Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Carl doesn't know what causes him to go outside the walls to try and help that stranger he 'met' a couple days earlier. Maybe it's curiosity, maybe it’s boredom, or maybe it’s something a little more personal, but he doesn’t know. Either way, he just knows that—despite everything that’s been going on lately—he hasn't been able to stop thinking about that day at the station and the stranger's words. And that endless train of thought somehow leads to him sneaking out of Alexandria while his dad and a lot of their 'soldiers' are out fighting Negan.

And the thing is, Carl knows that what he’s doing is against his dad's rules—not to mention pretty damn dangerous, especially with the war currently going on—but he really can’t bring himself to give a shit. He’s survived this long. Going outside the walls for a few hours won’t kill him.

Carl crouches behind a tree as the all too familiar sound of a walker growling makes itself heard. Slowly, he peers out from behind the trunk, taking in the sight of a walker reaching for a plastic bag hanging inches above its head. The corpses’ teeth are snapping wildly, blackened and rotten, and a long stick can be seen going through its stomach with a couple of other sticks in similar length and size stabbed into the ground nearby.

It's clear to Carl that this is a trap of some kind, but why it's even there in the first place is what he is more curious about. Why would someone feel the need to attract walkers like this?

Well, actually, Carl can think of a couple of reasons, but none of them really made sense for someone who didn't have a group. He can see the Saviors doing something like this -- something like what the Governor did but to a worse extent. But Carl has a feeling, albeit a small one, that this isn't Negan or any of his Saviors doing at all. In fact, he has a feeling that he knows just who made this trap.

Carl straightens up, grip tightening on the bag of supplies he had gathered. And, after a brief moment, ducks out from behind the tree trunk and starts approaching the trap, making sure to keep his footsteps light, quick, and silent.  But he barley needs to try. After spending the last four years of his life nearly dying over and over again, not making any noise is pretty much second nature to him.

Still, Carl’s eye darts around warily, and a part of him starts to wonder whether or not he should go over there and deal with the walker himself. But right when he reaches for a knife to do that, a figure creeping out from the bushes behind the living corpse makes itself known. Carl feels his breath catch at the sight of the stranger from a few days before picking their way through the tree -- brown skin caked with drying blood and who knows what else. The teen hadn't really been able to see much of the stranger before, but Carl knows that, without a doubt, this is him.

The stranger walks up behind the walker as it makes yet another swipe at the bag above, swinging his arm around and stabbing the creature in the head with a solid thunk. The walker goes limp, not really falling due to the stick that goes through its waist, and Carl decides that it's time to make himself known.

Keeping a hand near his knife just in case something went wrong, Carl calls out: "Hey!"

The stranger's head whipped around in surprise, eyes going wide at the sight of Carl standing only a few feet away. Briefly, Carl wonders if the man is about to flee, but even after a few silent and tense seconds pass, the man doesn't move from his spot. Carl takes this as a win, taking another step closer, raising up his hands as a sign he meant no harm and holding out the small bag of supplies he had brought with him in an offering of peace.

"It was my dad." Carl doesn't know why he feels the need to explain himself. He really doesn’t have to, but he does it anyway. "They were--- they were warning shots above your head."

With every step, Carl finds himself walking closer and closer to the stranger, who keeps his eyes on the unfamiliar teenager for the entire time, gaze flitting between the bag of supplies and Carl. The man starts moving closer as well, equally as wary but clearly not about to run away. 

"He wasn't shooting at you," Carl continues, and after a brief pause of silence, he says: "I'm Carl." 

Still holding his knife, the stranger glances around, obviously debating his options. He must decide that Carl isn't a threat to him -- or at least, not much of one -- and makes a quick motion to himself. "Siddiq." 

Carl nods, holding out the bag of supplies he brought. "Food and water," he explains, holding the bag out for Siddiq to see. The man looks uncertain, tensing up as Carl grows nearer. 

"Why?" Siddiq asks. It doesn't take a whole lot of effort to figure out what he means: why are you helping me?

Truth be told, Carl has no fucking clue why he's doing it either. But one thing that he does know is that 'I don't know' won't be taken as a trustworthy answer because rarely do people help one another in this world without reason. If Carl said that he didn't know, then he would only be giving Siddiq reasons not to trust him. That was the last thing Carl wanted right now. He wants Siddiq to believe him for some odd reason.

Still, he has to say something. Something other than ‘I don’t know.’

"I guess you--" Carl pauses, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat as the words pour out from his mouth. "--you were talking about something your mom said... about helping people. And my mom told me that you got to do what's right. It's hard to know what that is sometimes, but sometimes it's not."

As he talks, Carl soon realizes that he's not really lying, that every word coming out of his mouth is the complete truth. That only causes the lump in his throat to come back, this time with even more force. Shit, he forgot how much he misses his mom. It felt like decades since he had heard her voice or since he last felt one of her hugs, even if Carl knows it's only been around three or so years judging by how old Judith is. 

He exhales slowly, trying to bring his attention back to the task at hand -- giving Siddiq supplies.

Knowing that Siddiq isn't going to want to take the bag from him personally, Carl takes another step forward, tossing the plastic bag in the man's direction. It lands on the ground with a series of thuds, and, ever so slowly, Siddiq approaches it, keeping an eye on Carl for a couple seconds before promptly collapsing next to the bag, rushing to get it open. The first thing that Siddiq takes out is the water, taking in large mouthfuls of it until he's managed to drain the entire thing. Carl's lips twitch up into a faint smile.

Siddiq looks over at Carl once he's finished with the water, giving Carl a long look before glancing away. "Thanks." 

Carl can't help but grin. "Glad I found you."

A curious look passes over Siddiq's face. "You were looking for me?" He sounds surprised, unsure, and Carl finds that he can't really blame the man for feeling the way he does. Siddiq climbs up to his feet as Carl hurries to speak.

"Yeah, I-- I scavenged the sardines, and other stuff." Carl takes in a deep breath after that, glancing down at his feet before looking back up, deciding to just get to the point before things start getting awkward. Well, even more so than it is now. "Me and my dad, we're in a community," he begins after a moment of hesitation, immediately grabbing, or regrabbing, Siddiq's attention.

There's a brief silence where neither of them speaks at all. Carl takes another step in the man’s direction, "I'm gonna ask you a few questions. I need you to answer honestly, okay?" 

"Okay." The man shifts uneasily, obviously preparing to bolt if Carl ends up giving him a reason to. 

Here goes nothing, then.

"How many walkers have you killed?" The question feels weird coming out of his mouth, making Carl wonder just how long it had been since he had even heard someone use them.

But that train of thought is put to the side as a flash of confusion flickers over Siddiq's face, and it's pretty easy to figure out why. It's a stupid question -- Carl had always thought that. After all, how could anyone remember how many walkers they killed at this point? Why would anyone go through the effort of counting?

Awkwardly, he tries explaining himself. "I know it's hard to keep track--"

"Two hundred and thirty-seven," Siddiq answers, taking Carl by surprise. He had expected something along the lines of 'I don't know' or 'I lost track,' but this works too, he supposes. 

"Really?" 

