I wake up like most mornings, to the curtainless window. Carl's asleep next to me, his arm slumped over my ribs. I watch as he breaths gently, not sure if he's the same person from last night. Not sure I am.

After Tyreese and the others got back last night, everything felt like a blur. We barely got to say hello. But the meds got here safe, and Bob went to work with Hershel on healing the sick. Everything feels normal again.

I find myself brushing the hair from Carl's eyes, revealing his forehead, something you don't see too often with his hair. I press my lips to his forehead gently, causing a rapid smile to spread across his face.

"Asshole, I thought you were asleep," I chuckle.

He opens his eyes, "Mornin'."

"Morning."

We get dressed, not sure whose clothes are whos at this point. As I put on the sleeveless jacket with the camo hood from the other day, Carl smiles at me, telling me I can keep it.

I ask him why.

"Too many bad memories."

"Doesn't me wearing it remind you of them?"

"Nah, man, you make them better."

I return the smile to him while rubbing my shoulder, still sore from the kickback last night. Carl seems fine. That, or he's used to it.

We hold hands as we leave the office for hopefully the last time, the orange rucksack over Carl's shoulder until we drop it off in the now safe C Block. We hold on to each other until we reach the courtyard and see Rick. Letting go then in fear of him seeing.

"Meet you on the bus?" Carl asks me.

"See you there."

Carl punches me in the arm before running off down the gravel track at a skip, catching up with his Dad.

I stand at the courtyard entrance, looking down on the field below. For the first time since I got here, the fences were free of the dead, no sounds of growling on the wind, just the birds singing under the Georgia blaze.

Following the fence with my eyes, up to where we had taken our stand last night, I see Michonne and Hershel loading up walker bodies for burning.

I head towards them, planning on offering a hand until I'm stopped by Ty, blocking my way and pulling me into a world-famous Tyreese bearhug.

"Glad you're okay little man," he tells me into my frizzy hair.

"I think this needs cutting, though," he points to my hair after setting me back on the ground.

I jump on the spot, snatching his beanie from him and putting it on myself.

"There!" I spin on the spot. "Problem solved."

He chuckles at my performance.

I instinctively put my hand in my pocket, holding the bracelet inside. Ty notices this but doesn't say anything, guessing why.

"Listen, Ty."

I've been thinking about what I want to say to him since he left for the college, in the moments in-between moments.

"I think we need to stop looking for who's responsible." I swallow, nervously awaiting his reaction.

He nods slowly, taking it all in.

"I don't know if I can. I can't forgive what they did." He tightens his grip on a hammer he's holding. He doesn't look angry, though, just tired. Honestly, bleeding from him.

I think hard about what I'm about to say next.

"I'll never forgive them. I don't think anyway. If we find out who did it- they deserve to die."

I think about how Carl called me good, how I felt proud of it.

"Me too, kiddo." Ty gives my shoulder a firm pat with his free hand.

"But," I continue, "if the past few days have taught me something, it's that we don't know how long we've got. I don't think Karen would want us to waste our time looking for them. I just don't."

Tyreese thinks long and hard about what I said. One of the reasons I like Ty so much. He never treats me like a kid in the ways that matter.

"I won't stop looking, but I understand," Tyreese says.

"Thank you."

"Now, you gonna give me my hat?"

He reaches out, but I'm too quick, dodging his outstretched hand.

"Nope! You can have it back tonight if you save me a seat for tea."

He shakes his head, muttering a disapproving, "Tea."

I laugh at him, "Hey! don't be xenophobic, man."

With that, he throws his hands up in defeat and walks away, Beanie-less.

I look past him, but Hershel and Michonne are already gone, driving down the gravel towards the exit.

I don't see Carl, so I head to the bus, rifle on my shoulder, pistol in its holster, and my spear in hand.

I find Carl inside the bus, eating broad beans from their pod. He offers me some, and I take them hungrily.

"Oh, before I forget." He hands me his belt from under a cushion, "Happy Birthday, man."

I can't help breaking into laughter. "Okay, firstly, It's not my Birthday."

Carl frowns at this.

"Secondly, I already have a belt, thanks."

"I know it's not your birthday, but I hadn't met you when it was, so I'm making up for it now." He smirks, "And look closer, Butthead."

I mutter something about not being a butthead as I look closer at the belt, realising it has two clips added to either end. I'm still confused.

Carl clearly gets impatient, so he tells me, "gimme your spear."

