Reviews:

BabySlothXYaoi- Oh yeah, Rhys' head is a fluster cluck right now, I tried getting in there to write this chapter, but he said no, and locked me out. There will definitely be more of Sasha in the future, in what form? We'll have to wait and see! Carol is a smart lady, definitely knows not to approach Rhys at this particular moment, but she does seem to want to chat, doesn't she? I'm going to miss that bracelet, thank god he has the acoustic one from Carl. And yeah, as I said, I really tried to get into Rhys' head, but it was just a mixture of chaos and sadness.

Carl's POV.

We're all sitting in the road, the surface hot against my palms as we wait for a small group to come back from a water run. Maggie, Sasha, Daryl, and Rhys were the ones to go looking.

My feet ache as I sit with my legs outstretched, staring in the direction that the run group left in. The whole group, all sixteen of us, have been trailing the desolated roads of Virginia since the cars broke down a week ago. Michonne reckons it's been a month now. A month since Tyreese was put in the ground. A month since we last stopped moving. Now we just walk, headed in the direction of DC, since Eugene still thinks it's our best shot. Our only shot.

It feels like there's an unspoken rule about looking behind us now. Like if any of us do, our past might catch up with us. Thoughts of that man might invade my head, that Claimer. What he almost did to me. I shake my head free of those memories, picking at the grass that grows through a crack in the road to distract myself.

My sister is sat across my lap, pulling faces in an attempt to cheer me up. It works, and I smile meekly at her, letting her snatch the grass from my hand.

"Worried?" Michonne asks me, sitting to my side, her sword across her legs.

I stare in the direction that the others left in, I shake my head. "They're fine."

"Oh, I know." Michonne tries to smirk, but the energy doesn't seem to reach her.

Minutes later, they do get back, safe and sound. Michonne and I were right, though we still both let out small sighs of relief. Michonne's sigh turns to a groan when she sees that they have nothing, no water for our dry mouths. But they get back, so it's a win in my mind. I decide not to share this however, the others less likely to see the positive side.

We watch the run group approach from a little way down the road. Sasha and Maggie are walking together, while Daryl and Rhys walk behind, separately. None of them look pleased by their lack of water either.

Only now, seeing Rhys from so far away, do I realize how different he looks compared to a month ago. He's smaller, skinnier. His eyes are sunken, his wavey hair now wild and long, more curled.

When they reach us, Rhys sits beside me, not saying anything. It doesn't surprise me, considering he's barely spoken since the funeral. Only the occasional 'yes' or 'thanks' when he has no other choice. He takes every chance he gets to wander off with Daryl or Sasha in search of supplies.

The most positive thing to arise for Rhys in the last month seems to be his relationship with Maggie. Besides Daryl, Sasha, and me, he spends a lot of time with her, both of them grieving separate people, in their separate ways, together.

I take Rhys' satchel off him when I notice he's tugging at it, a red line on his neck from where the strap has chaffed, only just visible over his sunburnt skin.

The tan satchel bag is heavy, so I look within. Rhys' poncho is inside, still bloody from a month ago. He hasn't worn it since then. Having no way to clean it, he had to throw away his flannel shirt too. With only his tattered short sleeve and sleeveless jacket, his arms have been left exposed to the sun, the scars he got from the prison and Cavalcade also on display.

Under the poncho, I find a brick-sized yellow box made from sturdy wood. Red flowers have been painted along its surface, with brushed pink blossoms blooming off them.

"You found this while looking for water?" I ask, my voice scratchy.

He nods.

I open it, the sound of its hinges grinding together hurts my ears.

I'm greeted by a ballerina inside the box, her pink skirt bright against her pale legs and blonde hair. It makes me think about Beth, and I know that's why he took it.

"It's pretty," I tell him.

He nods again.

"Can I have it?" I ask.

He nods a final time.

I push the decorated box into my orange bag with all my other things- which happens to be nothing, besides an empty water bottle, Gwendolyn, and my family photo.

"Thanks." I smile, not getting one back from him, just another nod, a shrug accompanying it.

Rhys starts rubbing his sunburnt face uncomfortably, wincing at the burns beneath his palms, unable to escape them. I take off my hat, holding it high when Judith tries to steal it. I put it on Rhys's head. "You burn too easy," I mutter when he gives me an odd look.

"Let's move out," Dad calls, starting to stand. Rhys is the first to his feet, grabbing his halved spear, which was lying beside him.

I realize why Dad wants us to move... A group of walkers that has been tailing us all day is getting closer on the road's horizon, at least thirty strong. They're still far enough away that we can't hear them, but they get closer each time we rest, which seems to be happening more and more.

