Water ripples gracefully as a stone skips across its surface, sloshing into the river midway across.
The roaring Potomac River has become a retreat for me in the years since I've arrived in Alexandria. A place where I can simply get lost in the sound of its roaring rapids. At the present moment, Denise is doing her morning check-up on Carl, so I've slipped out to get some fresh air. Its been two days since Carl was shot. Two long, agonizing days, during which time Carl hasn't even so much as moved once. Exhaustion has turned into anxiety and anxiety into despair. Every moment longer that he's asleep, my own mentality sinks further downwards. By coming here to the river, no matter how brief, I'll gain a moment of clarity and manage to recover some of my sullied resolve.
Once again, I pick up a nearby stone from the riverbank, rear back and toss the smoothed rock across the surface of the river. The stone skips three times before sinking into the depths again. Behind me, the sound of boots crunching the frozen morning grass catches my attention, stopping me from continuing my almost ritualistic stone throwing in order to turn to see who is approaching. Clad in a tightly wrapped brown coat is Michonne, who carefully makes her way down the steep embankment ,her breath coming in puffs of visible wisps, due to the frigid morning temperatures. The samurai's black dreadlocks billow wildly in the morning wind, a wind that causes me to flinch as it stings my cheeks with caustic licks.
"How is he?" her calm voice erodes away the anguish in my heart.
Michonne may be the only other person, aside from Carl, that can calm my raging soul so easily.
"I don't know."
I hate those words.
The very definition of uncertainty in three words. Even after two days, I am no more certain of what Carl's fate will be, than I was the moment it happened. Even after three years of knowing her, and despite the fact that she's the closest thing to an older sibling I've ever had, Michonne is still a woman of few words; even around me. She initially doesn't respond to my uncertainty, merely pursing her lips while looking out over the glimmering surface of the river. Her hands are casually tucked away in her jacket pocket, keeping them out of the biting cold air, and for the longest time, we stay this way. Basking in the other's company, while lost among our own thoughts.
"How are you?" she says after sometime, slightly modifying her original question.
"Cold." I reply without hesitation, bringing a light smirk to her lips.
"Witty as always." she replies. "I'm glad all of this hasn't taken that from you."
A moment of silence passes between us before I speak again.
"I'm trying, Mich." I confess to her. "Trying to be strong. To keep my head up."
"That's what he'd want." she replies bluntly.
I know that.
I know Carl well enough, by now, to know that he wouldn't want me sulking for any reason; especially where it concerns him. It doesn't stop me from worrying, though, and I think Michonne knows this. She knows what it is like to lose the people closest to you. It happened to her twice, after all. Though I'm looking down at my feet, I see her shadow move, and before I can properly react, Michonne surprises me by wrapping me in a firm hug. Michonne isn't exactly a hugger by nature, and won't embrace just anyone. In the three years I've known her, I've only seen her hug Carl once and that was years ago. Despite this, I'm not about to complain. I need this. I melt into her embrace and loosely wrap my arms around her waist. Before I know it, I've tightened my own grip on her, and then I can't hold it back any longer. For two long days I've resisted the urge to cry.
Now the floodgates have been blown wide open.
I have to hand it to Michonne. She doesn't let go of me as I completely fall apart. My heart burns as I sob violently into her chest, my entire body quaking with the weight of the pain it is experiencing. In that moment, I allow myself to think all of the thoughts that I have been holding back these past few days. How will I ever make it through this hellhole of a life without my Carl? It simply isn't fair that he's the one hurting and I'm okay. I was in that battle too! Why can't I ever protect him when he needs me most? All those thoughts and more slam through my tired mind, which only causes me to sob harder. I lose track of the time shortly thereafter, until, eventually, I finally get it all out of me and begin to calm down.
Michonne's patience seems to be a bottomless pit.
"Did that help?"
"A little." I admit, wiping away some of the remaining tears. "Sorry, Mich."
"Don't be." she is quick to reply. "All of us have moments like that these days."
"Even you?"
She smirks, "Even me." she then lightly pats my shoulder. "Come on, let's go see him."