Siddiq glances over at the walker he had just killed. "Give or take a couple." He looks over back at Carl, waiting for the next question.

"How many people have you killed?" Carl doesn't really know how to feel about this question. Sure, it does kind of help figure out what kind of person someone is, but it was easy for some people to just lie. That and the fact that Carl is pretty damn sure that a lot of people he knows -- his dad, Michonne, Daryl, himself -- probably wouldn't be able to really pass this question themselves. 

"One." Something in Siddiq's voice trembles as he says this. 

Carl almost doesn't want to ask, but he knows he has to. "Why?"

"The dead tried to kill him, but..." Siddiq shakes his head, "they didn't."

It had taken Siddiq a couple of moments to find the words for the question, something that Carl doesn't blame him for. It was always hard to put someone down after they were bit. Though Carl finds himself wishing that he could answer it that way as well. The sad thing is, he can't even remember how many people he killed: around seven, maybe? Carl lost track. And he knows that only a couple of them were from him having to put someone down.

Deciding to change the subject, Carl pulls his attention to the trap behind Siddiq. "You're making walker traps. Is that how you killed so many?" 

"It's--- It's only part of it," Siddiq admits, obviously debating on whether or not he should tell Carl. In the end, he does, though his voice is hesitant as he speaks: "My mom thought or hoped that killing them would... free their souls."

Siddiq spreads his arms in an odd gesture, smiling shakily, before letting them flop back down to his side. And Carl… he’s taken aback by this answer, having not considered that possibility before. But right as he opens his mouth to speak, Siddiq is continuing on: “You know? Maybe-- Maybe she was right."

The truth is, this would definitely make Carl look at things a little differently. He had never even considered the fact that maybe -- just maybe -- some part of the person that the walkers used to be might actually remain inside them. He hopes that it isn't the case, that those who turned to walkers are free to go up into whatever afterlife there may or may not be, but he now finds that he isn't really sure.

Then again, he isn’t sure of a lot these days.

"Doing that, doesn't that just make things harder for you while you're trying to survive?" All on his own at that. Maybe if Siddiq had a group, then things would have been a little easier to do, but the man is clearly alone if his disheveled appearance says anything about it.

"I-- I don't know. I..." Siddiq looks lost as he mulls over Carl's words. "But you gotta-- you gotta honor your parents, right?"

Carl swallows down the lump in his throat as he remembers his mom's final words. Of her last moments, a couple seconds before Maggie had been forced to cut her open to bring little Judith into the world. He hadn't expected Siddiq's explanation to cause him to remember that day, but they had, and Carl doesn't know how to feel about that. If he’s happy about, sad about it, angry about it, or perhaps all three.

For a moment, just a moment, he considers bringing his mom up. Why? Who knows. It doesn’t matter though, because in the end, he chooses not to. "If I was honoring my dad, we wouldn't be talking right now," Carl says instead, letting a trickle of amusement trickle into his words. "And definitely wouldn't bring you back to my community."

He sees a small smile form at the corners of Siddiq's mouth before disappearing seconds later as he registers what Carl had just said. "You-- You want to bring me back to your community?" A look of shock covers Siddiq's face, followed quickly by hope, confusion, fear, excitement, and joy. "Really?" 

"Well, yeah," Carl knows the likelihood of his dad listening to Carl, but he would find a way to keep Siddiq there. Michonne often said that both he and his dad are quite stubborn, so while it might be a challenge to be able to do that, Carl is not going to relent. "I mean, do you want to?"

"I... of course! Yeah!" Siddiq gives Carl another small smile, but it falls moments later as a look of uncertainty covers his face. "But are you sure? I... I know what people are like these days, you probably do too. So how do you know that I’m not-"

”Dangerous?” Carl guesses, and before Siddiq gets the chance to respond says: “Everyone’s dangerous, man. But that doesn’t mean all of them are untrustworthy.”

Siddiq frowns. “And how do you know that you can trust me?”

Carl shrugs. “I don’t,” he says simply, “but I want to. And you seem like a good guy. But… do you trust me?”

For a minute, Siddiq doesn’t respond.

For a minute, Carl doesn’t expect him to.

But then, after what seems like an eternity, Siddiq nods, and Carl feels something in him lighten.

Carl tenses up when the sound of walkers growling somewhere nearby registers in his mind. He glances back at Siddiq -- who had taken out his knife -- before starting in the direction of the growling, adjusting his backpack when he finally catches sight of the source of the dreaded sounds. He moves forward, careful not to put the corpses' attention onto him as he steps over a nearby log, Siddiq following behind him.

He quietly unsheathes his knife, crouching down beside Siddiq as he takes in the gory but sadly familiar sight before him. Three walkers are kneeling beside the lifeless form of a deer that had its stomach brutally torn open. Gross chewing sounds can be heard coming from each of the living corpses, and Carl grimaces at the sight of the blood pooling beneath the dead deer.

That thing could have fed at least half of Alexandria if the walkers hadn't gotten to it first, he thinks bitterly before shaking away that thought so he can focus on the here and now.

"Okay, for your mom," Carl says to Siddiq, motioning with his knife toward the small group of walkers. Siddiq gives a tiny nod, and Carl stands up. Siddiq follows in suit, and the world seems to freeze as the two of them near the walkers of whom had not yet noticed their unwelcome presence. Barely breathing, Carl carefully pulls his backpack from his back as they approach, setting it down by the trunk of a tree so he would have a little less weight on him. 

While the original plan had been to sneak up on the walkers and end them quickly before any of them noticed anything wrong, Siddiq ends up stepping on a twig, the sound immediately catching the walker's attention. They all turn in their direction, mouths coated with deer blood, and upon spotting Carl and Siddiq, slowly clamber up to their feet -- abandoning their meal in favor of trying to catch the fresh prey standing only a couple feet from them.

Well, that plan is over, Carl thinks with a small sigh, striding forward and slamming his knife into the first walker's skull as Siddiq does the same nearby.

Carl’s fingers tighten around the handle of his knife, and with a hard pull, the blade comes out of the rotting skull it had been buried in. But unfortunately, luck does not seem to be on their side today. Because right as the corpse flops to the ground, even more walkers make themselves known, slipping out from a nearby cluster of bushes, low groans escaping their lips and undead eyes hungry.

The teen swears under his breath and starts stumbling back, mind racing as he struggles to find some sort of solution.

"Just go! You don't have to do this!" Siddiq cries out from where he was struggling with his own walker. Carl turns to look at the man but doesn't even bother considering his plea. He said he was going to bring Siddiq back to Alexandria, and Carl is going to do that even if it was the last thing he ever did. 

With this in mind, he runs forward, preparing to kill the walker that Siddiq was struggling with when he suddenly gets pushed back, finding his face mere inches from another walker. He grunts as the corpse lets out a hungry snarl, shoving Carl back with a surprising amount of force.

And that same force takes him by surprise, causing him to lose his balance and trip right into the stomach of the deer corpse. Carl cringes as the sticky blood that seeps in through his shirt, but he doesn’t have much time to do more than that. Heart pounding, he raises his knife but, once again, doesn't get much of a chance to do anything else, for the heavy body of the walker falls right on top of him, blackened teeth snapping dangerously close to his face. 

