Reviews:

BabySlothXYaoi- Thank you! Yes, Carl is really trying to be there for Rhys despite his own baggage. I always thought Michonne listens to Carl like an adult, one of the many reasons I love her. Glad that you thought the walnut scene was nice. It was very nice writing something positive after the past few chapters being shit show after shit show. Carol's relationship with Rhys is something I'm very excited to show explored! And yeah, I would also probably go crazy if it was my sister, or mother or whoever that got burned by Carol... that lady just loves to burn people! Ty is an angel and Rhys is trying very hard, aha. The boys have been through it, they are definitely going to use the downtime to get some things straight... I really like the way you put it with- "you dont even have to understand what im going through just the fact that your here staying is nice." That is definitely a good observation as to where they're at. Thank you again for the continued support! It's always nice to hear some thoughts on the chapters, it helps me a lot. I'm glad you are excited for the future because there is a lot on its way... as of writing this, I'm up to the group's arrival at Alexandria in drafts. So yeah, lots in store.

-Rhys's POV-

I wake up to Carl lying fast asleep across my chest, making breathing slightly harder. I put up with it. Deciding that I'm okay with the contact. The sunrise is peaking through autumn leaves, brown flakes turned to gold, with flecks of orange light slipping through. I watch a butterfly climbing along a tree branch over our heads. I wonder if it has learned to fly yet, or if maybe it's just tired of flying.

Only three of the others are awake. Rosita is sat near a sleeping Eugene, rifle in hand. While Daryl and Carol are sitting with their backs to us. Watching the trees for anything, dead or alive.

I carefully manoeuvre out from under Carl's head, turning onto my side, watching him as he sleeps peacefully, each breath making me feel slightly better. Then I notice the blanket. A dirty brown blanket with the faint scent of wet dogs, the blanket that's covering us. I sit upright, knowing that it wasn't there last night, I suddenly feel incredibly self-conscious as my eyes dart around for the culprit, stinging slightly from the rising sun and my head whirling from sitting up too fast.

I get up, leaving the mysterious blanket over Carl as he sleeps. I grab my gun and knife from above his head. Sitting beside them is the gun Rick gave me in Terminus- the one that I've since given to Carl after getting mine back. I holster my weapon and slip the knife into my pocket.

Making my way over to Rosita, a million questions are on my mind. All the cuts on my face, stinging.

"Hi," I yawn, sitting beside her on a mossy log.

"Morning," she replies, not looking up from her gun polishing, her brown cap blocking out the suns glare.

The air is chilly and gives me a shudder in my bones that I can't shake out. Unable to lose the shiver, I decide to get one of the questions out of my head.

"Why do you trust me?"

"What do you mean?" She still doesn't look up.

I sigh, not sure if the question makes sense. "I mean, why did you ask me to help with Eugene in Terminus when you could have asked anyone? And why did you want me to go on patrol with you yesterday when Abraham was sitting a few feet away?"

She narrows her eyes, finally taking them off the gun and staring at me, "Abe was keeping an eye on Eugene yesterday."

I squint back, "What about the first one?"

She looks away, sucking her teeth. "When we got to Terminus, you were the only other person that didn't fall for their whole 'welcome to Terminus' bullshit." She shakes her head, "Hell, even that dumbass fell for it," she gestures to Abraham, who is facedown in the dirt, snoring up a storm of dust and crisp leaves.

I think about this. "I fell for it too. Just not in the same way."

She scoffs, "Nah, that's a load of mierda. You were ready for what went down. If everyone had been quick with their guns like you and me, we might have gotten out of there."

"We did get out of there."

She nods, "Just don't lose that instinct."

"Um... okay."

I hear Rick saying good morning to his daughter behind us, I look over my shoulder at him, and he stares back like he's deciding on something. It can't be too important, though, because he's looking away after a few seconds.

Now that he's awake, Rick starts getting people up.

"We've got a long walk ahead of us."