####
By the time I return to Denise's house, where Carl is being kept, she has finished checking him over. Regardless, Carl is still in the same state I left him in; still in the same position, pale, and motionless aside from his breathing. Denise has him hooked up to a multitude of machines. Its moments like this that I am deeply grateful that Alexandria still has some form of electricity. It may not work all of the time, but in times of dire need, like this, it is immensely helpful. Michonne hangs back towards the doorway, allowing me my space, even though I don't mind her presence one bit. Being with her is the first time I've felt even remotely human since Carl was shot days ago. After a final once over, Denise lets out a sigh and then turns to face the both of us.
"Well, his heart rate is normal, strong even. All his vitals are where they're supposed to be. He's doing better." she explains.
"Does that mean he'll wake up soon?"
I realize, by now, that I sound like a lonely puppy, but I hate seeing Carl like this. Two days have passed and I haven't even been able to hear his voice. The stress that has caused me cannot be properly put into words. And, while I'm glad that Carl is seemingly stable, I'm anxious to have him conscious and speaking to me again. Denise is a master doctor, even despite the condition of the world, however, and has mastered the art of the poker face. If she believes one way or another, her facial expression doesn't reveal it. I suppose that is to prevent me from getting my hopes up, only for things to take a sudden dive for the worse, but I do wish she'd smile and tell me everything is going to be alright.
I'd kill to hear those words about now.
Instead, the curly-haired doctor adjusts her spectacles and glances out of the corner of her eyes at me.
"I can't say." she admits. "I'm still not certain just how much damage that bullet did to his brain. I'm a doctor, not a brain surgeon. Our brains don't stop developing until well into our twenties. Carl is still young enough that he might be able to avoid any major damage, but again, I can't be certain. I'll give you this: I'm more optimistic than I was when you first brought him to me, but we still need more time. He needs more time."
I hang my head in defeat.
That's not what I wanted to hear, but at least she's being honest with me. Denise crosses the short distance between us and lays a friendly hand on my shoulder, giving a gentle pat before she heads towards the door to the room.
"Take all the time that you need, Tanner." she consoles me. "You know where to find me if something changes."
Denise leaves Michonne and I with Carl, slamming the door shut behind her as she goes. Michonne immediately takes that as a cue to step forward and join me closer to Carl's bed. Beside him, the machines she has him hooked up to are making all kinds of electrical beeps and hums as they continue to monitor his comatose state. The rhythmic sounds are almost hypnotizing, but a question at the edge of my mind edges me out of it.
"Where's Rick?"
Michonne looks up, startled out of the trance she herself had been in.
"At the wall, I think." she replies. "We're supposed to be getting word from Ezekiel any day now. We'll make our move then."
My eyes narrow at this.
"I should go with you guys." I declare confidently. In fact, the sheer conviction in my voice shocks even me.
"Not yet." Michonne argues bluntly. "Take your time, Tanner. Being hellbent on revenge won't help Carl."
Her words sting but I know she's right.
I make no effort to hide my still-festering hatred for the Saviors. It was already powerful due to Tyreese and Tara's deaths. After what happened to Carl, though, the rage hiding in my heart is almost crippling. It whispers to me, egging me on, telling me I should be out there with the others; fighting the Saviors. I know better, though. My place is here with Carl, even though I despise just how helpless I am in this entire ordeal.
"I know its tough." she continues. "But you can't be everywhere at once. You're needed here. There's nothing wrong with that. Its a hard lesson to learn, I know, but its the truth."
I nod in agreement.
"Come on." she beckons to me softly. "You haven't been home in days. Let's go and get something to-"
"Ugh..."
I freeze.
I know I hadn't made that noise. Michonne was in the middle of a sentence, so it couldn't be her either. Glancing at Carl, he doesn't seem to have moved at all. Was I just hearing things? But no, Michonne had reacted too! I turn back to her to find her staring back at me with a mixture of bewilderment and confusion. I'm just about to open my mouth to ask her what she had heard, hoping that I wasn't just going crazy, when a second groan echoes through the room. I turn quickly back towards Carl's bed and, for the first time in two days, see him move on his own. Its a slight movement, his arm lazily coming up towards his head. Right towards where his head is bandaged. He flinches, almost as though the touch stings him.
