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BabySlothXYaoi- Ahh, thank you! Too many nice things, I can't handle it! It was lovely to write a very normal chapter for the boys to just be teens, because from here on out... there be dragons waiting for them.
It takes me a moment, a moment filled with hesitation and the need for everything to be okay, but worry kicks in. They shouldn't be back yet.
I trip my way down the stairs, jumping the last five, slamming into the front door from momentum before pushing past it and into the raging storm.
Falling pellets of precipitation batter me from every angle, I pull up the camo print hood of my jacket, but it doesn't help stop the water seeping into my trainers as I hammer my way through an ocean of puddles.
I reach the right street and see the van in plain view. My stomach drops out of me, tension boiling the blood through my veins as I stare down the flood. The eagle van is parked sideways, skid marks from where it had stopped abruptly outside the infirmary slip away beneath a sheet of rainwater.
My eyes fall to the street. A stream of red runs through the rivered road, diluting into the rain, sucked towards a rusted storm drain, swirls of ruby pooling there, fighting to be buried beneath Alexandria.
I stumble forwards towards the infirmary, my legs wobbling as my head spins with images of mortality.
The water I wade through is still a faint red, up to my ankles in an unknown death.
The infirmary door swings open, Maggie rushing towards me through the hail of rain. I trip in the red. I feel my knees crash into the earth, hissing in pain through my teeth as my legs give way to fear. Maggie is holding me so tight. The rain feels like it's falling in slow motion as she pulls my head into her warmth, her thin pale cardigan soaking from the rain and me. The fear of possibility starting to well up inside of me. My jaw, trembling from trepidation.
All I manage is a short and painful word. One so sad and piercing. Everything from my core to my skin hurting from its proposal.
"Who?"
"I'm so sorry, baby," Maggie whispers. "I'm sorry."
I can feel Ron's watch as it ticks away against my wrist, surging a rhythmic tapping that runs through me like a leaky pipe, bringing me a strange tightness in my throat. I think I read about it in a book once, the word chronophobia, perfectly describing my feelings.
A fear of time.
A fear of its passing.
Fear of everything that passes with it.
We're all sitting in the dining room of 101, everyone that matters, everyone that's family, cramped around the large wood table.
The rhythm of my watch is making me sick now. That feeling you get when you're about to be sick, the anticipation sticking to me like the rain. Maybe it's the not knowing how long it's been that's making me feel this way. I'm too scared to face the time around my wrist, so I'll never know.
Noah is dead.
But it wasn't his blood in the storm.
They could bring his body back.
No one's telling me why they couldn't bring it back.
Tara got concussed by an explosion- It was her blood in the storm. She's in surgery now, the doctor doesn't know if she'll make it, and he doesn't know if she'll be able to remember anything if she does.
I was wrong. Not everybody that matters is here. Rosita is at the infirmary, helping Pete with Tara's surgery, which makes me feel better.
Rick is in the other room talking to Glenn about what happened. Eugene is sitting at the far end of the table from me, his hands bloody and shaking.
We're all sitting in silence, apart from that damn ticking that only I can hear. Tormented apart and alone.
Aiden died too. Eugene said that he was eaten by walkers.
I asked if that's what happened to Noah.
Still, no one is telling me.
After an eternity and a half, Rosita comes into the house, everyone looking up at her, some standing in apprehension.
"She's going to make it," Rosita sighs, cleaning blood from her hand with a rag.
Everyone deflates from their tension and back into their chairs like a room of sad balloons.
Rosita looks exhausted. "She resting now. We won't know if her memory's intact until she wakes up."
Carl's pulled up a chair, sitting beside me, his hand in mine under the table.
"I'm heading back," Rosita tells us, "Just wanted to let everyone know the situation."
Rosita heads for the door.
I try to stand.
Try to follow.
But Maggie puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in my seat, her grip so gentle on my shaking joint.
"Can I go see her, please?" I ask, my teeth gritted despite not being angry.
Maggie checks her own watch, "Honey, it's almost two in the morning. Get some sleep. You can go once you've slept."
"I'm not tired." Again I say through gritted teeth.
"I know," Maggie nods. I look at her to see all the tears in her swollen eyes. "Just for me," she whispers. "Sleep for me."
My teeth grind together, still not out of anger, though. I think, then I nod, thinking and nodding at Maggie as she pulls me from my chair and into a secure hug.
"Thank you."
Carl's sleeping in my bed tonight. I'm not sure if it's for him or me. I know he's worried about me, which I decide is fair, since the last time someone died, I didn't speak for weeks. But I'm also pretty sure that Carl doesn't want to sleep in his and Noah's room since it's probably filled with lonely ghosts.
