Work Text:
Carl is in the place he knows best: his mother’s coat.
It’s wrapped around him, and he knows why. He knows he could be dying.
He just wishes they’d understand why he wasn’t so scared of it.
There’s a creak outside, and the sound- echo, really- of a bullet rings in Carl’s head before he remembers where he is.
The door opens, and Rick walks in.
His boots are dirtied with blood. They always are, especially since he’s a walker hunter, but it’s not quite as black as the walker blood is.
His shoes are stained red.
Rick’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls up to the bedside and looks down at the teen, wrapped in the warmth of his mother and the bandages around his side.
Rick doesn’t smile.
“How’re ya feeling?” His voice is dark. Dark like Shane’s eyes before he shot him.
Carl thinks that Shane is dead, now that he sees the look in Rick’s eyes.
Good. He deserves it.
“Like I got shot,” Carl grins as best as he can when he’s in so much pain each breath is like a sucker punch (“Ain’t no anesthesia in the apocalypse,” his mother had said when she thought he wasn’t looking), but Rick doesn’t seem to notice.
His eyes are glued to the bloodied bandages around his ribs.
“Ya nearly died.”
“I know.”
“He’s dead.”
“Okay.”
Rick finally manages to look up. Carl can see the red blood spattered on his lapel now.
“I killed him for ya.”
“Thank you,” Carl tilts his head up at the man, who shifts for a moment and then sits at his bedside.
“How’re ya really feelin’?” Rick sighs, glancing towards the door when the sound of a wolf’s shriek splits the air. “About all this.”
Carl doesn’t know how to respond.
He does it anyway.
“It’s like I’m already dead,” Carl states slowly, the words falling tentatively from his lips. “But I’m not. I’m right here.”
Rick shrugs, one of his large hands resting on the gun at his hip and the other on the arm of his chair. “Ya nearly weren’t.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So,” Rick continues, and Carl has to bite back the urge to laugh and cry. “She was preparing herself. Still is. Y’know there’s a low chance you’ll survive, an’ we just lost…”
Rick’s voice doesn’t break, or crack, or even shake, but Carl finishes what he doesn’t seem to be able to.
“Sophia?”
“Yeah,” Rick breathes out. “We, uh, found ‘er. Gave her back to the hands of God.”
“Good.”
There’s a long, withering moment of silence, before Rick stands back up.
“I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re alive, kid.”
There’s the smile that Carl wanted.
And when he says thank you, it isn’t just because of Rick’s words.