Life's funny like that, sometimes. But she wanted to be able to do it all, herself."

"Guess she and I really are a lot alike." Carl concedes, looking over the Kingdom skyline. He grins, tossing a smirk his father's way. "But at least I'm gettin' your beard."

"I think someone's gettin' cocky, now." Rick laughs, ruffling Carl's hair. "That's a stubble, at best. You lookin' to impress Sophia?"

As the teen turns beet red, for the first time that afternoon, he finds himself tongue tied for reasons that have nothing to do with the upcoming war.

And for once? He doesn't mind.

Considering how emotional the last day has been, the next few hours are the happiest Carl has been in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he and his father talked before they were roped into a game of horseshoes. He doesn't even know specifically what they talked about, only that, for once, it had nothing to do with the war and everything to do with funny memories and swapping tales about exactly how they wound up here. But soon they're tossing horsehoes at a wooden stake in the ground, and Henry has managed to get a piggy back ride out of Carl as they watch Ben attempt his first round.

There's no threat of a lingering baseball bat. No snarling tiger waiting to pounce. And for a moment, there's not even Negan. There's only laughter, music, and children running around with sunlight in their hair. People had died, a war was about to start, but the world kept going on. People were happy, here.

Maybe the magical world Ezekiel had created wasn't just magical, after all. Maybe his city on a hill was real. Maybe all of this was possible, long-term. There wasn't a secret enemy hidden in the shadows. No need to wake up early just to guard the visitors' doors. With Sophia's giggles lighting up the air, maybe Carl could just have fun, for once .

As people cheer for the game, Michonne and Rick are talking in quiet voices, wearing adoring smiles that Carl never remembers his own parents sharing with each other. He can't say that he knows exactly what's going on between the two of them, whether they're just a quick lay or not, but in this moment, Carl's in a good enough mood to let himself believe that the two of them might actually love one another. And he's glad. There's almost a visible burden lifted off his father's shoulders as he talks to the woman, and as Jerry is pitted against Shane in the final round, he thinks she's good for him. She's smiling. He's smiling. And watching the two of them with Henry yelling in his ear, Carl is smiling, too.

Until he sees what's in Michonne's hand. What she's offering a piece of to Rick.

It's a cantaloupe.

Carl had visited the stockroom just last night. There's not supposed to be any cantaloupe left, the last few being offered to the Saviors.

Carl pretends nothing is wrong as he saunters over to the two, a whining Henry still on his back. He doesn't let his smile fall as he asks her where she managed to find it. And he doesn't act surprised when he learns that Shane is the one that had given it to her, as a peace offering to make up for the days of being at each other's throats in the Prison.

Michonne has one cantaloupe.

Shane had one cantaloupe.

One cantaloupe had been missing from the pickup. One missing cantaloupe had killed Richard. One missing cantaloupe had been the entire reason they held the damn memorial this morning in the first place. One piece of missing fruit could have been the deciding factor for King Ezekiel going to war.

Carl pretends nothing's wrong, pretends he doesn't hear his father's questioning tone as he turns his attention back to the game. Jerry has lost, and Benjamin is cheering Shane on as the older man lifts clenched fists in the air in excitement. Shane's eyes aren't as red as they were this morning, his hangover having faded away.

Maybe there was more than one reason Shane had drunk himself silly last night.

And as quickly as that magical world had built itself up, it shatters around Carl, the real world coming into focus. This place is still a facade. King Ezekiel is still a retired zookeeper acting out a play from Shakespeare.

Now that the game is over, the Alexandrians pack up, ready to go home. His father stays behind. And Carl is glad for that, he really is. Because the harsh reality is that before this war is over, there's a good chance one of them is going to die. In fact, a lot of good people are about to die.

And no amount of fatherly, heart-to-heart talks is going to change that.


Author's Note: I'm pretty unhappy with this chapter as a whole, but I've learned in the past that I need to bite the bullet and move on or I'll never make progress, ha ha. The good news is that everyone I know is still healthy and has their job after COVID. The bad news is that I normally write during lull periods at work, and right now we're scrambling to stay afloat. I apologize for the delay! Hope everyone stays safe and healthy out there.

Also, I promise I'm not trying to demean Father Gabriel, just trying to show the readers how he sounds from Carl's perspective. He's changed a LOT since he was first introduced in the show. As usual, feedback is appreciated! It helps me know anything that's confusing or what exactly readers like.

And lastly, anyone who leaves a review, do you mind mentioning whether you read fanfics via a computer or your phone? I write this on Google Docs, and on a desktop, the formatting looks better with long paragraphs, but on cell phones, long paragraphs can take up half the screen. I'd appreciate it!