Thankfully, Carl’s hands shoot out mere seconds before the walker can get its teeth into him, pushing at its chest with all the strength he can muster. It works, but barely. Still, Carl tries to shove it off of him, but the living corpse refuses to budge, instead choosing to continue snapping its jaws in an attempt to feast.

The walker must be a newly turned one or something like that, Carl notes briefly, because those ones are usually much stronger than the ones who wander around for months and months in the hot, Virginian sun. Still, the teen refuses to stop pushing it away because the alternative would mean getting his throat ripped out, and he prefers his neck in one piece -- thank you very much. 

And yet, the cold claws of fear are starting to grip his heart, so now more than a little desperate, Carl tries lifting his knife up to deliver the killing blow to the walker on top of him. But the moment he moves his arm up to do just that, the walker lurches forward again, nearly taking a chunk out of his cheek.

Heart thumping, Carl immediately abandons that plan, returning to trying to shove the walker off of him with little success. And then, from over the shoulder of the walker on top of him, Carl sees another walker stumbling toward them, its hungry and undead eyes set on the teen’s struggling form. 

Shit. 

Carl feels his stomach drop, a quiet curse escaping his lips when he realizes the situation he's in. Trapped underneath one VERY heavy walker as another one creeps up on him while the only other person with him is struggling with another few walkers and is unable to help him.

More than a little panicked, Carl turns his attention back to the walker lying on top of him, his struggling growing even more desperate as the second walker stumbles even closer. It's teeth gleaming a dirty, yellowed color as a low snarl escapes its rotted lips.

He spares a quick, panicked glance at Siddiq, who hasn't yet managed to finish off the walkers surrounding him. Carl's all on his own here.

Shit -- that's the only word going through his mind at the moment. The only word that Carl thinks really fits the current situation.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT!

His struggling begins to grow more and more frantic as the second walker gets closer and closer. With good reason too. But it’s only when the walker starts to fall to its knees that Carl -- with all the strength he can possibly muster at this very moment -- takes in a deep breath and practically shoves the corpse lying on top of him down to the ground a few feet away. 

Carl makes a move to get up, his knuckles white as his grip tightens on his knife. But before he can actually get to his feet, the second walker falls on top of him, teeth snapping in the place the other walker had just been. Carl lets out a yell of surprise, squeezing his eye shut and instinctually raising his left arm up to shield his face from its gnashing teeth, totally unaware of his mistake until he feels a horrible pain shooting up the raised limb.

He opens up his eye, confused, only to see-

-only to see the walker tearing a giant chunk out of his arm. 

No...

A pained scream tears itself from his throat, and the hand holding Carl's knife shoots up as he slams the blade into the walker's skull. Blood drips onto his face, but he ignores it as he quickly shoves the now fully dead corpse off of him, scrambling to his feet and turning to the walker he had shoved to the side.

The creature snarl at him from the ground, having been mere inches away from sinking its teeth into his flesh, but Carl’s mind is too muddled to care. And in less than a second he’s crushing its head beneath his foot before it too can make a grab at him. Seconds later; he hears the thunk of a blade entering a walker's head, and he looks up in time to see Siddiq driving his own knife into the last walker's eye socket, letting it slump down to the floor, dead. 

Siddiq looks up as soon as the deed is done, worry painting his face as he looks Carl up and down, taking in the sight of his blood-soaked flannel and shaking form with wide eyes. 

"Jesus... are you okay?" Siddiq asks, his voice tainted with thinly-veiled concern as he starts walking forward. 

Carl doesn't respond or even try to make a show of appearing alright. He simply stares at Siddiq, his gaze flicking from the man's face down to his throbbing arm hanging by his side, dripping with blood -- his blood. He lets the handle of his knife slide out of his hands, his knees buckling as a sudden wave of nausea washes over him like a hurricane. Carl manages to stay balanced but barely.

"I-- I don't..." his voice cracks as he speaks, and Carl forces himself to take in a deep breath. "I can't..."

Carl tries to take a step forward, tries to find the words in his muddled mind to convince Siddiq that he's okay, but doesn't manage to do any of that. His legs feel like jello beneath him, and Carl sinks to the ground, his mind numb with shock. His arm throbs, but he refuses to look at it -- he can't.

Instead the teen squeezes his eye shut as he curls in on himself, willing the horrible pounding in his head to just go away. It doesn’t, though. And seconds later, Carl hears Siddiq rushing forward, his footsteps quick and surprisingly light. 

"Carl, are you okay?" Siddiq asks again, and Carl hears the man slowly kneeling down to his level. "Carl?"

Carl forces his eye open at the sound of the man’s voice, staring up into the concerned face of Siddiq, who looks down at him with a surprising amount of fear and panic in his gaze. And Carl… he opens his mouth, trying to find something -- anything -- to say, but nothing comes out. He feels his body beginning to tremble, and he takes in a shaky breath.

Then, he looks back down at his arm, his mind overcome with terror and his heart beginning to race when he takes in the way his arm dripped with blood.

"I-- It hurts..." Carl manages to choke out, his voice sounding small as the fear threatens to overcome him. "My... my arm... h-hurts." 

"Can I take a look?" Siddiq asks softly, eyes widening as his gaze lands on Carl's arm, which is practically gushing a familiar red liquid.

Carl has a hand clasped over the bleeding wound now, his palm growing sticky with blood as more of it oozes out, but it isn't hard to tell what had caused the injury. And really, how can it be?

Despite the pain, he still sees the realization dawn in Siddiq's eyes, followed by horror and understanding. "Shit..." the man mutters softly, but he takes Carl's bleeding arm into his grip, which is surprisingly gentle. "Can... can you move your hand? I need to see it."

Carl barely registers himself nodding. His arm feels like it's on fire now, but slowly -- ever so slowly -- Carl removes his hand from the wound, his heartbeat picking up as he takes in the injury with terror drumming through every part of him. It... it can't be possible -- it just can't be possible... There is no way that this is real.

But it is.

Siddiq peers at Carl's left arm, reaching out and very carefully rolling up the blood-stained fabric of his sleeve to get a better look. If possible, Carl feels even sicker than he had before as he also studies the wound. Though that might just be the fever already setting in. 

The fever-

Oh god...

"I'm... I'm b-bitten?" Carl can hardly get the words out, disbelief rushing through him as he stares down at his arm. "It bit me?" 

The walker had taken a chunk -- a literal chunk -- out of Carl's arm. The bite is deep, around an inch or two below his elbow, and dark blood streams out from the wound, dripping down onto the forest floor. His sleeve is totally soaked through at this point, the skin of his arm covered in blood.

A sudden and horrible wave of nausea sweeps through him, and he feels tears springing up from his remaining eye as the realization struggles to finally settle in.

"Oh my god... oh my god, I'm bitten!" Carl's voice turns shrill and panicked the more he speaks, but he can't bring himself to care. "Oh god... oh god... I'm gonna die... I'm going to die-"

"No. No, you won't," Siddiq says firmly, and Carl looks up, taken by surprise at the sudden look of determination in the man's eyes, "that isn't going to happen. You weren't bitten on the neck or face or stomach, and that means you can still survive this."