The group walks as a unit along the woodland path, ready for anything that comes at us. Not willing to lose anyone.

Carl asks me about music, something he didn't experience before the outbreak, besides listening to the Radio. I promise him that one day I'll make him a mixtape. Smirking when he asks what that is.

"It's like a library of music... instead of books, it has songs."

"What kind of songs," Carl seems really curious.

"Depends, sometimes it's got someones favourite songs, or love songs that make you feel all romantic... or just songs that remind you of someone."

"Uh-huh," Carl hums, "What songs would you put on it?"

"I don't know. something that reminds me of you, like that one we danced to in the music room."

"Back at the prison?"

"Yeah."

"That's only one song, though," Carl points out.

"They'll be more," I smile.

"Gimme a sec?" I ask him.

He nods, walking ahead to catch up with Michonne, who keeps fiddling with her empty sword sheath.

I fall back to walk with Tyreese, smiling at Judith, who is strapped to his back.

"Hey, before I forget," I reach up and take off the beanie I've been wearing for the past week, handing it to him. "You never saved me a seat, but you can have it back anyways."

"Thanks, little man," he fits it back on his head, where it belongs. Tyreese looks weird without his beanie like Carl does now without his hat. I'm glad when Ty fits the fabric to his head, looking like a finished jigsaw puzzle.

I realise something is wrong when I bump into Bob, who stopped walking in front of me. Reaching for my gun, I aim where everyone else aims, Daryl, at the end of the barrel.

"We surrender," he puts his hands up, revealing a string of dead squirrels hanging over his winged shoulder as he returns from a hunt.

So much for being 'ready for anything.'

Clearly noticing the laziness as well, Rick gets the group to tighten up. He and Abraham are behind Tyreese and me, talking about getting back on the road, heading north to find a cure. The thought of the walkers going away is weird, just like the idea of the game Sasha and Bob are playing in front of us. Something they call 'Good out of the bad.' Bob is convinced that no bad came without some good. Sasha seems to be convinced by him. I'm not so sure.

"Help!"

The Bad.

Rick holds up a hand, cementing everyone to their spots as he moves to the front of the group, raising his gun as we all listen.

A man's voice calls out again, "Help, anybody! Help!"

Carl pulls on his Dad's arm in the direction the cries, "Dad, come on!"

The good.

"Help, please!"

Rick looks conflicted, everyone waiting on his decision.

"Come on!" Carl urges.

Giving in, Rick gives the signal, and we take off in the direction of the screaming.

I lag behind with Tyreese, keeping watch over Judith, my gun drawn.

We arrive at the source of the screaming moments after the others. I see Carl shoot a walker that has a bony hold on the stranger's foot. The man, begging for rescue from atop a giant rock.

The group takes out the other two walkers without missing a beat. The area is a small clearing in the trees, the strangers rock sitting in the heart of it.

Glenn, Sasha, and Bob keep watch while the rest of us confront the stranger. As he clambers down from his rock, I notice he has a white-collar round his neck, which I recognise as a clerical collar, a man of God.

"I'm Gabriel," he tells us after vomiting right onto my trainers, apologising.

I barely notice, giving him a nod of forgiveness.

'Gabriel, like the angel?' I think to myself.

He jokes about not looking like a man that carries weapons when Rick asks. No one laughs, although I notice Carl giving a sympathetic smile.

Abraham puts it best, telling the man, "we don't give two short and curlies what it looks like."

"The word of God is the only protection I need," the stranger tells us.

Daryl smirks, "Sure didn't look like it."

"I called for help," the father gestures round to us, "Help came."

I decide that I don't like him.

"Do you have any food?" the priest asks Rick, getting no response, just murderous glares.

Carl steps forward, handing him some pecans that Carol had passed round last night to go with the walnuts.

"That's a beautiful child," he tells Tyreese while nibbling on a pecan, looking at Judith as she babbles in Ty's arms.

Rick suddenly starts patting the man down, searching for hidden weapons and agendas.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"Not any, actually."