We move along the scorching road, away from the walkers, and I realize that being unable to hear the dead makes it worryingly easy to forget about them. Dad falls back in the line, taking Judith from me, telling me that he thinks we're too worn out to take the dead down safely, so ignoring them is the plan for now.

When dad heads back to the front of the group and Rosita approaches Rhys, I decide to lag behind, walking beside Maggie instead.

"Rhys found this while out looking for water." I reach deep into my bag, handing her the colorful music box that reminded me of Beth.

She takes it, asking, "What is it?"

"I think it used to play music," I tell her, watching as she opens it with a gentle hand to see the ballerina. The box's lid clicks and creaks. "It's broken," I tell her.

"Thanks, Carl." She gives me a weak smile. The best anyone can hope for right now.

"Thought you might like it... I think Rhys did too, he just wasn't sure how to give it to you."

I speed up again, catching up with Rhys, who's now walking with Michonne. Rosita had stormed away from their conversation, annoyed.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Fine," Michonne tells me, sounding irritable in her blunt answer.

I glance around, realizing how spread out we all are, a few of us walking on the side of the road, staying under the shade of the surrounding trees, trying to escape the burns we've already gotten. I imagine from far enough away, we probably look like a horde of walkers too, big scary and hungry. The thought of it makes me grimace.

Rhys hooks his pinky finger onto my sleeve, which makes me feel better, not dead like the walkers.

"Trying to steal more of my clothes?" I tease him. To which he bumps my shoulder gently with his own, looking sorry when I trip into Abraham, who just grumbles and walks ahead. Michonne smirks at us.

The sound of light feet approaches from behind us, their pace fast and determined, until finally, Sasha appears in our peripheral, joining alongside us.

"We can take 'em," she tells Michonne, her voice gravelly.

Michonne shakes her head. "Rick's right. We barely have anything left. No use in spending it all now."

Sasha breaks the rule about looking back, scowling after the walkers. "I can take them... Rhys and me, we can take them."

Rhys doesn't blink, taking his broken spear from his shoulder at Sasha's words, like some resolute soldier following orders.

Michonne looks at Sasha seriously. "Your brother was pissed, too, after what he lost. It made him stupid."

I see Rhys tense up at the mention of Tyreese.

Michonne must notice because she tells Rhys and me to keep walking while she stops to talk with Sasha. I tug on Rhys's hand, and he follows me, slinging the halved spear back over his shoulder.

The last thing I hear from the conversation is Sasha reprimanding Michonne about her brother. "We are not the same. We never were."

I'm surprised when Eugene speeds up to walk beside us, his arms unmoving by his sides. He doesn't speak for a while, walking on the other side of Rhys to me.

Finally, the man with the mullet says, "I would like to extend my thanks to you, poncho."

Rhys nods at the dusty floor as he walks. I can't tell if he's listening or not.

"Affirmative, I understand that you aren't talking so much now," Eugene says at him. "My thanks remains on the table, though."

Rhys gives him a strange look, asking him 'for what?' with his expression.

Eugene doesn't seem to need me to translate the look for him.

"For having my back when I was unconsciously cooking under the sun," Eugene tells him. "When I confessed to falsifying my intentions in DC, Tara tells me you sided with yours truly."

Rhys shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head at Eugene. When he doesn't understand, I translate this for Eugene.

"He's trying to say that he didn't side with you," I tell the fake scientist. "He just told Tara that he didn't blame you."

"You got all that from a head twist and two shoulder shrugs?" Eugene looks impressed.

"He's told me what he said to Tara," I tell him. "Gathered the rest."

"Well," Eugene's voice cracks. "I appreciate it all the same."

Growls suddenly come from our side, five walkers appearing from the trees, everyone tightens up, these too close to outrun, Eugene bolts behind the rest of the group.

Sasha thunders past Rhys and I. Sending a bullet singing a silent song from her rifle as she moves, the first walker falling to its melody. She draws her knife, taking down the second. Rhys and Glenn are the next to rush at the dead. I try my best to grasp at Rhys, but he's gone too fast, and Michonne's grabbing my wrist.

Glenn trips one of the walkers, sending it crashing to the floor, Rhys planting his spear in the back of its dried skull. Sasha downs another, blood spraying across her face as she crushes its head with her rifle butt. Glenn finishes the last walker, a woman shriveled and molding in her torn summer dress. His knife, meeting the dead woman's eye with a squish.

The three of them take a second before returning to the group, wiping their blades clean on dry grass. Dad watches them closely, his eyes jumping between them. Then he whistles sharply, getting our attention. He's staring at the road ahead now, towards an upcoming bridge.

He turns to us all. "We're ready."

A/N

Sorry, this chapter was a little messy to start.

One more chapter after this with Carl, and then we'll go back to Rhys, promise.

Reviews and Feedback are always welcome.

:)