I do, and he attaches the belt to either end, giving it some slack.

"Now my spear's trousers won't fall down?"

"It's so you can wear it dumbass. so you don't have to drop your spear anytime you pick something up," he chuckles as I test it out, "seeing you struggling between that and the rifle last night was slightly embarrassing."

Thank you, Carl."

"No sweat, Rhys."

I kiss him, and he kisses me back.

"You okay with this now?"

"yeah," he nods.

We sit together for a time. Carl reads me comics with his legs across my lap. I play him some terrible five-stringed song, but he tells me he loves it.

"I'm gonna get us some food," he tells me later. "Wanna share a can of sweetcorn?" I grin and nod. So squeezes my hand goodbye.

I lie there once he leaves, thinking about sweetcorn, Christmas trees, and ratoons.

It only takes one second for everything to break, but today it took a little longer.

The world shakes, and fire rains from the sky.

I jolt up as flaming debris lands on the only uncovered window, directly above me, ash covering its surface. Panicking, I pull back a curtain to look out the window. Seeing the watchtower beside the bus, destroyed and on fire. A voice, looming from out of sight.

"Rick, come down here! We need to talk."

I draw my gun from behind me and peek past the curtain covering the bus windscreen.

I freeze.

There's a tank.

A fucking tank!

Aside from the giant metal weapon that may have just killed someone, I make out about thirteen armed people with vehicles, alongside a tank driver, and who I can only assume to be the man I've heard so much about- The Governor, standing atop the tank. I've never met the man, but I've heard enough stories from Karen and Tyreese to recognise the eyepatch-wearing maniac.

Then my heart drops a million miles, through the bus, and into the earth, deeper than all the roots of Carl's plants could reach.

Michonne and Hershel are pulled from the backseats of one of the cars and forced to their knees. Guns, touching the backs of their heads.

Michonne makes eye contact with me through the dirty glass, a flash of worry on her face. The look is gone as fast as it had appeared, Michonne looking away, keeping my cover intact.

I watch as Rick approaches into view, leaving the prison's defensible hill.

I stay hidden, peeking past the curtain in wait.

Rick and The Governor talk about walkers, Rick trying to convince him that there's another way.

While they talk, I make my way to the back of the bus, which faces up towards the prison.

I can't find Tyreese as I scan the fence, searching faces for the ones I knew. Carl's face is among them, Daryl beside him. They both aim rifles towards the Governor's convoy. I wave and jump, trying to get their attention, anyone's attention. But I'm alone, in between both firing lines. If the shooting starts, this bus will be right in the middle of it.

I need to do something. I have to help.

I grab my spear, throwing it over my shoulder and across my back. Carl's gifted strap for it came just in time. Once secured, I holster my pistol and grab Sasha's rifle. I stumble over cushions and comics, back to the front of the bus. I see Hershel nodding to something I missed.

Rick tries to make peace. Like his son, he seems different from last night. Like he's flipped a switch in his head.

Each word from Rick and Hershel angers The Governor more and more. He hops from the tank, resting Michonnes Katana on Hershel's shoulder, the blade kissing his neck.

I rest Sasha's sniper against the driver's seat, aiming the scope onto the Governor's head.

'Always pull the trigger on empty lungs,' Sasha's words play in my mind.

I inhale.

I empty my lungs.

I pull the trigger.

Only I don't. I can't.

What if I miss and start a war?

What if I get Hershel killed?

What if I get everyone killed?

"You in the ponytail!" Rick points to a scared looking girl holding a rifle, "Is this what you want? Is this what any of you want?"

The tank driver speaks up. "What we want is what you got. Period." His gun trained on Rick, "time for you to leave, asshole."

"Look, I fought him before," Rick pleads, "and after, we took in his old friends."

I think about the silver bracelet sitting in my pocket. I think about what it means. I think about my choices.

Rick keeps talking, "We've all done the worst kinds of things, just to stay alive." I think about my conversation with Carl. "But we can still come back. We're not too far gone." tank man and ponytail look at each other, doubt in their eyes. The Governor lowers the sword. The sun catches the weapon and dances it's way up the blade.

My body relaxes, I breathe in.

The Governor says something I don't hear. His lips, moving in slow motion on the other end of my scope.

Everything resting on a breath.

Then the breath ends.

Everything happens at once. Hershel's blood coats the fields as The Governor slices his neck open. Rick scream. Shots are fired from every direction, me in the middle of it.

