Carl could hear the sounds before he understood them. He stayed still and listening. It took a while, but eventually he recognized them as distant voices. He couldn't make out any of the words, but the rhythm was familiar. The rise and fall of the tone was unmistakably human conversation.
Calm conversation meant there weren't walkers nearby.
He was just coherent enough to understand that he was lying down. And that he was in pain. Pain so consuming it overshadowed everything.
For a moment he though the burning sensation was his brain trying to tell him he'd rolled onto the coals of a campfire in his sleep. That would explain a lot, but in Alexandria they had fireplaces. He slept in a bed. He was pretty sure he was in a bed now, but it didn't feel like his own. It was too soft, smelled too strongly of lemon disinfectant.
Carl tried to raise his arm, expecting to scratch the itch by his ear, but nothing happened. He tried to move his fingers but found them to be heavy. Much heavier than he could lift at the moment. At the moment everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Lying motionless and listening to distant voices hurt.
The pain was so intense it was confusing. Maybe this was what being a walker felt like.
The thought shook him, though tensing his muscles only made them feel worse. He wasn't a walker. Couldn't be. The gunshot had probably killed him, that was logical, but there was no way Rick or Michonne would let him come back. Not like that.
The fear that thought held was enough adrenaline that he managed to crack open one eye. Like everything else, it hurt. He pulled in a small breath between his teeth. He was lying on a bed, staring up at a pale white ceiling. The room felt small, dim and unfamiliar, but it was certainly an Alexandrian house. Still neat and clean and so fancy Carl was afraid to touch anything. So that ruled out lying on a campfire. Or a walker chewing on his face.
The overhead light wasn't on, but the shadows on the ceiling looked like the sun was still rising. He tried to lift his head to get a better look and found that to be heavy too. Anything more than controlling just one eye seemed beyond him at the moment. He took a moment, then turned his head to the left. Black dots danced at the edge of what little he could make out through the haze. The window along the far wall was open. The sunlight spilling through hurt to look at, so he turned away.
He needed another moment to work up to it, but eventually he gathered the determination to roll his head the other way. Turned this way he couldn't feel the pillow beneath his face, only the scratch of what he realized were bandages against his skin. Each breath sent spikes of hot pain from one temple to the other.
Michonne sat in a chair by the window. He could only make out her head and shoulders, but the sight of her sheathed sword resting on the windowsill brought a feeling of recognition. It was the first thing to calm him since he'd woken up. The relief was like cold water on his burning skin. Michonne was alive, uninjured, and peacefully looking out the window. Though it hurt, Carl breathed out a sigh of relief.
Her face turned towards the open window, Michonne's eyes were fixed on something far out in the distance. She kept one hand on her sword, the other traced crooked circles on her chin. She hadn't noticed he was awake yet, so Carl tried to say something to get her attention.
The first time he pulled in a breath to say something, absolutely no sound came out. Just a quiet sort of wheezing. He tried to swallow but couldn't.
On his forth try he got out enough of a sound to make her turn around. He'd hadn't exactly planned what he was going to say to her, but it didn't matter because he couldn't even get her full name out. All he'd managed was a mangled syllable that resembled "muh-" but sounded more like a walker than anything else.
It was enough, and her eyes found him. He watched the change in her face, still trying to find rational explanations for the emotions swimming in his chest. Michonne was standing before Carl could comprehend that she'd stood up.
"Get Rick" were the first words out of her mouth, and at first he didn't understand that she wasn't talking to him. Then she was leaning her head out of the doorway, shouting down the hall. "Denise!" she screamed, and the noise was enough to make Carl's ears ring again.
"Denise! Tara!" Michonne called, and suddenly Denise's face appeared from a doorway down the hall. At the sight of him, Denise gasped.
"Holy shit." she blurted, her eyes wide, before taking off down the hallway, Tara following close behind her.
"Carl," Michonne whispered, turning back to him. He'd never heard her sound so small. He could hear her kneel at the right side of the bed, but had to crane his neck in order to really see her.
"Carl." She repeated, her voice shaking like she was crying. She took his limp hand in hers, putting her forehead to the back of his palm. Now he could feel the tears dripping off of her face.
Carl wasn't prepared to be this immobile, this weak, and this scared. A walker had stolen the shoe off his foot and he hadn't been as terrified then as he was watching Michonne cry.
"We almost lost you" Michonne said, still whispering. Seeing Michonne brought everything back. In a way he was grateful for something other than the pain to focus on. He just wished that something wasn't the reason the pain was here.
He squeezed her hand as hard as he could, though it still felt weak. He inhaled, his breath hitching slightly when another bolt of pain swept from the top of his ears all the way down his neck.
It was a fight, but he got two words out.
"Still here."