How many people?"

"N-None."

"Why?"

"Because the Lord abhors violence," Gabriel answers Rick's final question. I can't help but feel judged by this answer.

"What have you done?" Rick whispers, closing distance between the two of them, leaving inches. "We've all done something."

"I'm a sinner... I sin almost every day. But those sins, I confess to them to God, not strangers."

After a few more questions and looks of doubt, Gabriel offers us shelter in his church. Because, of course, he has a church.

Gabriel leads us through the woods, telling us in a meek tone that he doesn't usually venture far from his church. Only threatening to steal our squirrels as a joke. Again no one laughs. I start to recognise a pattern. So does he, telling us that his flock didn't find him funny either.

When we reach our destination, I'm taken aback, not expecting it to look like this. The church has a tall steeple with whitewashed panelling and light green window shutters all around. A set of varnished doors stand at the front, a couple of steps leading up to them, stained glass windows on either side with elaborate stories told in their colours. I don't know why, but it reminds me of a Christmas tree- all snowy and green with decorations to keep it interesting.

Back in England, the churches were more like castles, with shale rocks climbing cobbled stone, thick heavy doors that are hard to open. Like something from a Bram Stoker novel- definitely not Christmasy.

I wait outside with Carl while a small group secures the inside of the church.

Tyreese puts a hand on my shoulder, "Mind taking Judith?"

I accept his offer and take the infant, only to pass her to her brother when Carl looks like he needs comforting.

"Good thing Ty made this sling for Jude," Carl notes, strapping her to his front.

"Y'know the Vikings used to use them all the time... made them out of animal skin and stuff."

Carl snorts.

"What?" I ask him, his lips pouting as he stares at me.

"Nothin'," he shrugs, "you always bring up Vikings."

I shrug back at him, like our own secret handshake, everyone else sees a shrug, but we speak for hours in them. "They're cool."

Re-emerging from the church, Rick calls out that the church is clear.

Abraham grabs Rick's attention, getting everyone else's by default. "Found a short bus outback. Bet I could fix it in less than a day or two."

I like where he's going with this. The sooner we're on the move, the better.

Abe goes on, "Father here says he doesn't want it," he grins, "looks like we found ourselves some transport."

Rick considers this, inevitably siding with Michonne, who thinks we need to slow down. Rick tells Abraham that we need to stock up before we roll out.

I watch as Carl and the others retreat from the blazing sun into the church, Glenn stopping to talk to Abraham.

"One way or another, we're doing what Rick does. We're not splitting up again." Then Glenn disappears into the church.

Tara stops next, "What he said."

Then Bob and Sasha, "What she said."

Then it's just me. Rosita, and Abraham both staring daggers. Eugene standing behind them.

I just stumble past and into the church awkwardly, nodding in agreement as I leave the two outside.

I find Carl sitting amongst the pews with Judith on his lap. I sit myself down beside him, a sick feeling rising in my stomach.

"It's strange in here," he tells me, his voice nasally from looking up at the high ceiling. "So high," he whispers.

"It's so people don't boil during congregation," I tell him, picking up a hassock from the pew in front, the image of a grassy field sewn into it. I rest the praying cushion on my lap.

"Congre- what now?" Carl laughs, placing Judith on the hassock. I hold her so that she doesn't tumble off.

"congregation," I repeat, rolling my eyes. "It's basically when a bunch of people come and pray."

"How do you know that?"

I shrug, "It's pretty common knowledge, man."

"Boys, can I talk to you for a second," Rick approaches wearing the frown he usually does, crouching down to our level.

We nod in sync.

"I'm taking Gabriel with me on a run... I don't trust this guy-"

"Why?" Carl interrupts his father.

Rick looks confused, squinting at his son, "Why d'you trust him?"

Carl tilts his head, looking at his Dad, "Everybody can't be bad."

Rick chuckles, nodding in understanding.

"Well, I don't trust this guy."

I feel like Rick's right.