It takes Carl a moment to understand what he's saying. 

"You want to cut it off," Carl realizes through the panicked and terror-filled haze engulfing his mind. "Shit, you want to cut it off?!"

"It's the only option if you want to live," Siddiq says quietly, "you... you do want to live, right?"

"Y-yeah..." Carl balled up his hands into fists. "I don't... I don't wanna turn. I don't want to die. I don't want to... Even if-" He forces back the bump swelling in his throat, even as his mind wanders to what happened to Tyreese -- of how he had been bitten and bled out -- Carl doesn't want to die like that, but he has no other option. Cutting off the arm is his only chance to survive another day. 

"Do it," he tells Siddiq, not able to keep his voice from wobbling. 

"Okay... okay, I will, but not here. You're bleeding pretty badly -- walkers from miles away are probably making their way over here right now." Siddiq tells him kindly, carefully looping Carl's uninjured arm over his shoulder and helping him climb up to his feet. The teen stumbles once he’s upright, his vision swimming, but he forces himself to walk along with Siddiq.

"Where will we go?" Carl asks weakly, leaning heavily into Siddiq's side.

Is this really happening?

"To the gas station, the one you first saw me at. I remember there being an axe there and a first-aid kit. I don't know if it's still there, but even if it isn't, we're going to need some kind of walls for shelter." 

It's a good idea, Carl realizes through the haziness in his mind. But it doesn't do anything to comfort him as the tears slowly return to trailing down his cheeks, his whole body shaking like a leaf as the gravity of the situation hits him like a train.

He had been bitten. Being bitten is a death sentence. Even if he cuts off his arm, it isn't guaranteed to save him. He might bleed out as Tyreese had, or he might die of infection. The possibilities are honestly endless, which terrifies him. Carl is only sixteen, and his life may or may not end in a matter of hours.

With this in mind, he looks down at his arm, still dripping with blood. 

He doesn't want to die. He wants to live, but really, he may not have much choice. 

"We're here, just a little further."

Carl blinks open his one remaining eye, taking in the blurry world around him before closing it again as another wave of nausea overcomes him. "Good..." he murmurs weakly, not having enough energy to really say or do anything else.

Carl feels Siddiq stop, slowly creaking open the door before moving them both inside. The teen is barely clinging to consciousness at this point -- his head is pounding, the blood rushing into his ears as the urge to throw up becomes near overwhelming, and Siddiq is practically dragging Carl along with him as they enter the building in the small gas station. 

Once inside, Siddiq helps Carl sit down against the wall before quickly moving back. Then, he hears the man moving around a bit before he feels a hand make contact with his forehead. And while Carl flinches back at the touch, he doesn't have the energy to really do or say anything else. Each of his limbs feels like they are made of jello, and the pain in his left arm is near overwhelming at this point -- though Carl knows that it's about to get much worse in a few short minutes. 

Oh god, this is really happening. 

"Stay here, I'll be right back," Siddiq tells him, and if Carl had the energy to, he would have laughed because he can hardly even stay awake right now, much less try to get up and walk around. 

He hears Siddiq moving around in the building, and Carl somehow manages to gather enough energy to pry open his eye. His sight is blurry, and black dots are dancing in the corner of his vision. Carl knows from experience that blurry vision and black dots aren't good things at all. Still, the teen can't find it in him to really care.

Carl lets his eye fall shut again, taking in a shuddering breath as the pounding in his head only seems to grow worse.

A horrible thought suddenly enters his mind: what if Carl dies here? What if Carl dies from this bite, and his dad never finds out. What if Carl dies and never gets to say goodbye to those he loves?! What if Carl never gets to hold Judith again, what if he never gets to hug his dad again, what if he never gets to tell Enid about how he really feels? The mere possibility of that happening makes this whole thing only seem so much more real than before, and it scares him. It scares him so damn much.

I don't want to die.

Something is pressed to his lips, and Carl flinches back. "It's water," he hears Siddiq say through the heavy fog clinging to his mind, "I found it in your backpack. Please, just drink it." 

Carl complies, letting his mouth drop open. The cool liquid trickles onto his tongue, and while it eases the dryness in his throat, it does nothing to stop the drumming sensation in his head. He forces his eye open again, watching through blurry vision as Siddiq lifts Carl's bitten arm into his hand, cutting away the sleeve surrounding it with his knife.

An idea pops into mind, and after swallowing down the lump in his throat, speaks: "there's... there should be... should be a rope or something in... in the backpack." Carl doesn't know why he tells him this -- maybe Siddiq can use the rope as a tourniquet or something, or perhaps he can use it to tie Carl up just in case he does turn. 

No matter the reason, Siddiq just nods, letting go of his arm, stepping away, and disappearing from view once again. Despite this, he comes back moments later with Carl's backpack in his hand.

The man kneels back down beside Carl, reaching into the opening and pulling out a thing of rope. "Why do you even have rope in here?" Siddiq mumbles, and Carl can't help but snort, the action only causing the ache in his head to worsen.

"Emergency," Carl says weakly, "never know when you might need to tie something up." Or someone. Siddiq nods again in understanding, picking Carl's arm up in a careful grip and starting to tie the rope around the teen’s elbow as a makeshift tourniquet. "Thank... thank you... for-" Carl pauses as the drumming in his head gets worse, "-for helping me."

"You helped me, so it's only fair that I do the same." Siddiq tightens the rope, and Carl hisses in pain. "Also, stop talking," Siddiq tells him, giving Carl a strained smile, "you need to save your strength." 

Carl ignores him. "Have... have you ever... ever done this before?" 

Siddiq gives him a look. "Cut off a person's arm, no. But I was a doctor before all this, performed a couple surgeries too, and they all lived." 

Despite the fever-induced haze covering his mind, Carl can tell that the man is trying his best to comfort him, and, in a way, it's working. If Siddiq used to be a doctor, then Carl has a better chance than he first thought, but not by much.

Sleepily, he watches as Siddiq gets up again, coming back a few seconds later with a bottle with some kind of medicine in one hand and an old-looking saw of some sort in the other. And really, it doesn’t take long for him to realize what the saw is for.

Would have preferred an axe, to be honest. Carl thinks through the pain. But either works, I suppose. 

"This is antiseptic," Siddiq explains quietly, holding up the bottle, "I like keeping medicine and stuff like that with me. Didn't actually expect it to come in handy, though." 

Carl doesn't respond, just pressing his mouth into a thin line as his arm continues to pulse and throb. He can feel sweat trickling down the side of his face already, and he knows that it's only a matter of time before the fever gets even worse, to the point that it's too late to cut the arm off. He clenches his hands into fists, letting his eye flutter shut as he takes in another shaky breath.

"You sure about this?" Carl hears Siddiq ask. "There's a pretty big chance that this isn't going to work. Even if I do manage to cut off the arm, you can still bleed out or die of infection, especially with the little supplies we have here. A gun or something would be a much kinder death."

You think I don’t already know that?

"I'll take the chance," Carl responds weakly, "just cut it off."