"Go get Denise!" I shout excitedly at Michonne, who is already halfway out the door.
I, however, am not about to wait.
I rush to Carl's side and immediately grasp his raised hand. He keeps clumsily reaching for the bandaged portion of his head and I'm afraid he'll injure himself further if he messes with it, so I simply hold his hand firmly. His skin, which was once icy cold to the touch, is now beginning to heat again, warming the tender skin of my palm. Carl seems confused by his sudden inability to move his hand and sleepily scowls in frustration.
"Don't touch it, Carl." I instruct him, hoping he'll understand. "You don't want to hurt yourself."
My voice seems to have an effect on him.
Carl immediately stops struggling with me and relaxes, his hand going limp in mine. For a single horrifying moment, I entertain the possibility that he's slipped back away into his coma, but before I can call out to him to see, Denise and Michonne bust back into the room. Denise hurriedly crosses the room to examine the monitors beside Carl's bed and then turns her attention directly to him.
"Has he said anything?" she asks me, excitement in her voice.
I shake my head.
"Nothing but groaning." I reply. "Is he going to be okay?"
Denise opens her mouth to answer, but isn't given the chance.
"D-D... Dad?" Carl's voice is raspy and weak. "Tan-... Tanner?"
Melting is no longer an accurate description of what my heart does when I hear him speak. It is virtually doing back flips in my chest cavity and I immediately break out into nervous laughter. It feels so fucking good to hear my Carl's voice again.
"I'm here, Carl." I speak to him soothingly, gripping his hand for emphasis. "Right here."
"I'll go get Rick." Michonne announces from somewhere behind me.
Carl's body suddenly tenses. It dawns on me that he is attempting to sit up. He strains himself too much however and gasps sharply in pain, before dropping back down into the bedding.
"Careful!" Denise exclaims. "Don't overdo it, Carl! You'll hurt yourself even more."
Carl winces sharply until the pain subsides.
"W-where am I?" he asks weakly through pained gasps. "What happened to me?"
"You're in Denise's house, Carl." I inform him. "You were shot two days ago."
"Shot?"
Carl's remaining cobalt eye flutters open for the first time, searching the room for the source of the voices he's been answering to. It quickly becomes apparent to me that he's still confused on exactly where he's at. The more and more I watch him, the more I realize that he is becoming frightened. Very frightened. I imagine waking up after two days, being in a strange home, and being told you've been shot, would be very frightening. Another gentle squeeze of his hand to comfort him brings his eye to me and, for the first time in two days, we lock gazes. Carl studies me for a moment, the fear that was briefly present in his remaining eye slowly begins to fade, as if seeing me is helping him put all the pieces of his fragmented memory and thought process back together.
"I was... shot?" he repeats.
Another weak wince, as if a sudden stabbing pain has entered his head.
"I-it..." Carl stammers. "It hurts, Tanner."
I let go of my restraints.
Careful, so that I do not harm him, I lean over Carl and wrap my arms around his bare torso. His skin is only slightly warm to the touch and is predominately clammy. I manage to wrap him into a loose hug, which he slowly and carefully returns. At that point, for the second time today, I lose it. Tears are forming in my eyes before I even have a chance to fight them off. My heart aches that he's hurting, but at the same time, its euphoric that he's alive and awake. Pain will fade in time, but I can never replace him.
Never.
"Everything is going to be okay now." I soothe him. "I promise."
####
Nightfall.
