I Won't Leave You Alone

by Just Another Introvert

After arriving at Alexandria, Carl feels like an outsider. Ron never had an easy life, and the apocalypse just made it worse. I'm awful at summaries, I'm sorry. Follows basis of season 5 with a few major changes. Contains Ron/Carl. Rated for violence and gore because it IS the apocalypse after all.

10. Stupid Kids Who Suck at Hugs

DISCLAIMER: I'm not Robert Kirkman, I'm a 15 year-old jackass who thinks she's way cooler than she is.

WARNING: THIS FIC FROM HERE ON OUT HAS MAJOR SPOILERS THAT ARE CANON FROM SEASON 5-6, DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE CAUGHT UP TO THIS POINT IN THE TELEVISION SERIES OR ARE OK WITH HAVING IT SPOILED! I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE PAST THIS POINT IF YOU RUIN IT FOR YOURSELF.
-

Long after the cereal is devoured, all of it, even the soggy pieces sticking stubbornly to the sides of the bowl like spongy leeches, the two boys continue to sit on the porch and waste the rest of the day. It's actually quite pleasant to just lounge on the porch, leaning against one another and alternating comfortably between dozing and chattering inanely, staying away from any topics too heavy after the morning's gut-spilling session. It's enjoyable, and Carl hasn't really experienced such a lazy day like this in a long time.

"Why is the sky blue?" Ron asks quietly, sleepily rubbing at his eyes and yawning. "Like, why the fuck is it blue? Why not...a cool fiery Doomsday red? Why blue, you know?"

"Because…." Carl drawls, gears in his head turning in hopes of coming up with a really snarky answer that bites. "Because….that's just a cool color."

Ron snorts. "A cool color?" he mocks. "That's all you can come up with? No accurate sciency answer or at least creative sarcastic answer? That's it? It's a cool color?"

"I'm tired. Crack a science book or make up a smart ass answer yourself," Carl replies with a drawn out yawn, letting his heavy eyelids droop down and leaning more heavily against his friend.

Ron smiles as they drift into another little bout of silence. He takes in a deep breath, chest feeling significantly lighter since this morning, and closes his own eyes.

The silence only lasts a few minutes before tires screeching and the clashing of the main gate being thrown opened slice through it like a knife through flesh. It makes both boys jump in surprise, but they quickly relax as they realize it's just a run group arriving back. They giggle a little, looking at each other with huge 'aren't we stupid' smiles before starting to drift off again, ignorantly assuming nothing is out of order..

Their peace only resumes for a moment more before they hear screaming and shouting by the main gate.

"What the hell is going on?" Carl mutters, slowly opening his eyes and pulling himself up to his feet. He looks in the direction of the main gate with a look concern and bewilderment on his face, trying to make sense of the sudden noise with his fuzzy sleep deprived mind.

"I dunno," Ron replies, also standing up. He's about to suggest they go check it out when they spot a two people sprinting away from the main gate with looks of morbid seriousness, shouting to one another about 'it' being back by the showers. Ron and Carl only waste a second to glance at each other before hurriedly making their way towards the commotion.

As they get closer and closer to the gate the shouts and yells slowly develop from blurbs of noise to distinguishable vowels and consonants strung together. 'Hurry up! Hurry, please! She's gonna bleed out, fuck, hurry!' and 'What the hell happened?!' and 'Where is he? Where is he?' and 'Oh my god….O-oh my god, please….'

When Ron and Carl approach the main gate the first thing they see is the run van, it's sides smeared with blood and claw marks. It looks like it's driven down Route 666 and barely made it back to tell the tale.

The second thing that catches their attention is Glenn yelling and waving his arms around like a conductor, directing this symphony of madness and confusion. He keeps hurriedly shouting for someone to go get a doctor, go get a doctor, please, go get a doctor before she bleeds out.

The third thing they spot is Eugene, awkwardly leaning in through the open trunk doors of the van, his upper half completely inside. The notice a few passersby stopping to gawk. A small crowd forms around the beat-up van, people trickling in like water from a leaky faucet. As the number of people huddled around increases, the volume steadily grows until the soft murmur becomes a roar of voices and shouting.

"What's going on?!" Carl shouts. No one answers him.

The two people Ron and Carl spotted earlier swiftly cut through the thick crowd, carrying a bright green gurney. Carl feels his heart stop when his eyes land on it. Ron looks over at him in concern. He's never been in a situation like these, never been through a run-gone-bad, but he knows that gurneys are never a good thing.

The people set the gurney on the ground beside the van, almost directly under the bumper, and start trying to get Eugene to move.

"Careful! Careful!" He snaps as the shove him aside and start to grab at whatever he was holding in his arms. Blood speckles across his pale arms. "If you don't pick her up right she'll hemorrhage, careful!"

Its then that Maggie starts running through the dense crowd, shouting for Glenn at the top of her lungs. Her eyes are wide and filled with fear. Glenn spots her and stares, his mess of sweaty hair sticking to his face and his eyes looking watery. Maggie rushes up to him, running so fast she could give Jesse Owens a run for his money, and pulls him into a tight embrace.

Glenn goes semi-catatonic in her arms, not hugging back and suddenly ceasing to shout for help. He goes eerily silent before shaking his head, a few tears winding down his blood covered cheeks.

"What's with all the commotion?" Rick loudly asks, stepping into the small clearing around the van. "What's goin' on?"

He doesn't really receive an answer, Glenn crying into his wife's shoulder and Eugene snapping at the two people trying to hoist something out of the back of the van.

The people start to shuffle away from the van, a limp body being carried between them, one holding the hips and thighs, the other holding the shoulders and keeping the head, wrapped up in a bloody turban that looks like Eugene's jacket. It takes Carl a few seconds to process that the limp person with the grave looking head injury is Tara.

"Careful!" Eugene snaps again as they slowly lower her still form onto the gurney. They hurriedly strap her in before they each grab an end and start rushing away to the infirmary, Eugene jogging along beside them looking sickly anxious.

"Was that….was that Tara?" Ron asks, looking shocked, squinting as if trying to see through a guise.

Carl numbly nods and watches Glenn cry, feeling his gut twist. Glenn is more emotional than most at this point, but he's not easy to break. He's strong, flexible, adaptable. Carl hasn't seen him cry since the farm, so he knows something seriously awful must've happened.

Rick knows this too as he watches his comrade cry. He looks around at the crowd of spectators, hoping for some answers, but no one really knows what the hell is going on besides the sobbing Asian.

"What's going on?!" Deanna bellows, making her way through the crowd. She briskly strides over to the van, looking at Rick for answers. He shakes his head, signifying that he's just as lost and uninformed as she is.

Deanna scans the crowd, looking for her youngest child. He was on the run, he'll know what's going on. "Aiden?" she shouts, looking through the sea of scared and confused faces. "Aiden?"

There's a rattling in the van as Nicholas slowly crawls out on all fours and drops down onto the cement. He looks disoriented and lost, a swollen egg on his forehead and his arms shaking as he struggles to hold himself up. Deanna looks down at him briefly, trying to asses whether or not he's lucid enough to get answers from. Her answer comes in the form of Nicholas black out.

"Where's my son?" Deanna shouts, now looking back at the crowd. "Aiden? Has anyone seen my son?"

"I didn't see him get out of the van," Ron mutters, craning his neck to look around at the hoard of people. "Did you?"

"No," Carl mumbles, already having a bad feeling about this. He's seen situations like this one too many times to not know how it's going to end….

"Aiden? Has anyone seen Aiden?!" Deanna keeps shouting, her cool facade slowly chipping away under duress. "Aiden?!"

An odd look comes over Rick's face, like a sudden epiphany. He looks over at Glenn and quietly asks. "Did Noah….did he not make it either?"

Glenn wipes his face with the back of his head and shakes his head, sniffling and trying to compose himself.

Carl bows his head and sighs quietly, a sad sigh like one of a 9/11 spectator. He didn't know Noah all that well, he was only with them for a couple of months, but it's always hard anyway, especially when they're so young….

Deanna keeps yelling for her son, now looking completely frazzled and upset, voice cracking like a whip and pacing back and forth in front of everyone like a raving lunatic. "Aiden?! Has anyone seen my son?! Has anyone seen Aiden?!"

"Mrs. M-Monroe," Glenn chokes out as he wipes his face with his hand again, chin resting on Maggie's shoulder. "Mrs. Monroe….I'm sorry."

Deanna takes a second to gaze over at him in his somewhat pitiful state before continuing to scream for her son, in complete and total denial.

"Why...why is she still calling?" Ron asks, throat tight and head awhirl.

"She doesn't want to believe it," Carl answers solemnly, knowing exactly how she feels from experience. "That or she truly doesn't believe it. It's….it's really hard to swallow, especially for the first time. I mean….if I'd been gone a few days and someone just came up to you and told you I had died, would you believe them?"

Ron thickly swallows, not wanting to even imagine the scenario. He shakes his head, figuring he probably would believe them deep down but try not to and keep hoping beyond reason.

"Aiden?!" Deanna shrieks, running a bony hand through her hair, looking downright distraught. "Aiden?!"

Everyone watches their leader, usually so collected and articulate, lose it, eventually going silent and looking over at Glenn again for reassurance. He apologizes again, voice steadier and more sure this time, and Deanna stops shouting and instead elects to stare at the beat up van in silence. She slowly looks over at Glenn and Maggie again, then at Rick, then over at the crowd of people, chattering anxiously like a low hum of buzzing bees.

"My son….my son is dead…." She says, sounding extremely calm and composed. "My son is dead," she says again, like saying it enough times will make it seem real. "My son is dead."

"Oh god…" Ron mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair. "This is fucking bad."

Carl hums in agreement: this is pretty fucking bad. Besides the fact that two people are dead and Tara might be dying making it three, Aiden's death means Deanna is going to be in an unstable state, which spells disaster. She already seems to be losing it.

"I wonder what happened," Ron mutters, gawking at the van again.

"Me too…." Carl breathes, feeling his stomach clench, cramp, and feel queasy like it used to when the run car pulled back into the prison yard and he'd been afraid certain people wouldn't hop out of the car alive and well.

Ron looks over at him, feeling extremely empathetic. "Let's go," he urges softly, figuring the more they stand around ogling the scene and giving it time to sink in the more upset Carl will be.

Carl shakes his head, "Hold on," he insists, hoping Glenn speaks up and explains what happened. He really wants to know what the fuck happened on this run, what went wrong and why Tara's head is split open, Nicholas looks like someone beat the shit out of him, and how Noah and Aiden Monroe died.

"Glenn," Maggie says softly as her husband starts to gently pull away from her embrace.

"Rick," Glenn whispers, taking a few steps towards the older man, Maggie still holding onto his forearm. "We need to talk," he says, wiping his hand across his slick face again.