"Okay, got it," Siddiq says, and Carl hears him shuffling around a little bit before pressing some kind of cloth to the teen’s mouth, "but I need to disinfect the wound first, so I suggest you bite down on this."

This is going to hurt, Carl thinks, opening up his mouth to bite down on the rag. He breathes in heavily through his nose, tensing up as he waits for Siddiq to start. He hears the sound of a cap being opened, and then he feels Siddiq picking up his arm again.

But the man hesitates, and Carl flinches when he feels something heavy being spread across his legs. "Wha..?"

"To stop you from moving around too much," Siddiq explains, sensing his confusion. "I don't want you aggravating the wound too much."

Oh, that makes sense. Carl gives a weak nod, and he hears Siddiq let out a steady exhale. 

"Okay, here we go."

Siddiq presses a wet rag to Carl's arm.

Carl screams.

When Carl was eight, he remembers accidentally burning his palm on the stove while being watched by Shane as his parents talked (probably fucking now that he thinks about it) in the other room. He remembers crying and crying and crying, and even when his half-dressed mom had found an ice pack for him, nothing had been able to stop the searing pain in his hand. 

This is nothing compared to that.

Hell, this is a hundred times worse than that. 

This feels like his flesh was being melted away at the bone. It feels like his entire arm had been shoved into a furnace, held in place, and was being burned away into nothing. It feels like his whole arm has been set on fire, burning and hacking at every bit of flesh, bone, nerve, tendon, and muscle there is with nothing but white-hot pain. 

It hurts. It hurts so much.

The worst part is that this isn't even going to be the worst of the pain, something that terrifies him even more.

Gasping, Carl bites down on the rag Siddiq had given him so hard he's surprised his teeth don't end up breaking from the pressure. His arm shakes, and he whimpers, forcing back the urge to scream and thrash as Siddiq cleaned the wound. Tears streamed down his face at a rapid rate, trailing down his neck and into his already sweat-dampened shirt, probably soaking it even more. 

After what feels like forever, Siddiq pulls the rag away, and the pain lessens to a degree, but the burning sensation remains. Carl blinks open his eye as Siddiq gets up, watching with blurry vision as the man retrieves something from off the ground.

It's the saw, Carl realizes after a moment, his heartbeat picking up as Siddiq moves back over to the teen’s side. 

"This will be easier if you lie down," Siddiq says to him, moving the heavy object (Carl's vision is too blurry for him to figure out what it is) off of his legs so he can move. Carl doesn't say anything in response -- he just nods, pushing off of the wall and forcing himself to lie down on the cool floor of the building. 

Siddiq puts the heavy object back onto Carl's legs, ripping part of his shirt off and using it to tie the teen’s other hand down. He doesn't bother looking at what Siddiq ties it to -- a chair or some shit, he doesn't care -- he just lets his eye fall shut, his head lolling back onto the hard tile as he waits for Siddiq to start cutting into Carl's arm. 

And yet, despite knowing it was coming, Carl still flinches when he feels Siddiq press the cool tip of the saw blade into the area a little below his elbow. Siddiq doesn't dig in quite yet, though. The man is hesitant -- Carl finds that he can't blame him. Cutting off someone's arm is definitely not a fun experience, even if the arm wasn’t their own.

"Are you-" Siddiq starts after a moment, but Carl cuts him off before he can manage to finish his sentence.

"Just fucking do it already!" He hisses out, not caring to try and be kind -- he just wants to get this over with. The sooner the arm is off, the better. 

"Brace yourself," Siddiq says in response, sounding tired, "I'm going to count to three, okay?"

I'm around ninety-nine percent sure that's only going to make this worse, but then again, I'm not the doctor here. 

So Carl nods, taking in a shaky breath, his muscles tensing as Siddiq presses the saw a little deeper.

"Okay, one..."

Carl's hands clenched into fists. A strong hand wraps around his wrist with a firm yet gentle grip, and Siddiq presses down onto his arm, pinning it to the floor in case Carl tries struggling. This is it. This is really happening. Siddiq is about to cut Carl's arm off, and it may or may not end up being the end of the line for him. 

"Two..."

The teen takes in a deep breath, tensing up even more even as he tries shoving back the panic and fear that is now threatening to overcome him. This is the only way, he tries telling himself, this is the only chance I have to live another day. 

He hopes that it works.

"Three!"

Without another word, Siddiq pushes the saw down.

OH GOD!

Carl was originally going to try and stay as still and as quiet as possible, but the moment that the blade digs into his skin, he fucking screams. He screams like he never had before, kicking and thrashing and sobbing and shrieking loud enough to wake the dead as tears pour down his face. He can feel Siddiq moving the saw back and forth, tearing through Carl's flesh as the blood seeps from the wound at a nauseatingly rapid pace.

OH GOD! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!

Another wail tears itself from his throat, muffled by the rag in his mouth. Once again, Carl is biting down hard enough to break his teeth, and honestly, a part of him hopes that he does. Anything to distract him from the blade digging into his arm.

Distantly, he can hear Siddiq saying something -- his voice quiet and soothing, but it has no effect on Carl as he kicks and thrashes, the pain making it hard to form even the slightest coherent thought.

CRACK!

If possible, Carl finds himself screaming even louder as the blade cuts through the bone. Oh god, he can actually feel the bone splitting. He can feel Siddiq pushing down harder and harder into his arm as the man desperately tries to get the limb off as quickly as possible. He can feel every muscle, nerve, and tendon sever -- the blood spraying out from the wound. He can feel every small thing, and it hurts, it hurts so much and-

And-

CRACK, SNAP!

Something wet and sticky sprays across Carl's face.

Blood, he realizes numbly. His blood.

Any emotion that realization would have brought disappears as, Carl sobs brokenly, gasping as Siddiq moves the saw back and forth into his arm. He just wants it all to end. He doesn't care whether he lives or not -- he just wants the pain to stop!

CRA- ACK

Yet another unearthly scream rips itself right out from Carl's mouth, the sound -- though muffled -- still audible despite the rag stuffed in his mouth. His back arches, leaving the floor and thrashing against the weight holding him down. He knows that he's probably attracting walkers from miles away to this spot with all this blood and screaming, but he can hardly even bring himself to give a damn.

He just wants it all to stop!

SNAP!

Please... I can't take it anymore..!

Just... make it stop!

CRUNCH!

There's a sickening squelching noise, and finally, the darkness sweeps over Carl's mind, lulling him into a painless slumber.

Chapter Text

It's dark outside, the only light being from the streetlamps surrounding the hospital.

Despite having come here hours ago, Carl still has his hand clasped tightly within his mom's, whose face is horribly pale as they wait painstakingly in the building’s waiting room. Waiting for some kind of news about Rick Grimes. If he would be okay or not. Carl still can hardly believe any of this is even happening... that his dad got shot on the job, that he might die, it just... it was a lot.

He stares down at his shoes. The shoelaces are untied, but Carl can hardly muster up enough energy to even care about that at the moment. His gaze then shifts to the bowl of chicken noodle soup that his mom had tried getting him to eat, but her efforts had been in vain. Every time Carl looks at it, he just gets the urge to throw up onto the clean, white floors of the hospital that his dad had been emitted to, clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching up and tearing clumps out of his hair to try and distract himself from the sickening worry that had yet to leave him. 

