Carl heard the knock on the door, but he was too exhausted to move. All he could do was breathe and wait out the waves of pain. He was going to last longer than the pain.
To his surprise, Rick's voice answered.
"It's not locked" He told the visitor, whose careful footsteps revealed her to be Denise.
"How is he?" Denise shut the door behind her as she entered.
His father heaved a sigh, and although Carl's eye was closed, he didn't need to see Rick to know the face he was making.
"Asleep." Rick answered, shortly. "Thank god, just asleep."
Denise moved closer, but not by much. "Rick, you should eat something."
"Not hungry." Rick answered, sounding rehearsed.
"Come on" Denise pushed, and there was a spark of tension in the room when Rick didn't answer her.
"Fine." She huffed after a moment. "But you can't sit in here all day. If you're not going to eat at least help me inventory what we have left. We may need a run soon."
"Um." Rick said, then there was the sound of wood scraping the floor as he stood from his chair. "Right. I can help with that. I'm sorry, I just..."
He trailed off, but there was the sound of Denise patting a hand against his shoulder. "That's the spirit. Come on."
As soon as the door was latched Carl cracked his eye open against the light. He'd mean to stand up slowly, but instead lost his balance and half fell half rolled out of bed. Cursing quietly, he stumbled the short distance to the door. Pressing his ear against the rough wood he could just make out the voices on the other side.
"—me to?" Denise was just finishing saying.
It was difficult, but Carl could make out most of their words. If he'd have two functioning eyes he probably couldn't have heard their words at all, but his brain was already hard at work compensating for the parts of it that were gone. If he held his breath he could make out the conversation clearly.
Carl did hate feeling like a spy, but he hated being in the dark more.
"It just..." Rick paused. If Carl pressed his eye against the keyhole he could see his father's pacing silhouette in the hall. "I don't think I can do it."
"Rick—" Denise was gentle, but there was an edge to her voice.
"You don't have to lecture me on it." Rick snapped, then took a breath. "Look, I'm ashamed enough as it is. But...Denise if I can't change his bandages, someone else needs to help him."
Carl's hand went to his face. Was he breathing so loud that they could hear him?
"Rick, we've all seen things worse than I can imagine, but—" Denise swallowed, gathering her courage. "Is that what this is really about?"
Rick didn't answer for a long time. He scratched his stubble, then studied the wall just over Denise's head. After a long stretch of uneasy silence he took a breath and spoke.
"I just don't think I could look at him."
Carl was standing over the toppled chair before he could understand he was the one who'd thrown it.
The sudden silence in the hallway told him that the noise hadn't gone unnoticed. Carl flung the door open with more force than he'd meant to.
Rick and Denise both stared at him, standing in the doorway breathing heavily and starting straight back.
Carl's jacket sagged on his shoulders, he hadn't grown back into it after the coma. He knew what he looked like, even he'd only snuck glimpses in the hallway bathroom mirror in the dark after everyone else was asleep.
"Carl?" Denise gasped.
"Carl," Rick shot her a glance. "How's the eye?" He asked.
"Just fine." Carl said, pointing a finger at the uninjured side of his face.
"That's not what I meant." Rick bristled, defensive.
"I'm going out." Carl looked to Denise, "I'm sick of bedrest, and look, I'm fine."
"Carl," she warned, looking between him and his father. "You're not cleared for release yet. I have to dress your wound before you can go back home."
"Well, somebody has to." Carl spat. He could feel Rick shift next to him, but Carl didn't turn to look. "Don't worry though, I'll be back before sundown."
"Carl, you can't." Rick looked at Denise. "Tell him."
"If I have to spend another minute in that goddam room I will blow my own brains out." Carl wanted to shout it, but he kept his voice under control.
"You're not going to listen to what I say, are you?." Denise stated more than asked.
Still, Carl nodded. "I'm going."
"No you're not" Rick insisted.
Denise stepped between them, throwing a look at Rick that Carl couldn't quite understand. "Rick I think—"
"Could you give us a moment? Alone?" Rick asked, then added "Please?"
Denise bit her lip, looking between the two of them one more time. "Alright." Then she put her hands up, and was down the stairs before anyone else could say anything.
"Carl..." Rick started, but Carl moved to push past him in the narrow hallway. "Where are you even going?"
Rick stepped in front of him.
"I'm going to the fence to scare the walkers away with my face." Rick didn't miss the break in Carl's voice as he said it, but Carl still stared determinedly at the ground.
"Carl? Carl look at me."
Carl blinked at the floor.
"Look at me dammit."
Carl held the stubborn silence as long as he could, then muttered, "I'm scared."
"Of course you are. We're all afraid. That's okay." Rick stepped towards his son, but Carl took a step backwards.
"You can't help."
"What? Why? Carl, what are you so scared of?"
"Same thing that everyone else is—"
Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Carl beat him to it.
"Me." He snapped.
A look of shock leapt across Rick's face, though he hid it well.
"I'm afraid of what you'll see when you look at me." Carl continued, becoming more agitated with every word. "Because I'll have to see you seeing it."
Rick put a hand up to his mouth, "No. no, I..."
"I don't blame you." Carl waved a hand, head still bowed. "I make the same face in the mirror."
"Carl, I never meant—"
"Don't you lie to me." Carl barked. "No you."
Rick set his jaw. "You watch your tone."
"No! I don't have time for you to sit here and blow sunshine up my ass."
"Carl, you've more than earned the right to be angry. But I'm serious when I say we're gunna get through this."
"We?" Carl's eye glinted in the low light.
"Yes. We all have to find a way through this. " Rick pointed a finger at his own chest. "I have to live with the guilt! I think about that every single day." Rick's voice rose with each breath.
"Oh I'm so goddamn sorry for you." Carl was shouting now, the whole house filled with the noise. "But please take your guilt trip to someone else."
"It's my fault, but I will fix it."
"I am not something you can fix!" Carl roared, "And I'm OBVIOUSLY—" he pointed at his face, "not something you can protect either. Honestly, I did better on my own after the prison."
Again Carl tried to shoulder his way past, but his father grabbed his arm.
"Carl, I thought you were raised better. Why are you being like this?"
"I see the way you look at me." Carl hissed.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Tonight, when you cry yourself to sleep you better be fucking thankful because YOU CAN STILL CLOSE BOTH YOUR EYES AND PRETEND THAT EVERYTHING IS FINE" Carl tried to wrench his arm away, but Rick gripped his son's elbow tightly.
Rick's face hardened. "You're alive. Time to suck it up and act like it." When Carl struggled to free his arm again Rick raised his voice. "YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE SO DISAPPOINTED."
Carl blinked once, twice, then raised his head to meet Rick's gaze.
Other than that he didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. It was such a carefully controlled absence of a reaction that it was chilling.
"Let me go." Carl ordered.
Rick obeyed, and watched his son limp down the stairs, fumble at the handle, and slam the door behind him.