Rick nods solemnly, a thoughtful looks on his face as he puts a steady hand on Glenn's shoulder.

"You're right, we sure as hell do," he agrees with another nod. He looks over at Maggie before saying, "Let's head back to my house, make some some coffee and sandwiches, and talk, alright?"

Maggie nods moving her grip back to Glenn's hand.

Glenn nods too but frowns a little, swallowing thickly and staring down at his and his wife's intertwined hands. "I don't know if I'll be able to eat," he admits, looking a little shaken up. He shakes his head, quickly attempting to regain his composure. "Rick…." he mutters quietly, looking him straight in the eyes, serious as the grave, eyes looking like two huge abysses and face suddenly looking stormy and full of anger. "C-Carol was right. About these people."

Rick looks at Glenn in silence for a few moments before jerking his head to the side, signaling for Glenn and Maggie to follow him.

"Come on," Carl mutters, grabbing Ron by the hand and pulling him through the congregation, trying to catch up with his dad, Glenn, and Maggie. He really needs to know what went down. Carl's always hated being left out of the loop, not entirely sure what's unfolding around him and being left in the dark. Even when he was little and most of the adults around him wanted nothing more than for him to live in ignorance and be protected behind the curtains, he wanted to know exactly what the fuck was going on. He never will just sit on the sidelines twiddling his thumbs, it's one of the few things about him that's never changed.

Ron doesn't hesitate to follow Carl, weaving between the departing people. He's inexperienced in matters like this, completely new to this like every other shocked Alexandrian standing around and gaping wide like a school of fish, but unlike them he's always had the most morbid curiosity, the worst habit of having to know things raw and real. HIs mother used to say it was a good thing he wasn't a cat or he'd be long since dead.
-

"It….it was a stupid mistake. We were all yelling at him not to do it," Glenn mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if in severe pain and looking down at his untouched mug of coffee, the steam rising off the surface and making condensation spot on his nose.

"But he kept shooting at it, even though it was decked out in heavy SWAT gear. And….eventually he shot one of the grenades and it all went to hell from there."

"Was the blast what killed Noah and Aiden?" Maggie asks gently, rubbing little circles on Glenn's back with the palm of her hand.

Glenn shakes his head. "No….I mean, sort of. The blast killed Aiden. He….he got impaled by these shards of wood from the shelving units. Like….he was impaled through the stomach and the chest. Tara hit her head during the blast too, and all these rows and rows of shelves were knocked over and I couldn't get to her. Eugene was with her though, so we yelled to each other to make a plan: to try and circle back around to the van. Eugene could take Tara back into this storage room we'd passed earlier and wait there until me and everyone else had gotten to the van and pulled back around to the exit in the storage room. It was….a flawed plan looking back at it but….it was the best we could come up with at the time."

"He was impaled?" Ron can't help but feel his jaw drop at the thought of Spencer Monroe, someone he'd seen just 42 hours ago walking around fine, impaled by several split edges of wood.

Glenn nods, looking across the table at him. "He was….he was still alive too."

"After he was impaled?" Ron breathes, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. He's very aware of what a shit storm it is outside the walls, he knows what sorts of things go on: death by walker, death by people, rape, torture. He knows. But the thought of someone still being alive after being impaled…..Ron's sleep deprived mind has a field day conjuring up nice images of that.

"Yeah," Glenn mutters, bowing his head briefly. "He was screaming for us not to leave him….but we couldn't….get him out either. Even if we had managed to, he would've bled out….there were all these walkers coming too, swarming into the room. I tried to anyway, tried to get him free."

"Glenn…" Maggie mutters, shaking her head.

"I couldn't though. Me and Noah stood there, trying our best, but we couldn't….Nicholas….he wanted to take off. He was out of there and he was yelling for me and Noah to just leave."

"You should've listened to him," Rick mutters, walking over to the table and placing two cans of of soda down in front of Carl and Ron before slumping over into a chair by the head of the table.

Glenn shakes his head. "I know but it's hard to just leave someone who's screaming and crying. Even though you know you can't save them, it's just….hard."

Rick nods. "Is that how you lost Noah?"

Glenn shakes his head again, wrapping a few of his fingers around the handle of the coffee mug and inching it towards himself. "No….we eventually did give up with Aiden…...we had to, and we ran out and to the main entrance. When we got there it was swarmed, the walkers were everywhere. We managed to get into one of those…..revolving doors. Me and Noah were inside a panel and Nicholas was in one across from us. I had no idea what to do, nobody did. I was scared, and I….I don't get all that scared anymore, but I was practically pissing myself at first trying to figure out how we were going to get out of this. We….we just stood there for awhile. The walkers were on both sides of the doors at that point, inside the building and in the parking lot. I guess there'd been a herd nearby and the blast of the grenade attracted them."

"How'd you get out?" Carl asks, not sure how the hell HE would've handled the situation himself, not being able to see how the hell they could've gotten out.

"We were saved by Eugene," Glenn mutters, causing Rick to go wide-eyed and Carl and Ron to do a double-take.

"Eugene saved you? Wasn't he waiting for you back in the storage room?" Carl asks.

"I thought so but he told me that walkers swarmed in back there so he hoisted Tara up over his shoulder in a fire-man carry and made his way out."

"Are you serious? Eugene?" Maggie asks, looking shocked. "How'd he manage to get out if it was swarmed?"

"He had a gun on him," Glenn says. "He says the main reason he left wasn't because of the walkers though. He says the room he was in was secured and they could've stayed safely in there forever. He claims the reason he left was because Tara's bleeding had gotten so bad. He thought she was gonna hemorrhage and die."

"Wow….I just….I never thought he had anythin' like that in him," Maggie admits.

Glenn shakes his head. "Me neither but I'm fucking grateful that he does because we'd all be dead otherwise. Anyway….Eugene was able to make it into the parking lot. He laid Tara out in the trunk and made a covering for her head to try and slow the bleeding. He saw the swarm by the entryway and knew we were royally fucked, so he decided to try and lure the walkers in front of the entrance away."

"How'd he do that?" Carl asks.

"He blasted some of the godawful dubstep Aiden had been playing on the way to the warehouse with the windows rolled down and cruised in front of the entrance, yelling and hitting the side of the van. It worked really well, almost all of them followed him, grabbing at and smushing themselves up against the van."

"But... all the walkers inside the building….." Rick drawls.

Glenn nods, lifting his coffee mug with a shaking hand. "Yeah...that's where I ran into problems. My plan was to slide the door just barely one way so that Noah and I could slip out. This would've worked because our panel was closer to the outside, we could've gotten out without feeding Nicholas to the walkers. But….the second we started moving the door that way….Nicholas freaked the fuck out….he rammed into the door and freed himself….and when he did he pushed me and Noah's panel out into the open. Made us lunch…."

"And….the walkers...they got Noah," Maggie says in a slow curious tone, not really asking but making a statement.

Glenn just nods his head, swallowing a mouthful of coffee and almost choking. He coughs into a balled fist for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Yes," he says simply. "We both backed up against the door, trying to swing it back the other way but we couldn't. It was too late. The walkers had already….some of them managed to wedge their torsos and arms into the panel and were grabbing at us. One….got ahold of Noah's ankle….I grabbed him and tried to pull him back in. I really tired, he was squirming around on the ground, trying to pull himself towards me….but at that point several of them were clawing at his legs and feet…..I didn't let go of him….he let go of me. I….waited a few minutes before making my escape….I was shaken up….when I got out I found Nicholas trying to get Eugene to get out of the van, he was trying to abandon him there and take the van home himself, leave me and him behind….I….I hit him a few times, threw him on the ground….it was just an angry rush of adrenaline at that point."

There's a tense silence that stretches out between everyone in the kitchen for several seconds. Glenn takes a second swallow of coffee before grimacing and huffing out a deep breath. Rick rubs his temple with his index finger and closes his eyes before standing up and grabbing Maggie's empty coffee mug, going to refill it.

"Deanna…" Rick says slowly as he pours the hot liquid carefully to avoid burning himself. "She doesn't look like she's handlin' this too well."

He gives Maggie a pointed look as he makes his way back over to the table and sets the mug of coffee down in front of her. "Make sure to talk to her," Rick tells her. "You're our only connection to 'er."

Maggie nods, suddenly going from looking grim to looking hopeless. "She might not talk to me...if...if this goes down the way I think we're all thinkin' it will….she might not talk to me."

Ron doesn't understand what they're talking about, but he knows it's not his place to ask, he already feels like he somewhat evaded their privacy today by sitting around this kitchen table with them and hearing Glenn's first-hand account of the gore fest that took place on the run this morning.

"She might though, and if she does, take advantage of it," Rick advises, finishing off his own cup of joe.

"I think we might be ok….as awful as it sounds to say this, one of our own dying on this run might be...the only part of this that makes us look credible," Glenn says, rubbing his forehead and neck sorely.

"You never know though…" Maggie says, sounding nervous as she takes a sip. "Nicholas might….spin the story a bit…"

Glenn sighs out through his nose. "He probably will….I….punched him. He's all bruised up because I beat the shit out of him….I was pissed, ok? I was really pissed…."

Ron feels anger bubble up in his own chest, he knows how Glenn feels and he feels slightly aligned with them, like he's being cheated and treated unfairly in a way too. "It'd be nuts if you weren't pissed!" he blurts out, eyes narrowed. "He killed Noah. He almost got you killed too and all to save his own skin!"

Glenn can't help but laugh a little bit and grin, shaking his head. "God, Ron, can I have a recording of you saying that and then have you publically approve the statement?"

Maggie smiles sadly into her cup of coffee. "Ron, you might be the only Alexandrian who'll believe that," she says quietly.

"Why wouldn't anyone else believe us?" Carl asks, looking just as lost as his friend. "It's the truth."

Ron nods in agreement. "Yeah. How could they not believe it if Glenn and Eugene both say that's what happened."

Rick tiredly rubs at his eyes and looks at the two boys sitting across from him. "We….we already aren't the most trusted people here. We aren't necessarily looked at as Alexandrians yet, we're still an outsider group livin' within the walls….and when Deanna gave me and Michonne and Maggie pretty inside jobs here, people….people are wary of us. This situation, even though it's nothin' but an accident, will make them even less trustin' of us."

"But….like Glenn said, one of our own died too!" Carl says, face distorting into an angry scowl.

"I know, I know, but Nicholas'll probably say somethin' else….make it look like Glenn sacrificed him to save himself."

"That's bull shit," Ron spits out before he can stop himself. He has the grace to quietly apologize for his choice of words, but Rick just laughs.

"It is bull shit," he agrees, shaking his head. "But….we don't have the credibility we need for people to believe us. From the second we walked through these gates, several people here didn't want us here. They said we looked wild, crazy, uncivilized. They thought we were gonna take Alexandria over, were convinced we were nothin' but bad news."

