Carl didn't realized he'd drifted off again, but the next thing he knew Rick's face had joined Michonne's by his bedside.

He wanted to ask how much time had passed, but didn't have the voice for it. He found his answer in how disheveled Rick looked. He hadn't shaved in what must have been a long time. Rick looked like a mountain man again, almost like he did when they were living on the outside and he couldn't shave. More than the facial hair, it was the look of desperation in his face that reminded Carl of the long months they'd spent surviving without Alexandrea.

Rick was crying. Even through the shimmering haze that covered Carl's vision it was obvious. Even if he couldn't see him clearly, Carl could feel Rick shaking with each sob. Carl had never considered his father old, even though in the middle of the apocalypse looking old was an honor. But now, seeing the way the mixture of pity and guilt and sorrow had aged his eyes, Carl worried just how long he'd been out for.

"Dad?" it was raspy and barely audible, but this time he did get the whole word out.

Carl pushed himself up so that he was sitting, and regretted the decision instantly. A wave of dizziness poured over him. The black dots swimming around the edges of his vision grew, spilling over everything like tar. For a moment all he could see was black. The only reason he knew he hadn't actually passed out was because he could still feel Michonne's hand in his. He squeezed it, so hard it hurt, until he felt like he could breathe again. Until the wave ebbed, and a shadow of the real world started to come back into focus.

"Carl?" Rick asked. Carl flinched at the feel of his father's hand on his shoulder because he hadn't been expecting it.

"How do you feel?" Rick sounded like he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"Dad," he tried again, and meant to say more until someone handed him a glass of water. He downed the entire cup without pausing once. The whole room was silent for a moment while someone—he thought it was Denise, but not enough of his vision had returned to see anything more than just a dull silhouette—handed him glass after glass of cold water until he started to slow down.

When he was finished he put the glass on the table. "What happened?" he asked.

He felt more than saw Rick and Michonne exchange a glance.

Rick was careful with his response. "What do you remember?"

Carl had to turn almost his whole body to get a good look at him. "Most of it." He mumbled. "I remember the wall fell." He took a deep breath. "Who did we lose?"

Rick's mouth pulled into a grimace. "Don't worry about that just yet."

"Don't worry about it?"

"We're worrying about you right now. What do you remember after the wall went down?"

Carl curled his free hand into a fist, focusing on the pinch of his nails against his skin instead of the dull roar in his head. "I remember hiding. Then running. Jessie." He paused, pretending to think about what he was going to say next instead of thinking of the phantom pain of Jessie's fingers gripping his arm. "And Sam. Ron. The gun..."

Carl lifted his free hand to gingerly feel the bandages. There were more than he'd expected. He wasn't sure what he'd expected.

No one else said anything. "I can't see." Carl blurted into the silence, then proceeded to study the floorboards.

This time Carl saw Rick and Michonne exchange silent worry in their expressions, but he didn't understand completely.

"You have to know," Rick started, his voice low and soothing. Carl had heard that voice before, when Rick was negotiating with people who had guns trained on them. "Denise did everything she could."

"Without her—" Michonne chimed in, then reconsidered. "She saved your life."

Carl nodded with enough force that it made him dizzy. "I know. I have to find a way to thank her."

Now it was Rick's turn to study the floorboards. He didn't move for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose, blowing out a long slow breath. "She did her best, Carl. She worked a miracle, believe me. But there was no saving your eye."

Carl turned away, reacting to the news as if Rick had physically struck him with it.

"So. I only..." But he couldn't finish the thought. Much less say it out loud. No one moved, Rick and Michonne gauging his reaction carefully.

Carl remembered the sound of the gun going off. The chaos and the pain that followed. But he hadn't understood that the eyelid he felt blinking under the bandages in tandem with his good eye was only a phantom pain. Removing the gauze wouldn't change anything. This fuzzy picture of the world was as much as he was going to get from now on.

"I'm sorry." Rick whispered. All Carl could do was nod, this time slowly so he wouldn't make himself any dizzier. "Carl, I'm sorry. I am so so sorry."

Carl wanted to comfort his father, but he couldn't. His throat burned.

No one had the courage to look at each other.

Michonne was the first to speak, even though she sounded like she might cry again. "Is there anything we can do? You..you can be alone if you want to."

"No. no, no." Carl muttered, remembering not to move his head. "no, you can stay, it's fine."

"Denise says the best thing for you right now is rest." Rick explained, grateful for words to fill the silence. "That will help you heal the fastest." There was another stretch of quiet when Rick cleared his throat, searching for something more to say.

Carl surprised all three of them by bursting out into laughter. Overcome by a fit of giggles, he pressed a hand to his mouth. Michonne and Rick looked on, concerned.

"No," Carl managed to say, still laughing. "No, it's just..." he had to pause between fits for breath. "It's just funny. It's fucking hilarious. I almost... I almost said, 'could I see her.'"

Then just as soon as the laughter began, it turned to tears.

Carl crumpled forward, cradling his head in his hands. He squeezed his one good eye shut against the stinging tears spilling down his face. They dripped off his chin, obscuring his vision even farther in a hot cloud.

Rick and Michonne let him cry in near silence for a while. He wasn't sure how long. Michonne rubbed his back gently, just like he remembered Lori used to when he stayed home sick from school.

Between hitching sobs he finally got the words out.

"Where's Judith?"