His godfather, Shane, doesn't seem to have the same problem Carl does -- the man paces back and forth in the waiting room, like a tiger in a cage, combing his hands through his hair and actually ripping some of it out. And really, this  only makes Carl squeeze his mom's hand even tighter, taking in a deep breath and trying to push back the whirlwind of emotions sweeping over his body, almost like a hurricane had started to form inside of him. Destroying everything in its path.

A group of doctors enter the room, muttering quietly to one another and briefly, Carl’s heart starta to race view. But in the end, none of them say a word to the mother and son, simply passing by without even a glance in their direction.

Carl tries not to feel frustrated at this, but he can't help it.  His dad can be dead for all he knew. That bullet could have killed him hours ago, and his family wouldn't even know.

He blinks tearfully, feeling like his whole world had been turned upside down, like he had been shoved headfirst into an entirely new reality. And in a way, he supposed he had. While Carl knows that his dad's job is dangerous, he never realized just how much until now. His dad and Shane had both gotten injured on the job before, but not like this. Never like this. Those injuries had been sprains and fractures, broken bones at worst, but not anymore.

Carl doesn't think he's ever felt so exhausted in his life, and he leans into his mom, trying to stop the tears from falling as she wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Usually, the big would protest at being hugged by his mom anywhere outside the safety of their own home, but right now, Carl needs the comfort her hugs provide more than anything else in the world.

It seems that she feels the same way judging by how tight of a grip she holds him in. 

"He'll be okay -- he always has been," his mom whispers into Carl's ear. He wants to believe her. He wants to believe what she says more than anything else in the world, but he can't stop the doubt clinging to him, can't stop shaking no matter how much he tries to.

The sound of a door opening somewhere nearby pulls his attention away from the darkness in his mind. A doctor emerges out into the hallway -- a dark-haired woman with a grim expression painting her face as she approaches. Carl feels his heartbeat begin to race once again as all sorts of thoughts race through his mind. Shane turns his attention over to the doctor, taking in the look on her face as his shoulders begin to sag, looking defeated. 

"Is he..?" Carl watches with bated breath as the doctor looks toward Shane, her lips pressed into a thin line. His mom squeezes Carl tighter as the group of three waits for some kind of answer. And he… he doesn't dare try to get his hopes up -- he can tell from the expression on the doctor’s face that something horrible has happened. Either his dad was... either his dad was dead or-

"He's alive," the doctor says, and relief washes over the three of them in one big swoop. But then, she continues talking, and Carl suddenly realizes why her face looks so grim. "But he isn't in good shape. He shattered multiple ribs, nicked a lung..." his mom holds him tighter and tighter as the doctor continues, "we've done everything we can at the moment. He's in somewhat stable condition for now, but only time will tell if he will make it or not." 

Dad's alive. 

Dad's alive, but he still might not make it. 

Carl finds himself both relieved and utterly terrified at the same time.

Shane nods silently -- obviously using every ounce of self-control that he had to remain calm. He crosses his arms over his chest, taking in a deep breath before glancing over at Carl and Lori, pursing his lips as he considers his next few words. "You'll contact us if there's any change?" His godfather asks the doctor after a long, tense few seconds.

The doctor nods in response.

"Thank you for everything you've done," his mom says quietly, her voice cracked and hoarse from crying, and Carl imagines that he probably would sound the same way if he tried speaking. But then again, he doesn't really trust himself not to burst into tears if he does, so Carl stays relatively quiet -- watching the altercation in front of him with wide and fearful eyes. 

The doctor simply nods for the second time, saying something else to Shane that Carl can't quite hear as his mom combs her fingers through his hair in a way that always seemed to soothe him, and sure enough, he can feel his muscles relaxing slightly -- but not by much.

(He just wants his dad. He wants him to walk out of that hospital room and engulf Carl into a tight hug. He wants his dad to hold him and his mom and never let go.)

But Carl knows that no matter how much hoping he does, it's not going to change the fact that his dad had been shot and might die. Doesn’t change the fact that Carl might never hear his dad's voice or feel one of his hugs ever again.

The mere thought of that happening scares him so, so much. And the fact that it almost, and still could, happen terrifies him even more.

"Come on, sweetheart, we should go home. It's far past your bedtime," his mom urges gently, and Carl shakes his head, his lower lip beginning to wobble as she tries to push him to his feet. 

"I don't want to go," he protests weakly, but despite his words, he can still feel the exhaustion creeping in like an unwanted parasite even as he attempts to push it back, "I want... I want to stay here!"

"We know, champ," Shane says quietly, something that was quite unusual for the man -- who was rash and very loud most of the time, "but I promise that if something changes with your dad, you'll be one of the very first to know." 

Carl stares up at the man with wide eyes, and then his gaze moves over to his mom. Then, after a tense few moments of silence, he sighs, nodding as he begins dragging himself to his feet. He keeps a tight grip on his mom's hand as he gets up, and she squeezes it comfortingly as she too gets to her feet. 

The two of them walk silently to the hospital doors, and his mom opens it with a sigh, her shoulders tense as a cold blast of air slams into them almost as soon as they step outside. The temperature takes Carl by surprise, and he pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself; they cross through the parking lot, and a low groan makes itself known from somewhere in the distance.

"What was that?" 

Carl glances around anxiously as he waits for his mom to answer the question. After a moment, the boy’s eyes land on something across the parking lot. It's a person, by the looks of it, but there's something odd about the way that they move. And even as far away as the two of them are, Carl can tell that something is wrong, pit of dread forming in the pit of his stomach as the person starts limping in their direction.

His mom yanks Carl forward as soon as she sees the person, taking out her keys as they approach the car. "It's probably a drunk or something, nothing to worry about as long as we don't get too close." 

Carl frowns, "but shouldn't we help them? They could be hurt?" 

"Carl, we're at a hospital," his mom states, pulling open the car's back door so Carl can climb inside, "I'm sure that if there is something wrong with that person, then they'll be just fine soon enough."

Carl nods weakly, ducking his head as he enters the car. His mom closes the door, walking around to the other side of the car and climbing into the driver's seat. As she does this, he puts his seatbelt on, resting his forehead against the car window as his mom starts the car.

Another group of people had just left the doors of the hospital, he notices briefly, and Carl watches as one of them spots the possibly drunk person in the parking lot. He can't see any of their faces from here, but he can see the group approaching the drunk, who changes course to head in their direction instead.

Carl looks away as his mom pulls out of the parking spot, "do you think Dad will be alright?"

His mom hesitates. "I don't know, honey," she says after a long few moments, "Your father is in good hands, but it might take a while for us to be sure." 

Carl nods, resting his cheek against the car door as his mom drives them out of the parking lot. "I love you, Mom."

His mom glances back at him for a brief moment, a small smile flitting across her face.

"I know, baby. I love you too."

Carl's eye snaps open, his heart racing as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. Everything hurts. Everything is much too bright. He tries to get up, but he feels himself being pushed down.

"No, no -- have to stay still. Can't be reopening your wound."