"I need you to stay alert. Protect each other. Protect Judith."

"We will, Sir," I chime in.

"I need you to hear me," Rick looks at us both with serious eyes, blue like his sons, yet so different from Carl's kinder eyes.

"You are not safe... No matter how many people are around. Or how clear the area looks. No matter what anyone says, no matter what you think, you are not safe... It only takes one second- one second, and it's over. Never let your guard down, ever. I want you to promise me."

"We promise," Carl answers for me. I'm just nodding along.

"Okay."

Rick gets up to leave, satisfied.

"Dad," Carl stops his father halfway down the aisle, "you're right, I am strong. We both are," he smiles back at me, "but we're strong enough that we can still help people, all of us, together. We can handle things if they go wrong. We don't have to be afraid, and we don't have to hide."

"Well, he's hiding something," Rick tells Carl as if it's a fact.

"we'll stay safe, Dad."

Rick leaves with a nod towards me and a pat on Carl's shoulder.

"What was that?" I ask Carl when he sits back down, taking Judith from me.

"What?"

"I don't know," I shrug, "You being all positive. Where'd that come from?"

Carl smiles at me, staring into my eyes with his intense blue, "Somewhere, I guess."

I think I'm blushing, so I look away, not sure as to why.

Tyreese takes Judith for feeding at some point, so after about an hour of just sitting, Carl and I get bored, deciding to go on patrol outside, even though no one asks us to.

The sun beats down on us, Carl hiding under his hat from it, laughing at my jealousy.

Then there's a silence. It's long and full of awkward glances paired with shuffling feet.

"I'm sorry for leaving you," Carl mutters, dragging his feet as we walk around the church's perimeter.

I don't speak. I don't blame him, and I know he knows that.

"I wanted to get you out too."

"I know," I tell him.

"And I wanted to go back for you."

"I know," I tell him again.

"I begged Dad and Michonne, I tried, but they-"

"Carl... I know."

He looks annoyed at himself, hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes pointed to the dirt.

"Dad used to make me hang out with other kids at the prison," Carl starts, "There were a bunch of kids from Woodbury- then Patrick, even Lizzie and Mika."

"He just wanted you to grow up like kids used to, I guess."

"I hated him for it. For trying to make me normal... like I wasn't normal. Like I was broken. When kids died at the prison, I didn't feel anything. When Patrick died, I didn't feel anything. You showed up, and I thought to myself- great, another one. Another person that's going to die, and I won't care. I'll make a cross, and I'll feel guilty for not caring, and then Dad will look at me with that same look... Like I'm broken."

"Carl..."

"But it was different," Carl stumbles over his words, speaking too fast, "you didn't make me feel like that. You made me feel like I was already normal... like I didn't have to do stupid things like play soccer and pretend everything's normal. It was as if everything I was doing was normal... jus', I wasn't doing them alone anymore."

We've stopped walking. Carl is looking at me, really looking. Like everything he's saying has been in him for too long. Like he needs to get it out. Share the weight of living.

He keeps talking into my eyes, "After the prison... after the Cavalcade... when dad and Michonne found me, everything felt wrong."

"Why?" I whisper.

"Because it felt like everything was backwards... at the prison, losing people felt normal. I felt strange when I had friends. Like I was always waiting for the inevitable and the guilt that came with it. But when I lost you," Carl's crying now, not crying like he's sad because he's not. Neither is he crying like he's happy because that's definitely not it either. His tears are so much more complicate than happy or sad, just silent. "It felt like I lost myself again... like everything good about me was gone."

I hate myself for not speaking. For not telling Carl that I feel the same. That he makes all of it go away. All the stinging cuts and dead friends. He just makes them stop. I want to tell him that I'm not the good part of him, that I've done things too. When I open my mouth to say it all, nothing comes out.

Carl can see that I'm struggling. "Anyway," he wipes his face, "I'm just trying to say thank you."

"What for?"

"For being you, I guess."