Per Denise's instruction, Carl is to remain here overnight so that she can monitor his behavior in light of his head trauma. As soon as he had heard Carl had awoken, Rick had rushed straight over with Judith and has been here, along with Michonne, ever since. A single lamp lights Carl's makeshift hospital room, casting a soothing, homey glow across the room. Situated in two chairs directly across from Carl's bed, Rick and Michonne take turns trying to get Judith to eat with varying degrees of success. The infant Grimes is particularly fussy this evening, making for a comical situation to behold as Rick attempts to feed his young daughter. I have perched myself in a chair directly next to Carl's bed, arms crossed across the top of my chair, head leaning gently against my folded arms as I watch their repeated attempts. Beside me, Carl is also eating some sort of soup. Two days in a coma has brought his appetite back with a vengeance and now he's pretty much scarfing down everything he can get his hands onto. I can't help the light smile that touches my lips. Carl hasn't said a whole lot since he woke back up, but just seeing him awake, eating, and knowing he's alive is enough to warm my chest. Glancing across the room at Rick, Judith, and Michonne, the warming in my chest intensifies.
Family.
My family...
Why can't it always be like this? No walkers. No Saviors.
Just...
...us.
A sudden warmth touching my skin violently snaps me out of my daydream. I hadn't noticed Michonne get up from her spot and cross the room. The source of the heat is then revealed: a still-hot bowel of soup, identical to the kind Carl is still hungrily wolfing down beside me. It takes me a few moments to gather her intentions.
"You should eat." she says. "You've barely eaten anything these past two days."
I look down once again at the bowl of heated broth.
Michonne speaks the truth. I haven't had much of an appetite ever since Carl was hurt. I'm still not exactly hungry, but I decide to make an effort and take the bowel from her. My attention is drawn away from the food I have just been handed as Rick stands with Judith. The elder Grimes crosses the room towards Carl, bending down to give his oldest child a loving peck on the head. Carl says nothing, only acknowledging his father's affection with a slight nod. Its unusual for him to be this quiet, but considering what he's been put through, I suppose its not too strange.
"We're gonna head back." Rick announces. "Its getting late. Gotta put Judith down for bed."
"You staying here again tonight?" Michonne, standing near the door, directs at me.
I nod in affirmation, "Until he's better."
She returns my nod with one of her own, gives Carl one last smile, and disappears through the open doorway. Rick stays a moment longer, his hardened, fatherly gaze darting back and forth between the two of us.
"Thanks for staying and watching after him." he says to me. Then to Carl, he nods in my direction, "Make sure he eats that. I'll see you both in the mornin'."
With nothing further to say, Rick follows Michonne out the door, closing it behind him and finally Carl and I are alone together again. I expect Carl to start talking now that the others have gone, but he doesn't, instead opting to finish the remaining food in his bowel. Its slightly unnerving to see him behaving this way, almost as though he is suffering from extreme depression or something much worse. For the moment, I give him his space, watching him carefully as I too decide to indulge my dinner. My lack of appetite isn't making it exactly easy. The soup is warm and chicken flavored, and though it tastes exquisite, my stomach twists as I swallow the first bite. Now even my body is rejecting food. Carl takes notice of this, watching me silently yet meticulously with his remaining good eye. He again triggers my concern when his gaze shifts downward and his head droops, as if in defeat.
"Am I that bad to look at?" his raspy voice fills the air.
What?
Somewhat taken aback by his question, I instinctively sit my bowel down in my lap and gaze at him wide-eyed and confused.
"What do you mean?"
Carl's body visibly stiffens, almost as though he doesn't want to repeat himself for some reason.
"I said," he repeats. "Am I that bad to look at? Usually I can't get you to stop eating, and now...-"
It suddenly dawns on me what he's referring to.
He's asking me if looking at him makes me sick?!
"You can't possibly mean that." I reply sternly. "What would make you say something like that?"
Like a child being scolded by their parent, Carl winces and returns his gaze to his lap. So, I was right after all. He is depressed. But why? He doesn't have any reason to be. Its not his fault he got hurt. I continue to watch him carefully as I anxiously await his answer. At least he's talking to me. Maybe if I can figure out exactly what it is that has him down, I can raise his spirits somehow. If there is one thing that depresses me more than Carl in physical pain, its Carl in physical and emotional pain at the same time. Carl takes his time coming up with an answer, closing his eyes in thought before releasing a loud sigh, followed by turning to face me once again.