He flinches back as a hand presses itself to his forehead. He tries moving away, but he realizes that something is holding him down. Fear blooms inside his chest as a whimper escapes his lips. His vision is blurry, but above him, he is able to make out the vague shape of a face. Dark hair, brown skin, brown eyes, but his mind is much too muddled for him to actually be able to make out any other observations. 

"Carl? Carl, can you hear me?!" 

He can, but he doesn't want to. This person is talking way too loud for his liking. He just wants them to shut up so he can go back to sleep.

A low groan escapes his lips, and he lets his remaining eye fall shut once more. The metallic scent of blood and rot hangs in the air much like a noose, clogging Carl's nostrils and only making his headache worse. Distantly, he feels himself roll onto his side, his stomach lurching as he vomits up whatever little food he had earlier that day.

"Shit! Come on... need to hang on-"

Shut up, shut up, shut up-

His head hurts-

"Need to look... be okay... no infection."

He hears groaning in the distance... walkers... he hears walkers.

He hears their bloodthirsty snarls. Hears the muffled banging as they try to reach where their prey is hidden. There must be walls of some kind stopping them, or maybe just a fence or some shit. 

"...please let this work... don't leave me now... can't -- on my own..."

Fucking hell, his ears hurt. His head hurt -- his arm hurt.

Why does his arm hurt?

He feels a hand touch his forehead again.

"Shit... burning up..." one of the walkers let out a particular loud growl, and the voice pauses before saying:  "...be right back."

The hand leaves his forehead, and seconds later, something cold and wet is being spread out across his temple. 

The walkers continue banging.

It's so loud.

He hears the sound of a door being opened and closed, and then the walkers snarling being cut off one by one. The banging stops too. 

Then, he hears the door being opened and closed for the second time, and moments later, there's a presence beside him. 

Something cold is pressed against his lips -- a water bottle. Carl opens his mouth and drinks, wanting to rid himself of the taste of bile sticking to his throat. 

"Good... just let me..."

There's a sharp prodding around his left arm, and Carl yelps, thrashing around weakly. 

White-hot pain. Melting pain. Horrible pain. 

Burning pain.

Carl can hardly breathe.

"Hang in there... just... don't... leave me now..."

His arm hurts-

Hurts so much-

Why does... why is... just...

Stop... hurting...

His arm-

With one final whimper, Carl crashes back into darkness once more. 

Carl feels like he's floating.

Somewhere in his body, he feels a distant pain thrumming through him, but the pain is a mere ache -- dull and weak and surprisingly easy to push away and ignore. He is perfectly aware that it shouldn't be, that things should be hurting way more than they currently are, but he doesn't know why. Something keeps nagging at the back of his mind. It's something important, he realizes, but he isn't sure how or why that is. 

Before he can think much on this, he hears someone calling out to him. The voice is kind and gentle -- female. It sounds familiar, but he isn't sure why. 

Then, suddenly, with no warning whatsoever -- all the pain seems to just disappear. The once distant, burning ache being reduced to nothing but a faint itch as the light-headedness recedes, and the taste of bile on his tongue fades into nothing. His body doesn't seem too hot or too cold -- he doesn't even appear to be dirty or covered in mud and grime as he usually is. Carl doesn't think that he's felt this way since the world ended.

And when he forces open his eye, he realizes that he can see through both of them -- even his missing one. But when Carl looks around, all he sees is a dark and murky grayness. Not really black, but close to it. 

Am I dead?

Right as the thought enters Carl's mind, a bright light grabs his attention somewhere to his left. The teen turns, confused before he feels his heart catch and his eye -- no, eyes -- widening as he takes in the beautiful sight standing before him. 

It's his mom and Shane, both wearing big smiles on their faces, arms outstretched and just waiting to pull him into a hug. Shane has his hair, and there's no trace of the anger and tension that had surrounded him in his final moments.  And his mom... she looks more beautiful and more radiant than he's ever seen her before, dark hair falling down her back in waves as she stares at him from across the void. 

Then, Carl sees Beth appear behind them, giving him a small wave as a blinding smile appears on her face.

They see him, but none of them come any closer. 

Carefully as to not take his eyes off of them, Carl climbs up to his feet, feeling unsteady as he takes a small forward. Instantly, his foot lands on solid ground beneath him, even if he can't see it.

The moment he moves closer, Carl sees Hershel, Andrea, and Amy appear, beckoning him closer with their arms. Eyes widening, he takes another few steps forward, and he chokes back a sob as Sophia, Sasha, and Tyreese pop up as well. Sophia looks happier than he's ever seen her, bouncing around on her tippy-toes and waving wildly at him -- looking seconds away from running over and engulfing him in a tight hug. 

He wants her to. But she doesn’t.

Carl jogs closer, and then a few friends from school appear along with Dale, Glenn, Abraham, Olivia, and Noah. The closer he gets, the more and more people show up. Happy tears start to form in his eyes, and Carl makes sure to pick up the pace. Then, right as he is about to take the final step forward -- the final step into the light where Carl can reunite with all who he has lost, he hears a voice.

"Carl? Where are you!?"

Carl stops at the sound of the voice, filled with so much fear and anger and confusion that it tugs at the strings of his heart. 

Dad?

Slowly, Carl finds himself turning around, mere feet away from his family, some of which are hopping up and down with excitement as they wait for him to take the final step in order to reach them.

It takes Carl a moment to register it, but there, far in the opposite direction, Carl sees his dad and Michonne, running around in a burning Alexandria. Carl feels fear bubble up inside him as he watches them dodge past walkers (why are there walkers in Alexandria? Why is Alexandria burning?) as they run around, calling out his name desperately, searching for him. 

"Carl?!" He sees Michonne looking around frantically -- he sees the tears in her eyes as she searches. 

"Carl, where are you!?" The pain and fear in his dad's voice are enough to make Carl's heart ache. He can't stand seeing his dad look so heartbroken and afraid.

So, with one last longing look toward his beautiful, healthy, alive, and happy family, Carl forces himself to turn around and start running back the way he came. He grits his teeth, ignoring the devastating cries he hears coming from their direction as he starts moving far away from them. He almost considers heading back to them, but he hears his dad call out his name again, and that pushes away any doubts he had moments before.

His dad needs him.

Michonne needs him. 

Judith needs him.

His steps become ragged and irregular as he puts more distance between him and his dead friends and family -- the dryness in his throat returns, the pain flares back up until Carl is hardly able to think straight, and the vision in his right eye fades away more and more with every movement. The area around his arm throbs, aches, and burns, but despite this, Carl forces himself to keep going. He needs to keep going.

His dad and Michonne fade from view, and Carl feels himself falling. 

And falling...

And falling...

He starts to feel something around him, something wet covering his forehead, something heavy splayed across his legs, something itchy wrapped around his right wrist. But none of these feelings are very distinct, though they’re growing more so by the second.

He keeps falling. 

And falling.

And falling.

He sees his dad's face, followed by Michonne's and Judith's.

They fade away after a second, and then the sound of snarling makes itself known somewhere in the distance.

Walkers.

Grunting. Hissing. 

Growling. Banging. 

His head starts to hurt again.