Before I can fire a shot, bullets hit metal. I dive to the floor of the sideways bus, glass cracking as I hit it hard. Light spills into the vehicle through bullet holes, which begin to littler the side of the bus. The Java cup explodes as a stray bullet hits it. My Banjo making a terrible twanging sound as it gets blown into pieces, the strings snapping, and wood flying everywhere.

I keep low, my hands over my head, unable to move.

There's a thud against the backdoor of the bus as Rick finds cover against it. I try calling out to him, but he can't hear me between the gunfire and my shaking voice. I keep my head pressed into the glass as more shots travel through the bus, the endless sound of splitting metal ringing out above me.

I hear engines start, and the familiar sound of the fence collapsing fills my ears. This time, less of a groan. More of a snap.

The sound of bullets hitting the bus stops, the fire being directed towards the prison now, towards Carl, and Ty, and Maggie, and everyone else I now call family. An act of newfound courage inspires me to my feet, pushing pages of comics and splintered wood off me. Shards of glass and ceramic caught on the beanie I'm still wearing.

I see through the cracked back window that the tank is now blowing holes into our home. Concrete explodes from the walls and rains into the courtyard, onto our people as they run for cover.

The Governor suddenly rounds the bus's corner. I raise my Beretta, but he's tackled from the side by a feral Rick Grimes.

I fight through my trembling and fumble with the door, trying to get out of the bus. Everyone now past it, besides the two leaders throwing each other into its side.

I try the door, but of course, it's jammed. If I climb out the top, I'll probably wind up shot.

I start kicking the back door when I see Rick pinned in the dirt by The Governor, as he starts pummeling Rick's face with bloody knuckles.

It won't budge, so I started slamming Sasha's rifle into the backdoor's window, shattering it open. With no other options, I resort to forcing my way through the broken window, screaming as jagged glass tears at my skin and clothes, blood covering me. I crash to the dirt with a yelp, agony running through my limbs. Forcing myself up, I use the bus to steady myself. With the rife on the floor, I raise my handgun, refusing to miss again, refusing to hesitate.

The Governor crumbles into the grass as my shot hits him square in the back, tearing through his leather jacket with a guiser of blood.

Lowering my gun, I stumble towards Rick, hands shaking. Tears I hadn't noticed stinging my eyes.

The Governor raises his gun, aiming at me before I can move. But Michonne is too fast for him. Before I even notice her, she slices off the Governor's hand with a single swipe, her blade singing.

He screams in agony as he rolls around in pain, clutching his blood squirting stump. Michonne checks on Rick and I wait for her to confirm he's alive. When she does, I turn on my heels, hightailing it to the smoking wreck I call home.

I push through the smoke, and it burns my eyes. I can't close them. I need to know.

The tank was now on fire, the driver dead on the floor, a crossbow bolt, with pale fletchings sticking out his chest.

I look at the corpses as I step over them, recognising most. The angry-looking dinner lady lies dead. Now her expression is filled with fear. Not far from her is Mr. Peterson, the librarian, a trail of bullet holes leading from his chest to his skull. Beside him, I see Mrs. Branning, the lady that made me pancakes on my first day here. She's clutching a young boy in her arms. Both of them dead, riddled with holes.

Our home is gone, holes in walls and fires on rooftops, the courtyard now a graveyard.

Everyone is dead or gone,

Until they're not,

Until they're alive and here,

I see him through the smoke. His back to me. Carl.

I stumble towards him, blood oozing from my arms and a shard of glass from the bus protruding from my lower leg.

"Carl..." I call, my voice Hoarse and dry, smoke catching in the back of my throat.

Then I see what he's looking at, a blood-stained baby carrier, his sister's baby carrier with no Judith in sight. I grab at his shoulder weakly, and he spins around, pointing his repeater at me, lowering it when he realises.

"She- she's dead." He tells me, tears running down his broken face.

"Carl, we have to go."

He looks me up and down, hysterical, more than I'd ever seen from him. He nods, seeing my leg and dropping his repeater, taking to under my arm in support.

The way we came is swarmed with walkers, no sign of Rick and Michonne, so we follow the bus exit, through the orange gates, following the road, away. Just away.

A/N:

Released the last 12 in one go. Next chapter should be up fairly soon.

Feel free to write a review or drop me a PM. Feed back is always appreciated.

Thank you to those who read this far.

:)