Ron looks down at his feet, knowing his dad had been one of those people who hadn't wanted Rick's group there. He'd told him that it was because they looked unstable, like wild animals (which was hypocritical beyond belief). His mom had been welcoming to them, hadn't thought anything of it….although….at first she had warned Ron not to talk to them until Deanna interviewed them.

"That number has just went up the longer we've been here," Maggie says, still looking down into her mug. "I mean, sure, there have been a lot of people who've come around to us, realized we don't them mean any harm and just want a place to call home, but so many think we're tryin' to weed our way into the system, get integrated and then take over."

Carl looks down at his can of soda, remembering how people had been giving him odd looks when he'd first arrived. He HAD gotten several smiles, but many people had also looked down their nose at him like he was a filthy rabid stray that had accidentally wandered into a Pedigree dog show.

"You've….you've gotta talk to Deanna then," Ron insists with a shake of his head. "You need to talk to her before Nicholas does and shits all over you guys!"

Rick sighs. "We could all testify about what happened and it wouldn't do a damn thing because we've all got one thing in common," Rick says. "We're all from the same group. Unless Nicholas says what really happened, this isn't gonna turn out so well."

"He won't." Glenn groans out, burying his face in his hands.

"He won't what?"

"Say what really happened. Not after….not after I beat him. He's going to say that I tried to feed him to the walkers, he won't even mention that it was HIM who had more leeway, more space between him and the opening. He won't say that he killed Noah to save his own ass or that he tried to hijack the van, he'll make it look like I fucked up."

Carl grits his teeth, anger swelling in his chest like a flame. "He's an asshole," he mutters, glaring down at the kitchen table like it was what pushed the revolving door and fed Noah to the walkers for lunch.

Maggie sighs and shakes her head. "A dishonest asshole," she mumbles through a mouthful of coffee.

"Rick!" A voice shouts from the entryway as the front door bangs shut. Rosita and Michonne quickly file into the kitchen, looking bewildered.

"What the hell is going on?!" Rosita asks, yanking out a kitchen chair and rather forcefully sitting down in it, the legs squeaking as they move across the tiled floor.

"We heard about the run," Michonne says, sounding much more calm. "Is Tara alright?"

Rick sighs, motioning for Michonne to take a seat. "We don't know if Tara's gonna be ok or not yet. She bashed her head in an explosion and-"

"Explosion?!" Rosita asks, eyes practically popping out of her head. "Glenn, what happened?!"

"You just missed storytime, sorry," Glenn mutters, resting his cheek on the table's surface.

"I heard Noah and the youngest Monroe boy died. Is that true?" Michonne asks, looking around the table like a journalist looks around at a group of politicians while interviewing.

"It is," Rick says solemnly.

"Oh god," Rosita mumbles, shaking her head. "Glenn, please, tell us what happened!"

Glenn sighs and goes over the events that took place in the warehouse for the second time, but halfway through his story Daryl walks in demanding answers too, so he starts over.

"That prick," Daryl mutters, shaking his head. "If he runs off to Deanna runnin' his mouth with a stream of bull shit…"

"We're screwed," Michonne says sharply.

"But….we lost Noah….that accounts for something, right?" Rosita says, resting her chin atop her fists. "Why would we kill our own?"

"Glenn is the pussy who sacrafices him in Nicholas's version...or Noah got impaled and Aiden was sacrificed...or maybe the original because Noah was inexperienced and wasn't with us long enough to be part of the cult," Michonne says with a shake of her head. "The possibilities are endless."

"Aw fuck," Daryl grumbles.

"Aw fuck is right."

Everyone turns around when they hear the front door open and close again and watch as Carol makes her way into the room.

"Spare me the details, I was just talking with Eugene and know all about it," she says briskly as she pulls a chair out and sits down on the edge. "I saw Deanna on my way back," she says, looking around at everyone. "She doesn't look too good….tight-lipped….pale….I smiled at her and she looked the other way," Carol says like she's listing off things she intends to pick up at the grocery store. She pauses to smile over at Ron. "Hi, Ron. How're you?"

Ron awkwardly grins back at her. "Uh…..fine."

Carol nods, the smile not faltering until she looks away from him. "I don't know where we should take this from here, but we need to watch our backs."

"I'm gonna go see if I can talk to Deanna," Maggie says, quickly finishing off her second cup of coffee before standing up and pushing in her chair. She leans down to give Glenn a kiss on the cheek and mutters in his ear an offer to go with her. Glenn quietly declines, mumbling that he needs to shower and excusing himself. Rosita gets up to go too, dismissing herself by saying she needs to go find Abraham and see what he knows.

Carol gets up and offers to make everyone lunch, already grabbing a loaf of bread out of the pantry. None of the remaining party around the table objects as she starts clearing a space on the counter to make sandwiches.

"I wonder where Eugene wandered off to. Do you think he's still by the infirmary, waiting for Tara to get out of surgery?" Michonne asks. "Rosita told me that's the last place she saw him."

"Maybe," Daryl says, digging around in his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. "I need to congratulate him next time I see 'im."

Rick smiles a little and nods. "Yeah, never thought he'd be savin' people's skins like that. I took him for really nothin' but a coward."

"He's evolving," Carol states simply as she spreads some mayo across a slice of bread. "He's adjusting and adapting to the world now that Abraham is refusing to protect him and he doesn't have the 'cure' as a shield anymore. It's evolution….right before our very eyes."

"I wonder if Abraham will be willing to make amends with him once he hears about his heroic acts during the chaos today," Michonne muses aloud, standing up to head upstairs and retrieve a crying Judith from her crib.

"Maybe…." Carol replies with a little hum, fetching a few plates from the cupboard. She looks over her shoulder at Ron and Carl and smiles faintly.

"Ron...does your mom know that you're over here?" She asks casually.

Ron flushes and shakes his head. "No...I was supposed to be home a long time ago but…."

Carol smiles over her shoulder at him. "Oh, I'm not kicking you out or anything, I'm just curious because I saw your mother earlier and she asked me if by any chance I'd seen you today."

Ron sighs, a twang of guilt ringing in his skull. He was already sure earlier today that his mom was gonna kill him when he finally showed his face at home, now he has a feeling she'll kill him and desecrate his body after hours of torture. He hates to worry her, but going home hadn't even crossed his mind until around noon, already much later than she had ordered him to be home by.

Rick laughs. "Yeah, your mom knocked on the door around 7 this mornin' and asked me if I'd seen you. She's probably worried sick about you."

"I usedta be gone for weeks at a time and my mama never questioned me about where the hell I'd been, long as I kept my nose clean," Daryl mutters, teeth clenched around a cigarette as he pulls out a lighter. "But….different times now I guess."

"Your mother still wouldn't have cared about where you were even if you grew up during the apocalypse," Carol tells him with a pointed look.

Daryl just laughs and puffs out a cloud of smoke, trying to make light of the rather uncomfortable situation they're all in.
-

"Spencer," Deanna calls from the living room doorway, voice strong and sure but bloodshot eyes deceiving the mask. "Spencer, are you listening to me?"

Her oldest son (her only son now) continues to stare absently down at the carpet, eyes glazed over as if hypnotized. His hands are white from how hard he's pressing them together and are shaking.

He hasn't moved from his spot on the couch for hours, not since he woke up and learnt of his brother's gorey demise. He seems to have become catatonic, and Deanna is honestly, for the first time in her life, unsure of what to do.

"Spencer," she calls again. He looks up this time, watery irises flickering up from the carpet to his mother's tear stained face.

"You should eat something," she says, sounding impersonal as ever but face filled with concern. "Or at least stand up and stretch your legs…..maybe take a short walk."

Spencer stares blankly at her for a minute, his grief riddled mind taking a few seconds to comprehend her words. Her words sink in after a few seconds, so he uses the arm of the sofa to help him up and shuffles into the kitchen.

His chest and joints ache, he's in pain. He feels like he's soaked with guilt, soaked in gasoline and waiting for someone to be kind enough to strike the match. He feels like he killed his brother, like he's indirectly an asset to his death.

If he'd gone instead….if he'd just stuck it out and gone….

The voice of reason in Spencer's head tries to tell him that if he'd gone he'd just be dead instead of Aiden. He was so tired he probably would've ended up falling asleep behind the wheel and wrecking the van, killing himself and possibly everyone else. He would've been slow and lethargic from pulling that all nighter with Enid and been a sloppy shot and a slow runner, he would've been bit at the least, possibly devoured.

The voice of reason can scream at the top of its lungs in vain though, Spencer feels like shit, soaked to the bone with guilt. He feels like a murderer, he feels filthy and suicidal as hell. He stands in the middle of the kitchen, cold tile sending chills down his spine. His heart feels like it's being ripped apart, he feels like he might vomit.

He sobs quietly into his hands to try and muffle the sound, leaning against the counter for support because he can't stand on his own two fucking legs.

His heart hurts, his legs hurt, his arms hurt. Everything hurts. He wonders to himself if this is the kind of pain Aiden suffered as the decaying hands ripped him apart and gorged on his innards. He wonders what hurt worse, the shards of wood or gnashing teeth. He cries harder as he thinks about it, wishing to stop the horrific slide show his brain is presenting him with.

What Spencer doesn't understand is that his brother hadn't been in nearly as much pain as he's currently in. Aiden's pain was excruciating but only momentarily before death released him, having had enough fun with the torture. Aiden felt no remorse or guilt, both extremely unbearable feelings that eat people alive and force them to sit and stew in it's stomach acid, burning them up. Spencer's pain is eternal, every morning when he first wakes up it'll feel like he's boiling and every night before going to bed he'll feel like he's being stabbed, and he'll burn for every minute in between. He doesn't get that the deepest and most fatal wounds are invisible to the naked eye and the worse scars internal.

Deanna waits for her remaining son to return to the living, opening up the cabinet doors and digging out the old tape player. Her husband walks silently into the room and slumps down in the ugly armchair, teary eyes transfixed on his wife.

"What are you doing?" he asks quietly.

"I figured we should listen to Aiden's run-tapes…." Deanna answers stiffly, popping the tape she'd had retrieved from the van earlier into the player.

Reg nods, watching the ghost of his surviving son creep into the room, holding an unpeeled orange in his hand awkwardly. He motions for Spencer to sit, but he stays hovering in the doorway.

"Sit down, Spencer," Deanna instructs, pressing play and raising the volume before sitting on the couch. She pats the cushion next to her and watches as her son flops down next to her.

As the obnoxious dubstep blasts, Reg closes his eyes, still not believing that his son is gone. Deanna stares unmoving at the wall, too much on her mind. She feels overwhelmed with the death of her child and the upheaval it's bringing to the rest of the community, striking fear and uncertainty into the residents. It's also making 'Rick's Group' more predominant as outsiders, setting up the dividers again, making them untrustful. She's had a stressful day, Nicholas coming to her a little bit after the chaos had calmed down and claiming Glenn was not to be trusted and neither was Rick or any of them for that matter, and the priest who's been traveling with Rick's Group, Father Gabriel, also came to her later in the day and said that they were immoral and bad people. She has no idea what to do or think, and she doesn't feel as in control as she usually does, the death of her child being her kryptonite and zapping all of her powers.