"I have a giant fucking hole in my head." Carl snaps, a slight twinge of hurt and anger in his voice. "What's not to like?"
That last part was sarcasm.
Okay, so my Carl is definitely in there. He's just hurting.
"You really think me not eating has something to do with your physical appearance?" I argue back at him.
That silences him.
I realize this is going to take time, so I pick my bowel up off my lap and sit it on the nearby nightstand, quickly returning my attention back to him afterwards. Rather than answer my question, however, Carl shifts topics, and suddenly my heart begins to tremble in my chest. When he speaks, his voice is no longer sharp and angry, but rather quivers, as though he's holding back tears. My expression immediately softens as a result.
"I made myself useless." he confesses to me. "I only have one eye, now. I can't help anyone like this."
"Carl, that's not tru-"
"Then why won't you eat?!" he barks. "I'm awake now! If its not true that I'm useless now... If its not true that the hole in my head doesn't disgust you, then why won't you-"
Now it's my turn to interrupt him.
With Carl distracted by his own rant, I am able to raise my hand without him really noticing. Just as he is about to finish his anger-induced banter, my hand swiftly moves to clasp his cheek. My hand connects, snapping him out of his rant with a shocked expression painted across his pale, freckled face, whilst bringing his attention solely to me. His skin is hot to the touch, further evidence of his emotional distress. I immediately take to stroking his soft skin with my thumb in an attempt to soothe him in some manner.
"Now you listen to me." I reply, my voice softer than before. "You were shot. Through no fault of your own, I might add. You lost your eye, but you could have lost your life. You are not useless. It'll take some time to get used to, but you'll make it through this and come back stronger than ever. Furthermore, I could never find you revolting. You'll always be handsome to me. That's because your looks aren't why I love you."
To emphasize my point, I remove my hand from his cheek and jab my index finger into his chest.
"I love you for you."
Carl is visibly conflicted by this, turning away and gnawing at his lower lip, as if in shame. He freezes due to something in his line of sight and I immediately glance up to follow his vision to the source. Its the sofa I've spent the last few nights sleeping on. I'll admit, I've made no effort to straighten up my makeshift bed, so Carl sees it in all of its messy glory. The blankets Denise had given me are strewn around the sofa, my pillow sitting at an awkward angle, as though its about to fall off. The disarray would be embarrassing were it not for the seriousness of the moment. Carl narrows his eye as he takes in the sight, and his nostrils flare, as if he is still somewhat agitated. My heart breaks for him. Carl has always been rather hot headed. He gets it from his father. As a result, anytime he is emotionally confused and frustrated, he expresses it as blinding anger, followed by internalization. From what he's told me, I already know that he blames himself for his own injury, and thinks himself useless because of it. Furthermore, he somehow has convinced himself that his wound will harm my love for him. I wish I could ease his fears and concerns somehow...
Carl turns slightly, pausing briefly as if in mid-thought, and then completely turns back to me; glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. The uncertainty and rage haven't left his cobalt eyes just yet.
"Prove it." he demands.
And there is my window.
If I want to ease his internal suffering, I'll have to do what I've already done a thousand times: Prove to him how much I love him.
Matching the intensity of his gaze with my own, I stand up from my place beside his bed and move closer to him. Carl says nothing as I approach, watching me carefully until I'm standing directly beside where he is sitting up in bed. I honor the seriousness of his demand with an air of complete and total sternness, folding my arms across my chest to further emphasize this point.
"Take it off." I instruct him.
His eye flicks up towards me, searching me for an answer to what the hell I'm talking about, while retaining its piercing quality.
"Your bandages." I clarify. "Take them off. I want to see it. You can put them back on afterwards."
Carl hesitates, "Why-"
"You want me to prove it to you?" I cut him off. "Do it."