The ticking from my watch is louder in the dark. I count the seconds, timing how long since we went to bed, every single one an eternity of waiting.
After twenty long minutes, I get up, slipping out of Carl's grip and changing out of my pyjamas, putting on an oversized hoodie and listening as the howls of the storm persist beyond our walls.
I can hear Maggie downstairs, talking to Glenn.
It sounds like he's crying.
I open the window, deciding that I want to sneak out anyway.
"Are you going to the infirmary?" Carl mumbles.
I turn to face the bed, but it's just a silhouette. Movement, hidden within the obscurations.
I take a step towards the bed, moonlight skipping across my face. I know he can see me in it, so I nod.
Carl's voice is sleepy and stumbles over words. "Will he comes back?"
"Who?"
"Noah," Carl murmurs, "I feel bad about wanting the room to myself."
I don't answer, not sure I can speak for the dead.
"Want me to come with?" Carl asks.
I can tell he doesn't want to be alone.
"You wanna come?"
He goes quiet, thinking about my offer.
"Not really," he breathes.
"I'll stay..."
"No, it's fine. I'll just sleep."
I sit down on the bed, beside Carl's head. He doesn't ask me to stay. He doesn't ask me for anything. But I do, and he doesn't have to. When his breaths go from short and thoughtful to long and peaceful, I get up, leaving through the open window.
The rain has stopped, but the wind is still biting. I hug myself in the hoodie, burying my arms into its creases.
I stick to the sidewalks since the roads of Alexandria have become the rivers of Venice. Lights from restless windows are dancing on the water's surface as the sunken town grieves its lucky streak.
The infirmary is warm when I enter, the lights still on, Rosita sitting in a chair by Tara's bedside.
Rosita doesn't say anything when I sit in the chair beside hers, both of us looking at Tara. A clean bandage is wrapped around her temple, her eyes are purple and sunken. I watch as her nostrils flare up with signs of life.
"Are you pissed at yourself?" Rosita asks, turning in her chair to face me.
I look back at her, then at Tara, then back to Rosita.
"I know you," Rosita slumps back in her seat, rubbing her forehead as she grumbles through the tiredness. "Glenn offered for you to go on the run, and you said no."
I frown at her.
"You think that if you went, Noah would be alive, and Tara wouldn't be in here," Rosita tells me.
I don't say anything.
"Well, if you are thinking that... Noah died because Nicholas fucked up. Tara got kissed by a grenade. You couldn't have stopped either."
I nod.
"Say something," Rosita looks irritated. Irritated and tired.
I look at her. My eyes are wide and probably look sadder than is fair for her to deal with.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
Rosita looks disarmed by the question. Then her face softens, and she nods.
"Sorry," she sighs, "I'm tired." She can see that I watched her avoid my question. She smiles, "I am, this place is good, and Tara's okay... I just wish Noah was."
"Me too..." I agree. "I thought you didn't believe in places like this."
"Guess I was wrong."
"Me too," I repeat.
The two of us sit at Tara's bedside until I realise sitting here isn't making me feel any better, so I tell Rosita goodbye and leave.
The rain has started again. It's lighter now, quieter. Gentle as it patters against my face.
I don't know what to do. Stuck between home and Tara. I consider climbing over the wall, but decide against it, since the sky is dark, and the forest will be too muddy for my trainers.
Stuffing my shivering hands into my pockets, I find something to free me from this in-between. The key to 105.
I let myself into the vacant house through the back door, worried someone at home might see me if I try to use the front. The door clicks open, and the inside is just as cold as the outside. I slip off my trainers and hop around until my feet get used to the cold tiled floor.
As I enter the dusty kitchen, with its dark corners and dirty surfaces, I take a second to listen to the rain outside, only I hear music, realising I'm not alone in the unsettled house.
The music gets louder as I walk through the residence, reaching the door to the garage, heavy metal playing inside.
I push open the door.
"Mikey?"
The boy jumps, terrified, leaping from the pool table he had been lying on. Blankets and pillows, flying across the room. I apologise as he turns down the volume on the CD player.
"Hi, Rhys," Mikey sniffles at me, his eyes blown and red, snot and tears streamed across his face.
I lean against the door frame, "I'm sorry about Aiden."
Mikey starts crying when I say his brother's name. I give him a moment to calm down.
As I awkwardly hover by the door, I realise I'm not usually the one that comforts people. No idea how Carl does it.