Spencer is the only one who cries while they listen to the tape, and he cries hard enough for both of his parents combined as if to make up for their lack of tears.
-

"Take off your hat," Ron says, leaning against the porch railing.

"What?" Carl asks, giving his friend a look from under the brim.

"Take off your hat," Ron repeats, scotching closer to Carl.

"Why?" Carl asks.

"Because I wanna see your eyes. I'm like not entirely sure how're you're feeling right now, you've been really fucking quiet since….the run group came back and I know I can't make you talk because nobody can, but I can tell how you're feeling by your eyes."

Carl sighs out in slight irritation, placing his right hand on the brim of his hat. "You know dude, you're making me regret telling you that."

Ron chuckles sadly, shaking his head as Carl takes his hat off.

The two of them have been sitting out on the porch, almost exactly like they were this morning before the run van came zooming in through the main gates, bringing chaos and unease along with it.

"You…..you can talk?" Ron offers with a little shrug. He misses the bit of anger Carl showed at lunch, he misses it because now he's sullen and quiet. Ron knows him too well at this point to not know he's anxious, squirming around inside.

Carl shrugs. "Not much to say."

Ron frowns before slowly piecing together what he's going to say, being articulate and so not himself. "My dad might be an asshole, but he's good at his job," he says slowly, assuming that's what's eating Carl. "He won't let her die."

Carl can't help but smile a little, knowing Ron's trying to get to him, reach him through the fog. He never means to get distant when upset, but he does. He shuts down and crawls into his shell, not to hide, but to fight alone.

"Even if he's the best surgeon in the world, which he may be at this point, she could still die. People die in surgery, even if the surgeons did everything right. Sometimes they just aren't strong enough to wake up," Carl mutters, twisting his hat around in his hands.

Ron nods, brain rushing to figure out his next move. "True but….I have hope that she's gonna wake up. I think that five hours from now, Tara is gonna be awake and alive."

"Can...can I ask you something? I'm not trying to be a prick, but I need to ask."

"Go ahead," Ron says with a shrug.

Carl nods. "So….is your dad the one doing surgery on Tara?"

"Yeah. He's the only surgeon here right now. That lady, Denise, is capable of performing surgery too, but she says it makes her nervous and she's not as experienced and she's not as experienced, so she only does it if my dad can't."

"Can your dad perform surgery today?"

"What do you mean? He's doing it right now," Ron mutters with a raised eyebrow.

Carl takes a second, looking behind them at the door to make sure no one is about to walk out on the porch and overhear them. After lunch Carol pulled Rick and Daryl aside, requesting a 'private' talk and Michonne left to go get some air, but Carl's still paranoid that someone will eavesdrop. "Your dad was drunk last night," he mutters quietly, eyes still glued to the door. "That's why her hit you and your mom….so, does that mean he's like, hungover or whatever?"

Ron chews the inside of his cheek, looking down at the porch stairs. "He is, I'm not gonna lie, but…..it's never really interfered with his work. Like, he used to go to work drunk or after having had drunk all night….he's performed live saving transplants while buzzed or coming down from a buzz. I think it might actually help calm him down, you know? Keeps him focused."

Carl nods even though he doesn't understand. He wants too, wants to believe that without a doubt that Tara will wake up perfectly ok.

Ron watches Carl start to go rigid again, looking like a statue, unmoving and withdrawn. He sighs as he watches him play with his hat in his hands. "We could go down to the infirmary and see what's going on…..if you want," Ron offers quietly. He moves his hand to brush against Carl's lower back.

Carl looks over at him when his hand makes contact with his back. He shrugs. "She's probably still in surgery…" he mumbles.

Ron shakes his head. "It's worth checking out anyway."

Carl can't help but smile a little, but he tries to hide it behind his hands. "I don't wanna waste your time, man. I've been selfish, keeping you with me for almost 24 hours now. Your mom probably wants you home…"

Ron smiles at him, scotching even closer. "It's not a waste of time, come on." He grabs Carl's hand and pulls him to his feet, leading him down the street and to the infirmary.

They walk in silence, Carl keeping his eyes fixed on the street to prevent from making eye contact, especially with the way Ron's playing eye-ball tag, trying to look him in the eyes and see what's going on behind them.

"So….I totally get that you're upset-"

"I'm not upset."

"But I really wish you'd kinda tell me HOW you're upset, tell me what's….burning."

Carl shrugs, setting his hat back on his head. "Nothing. No use in worrying about Tara, it's out of my control and….this is gonna make me sound like shit but…..I wasn't all that close with Noah. He wasn't with us all that long, you know? Only a few months, two or three I think."

"You still seem sad."

"Well, everyone is right now, I mean, people died."

"Yeah but…." Ron mutters, scrunching up his face in thought. "You….I….I see something else eating you and it's killing me not knowing what it is."

Carl just shrugs, causing Ron to frown and step in front of him, cutting him off and blocking his path. Carl stumbles a bit over his own feet as he's abruptly blocked by Ron.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, Carl still looking intently at the ground, brows knitted in slight frustration and Ron looking perplexed.

"Come on," he mutters, quirking his head to the side.

Carl sighs out, giving his friend a slightly exasperated look. "I just told you what's up, ok?"

Ron huffs out through his nose, looking down at the shorter boy. His lips mouth his name, but his voice box seems to have short-circuited.

"It's late," Carl mutters after a few more heavy seconds of silence, looking up at the darkening sky.

Ron pauses to look up at the sky too, the dark violet surprising him a bit, the day really feels like it flew by, the morning being dwindled by in the park, Ron cutting himself up into a bazillion little pieces, and the rest of the day being spent around Carl's kitchen table, picking at sandwiches (Carl lost his appetite at the news of Tara's injury and Noah's death, Ron lost his at the thought of people being impaled). He glances back down at Carl and shrugs.

"So?" He asks.

Carl shrugs, continuing to twist his hat between his hands and stare down at it like it's an extremely fascinating artifact uncovered at ancient Egyptian burial grounds. Ron huffs out again, quickly reaching down and snatching it out of his hands. Carl frowns up at him, Ron frowning back down at him, holding the hat up above his own head and out of Carl's reach.

"Your friend was right," Ron says simply, still attempting to make eye contact.

"What?"

"You said you had a friend who told you that you just run away from your problems, you admitted yourself last night that you just….push it to the side and ignore it. That's what you're doing right now."

"I'm not," Carl mutters, shaking his head. "I'm just…."

Ron stares down at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "What?" he asks quietly.

Carl shoves his hands in his pockets. "It's….it makes me sound like a total asshole but…"

Ron cracks a tiny smile, trying to get him to relax and talk.

"It's just...Noah…"

Ron tilts his head, signifying that he's listening. When Carl takes several seconds to speak again he tries to prompt. "What about Noah?"

"Like I said, it sucks that he's dead...but….I've had way worse loses…."

"Then why are you so sad?" Ron mutters inquiringly.

Carl shrugs. "I'm not sad-"

"Yes you are."

"Stop looking at my eyes."

"No."

Carl shrugs again, his natural blow-off response it seems. "It's just….he was with one of my friends before I met him…..my one friend got separated and he had been with her….I never really got to see her again, I mean, the I hadn't seen her in months but when we finally found her, she got shot…..Noah had been with her for that time that we hadn't...he knew all about what had happened to her there, knew all this stuff about her…..a lot of the times at night he'd stay up with me and Maggie and Daryl and tell us all these stories about her….there was always something for him to tell us and….now that he's gone...his stories are too, and I know he had more he hadn't, like, told us yet…."

Ron looks down at him, watching his irises closely. "Did you feel like….like she was still with you when he told those stories?" He asks softly.

Carl shakes his head. "No, but I felt like I'd been there with her, hadn't lost that time. It….it makes me really sad knowing those stories I'll never hear…..are like….dead too."

"I'm sorry," Ron mutters, lowering his arm. He knows that it's not a helpful thing to say, but he doesn't know what else to do. "This friend of yours...how did she get separated?" he asks gently, knowing he's hit a wall and is crossing into private territory. If Carl decides to shut down, he'll let it slide, let him crawl away for now.

"We were all separated for awhile," Carl says slowly, trying to think of a way to explain. "It's a really long story….we'd been living at this prison and we'd had a good thing going but…..this guy, he went by the title Governor, he wanted to take it….we had a lot of nasty run ins with him and whatever group he was leading at the time….he killed a lot of our people and he broke down the prison walls, attacked us. Everyone sort of scattered after the prison fell…..I ended up escaping with my dad and after a few weeks alone, Michonne found us. We all met up again at this…..cannibal camp. Actually, that camp is where I met Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, and Tara. They hadn't been at the prison with us. Abraham and Rosita had been part of a group trying to get Eugene to DC because Eugene claimed he had the cure to the virus and Tara had been part of the Governor's group that wrecked the prison. We all ended up in the same train car at this camp though…..god, I'm rambling….what did you ask?"

Ron just stares at him for a moment, at least a million questions popping into his head based off what Carl just told him. He swallows thickly. "I asked how your friend got separated from you."

"When the prison fell. She and Daryl traveled together for awhile after that."

Ron nods. "What was her name?"

Carl is silent for a few minutes, shuffling his boots heels against the pavement. "Beth," he mutters. "Beth Greene. She was Maggie's little sister. She was the one that….told me that she could see emotions in my eyes."

Ron nods, feeling like he's just cracked a safe and is waiting for the heavy door to finally swing open. "Where did she meet Noah?"

"Um….she got kidnapped one night while her and Daryl were staying at this funeral home. I'm not totally sure what happened but...she was taken to this hospital back in Atlanta….it was a messed up community, something where there was this point system, according to Noah, and you had to work to get rid of the points but anytime you ate you got more points and you had to work off what you 'owed'. Anyway, she and him lived there until they decided to try and escape together….Noah managed to get away but they caught Beth and took her back. Noah ran into Daryl, who had been out with Carol, trying to find Beth. He stole their shit, never heard the end of that, Daryl was pretty pissed, and obviously they caught up with him. Long story short, Noah took us back to get her. We were gonna trade off, give them Noah and they'd give us Beth….but...that wasn't the original deal. We had planned on leaving with both Beth and Noah, but Noah was willing to sacrifice his freedom with us to let Beth go home. Uh…"

Ron waits for him to speak again, a weird heavy fog seeming to set over them and block out the rest of their surroundings, Alexandria not existing at all. As far as either of them are concerned, they're standing in that hosp in Atlanta as Noah offers to stay so that Beth may go.