Reluctantly, after giving me a brief stare of disbelief, Carl lifts his hands from his lap and begins to cautiously unwrap the bandages encircling his head. I know what I'm doing. After two days, the wound has definitely healed. The bleeding has stopped and it should be mostly safe from infection, at least for the time being, but that's not why I'm having him remove them. In my experience, especially back during the old days in high school, I know that a lot of people who suffer from grievous injuries often become self-conscious about them, even without intending to do so. The way he's behaving, and the things he's said, lead me to believe Carl is feeling similarly. He views his wound as a negative, ugly thing that is revolting to both see and think about. I have to break that mentality before it breaks him. Once I do that, I can help him re-wrap it.
Carl hesitates as he begins to unwrap the final bandage, glancing at me to judge my reaction thus far. When I don't say anything, he drops his hands, releasing the final strand of bandages to his lap. Initially, I can't see the damage from the bullet. Carl's trademark long hair is covering it up. Unfolding my arms, I bend down and reach to push Carl's bangs out of the way. Carl's stare becomes harsher than ever, but he doesn't attempt to stop me. Taking that as my permission to proceed, I swiftly push the locks of brown hair out of my way and behold his injury for the first time. Just the sight of it causes a sharp pain in my chest. The hole where Carl's eye use to be is horrific to behold, scarring all around the socket, along with fragmented pieces of flesh which have become a physical memorial to the dance with death Carl had endured as a result of this injury. I can see where Denise tried to cut away some of the damaged tissue shortly after he was shot. The sight of this wound causes my heart to ache even more. To think Carl endured all of this and is still able to sit up and talk to me again.
He really is the strongest person I know.
Carl must have picked up on my change of demeanor.
"See?" he says. "I knew it. Its disgus-"
I don't give him a chance to finish his thought.
Moving my hand to the back of his head, I grasp a fist full of his hair and gently pull him forward, my lips meeting his as I press into him for a deep kiss. The expression on his face is priceless; a mixture between full blown shock and confusion. This quickly melts into emotion as I kiss his lips a second time, only this time he responds, opening his mouth slightly to allow me to kiss him more passionately. It takes him a moment, but I soon feel his hand slowly, cautiously, find the back of my own head. Like a child, nervously exploring a new location, Carl very carefully threads his fingers, one by one into my hair. Its almost as though he's still trying to figure out if this sudden display of love is real. Like he really didn't expect me to answer his challenge. Whatever the case, realization must have hit him like a freight train, because he suddenly closes his eye and begins to enthusiastically return my kiss, sliding his moist tongue into my mouth, where it coils around my own, inviting me to deepen our lip-lock. We continue to kiss like that for several long moments, noses clashing as we both battle for a more suitable position to kiss the other; breath labored by our surprisingly strenuous activity.
When I finally release him, my hands cradling his cheeks as we come apart, I see the telltale signs of tears in his eye.
Tears I quickly wipe away with my nearby thumb.
"I'm sorry you got hurt." I murmur softly to him. "But you have to know that you're not useless and you're certainly not revolting. Truth is, I was so sick with worry while you were asleep that I couldn't eat, and seeing you in pain since you woke up only made it worse. That's why I couldn't eat. It has nothing to do with your injury."
Carl opens his mouth to speak, a single tear streaking down his cheek as he does, "Tanner, I'm-"
"Don't be sorry." I stop him, knowing exactly where he is heading with this. "I'm not angry with you. Just know that there isn't anyone else I could love. Scar or no scar."
With that, Carl allows me to pull him into a hug, this one stronger than the one I gave him earlier in the day. Carl's initially tense body now feels light as a cloud, melting into my strong embrace, where I cradle him protectively. I hold him like this for what seems like an eternity, the night becoming deeper and deeper as time passes on. Eventually, I notice Carl starting to become sleepy again. At first, there is a twinge of fear in my chest. Fear that he'll fall asleep and slip back into a coma, but I quickly get a hold on my anxiety and quench my fears. Carl breaks our embrace, picking up the bandages in his hands to begin putting them back on. Eager to help, I seat myself on the edge of his bed and begin to assist him.
"Tanner?" his voice comes as I continue to wrap the bandages back into place.
"Hmm?"
"Sleep with me tonight?"
The sheer amount of times Carl can melt my heart in one day never cease to astound me.
"I dunno." I reply, cocking my eyebrow at him. "Denise may not like that."