"Thanks," he whimpers. I pick up a pillow that he'd flung at me in surprise, handing it to him. He takes it, putting it back on the snooker table and lying down. I grab the other pillow he threw, joining him, lying shoulder to shoulder on the green cloth.
"Sorry about Noah," Mikey hiccups, his words slightly manic from trying not to cry.
"Yeah..." I sigh.
Mikey leans over me and turns the music down further, returning to lying after.
"Can I ask you something?" He asks.
"You just did..."
Mikey doesn't seem to notice my terrible attempt at a reused joke. "Why don't you cry?"
We're both staring at the unpainted ceiling.
"I do," I tell him quietly.
"You don't look like you've been crying."
"It's harder now."
"Why?" Mikey asks, his voice raw and scratchy.
"I think because it's easier not to."
Mikey laughs at this, but that becomes more tears bursting from him. I see his point. I haven't seen anyone cry like this for a long time. Crying like he's surprised by the death.
When he gets control of his voice, he tells me, "I think it's harder not to. But, Aid... he's the first person I've lost."
"It gets easier," I whisper, only realising how awful that sounds after saying it.
"Have you ever cried like this?"
"Yeah," I nod into the pillow.
"What happened?"
"Erm... my dog died," I tell him. "His name was Silver, and he was a golden retriever." I smile. "He used to keep me company."
"That's sad," Mikey says sincerely.
"Why aren't you at home with your family?" I ask him.
He takes in a deep inhale of garage air, his shoulder warm as it rises against mine. "We were grieving in the living room."
"That sounds... organised," I say.
"That's my mom for you," Mikey sighs. "Her, dad, Spencer, and I were just sitting in the living room, silent. It sucked, so I grabbed Aiden's run Mix and came here to listen to it."
"They don't cry like you either?"
"No. Spence was around when we lost Grandma Frankie. Mom and Dad both lost people in the old world. Guess I'm the freak."
Teardrops return to him as Mikey chokes out his next words. "I just wish they treated me like a kid."
"Your parents?"
Mikey nods into his pillow, now wet from tears, "I told you... they got sick of treating their kids like kids... sucks that I was still a kid when they did."
"If it makes you feel any better," I offer, "my parents never really treated me like a kid."
"Because you had older siblings too?"
"No, they just weren't meant to be parents... but they had me, and they kept me. They were never horrible to me. They just weren't good at being parents."
"Why?"
I shrug, "They were too successful for a kid. Mum was always chasing a story and usually ended up halfway around the world. Dad just wanted me to be more like him, made me take all these music classes and go to all these dumb social events because he thought that would make me more like him... more sophisticated or whatever. I mean, they got me a dog because I told them we never had fun together."
"Wow... that's..."
"Yeah, I know," I breathe.
"Any good memories?" Mikey asks, half sarcastically.
"Yeah," I purse my lips. "Mom always used to sing around the house. She had the best voice, and whenever I felt sick, she would take me out in the car with all the windows down, and we'd blast this tape dad made her when they first met," I start laughing as I tell the story. "It had all these seventies songs on it, and we'd just yell along to the lyrics and annoy all the neighbours."
"Didn't the car make you feel sicker?" Mikey asks.
"No," I shake my head, "driving makes me feel calm."
"What about your dad?"
I think hard, good memories with him are more tricky to think of.
Until I find one.
"He, erm," I smile, "he helped me bury Silver in the garden when he died."
"The dog?"
I nod, "Mm-hm."
"That's a happy memory?"
"Dad cried," I tell him. "I'd never seen him cry before. But he had a soft spot for Silver, I think. That's why I cried so hard... it wasn't just the dog... it was dad too."
Mikey yawns and I offer to take him home, but he says he wants to stay, so I just turn the music up.
'How could I ever think it's funny how?
Everything that swore it wouldn't change is different now,
Just like you would always say, "We'll make it through,"
Then my head fell apart, and where were you?
How could I ever think it's funny how?
Everything you swore would never change is different now,
Like you said, "You and me make it through,"
Didn't quite, fell apart, where the fuck were you?'
Song was Somewhat Damaged by Nine Inch Nails.
The song is also the one that the Monroe family greave to in the show, which I always found to be a fun change of music for twd's more indie style.
Rest In Peace, Noah. What a damn good architect he could have been.
Rest In Peace, Aiden. You were misunderstood and tried to change before the end.
This chapter didn't make me too sad until I got to Glenn crying. That shit got me good.
Also, sorry for any mistakes in this one! Didn't have a chance to proofread as much as usual.