"Beth was pissed. Really pissed. She never usually….got worked up and if she did she didn't lose it like some people do. But she gave Noah a tight hug before turning around and facing the woman who had set up the deal and ran the place. I don't remember what she said anymore, it's kind of a blur, but she stabbed the woman in the arm with a pair of mini scissors she'd been hiding in her arm cast. The woman p-panicked….." Carl goes silent after that, looking down at the road and exhaling heavily.

"She shot Beth in the head," he whispers, shutting his eyes, still able to hear the sound of the gun and see the blood and brain matter flying through strands of light blond hair and staining the hospital walls.

Ron is silent, rerunning the story in his head again and again. After a few moments of silence, Ron's murmured voice breaks through the hospital haze and brings them back to the street.

"How did you meet Beth?"

"I'd known Beth for awhile….a little bit after the apocalypse started, my group found this farm and we made camp there for awhile…..Beth's family ran that farm."

"Were….Maggie and Beth the only people you met on the farm?"

Carl shakes his head. "There was Hershel and Otis...but I never met Otis...and Jimmy and Patricia…..we didn't stay at the farm all that long….it was great while we were there but one night it got totally swarmed and we had to leave."

"Were Maggie and Beth the only ones to make it off the farm the night it got swarmed?"

"No Hershel made it too."

Ron licks his lips, feeling like he's stepping around in a land mine, trying to be careful. He's not feeling so bold, but he asks anyway. "Who was Hershel?"

"He was Maggie and Beth's dad. He was…..a great man. He was a veterinarian and he saved my life. He saved a lot of other people's lives too, he was smart as hell and he never once gave up on anybody. He would always stand by you and try his best to give you good advice, whether or not he agreed with what the hell you were doing."

"How'd he….." Ron trails off, feeling slightly ashamed for asking but curiosity getting the best of him.

"The Governor," Carl mumbles, still looking downwards. "He…..he decapitated him."

Ron stares wide-eyed. "He….cut off his head?!" he mutters.

Carl just nods, closing his eyes again. "It was the day he broke down the walls and the prison fell. The Governor was holding Michonne and Hershel captive, using them as hostages. He used Michonne's katana to do it."

"So….you went from the Greene's farm to the prison?"

"Sorta…..we lived out on the road for a few months in between, looking for somewhere to settle down."

"And…..after the prison fell?"

"Another few months out on the road."

"And…..a cannibal camp?" Ron asks, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Uh….yeah. Back in Georgia there was this supposed survival camp called Terminus. We all met up there…..turns out they were luring people there, stealing their shit and eating them," Carl mutters with a flippant shrug like he's talking about a camping trip with minor incidents. Truth be told, he's just not feeling up to getting too into it, not in the mood to relive it.

"And….how'd you….get out of there?"

"Kinda thanks to Carol. She set off some bottle rockets or something at the camp, set shit on fire….I was in the train car waiting to be dragged off and killed, I'm not totally sure what happened…..it…..it was terrifying though," he admits with another flippant shrug.

Ron stares at him for another long period of silence, the haze making them shiver as they huddle in the train car full of fear and despair.

"After you escaped…."

"Another long while on the road…..a short time in a church then a long journey to DC for Eugene...then, one morning after we'd spent the night in this farm house and all thought we were gonna die, a man approached us and told us about this place he came from. We….we were paranoid and still are, you can't survive and be trustful anymore, so we tied him up and questioned him. That man….he was Aaron and he told us about Alexandria. We decided to give it a try, there's really nowhere else for us anymore."

"...where was your favorite place to live?" Ron murmurs, barely audible over the screams of the distraught people, scratching at the walls of the train car until their nails break and bleed.

"The farm," Carl says with a faint smile. "I was little then so I thought it was super cool that I got to feed chickens every morning and watch Maggie milk cows. I liked the animals….the land was pretty…..it was….nice," Carl says , sounding dismissive again, trying to avoid getting emotional about it.

"My memories from there though are….." Carl sighs and bows his head further down, his long and unmanageable hair hanging in his face. "They're kinda….tainted from the bad things that happened there."

"Like what?" Ron whispers, breathless as the one watching life drain away and disappear like it never existed.

"I….I killed my friend," Carl mutters, voice quieter than his breathing. "It was an accident, I know that now but as a 12 year old….."

He shuts up after that, feeling that same guilt weigh down on his shoulders like it did that night so long ago. He closes his eyes, waiting to hear the sound of Ron's retreating footsteps.

He's somewhat surprised when he looks up and sees Ron still standing there, looking at him with wide-eyes, waiting for him to continue.

When Carl doesn't say anything, Ron does: "You were just a kid…."

It's not the first time someone has told that to Carl, but it is the first time it's been comforting.

"I didn't mean to," Carl mutters, closing his eyes again. "Earlier that day, I'd wandered off into the woods by myself, I'd stolen one of Daryl's guns and I felt so fucking capable, I wanted to be anyway. I wanted to be able to protect myself and my mom and I just….wanted to b grown up, I don't know, I was a fucking stupid kid, ok? I…..was in the woods and I came across this walker stuck in this pit of mud. Thinking I was proving myself or whatever….I stood back and mocked it, pretended to shoot it even though back then I didn't even know how to take the fucking safety off. Anyway, after a few minutes the walker had been struggling enough that it got free, it grabbed at me….I freaked out, squirmed away, and ran. I didn't think about it after that…..not until that night anyway…..I woke up to hear screaming, bloody murder screaming…..my mom told me to wait in the room we shared with a few other people and ran outside to see what was going on….."

"You went out to see…."

"Yeah….my friend, all of ours friend, Dale….he'd had his stomach practically ripped in two. He was choking…..choking on his own blood and crying…...I could see his gut and his intestines…..I looked over at the walker they'd shot, the walker they'd found attacking Dale….I realized it was the one I'd been screwing around with earlier…."

"Carl…." Ron mutters in a hush of a voice that reminds Carl of how his mom used to sound when comforting him.

"Everyone was talking about taking him back to the house and having Hershel sew him up but…..we all knew he wouldn't make it, keeping him alive was just making him suffer…..Daryl shot him, released him…."

"You didn't kill him….you were just a kid…..you didn't know what you were doing."

"It still fucked me up….I wouldn't even touch guns after that. It took me a few weeks to get over it and the guilt never really went away…..it just stayed in me like a cold I've never really gotten over."

"It wasn't your fault," Ron whispers.

"I know but…..I still look back on it and wonder if he'd still be alive, still be with us if I hadn't gone into the woods that day…"

"That's reasonable but….he might be gone anyway, he might've died some other way. I know that's not, like, comforting, but….it's not your fault…..you didn't kill him…."

Carl lets out a little laugh and shakes his head, hair still hanging in his face like a shaggy curtain. "That's….that's the thing, Ron, I HAVE killed people. I've killed a lot of people….there was a time, between the fall of the prison and Terminus, where I was scared of myself, I didn't like what the fuck I was. I was disgusted with it and terrified of it. It's…..it's the weirdest feeling to go to sleep at night when you're fucking scared of yourself….."

There's another really heavy bout of silence between them, until Ron clears his throat. The noise makes Carl jump, makes his palms sweat as he's preparing to be degraded verbally and abandoned in a sea of gore and muck that he brought about himself.

"Who's the first person you killed?" Ron asks, voice still a whisper.

Carl bites his lip as he thinks back. "If you don't count Dale….there was this teenager….in the woods. It was...ok, uh, lemme try to decide where to start."

"Take your time," the same hush voice mumbles, surprisingly collected and calm.

"The Governor's group, like I said, had a lot of terrible run ins with us. He wanted the prison. He had a shit ton of people, there were only like ten of us. Imagine that, we know this fucking armada is coming for the twelve or something of us. So….we made a plan, we booby trapped the hallways in the back with firecrackers that would go off and scrae the intruders because it'd sound like gunshots. It'd disorient them, scare them. Only Glenn and Maggie stayed in the prison, positioned and ready to shoot at their vans when they ran out in fear after the firecrackers went off. The rest of us…..we were ordered to go out into the woods surrounding the prison and wait it out….I was with Beth and Hershel….I was on edge, I just hear all these people yelling and the firecrackers and people shooting at smoke…..after awhile we see this teenager running through the woods, he's got a gun. But...he's scared, he's really fucking scared…...he put his hands up when Hershel told him to and he was lowering his gun….I shot him…."

Ron stares in silence, Carl continuing to look down at his feet like a guilty child telling his teacher about how he got into a fight with another classmate.

"I….I told myself he was gonna kill us, I kept telling myself that to make the pain go away….I was in a bad place at the time with the Governor's attacks looming and our people getting killed by his and….I figured it was fair for me to do that since he'd killed my people. Hershel told me what I did was wrong but….I denied it. I didn't feel bad….until that night when I was alone...I started thinking about it...it didn't really evolve into full blown remorse for a few weeks, and it ate at me."

Carl once again waits for Ron to run away or yell obscenities at him, maybe even hit him in disgust or shove him away. He feels something in his chest burn and his throat feels like it's on fire, smoke drifting out through his nostrils and making his eyes damp.

"Who else?" Ron finally asks after a few seconds, it all sinking in slowly.

"I….I didn't really keep track….several people when the prison fell…..I just kept shooting…and….."

Ron waits a few seconds, waiting for Carl to finish before even allowing himself to react or say anything.

"My mom," Carl says, so quietly that Ron is barely able to hear him. "She...she was cut open in front of me, unconscious from the pain and blood loss…..that was right after Judith was born, Maggie and I had to...cut her open to get the baby out, my mom wasn't able to have me naturally so it was ridiculous to think, in hines sight, that she'd be able to have Judith naturally…..I shot her in the head."

Ron stares, unable to take his eyes of the shadow of a child in front of him, still not daring to look up, afraid to see the horrified expression on Ron's face. Afraid to be shunned and shamed.

"Carl….." Ron mutters, voice still nothing but a sigh of a breath, eyes burning a little. "Could you….could you look at me?"

"I….I can't," Carl admits, voice cracking. "I don't want to see you scared."

"Then look at me," Ron insists quietly. "I'm not…..I'm not scared."

Carl looks up at him, face paler than a ghost and brows knitted together, almost like he's mad, about to start screaming and yelling like he's offended by Ron's lack of fear.