"I don't care." Carl retorts as I finish bandaging him, throwing back his covers while scooting over to give me room. "The patient is always right."
There's the witty humor I'm used to getting from him.
He glances at me expectantly and, though I know I probably shouldn't, I just can't tell him no. Not after everything that has happened in the past two days. I'm just about to answer when Carl decides to melt what's left of my heart;
"Please, Tanner?"
Either Carl is a good actor, or he is actually pleading with me to sleep next to him. No matter which it is, with that, he's won and I show him my concession by pushing back the covers and sliding underneath. Once I settle myself, turning myself onto my side facing Carl's direction, Carl also flips backwards, pushing his back into me, which allows me to drape my arm over the top of him. Its his favorite position to sleep in. My chest warms at his touch. Its only been two days, but I have missed sleeping with him. Even sleeping in the same room, as I have been while he was in his coma, it wasn't the same as actually sleeping next to him. Nothing could ever compare to that. As the silence settles in, Carl reveals just how tired he truly is by slipping off to sleep almost immediately, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm as he does, leaving me alone to my thoughts.
He's safe.
I tell myself.
Only he's not.
A voice inside my head argues.
Suddenly, a mental image of Negan manifests in the front of my mind. Negan and his Saviors are responsible for this. Not only did they hurt Carl, nearly killing him in the process, the result of their injury very nearly broke his spirit. Anger seeps into my chest, warming it even further, even as my heart rate accelerates. As long as Negan remains a threat, Carl is still in danger.
"Take care of Carl, okay?" I remember Tara's last words vividly.
My arm tightens its grip around Carl in response, pressing him even closer against me. I've just been given a miracle, with Carl surviving that gunshot, I won't make the same mistakes again. Negan has to be killed through any means and at all costs. I've only few times been more sure of anything. I can only hope Ezekiel has found something to help us in that endeavor.
Rick.
Mich.
Judy.
...Carl...
My family.
I won't let him hurt them any longer!
If it comes down to it...
I'll kill him myself...!
A/N: That one was a bit longer than the other have been. I hope you all enjoyed! This was an interesting chapter for me to write. For those of you who read This Cruel Reality, we all saw Tanner at his lowest point, mentally, physically, and emotionally, when he reunited with Natalie; his old friend and former "guardian" so to speak, turned sadistic enemy. We never really got to see Carl sink that low, and now you can. Will Carl be able to pick up the pieces of his self-esteem and rise above this incident? We'll see in the coming chapters. Of course, the chapter's namesake comes from the last line of it. Tanner is starting to change his way of thinking. That means the big confrontation with Negan is coming soon! But no spoils! :3 Also, big news in The Walking Dead world! I'm guessing most of you saw Season 5's trailer?! Wasn't it epic?! I can't WAIT for October now! This season is definitely going to be a lot of fun to watch! Once again, I hope you all really enjoyed this chapter. I had a blast writing it.
Now, onto the reviews!
vmbaby: Well, I always say that tragedy creates the best development. It always puts the characters into the worst possible situations, which allows them to show their humanity and their goodness when they are forced to overcome it. Like you, I love seeing these two characters face the worst kinds of adversity and seeing how they grow. It really is a fun experience. Thank you for your compliments and your review :)
IamwhoIam987: Thank you for your forgiveness! xD Well, now you know what happens to Carl. Carl still has some issues to work out, obviously, and next chapter we'll see some of the other effects this injury has had on him, since there is only so much I can show while he's still in bed, but I won't spoil you. You'll just have to wait and see where he goes from here ;) Thanks for your review!
Silver Rain: Tanner was caught between a rock and a hard place in that chapter. For one, he was surrounded by Negan's goons, which would've made it bad for him if he'd turned the gun on Negan. Furthermore, Negan had Carl. He knew if he shot at Negan, he could risk either injuring Carl, or failing and Negan killing Carl. There really wasn't a good choice for him in that situation. A lot of people want Negan dead xD and rightfully so. Guess you'll just have to see what happens to him :D Thanks for your question and comments!
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