We start patrolling again. While we walk, I begin to think about how much hair I have now. Maybe Ty's beanie made it longer... then I'm thinking about what Carl said... how I'm not sure if I am the 'me' he's talking about.

We pass one of the stained windows, the last super depicted in its colour.

"Excited for them to bring food back?" Carl asks me once we start our second lap of the perimeter.

"More excited for Daryl to bring back some water. I need a wash."

"Yeah, you really do," Carl grins.

"Okay, asshole," I shove him, letting out my first proper laugh in awhile.

"I like that," he tells me.

"Like what?"

"Your laugh, I like it."

"Well, y'know what I like?"

"What?"

"You. I like you a lot."

"You'll burn for this," Carl mumbles.

"Woah, okay. I mean, I'm sure God won't mind," I chuckle.

"No, dumbass," he shakes his head, pointing over my shoulder to the wall behind me. Writing scratched into it.

YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS

"Oh." I move to trace my fingers over the letters, "Think someone left this for Gabriel?"

Rick's words play in my head.

'You are not safe.'

Carl walks further around the church, now looking at the faded green window shutters.

"What is it?" I ask him, looking around nervously. The treeline is static, nothing moves, and nothing breathes. It all just waits patiently. Rick told us not to let our guards down... but we already did.

"Scratches," Carl points out multiple cuts in the wooden frame, "too deep for a walker."

"Knives, maybe?" I suggest as Carl runs his finger along the scarred pannels.

Rosita calls me over from the bus that she, Eugene, and a very-angry Abraham are fixing up.

"Go on," Carl tells me, he goes to take my hand, but I flinch.

"Sorry." Carl looks down at the ground clumsily, embarrassed.

I take a breath, then his hand. squeezing it. "I'm okay," I reassure him.

I leave Carl to investigate further, heading to the bus to answer Rosita's summons.

"Son of a dick!" Abraham swears from under the bus, "gimme the damn screwdriver Eugene," his hand extended angrily as he shouts instructions.

"Once again, I would like to state that fixing this mode of transportation is well within my skill set," Eugene says in his usual monotone voice. "By my calculations, we will be ready to leave by sundown if you just let-"

"Eugene," Abraham growls, prompting Eugene to hand him a screwdriver before wandering off behind the bus.

"Did you need something?" I ask sheepishly.

Rosita kicks Abraham's boot, prompting him to slide out from under the bus, screwdriver in hand, narrowed eyes on me.

"You want to come to DC with us, right?" Abraham asks me, still flat on his back. Scratching his moustache with one hand, pointing a screwdriver at me with the other.

"I guess."

"Then we could use your help, convincing the others, that is," Abe starts, "See, I reckon if you could convince Maggie, she could turn the tide in our favour. Glenn's with her, Tara with Glenn. You also seem to have Sasha and Bob listening to you."

"I don't know about that, sir," I interrupt.

"That is a bunch of ballbags! You most certainly have some sway. Now, all you need to do is-"

"I'm not betraying the group!" I take a step back.

Not again.

"It ain't betrayal, just a little bit of tactical conversation," Abraham tries to reason, "listen, kid, you're talented. I want you with us when we leave. Hell, Rosita clearly thinks you're a regular jim-dandy."

"Drop it, Abe," Rosita tells him, seeing that I'm not biting.

He grumbles, disappearing back beneath the bus.

Rick had designated a time for the three scouting groups to get back, and I realise that time must be now because I see them all appearing from the main road.

Rick's group- which consists of Sash, Bob, Michonne and Gabriel -returns with two carts of canned goods. A box of clean clothes as well.

Glenn, Maggie, and Tara appear carrying some ammunition and suppressors.

Daryl and Carol are the last to arrive, bringing plastic jugs filled with water, laughing with each other as they walk.

Rosita tries to apologise, but I leave quickly before she can get a word in, moving past Rick and into the church.

A/N

Just watched the newest episode of twd today... so I got the writing buzz and uploaded.

Reviews and Feedback are always welcome!

:)