"Why?" he asks, almost leering. He doesn't know why he feels so hot, like he's burning alive, but he does. "You SHOULD be scared!" he says, voice gradually getting louder and louder. "Don't you get it! I've KILLED people! Like, ended their lives. I've been nothing but a monster, killed an innocent person out of anger and been murderous enough to IMAGINE tearing other people apart and LIKING it. Feeling better by envisioning how I could get back at people who'd taken my loved ones from me. My dad, he's killed people. Michonne has killed people, Carol has killed people, we all have! I'm not saying it was right, I'm not saying it was wrong because your perspective gets really fucked up once you're out there, but you never have been, so unless you're totally in denial right now or something, you should be afraid or totally disgusted with me! I'd rather you blow up in my face now rather than this be some grenade effect and three days from now you get all weird and start blowing me off and treating me like a fucking psycho, ok?! Just tell me, be brutally honest, because I get it, ok? I hate that the people in these walls think we're deranged because I swear we're not, not anymore than anyone else out there right now anyway, but I understand what they mean. If you're just as freaked out as they are now, just fucking tell me."

Ron stares down at him for a minute, his eyes narrowed as if confused and his lip bleeding from how hard he's biting it. He slowly shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Carl's face, like the creepy eyes of paintings' that follow one across the room in a hypnotized manner.

"Ok…." he starts slowly, voice just above a whisper and languid. "I'm not gonna lie, it's a lot to take in. Ok? I'll be honest."

He pauses, watching Carl's eyes flicker back down to the pavement and his hands start to shake.

"But I'm not disgusted and I'm not scared," he says a little louder. "I'm not in denial, I know that most people would say that a fifteen year old talking about how he'd shot another kid and envisioned killing people and tearing them apart is totally insane. I get that but….that was before this stuff happened. I wasn't out there, so I honestly can't say I've done the same or anything similar. I….I think I sort of understand though. From what I hear about from people who've come in from the outside….I have an idea….probably kinda off and not nearly as horrific as it is, but I've got a clue…..and unlike almost everyone else in these walls, I know what you guys mean...why you did what you did without thinking you're psychopaths. It's, like I said, not exactly….familiar to me obviously, but….I think I understand….and I know there's things you still aren't telling me because you think I'll freak out, but like I promised last night, I won't. I promise…..even if everyone else in this town decides that you're family is the next Manson Family, I won't run off. Because….I KNOW you, ok? If you'd dropped this on me after we'd only be hanging out for a few days I probably would've freaked and run off but not now, I KNOW who you are. I KNOW Carl Grimes, and Carl Grimes is not a remorseless killer, not a monster, not insane or out of touch with reality!"

Carl tries to make sense of what Ron's saying, he thinks he must be hearing him wrong because….well…..Ron's a fucking idiot if he's just sort of ok with it, not ready to scream and yell or vomit. Just….a little disturbed admittedly but more than willing to listen to it and help Carl through it, and EAGER to learn more.

"So….." Carl drawls, only now noticing how much his hands are quaking and how cold the night air feels against his burning forehead. "You're fucking stupid…." he mutters. "Anyone who had common sense would've just run away screaming at the top of their lungs and never wanted to talk to me again and….you're still standing here talking to me."

"I told you that I was stupid last night."

Carl can't help but feel his lips, despite his best efforts to stop them, flicker up in the corners. "If you're stupid, then I'm pretty stupid too…"

"Carl, you're a fucking idiot," Ron says with a laugh, shaking his head. "I knew what you had to tell me wasn't gonna be easy shit, ok? I fucking knew that. I know you've been through hell and back and hell is nasty, uncivilized, and downright disturbing, ok? I'm ready for it, and I want you to be ok with yourself. I want you to stop shoving all this shit on yourself and carrying it by yourself and let me see….I'm not gonna be a jackass and make you talk, I'm no fucking therapist, but I know you feel alone and you're not...You're being too fucking hard on yourself, beating yourself up about shit that wasn't your fault and was out of your control or is over with and can't be changed. It was hard and it's easy to let those sorts of things consume you, but dude, I wanna help you sort it out, I think you need someone else too or you get slaughtered and devoured by it. You….you shouldn't get eaten by it anymore, you're not a monster and anyone that thinks you are only knows WHAT you did, they have no idea WHO the fuck you are, ok? You're not a monster, the world is a fucking beast now, you….like Carol was saying at lunch? About Eugene adapting? You gotta do that now from what I can understand, and you did. If you didn't, you'd be dead. You adapted…" Ron's voice slowly increases in volume as he goes on, by the end he's almost shouting, his eyes are still narrowed but they're alight with emotion Carl wishes he could understand. He uses his hands as he talks, like the more motion he uses the more clearly he can get his point across.

"It's the world's fault...you just did what you had to to live in it," Ron finishes off, voice a whisper again. He looks at the broken boy in front of him, trying his best to remain as emotionless and composed as possible.

They're both quiet for a few seconds after that, Carl's brain going a million miles an hour, still replaying what Ron said over and over and Ron letting out a few short spurts of breath and looking up at the sky as if blaming it for something heinous.

"You….you're not just saying that?" Carl asks cautiously, like a cat circling around the dog that just offered it acquaintanceship.

Ron looks at him blankly for a few seconds, the crickets chirping ringing around them loud as thunder. Ron just nods, serious in facial expression but eyes soft and the corners of his mouth stretching into the tiniest, sweetest smile Carl's ever seen.

"No," he says simply.

Carl feels a huge knot in his stomach that he wasn't aware of loosen. His shoulders droop down, he exhales a huge gust of breath he wasn't aware he'd been hoarding in his lungs, and his legs get a little weak.

"Thanks…" he mutters, letting out a tiny sigh

"Carl," Ron mutters. "Don't...don't feel like you've gotta hide things, ok?"

Carl's a little surprised to hear Ron's voice crack a little, like he's choked up. He doesn't look up.

"If you don't feel, like, comfortable reliving shit that's ok, I get it but...don't feel like you CAN'T share, ok? Like, am I making sense?"

Carl nods, still trying to stay stoic but feeling much more at ease. He looks up at Ron, not totally surprised to see that his eyes are glassy and he's glaring at the ground. He sniffles before looking back at Carl, they make eye contact for a split second.

Ron sighs as Carl looks back at the ground. "Ok….we….we were headed to check up on Tara before I got all nosy and made you spill your guts, right?" he asks with a tired smile.

Carl nods. As Ron starts to turn and start walking, a lump catches in his throat and he sort of hurriedly wraps his arms around Ron's torso and mushes himself up against him, burying his head awkwardly in Ron's armpit.

Carl is very aware that he sucks at emotions and everything emotion-related, but he's pretty sure this is an almost naive love and sense of gratitude he's feeling right now.

Ron awkwardly tries to hug him back, but they're positioned really oddly so it's a bit weird.

Ron snorts a little, trying his best to stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. He's crying for Carl since he's too stubborn to cry for himself but he sure as hell isn't proud of it.

"You suck at hugs," he teases as Carl burrows his head further into Ron's arm pit.

Carl feels himself smile and giggle. "Shut up, you're the stupid one, not me."

"You just called yourself stupid like three minutes ago."

"You called yourself stupid first."

"You're the stupid one. You thought I was gonna be an asshole once you started talking."

"No, you're stupid, you thought I was gonna think you were weak and pathetic once yu started talking."

Ron just huffs as Carl pulls away from him and grins back at him. It's bizarre but it feels right that they go from being serious and soul-searching to being total goofball jack asses.

"Can I have my hat back now that I talked?" Carl asks, making a grab for said hat.

Ron laughs, whipping it out of his reach and teasingly holding it above his head again. "Maybe, ask nicely."

"Please give me my hat back…..asshole."

"Close enough," Ron says, smiling like an idiot and handing Carl his dumb hat back.

Carl smiles up at him, a weird sad and sweet smile that makes Ron's stomach squish up and clench, before putting his hat back on.

"Hey, uh Carl?" Ron mutters as they start walking. "When I asked who you killed and you said your mom? You...you didn't kill your mom, Carl…"

"I know," Carl replies quietly. It still burns like hell though. It doesn't as bad when Ron looks over at him, eyes soft and sympathetic, and sighs sadly, seeming to know Carl still aches.
-

When they first get to the infirmary, Ron's about to tell Carl to wait outside while he pokes his head in to see if the surgery is still going on (something Ron has seen various graphic pictures of growing up when he used to look through his dad's portfolios and is more than familiar with), to make sure that if it is only he gets an eyeful of gore, when he remembers that Carl's seen someone get decapitated before and he assumes this probably wouldn't be the least bit traumatizing for him.

It doesn't matter anyway, they walk in and are greeted by Denise, who explains to them that Tara got out of surgery about forty minutes ago and is still unconscious but that she should be perfectly ok after several days of rest. She leads them back to the room where she's laid out, head bandaged so heavily that she could be mistaken for a mummy. Glenn, Maggie, Rosita, and Abraham crowd around her bed, waiting for her to wake up. Maggie holds her one still hand in her own, the four of them murmuring quietly as if talking too loudly will wake Tara up or disturb her. Her face is motionless and pale.

If Carl didn't know any better he'd think she was dead.

They don't stick around, Carl not in the mood to hang around in the infirmary all night, pretty exhausted and starting to feel….jittery. A little uneasy. He's not sure why, he IS not the least bit tuned into his emotions 90% of the time and has the hardest time understanding them when he tries, after all.

As the infirmary door closes behind them, Denise wishing them a good night (and offering Ron an ice pack for his bruised and swollen cheek) Ron grabs Carl by the arm and turns him around to face him.

"Are you ok?" He asks, giving him a look.

Carl nods, slipping his arm out of Ron's grip. "Yeah….why?"

"You….we were outta there really fast is all."

Carl shrugs. "I don't feel like sitting around waiting for her to wake up I guess….it's relieving to know she's supposed to be ok though…."

Ron goes to grab his arm, a little bolder than earlier, determined to not let Carl shy away now.
"Something's bugging you."

Carl shrugs, sighing out and looking down at the infirmary porch floor.

"No, c'mon, I can't read your thoughts dude, help me out here," Ron insists softly.

Carl takes a second, swallowing a mouthful of saliva. "Just….I dunno….I feel kinda, like, nervous…"

Ron cocks his head to the side, trying to understand. If it were anyone else he'd think it was the sight of Tara with her head all bandaged up, he knows it's hard to see someone you care about hurt like that but it's Carl, the kid who's seen his friend with his stomach ripped open and several people torn to shreds by the living dead and bullets.

"Is it….is it Noah?" Ron suggests, trying his best to tune into Carl's emotions.

Carl shrugs. "I guess, I just….I don't know...I was distracted from it for awhile because I was busy being miserable with something else I guess," he mumbles with a sad smile, rubbing at his forearms.

Ron frowns. "You sort of just gave me an overview of what's….what's happened to you...maybe...if you, like, feel comfortable and think it might help you...maybe you should, like, spend some time thinking about Beth?" he suggests a little shakily, the bravery draining from him a bit as he hears Carl take an oddly shaky breath.

"I guess, I haven't really talked about her with anyone in awhile….we all just sort of...soldier on and try to forget about it. You can't stop and think about it out there, like I told you last night….I've been thinking about it a lot more here. We….we didn't really throw much of a funeral for her, we just buried her and said some stuff, prayers and personal things. We stood around the plot for a few minutes, about twenty, and then we had to move on. I really wish…." Carl cuts himself off, huffing out through his nose and looking over his shoulder.

"What?" Ron presses gently, taking a step towards him.

Carl shrugs, something Ron is discovering is a defense mechanism of sorts to keep from giving definite answers. "I…..I wish I had something of hers to remember her by, you know? She….she's one of the worst loses I've ever had. She was my friend, I really admired her and her….humanity and kindness. I wish I had something of hers with me, a picture of her, one of her jackets, one of her lockets. Something that I could….touch. When there's nothing left of them for you to...hold, nothing left that still smells like them it's hard to feel like…." Carl cuts himself off again and chewing on his lip.

"Feel like they're still with you?" Ron offers quietly.

"Yeah," Carl mutters, running a hand through his hair, still looking absently over his shoulder at nothing. "Like, I can talk about her and remember her but….I miss the sound of her voice, the way she looked gets a little fuzzy in my memory and….the way she smelt, I can't even remember very well anymore."

Ron takes a second to try and think of something to say, but he's never been very good at comforting people (whenever he had tried to comfort his mom he ended up just making her cry harder) so he's not entirely what to say.

It's a bit of a blessing that Ron's no good with his words though, because he doesn't stop to think about it too much, instead it just spills out, real and raw. Some find this annoying, thinking it makes him sound impulsive or unthoughtful, but Carl loves it. He thinks it makes Ron sound genuine and authentic.

"I….I have an idea," Ron mutters, reaching out and grabbing Carl's hand. He starts leading him down the porch stairs and back onto the street.

"What?" Carl asks, feeling his face flush as he and Ron walk down the dark road.

"You'll see," Ron mutters as they near the supply house.
-

"Are you sure? Like….this might take awhile and your mom wanted you home hours ago."

"Carl, I'm at the point that no matter when I go home I'm gonna get bitched out," Ron replies with a warm smile as they make their way through the park and to the gazebo. "Take all the time you need."

Carl laughs a little under his breath. "I'm sorry, I sort of encouraged you to stay last night and didn't, like, tell you to go home today. I've been a bad influence."

Ron shakes his head. "Dude, we walked by my house like four times today and I didn't exactly go running to up to my front door."

"I just hope I don't get you into too much shit with your mom."

Ron shrugs as they walk up the gazebo stairs. "She'll be pissed but I think with what happened today she'll understand...kind of."

Carl smiles as they both sit on the floor across from each other. He's suddenly feeling a little nervous, his palms are sweaty and his heart is racing so fast it hurts. His mouth is dry and he can't bring himself to look at Ron, keeping his brim tilted down and over his eyes.

Ron digs the box of matches out from his jean pocket and uncaps the candle. He hands it over to Carl.

"You sure this one smelt the most like her? If you're not sure we can go back to the supply house and you can sniff them all again."

Carl shakes his head, swallowing again as he sets the candle on the floor between them. "No, this one's right."

Ron nods, reading the label on the pale pink candle again; 'Spring Air'. He nods, striking the match. As it ignites, Carl can't help but feel his own chest feel like it's being lit on fire and burning, a sulphuric taste in his mouth. He looks brave right now, looks stable and strong but he's really shaking, nervous and feeling grief ridden.

Ron picks up on this. He can feel it in the air, thick as tension and making him a little nervous too, and he didn't even know Beth. He wants this to help though, he wants this to make Carl just a little less anguished, help him deal with it.

"Alright," Ron mutters, holding the match to the candle wick. The flame barely breathes on the wick, just touches it, before the flame spreads and lights up the black wick with bright yellow and orange. Ron blows out the match and looks across him at Carl, the flame causing shadows to flicker across their faces.

"Start whenever you're ready," he says quietly, leaning forward slightly.

Carl swallows yet again, nothing in his mouth but dust around Beth's name. "Ok," he whispers, his voice coming out much more rickety than he'd liked it to. He clears his dry throat before taking in a deep breath, eyes fixated on the flickering flame.

"Hey, Beth…" he mutters, voice still weak. He tries clearing his throat again. "Uh….you've been gone for a few months now. You always wanted us to find a safe, secure place. Somewhere we could call home. I really think we might have found it, like, it's not perfect, a lot of the people here are ignorant, un-exposed...they don't trust us and that's not good at all but...it's got sturdy walls and a lot of us are pretty sure this might just work out for us. I'd like to say I do too but that'd be pretty positive for me, right? Anyway….you'd like it here. Not just because of the secure walls...you'd like that we can be, like….human again here. You were good at keeping your humanity and stuff so you'd love it. I….I've had trouble but it's not so bad now. I think you'd like to work the supply house and help with the domestic stuff, you always really liked that kinda stuff anyway. You'd love watching all the kids playing without fear in the streets here, love watching everyone sleep in in the mornings in warm beds, get up to prepare a decent breakfast in a nice kitchen, take a warm shower and brush our teeth in the bathroom, and take advantage of our spare time with dumb stuff like card games and napping. I wish you'd made it here with us. I'm not the only one obviously, everyone else wishes you'd made it here too, especially Maggie and Daryl. Maggie still cries about it sometimes, she claims she doesn't but I've caught her...twice. Daryl was real depressed when we lost you, he got into this funk and he still hasn't totally gotten out of it. Anyway….everyone misses you a lot. You spent so much time taking care of Judith….I hope she somehow has some memories of you, even though she's so young. I know she's just a baby but she misses you too. I can tell, ok? So don't put logic into it and argue even though that was always what I did…...this place here was what you always wanted for us, and it's not the same with you gone. I don't really believe in the afterlife or any of that, but….if there is one….we lost Tyreese just a week or so after you and we lost Noah today. Just thought you should know I guess. I miss your singing, I miss those mornings where I'd wake up in my cell and hear you down the hall singing. You had a really pretty voice, soothing too. I...I hate thinking that I'll never get to hear it again. I miss talking to you too….you knew I was going down a bad road there, knew when no one else did how bad I was hurting and you gave me a lot to consider, made me more thoughtful about what I was doing. I'll never know how you kept your humanity and idealistic views. I won't because everyone else lost them, but you never did. And you never lost hope in a better tomorrow, you always thought it'd get better, thought we all had something to live for, even after we'd lost so much shit. I just…." Carl pauses to sigh.

"I miss you. And what you did? It was freaking stupid, ok? I get that you were mad, you knew we were being swindled and shit, Dawn changed the deal but….why'd you have to stab her? Why? You had a pair of scissors, she had a gun! Like, who the hell does that?! That sounds like something Merle would've done….bringing a knife to a gunfight basically. I didn't see it coming. I really, really fucking thought we were gonna walk out of that messed up hospital with you. Well….we did, but I thought you'd be alive….I thought, when you turned on Dawn, that you might say something poetically justice, that would've been like you. I never thought you'd stab her. When she shot you, I jumped. No one did anything for a good two minutes, we all just stared at you laying limp on the floor," Carl says, starting to sound a little angry, aggressively swiping the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffling. "Then Daryl shot Dawn and we were gonna start shooting at the rest of them but this woman stopped us, pointed out that'd only been between her and you….I was still mad. I had dreams all that week were I shot them all down, mowed them down like grass. I know you wouldn't, like, approve of that but I was pissed. You were my friend. They killed you. They kidnapped you. They wouldn't let you leave. You gave me some of the greatest memories I have….I'll never forget that time you and I got into a snowball fight in the prison yard or that other time when you let me just hang out in your cell at like three in the morning after my mom died. You were so nice to everyone, and it was kind of contagious, no matter how annoying. Like, after someone spent too much time with you they'd suddenly act like ten times friendlier and more patient. You were one of the few good people. If anyone should still be here who's not, it should be you. I miss you, I really fucking miss you. Everyone misses you. I miss your voice, I miss hearing you sing or being able to talk to you. Sometimes I can't totally remember what you look like. Like, I can still picture you but the specific facial features are a little blurry. I wish I had something to remember you by, something of yours. I'm sorry we didn't spend so long on your funeral but we had to keep moving….you know how that works. I don't think you'd really care anyway...you'd just want us to stay safe and be happy again. Well….we found what you'd always wanted," Carl pauses again, sniffling and once again swiping his hand across his eyes.

"It's good but it'd be better if you were here too. I'm sorry that we didn't preserve ourselves all that well. I know I've done bad things, I know I have serious lapses in judgment and that you'd be disappointed in some of the shit I've done and failed to do, but….I do what I have to do and I'll stand by that until I die. I miss you. Sometimes I forget you aren't here anymore and go to talk to you…..you'd be excited, I overheard Maggie talking to Michonne about trying to have a baby, I just know how much that'd excite you. You'd be bouncing around the house, preparing for it already even though it's months away, if not longer, from even being a possibility. So…. I feel sort of stupid doing this but it's making me feel better….I think, I don't know if stuff that makes you feel better is supposed to make you cry or not but...I miss you, and….you should be here with us, in Alexandria behind these walls, planning the future you were always so enthusiastic about instead of in the ground somewhere back in Georgia. You shouldn't have stabbed her….but...we all do stupid things I guess. Ok…" Carl awkwardly leans forward and blows out the dancing flame. The smoke rises up from it, the scent burning his eyes.

Ron sits across from him in absolute silence. He's not sure what to say now, not sure what to do. He puts the lid back on the candle, trapping the smoke inside of it and making it look like an oracle.

He hears Carl sniffle again and winces. He's never seen Carl cry, he seems pretty weathered, hard to break or at least hard to breach. He's closed off, that mask of apathy almost always present and his eyes hidden. He doesn't talk about it, much less outwardly express it. Ron assumes it's the life he's been living, you don't really have time to mourn or feel remorse with the living dead staggering around and other people running around with guns and knives, out for blood. He assumes that sort of life made Carl the robot he is, programmed to eat, sleep, fight, scavenge, and run. He's neglected all those gross emotions, ignored them as much as possible, learnt to skirt around them. But the more he suffers, the more he loses, the bigger the hole inside him gets and the more detouring he has to do to get around it until it's inevitable.

Ron has a feeling the night Carl got here, he fell into that hole.

"Thanks," Carl mutters, swiping at his eyes again and trying to hide behind his hat.

Ron just smiles and nods before clearing his throat when he realizes it's too dark for Carl to see him with the candle out. "No problem," he whispers.

Neither of them moves, not wanting to break the strange sort of perfect stillness between them. Carl accidentally shakes it though with his sniffling and the sound of his boots scraping across the wooden planks as he shifts, trying to hide his face, despite the dark. He hates that he's crying, he hates his tears. He hates crying because it makes him feel weak, like he's defeated and the world wins.

"Are you ok?" Ron mutters, bloodshot tired eyes staring across at the darkness in front of him.

"Yeah," Carl replies, clearing his throat and trying to keep his voice steady.

Ron awkwardly uncaps the candle again, feeling bad for re-lighting the candle, feeling like it's almost disrespectful to relight it and that somewhere Beth's spirit would get mad or feel offended, but they need to see and Ron didn't think this thoroughly enough to bring a flashlight or a second candle. Ron voices this concern as he lights the candle for the second time,and Carl laughs.

"Beth wouldn't care," Carl says with a little laugh. "She'd just feel….loved because I did this for her."

Ron smiles sadly. "I wish I'd met her. She sounds like a wonderful person, like she made this planet just a little bit less shitty and so much more warm."

Carl nods, cover his face completely as there's light to see again. "She was," he mumbles into his forearms.

Ron frowns sadly, the flame casting a shadow across his face and flickering in his eyes making them more of an amber than brown.

"Hey…" he mutters. "You...you ok?"

"Yeah," Carl mutters, still hiding his face behind his hat and his hands, folding into himself and burying his head between his knees.

"You sure?" Ron asks, cringing after he asks and feeling slightly annoying.

To his surprise, Carl laughs, the sound muffled and distorted by his hands and knees. "You know," he mutters into his knee. "I honestly don't fucking know."

Ron feels his lips flicker, like the flame, into a sad smile. He doesn't know how exactly to respond, he knows how his friend feels. He crawls around the candle on his hands and knees and seats himself next to Carl, his fingers twitching as he mentally debates whether or not touching him is a good idea right now.

"You know...tears can be a good thing," he says quietly. "My dad told me once that when we cry our bodies release endorphins. So...we're, like, supposed to cry sometimes."

"I hate crying," Carl replies flatly sniffling again. "I hate how it makes me feel. It fucking sucks."

"How does it make you feel."

"Like….exposed? Vulnerable, weak. I'm not supposed to cry anymore, ok? Like, so much shit has went down that I'm supposed to be immune now, I'm not supposed to care, or if I do, not get hung up on it and lose my shit."

"It sounds like you don't want to be human," Ron observes, gingerly tilting the brim of his hat up. "Dude, humans feel things. We don't want to and it's the world's biggest inconvenience but...we feel shit and it hurts like hell. You're human. If you don't feel stuff any more...you've officially lost your humanity, you're a cyborg."

"You sound like Michonne," Carl mutters, recalling various situations where Michonne told him similar things.

Ron smiles and chuckles. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Carl sighs, wiping at his watery eyes one last time before sitting up. He still doesn't make eye contact, choosing to look into the candle's flame again.

"So...you've had enough time to let the shit I told you earlier sink in….you still not ready to abandon ship?" he asks with a slight smirk on his face.

Ron smiles. "Nope, I'm going down with it."

Carl's smirk grows into a smile at his friend's words. "You're stupid…" he mutters, shaking his head.

"You are too, dumbass," Ron replies, smiling over at him. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of what to say. "So….do you like...need a hug?"

Carl looks over at him, the smile looking so out of place with the tear stained face. "I thought I sucked at hugs."

Ron shrugs. "I think I'll survive."

Carl giggles and sniffles before letting Ron wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close, his side resting against Ron's chest. He blinks any remaining tears out of his eyes as he nuzzles his head into Ron's shoulders. He lets out a little sigh: he's exhausted. It's been a jam packed 24 hours for them and they could honestly fall asleep like this. Ron brushes Carl's dumb hat off his head with his chin since it's being annoying as fuck and getting in the way. Carl feels content, listening to Ron's steady breathing. He lets his eyes slide closed for a few minutes, feeling warm decently ok. He doesn't think it's the endorphins though, it's just Ron.

"We need to get you home," Carl finally mumbles with a sigh, starting to pull away and sit up. "Your mom is gonna fucking kill you if you aren't home when she wakes up tomorrow. You can't be gone for two days straight….as much as I'd like to keep you," Carl adds with a tiny smile.

Ron groans but nods in agreement. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, starting to stand up. He's about to lean over and pick up the candle when he sees Carl standing there; hair a fucking mess with some grass in it from the previous night, face all wet with tears, bags under red eyes, jeans that are like three sizes too big for him, and quivering hands. Ron can't help but pause to smile at him, the flickering flame still making the shadows dance across their faces and around in their eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Carl asks with a little laugh.

Ron smiles back at him and takes a second to glance at the ground as he runs a hand through his hair, just as messed up. "Just you," he replies. "You look like a fucking mess."

Carl grins, wiping at his eyes. "You look like a mess too, asshole."

Ron smiles and shakes his head. "Whatever, you're the one who sucks at hugs."

"You're stupid," Carl replies with a smile. His eyes suddenly lose their light but his smile remains, it just shrinks. "Um….thanks...for the candle idea? And, like, staying here and all?"

"No need to thank me, moron."

Carl shakes his head, smiling sadly down at the floor. "I know it's fucked up, ok? The world is now but….almost everyone else within these walls….if they heard me talking about that shit...they'd think I was a fucking psychopath or that….I don't know, there's something really wrong with me. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me myself and….I don't know what the fuck I'm trying to say, I'm tired, sorry."

Ron smiles sadly at him. "You're not a psychopath. You're an amazing person. You just need to see that yourself."

Carl smiles wider. "I think I'd be the cockiest person alive if I saw it, so maybe it's a good thing that I don't. You wouldn't be able to stand me."

Ron laughs. "I already can't stand you, shut up."

Carl chuckles, eyes bright again but broken. "You're stupid…."

Ron feels his heart leap up into his throat as he takes a step towards him and shrugs comically. "Hey, I don't go around dressed as a cowboy."

Carl giggles, shaking his head and giving Ron a shove. "I made it very clear to you last night, it's not a cowboy hat, asshole! You're just jealous because you're hat is the stupid one."

"Is not," Ron retaliates with a grin, bending down to pick Carl's hat off the ground and placing it on his own head.

"Whoa! You look even dumber than you usually do, I didn't think that was possible, Ron!" Carl says with mock shock and a giggle.

Ron jokingly scowls and take the hat off, placing it back on Carl's head and smiling as he watches the shorter boy adjust it to his liking.

"You look stupid too."

"Do not, I wear it perfectly, you admitted that last night," Carl says with a triumphant smile.

Ron rolls his eyes, grinning ear to ear. "Whatever, Clint Eastwood," he huffs. He pauses again, just looking at him.

"Seriously," Carl asks through a yawn. "What's with you and staring tonight, asshole? You so tired that you're just falling asleep on your feet?"

Ron smiles at him before shrugging, looking bashfully at the floor. "Just...admiring you and all of your stupidity."

Carl smiles as he bends down to pick up the candle. "Gee, thanks. You're so kind."

Ron shrugs as they walk down the steps, the candle their only light to guide them. "I try," Ron says with a smile.

Carl laughs before he smiles over his shoulder at him. "Hey….um….you know how you asked me earlier where my favorite place had been?"

"Yeah?"

"I think….I think this might be...be my favorite place," he says, almost shyly as he quickly turns to look back in front of him.

Ron smiles, a bit of heat rising to his face. "Why? We don't have any chickens for you to feed, no animals at all actually, and a lot of the people here don't want you here, no offense."

Carl shrugs, taking a few minutes to respond, the two of them moving through the dark town in silence besides the loud dubstep blasting for the Monroe's big brick house.

"Yeah, but you're here," Carl says rather quietly as they reach the Anderson's house.

Ron smiles rather timidly. "I'm not that great. Not compared to fucking chickens and cows anyway."

Carl smiles at him, his nose crinkling and his eyes brighter than the flame eating up the wick. "Shut up, stupid. Get inside before your mom actually goes on a manhunt all over town for you. I'll see you soon."

Ron smiles and nods. "Yeah…..douchebag," he mutters as Carl sets the candle down again so that he can get one last hug before they depart.

"Hope you're just as classy tomorrow," Carl says with a snort as Ron starts to walk up his porch stairs and he starts to walk down the steps.

Ron smiles to himself as he starts to turn the doorknob to his front door, feeling light and happy and fucking tired, and drowsy but energetic, and eager and a little hopeful and fucking depressed too because, fuck, his life kind of sucks and so does Carl's and everyone else's and shit happens, and really, really fucking happy even though he cried like twice today….. and he realizes that the reason for all of these emotions is wandering down the street on his way home, slipping through his fingers as he once again….

"Fuck," Ron mutters, feeling his hand grow sweaty as it grips the doorknob. He knows what happens out there even though he is naive to it yet, but his understanding of it is basic enough to get the 'you live as much as you can until your luck runs out' message across. He knows that he's screwing this up, bottling it up. Who really knows if this place'll last, hell, Carl's lived in soooooo many places it makes him seriously doubt it, and sooooo many people have died, fuck, who's to say one of them isn't next in line for Grim Reaper's Row. He swallows thickly, once again knowing this is how he feels, and he hopes he makes Carl at least FEEL again and he REALLY hopes that this isn't about to fuck everything up that just finally managed to finally fall into place; with Carl talking and him feeling safe and both of them finding something it seems in the other, but….Ron's done pussying out, done swallowing it. Done now that he realizes that in that last 24 hours the two of them have literally led the other into some of the darkest recesses of themselves, an unexplored area.

Ron takes in a deep breath, the logical part of his brain knowing that he's probably just over emotional because he's so tired and stressed but…..fuck it.

"Shit!" Ron whispers before sprint down from his porch and up the street. "Carl! Carl!" He yells as he jogs down the street.

Carl looks over his shoulder, eyebrows narrowed, looking surprised to see Ron sprinting down the street after him. "What?!" He shouts back.

"I'm a fucking idiot!" Ron screams as he gets closer. "I really am!"

Carl laughs and shakes his head. "I knew that, asshole!"

Ron stops in front of him, out of breath and just looking at him. "And….I'm sorry….for being an idiot….I'm not sure how I mean that yet….but I'm about….to find out…..whether I mean it by…..'I'm sorry for not growing a pair of balls and doing this sooner'...or 'I'm sorry for fucking this up'...ok?" Ron pants out, a dead serious look on his face.

Carl stares at him in confusion, setting the candle down on the porch railing beside them. The only sound as Ron straightens up and looks right at him is the dubstep in the background and the goddamn crickets. The only light is the candle and the much less romantic porch lights around them.

Carl's about to ask Ron what the hell he means, ask him if he's ok, see what's going on, when he all of a sudden is seriously overwhelmed with Ron's scent. It's not bad, not at all, but it's all up in his face, and he can feel Ron's breath dancing along his upper lip and feels the weight of his arms wrapped around his shoulders. There's a strange pressure on his lips that makes his heart stop in his chest and fall into his stomach like a mushy ball of blood and muscle and he's so close to Ron, so fucking close to him that it's like they're connected.

It takes Carl about 7 seconds to realize he's being kissed.