And after a moment, so does the rest of his body.

And then the pain in his arm slams into him without warning. 

All coherent thought seems to vanish all at once.

He finds himself wishing that he had gone into the light.

Siddiq is pacing in the small building he and Carl had hidden out in, biting his lip and tugging at his hair. Sighing, muttering under his breath, and glancing over at the teen’s limp form every few seconds -- feeling sicker than he had ever been in his entire life. 

It had been only a couple of hours since Siddiq had been forced to cut Carl's arm off, and things had only gotten worse. Much worse. The boy isn't dead, but Siddiq fears that it won't be long before that becomes more of a possibility. Carl keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, and whenever he wakes, his mind is scattered and confused, and it doesn't take long for him to drift away once again. His skin is hot, feverish, and slick with sweat, and his temperature is much higher than Siddiq is usually comfortable with. 

And his arm...

Siddiq forces himself to tear his gaze away from the bloodied stump, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly, trying to calm his rapidly churning insides that make him feel like he had just been tossed into a speeding car with no seatbelt on.

He had done what he could -- used a first aid kit he had scavenged a couple months back to patch up the wound to the best of his ability. But despite all his efforts, the bandages he had wrapped around the stump are already soaked through with blood. Some of it had started oozing out onto the towel Siddiq had laid out under the arm -- leaving a dark, crimson stain that Siddiq knows he won't be able to wash out.

But that's the very least of his worries at the moment. 

Siddiq glances over at the front door, which he had blocked using a couple of shelves and any loose furniture he had been able to find. As expected, the dead ones had been drawn by the scent of Carl's blood and the sound of his screaming. And while Siddiq had tried going out there every few minutes to clear them out, it soon became clear to him that there are far too many of them out there for him to handle on his own. 

He knows the barriers he put up won't last forever, and Siddiq also knows that he can't stay in here forever. He's going to need to find some medicine for Carl, and soon. The teenager isn't going to last much longer without it. Especially since Siddiq used up almost all of the medical supplies he had with him, and all that's left is a bottle of antiseptic and one wrap of gauze that he's going to have to use a little later. Siddiq needs medicine to clean Carl's wound -- he needs to cauterize it to stop the bleeding, he needs more antiseptic and more bandages and countless other things that he just doesn't have!

Siddiq glances back over at the doors and then to Carl. 

The sound of the dead one's groans and snarls are easy to hear even through the thick walls of the gas station's shop. An idea begins to form in his head, but it isn't one that he likes. And yet, it's the only real chance he has to get the supplies needed to save Carl's life. So he lets out a heavy sigh, pulling to a stop by the dusty counter and combing his fingers through his hair. 

Gas stations, even ones as small as this one, usually have bathrooms and backdoors somewhere in them. If Siddiq blocks Carl into one of the bathrooms and sneaks out through the backdoor, he can hopefully avoid the slowly growing herd of the dead outside the building and to try and find some supplies. And if the dead manage to get through the barriers while he's gone, Carl will be safely hidden within the bathroom and far away from the dead's grasp. 

With this in mind, Siddiq ventures into the back of the shop, quickly managing to locate the bathrooms. He opens the men's one before immediately slamming it shut when he takes in the rotting corpse inside -- a knife in its head as a dark pool of crimson slowly grows around it.

Okay, so he definitely isn't putting Carl in that one. No way in hell.

Swallowing back his fear, he moves to the women's restroom, peering inside and heaving a sigh of relief when he sees that it's empty and relatively clean. Sure, there’s a lot of dust, but it's already much better than the other one. 

He comes back out into the main room, stepping over fallen shelves and approaching Carl's motionless form spread out across the floor. For a second, Siddiq freezes in place, thinking for a tense few moments that Carl had died while he had been exploring the other parts of the building, but then he spots the slow rise and fall of the teenager's chest -- weak and irregular, but it's there nonetheless.

Sighing in relief, Siddiq kneels down beside Carl, removing the wet rag from his sweaty forehead and carefully lifting the teenager into his arms. He stumbles slightly at the sudden weight, but somehow Siddiq manages to carry the boy into the bathroom, lying him down on the floor slowly.

He places Carl's left arm -- or what remains of it -- on one of Siddiq's old shirts, not wanting to let the open wound rest on the floor, which no doubt has all sorts of horrible germs covering it. That would only end with it getting infected, and that's the last thing Siddiq wants for Carl. Then again, there are a lot of things he doesn’t want.

Carl lets out a soft groan as he's laid down, eye fluttering open for a split second before falling back shut again. Siddiq feels a flare of hope rise within him at the action, and he climbs back up to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulders and unsheathing one of his knives.

He moves toward the door, stopping to look back at Carl.

"I'll be back in a couple hours," Siddiq says to the unconscious teen, though he isn't all that sure why. Maybe the lack of any human interaction is finally getting to him. "And, hopefully, I'll have medicine to help your arm."

He closes the door behind him, sparing a nervous glance in the direction of the front door where the dead ones had yet to halt their assault before venturing farther into the building, quickly locating a backdoor. Siddiq opens it, relieved to find only five or so walkers out there. He shuts it, brandishing his knife as the dead take notice of him.

Now or never.

Chapter Text

Carl's dreams are filled with gray walls, prison bars, dead flowers, a baby's wailing, and gnashing yellow teeth. 

There is pain, too.

Pain in his head.

Pain in his stomach.

Pain in his arm.

Pain everywhere.

Pain, pain, pain...

Fire is there too. So much fire.

Red. Orange. Yellow.

Smoke.

Gunshots. 

He hears Negan's voice saying something he is unable to discern.

Why does he hear Negan?

He sees his dad running through Alexandria’s streets, sees him encounter Negan. They fight, and his dad manages to get away alive and relatively uninjured. 

Then, he sees himself, skin pale as a sheet, body dripping with sweat as he leans on the walls of what looks like Alexandria's sewer. He sees Siddiq sitting next to him, offering him a bottle of water, which he rejects.

Then his dad and Michonne appear.

The other him lifts his shirt -- there's a bandage. 

Why is there a bandage?

The other him then takes off the bandage, staring apologetically up at Michonne and his dad. 

There's a bite right there on his stomach. 

A walker bite.

His dad and Michonne look devastated. 

Carl feels confused -- that isn't right. He didn't even get bitten there.

Wait, he got bit?

Yes, yes, he did... but not there. 

He got bit... but... no... that isn't right. 

He remembers a horrible pain in his arm, followed by feelings of disbelief, terror, confusion, and fear but-

No, wait-

His arm-

The moment Rick sets foot in the sewer after his brief tussle with Negan, the first thing he searches for is Carl.

He notices him almost immediately.

Or rather, Rick notices his absence. 

He had prayed, wished, and hoped that Carl would have been among the people Michonne and Daryl had ushered down into the sewer to hide from the Saviors. But when he starts to look around, eyes darting from face to face in search of his son, he doesn't see him anywhere. He sees little Judith curled up in Daryl's arms, suckling on her thumb with her eyes half-closed -- he sees Rosita, Tara, and almost everybody else, but no matter how hard he looks, Rick doesn't see Carl anywhere. 

Where is his son?!

Why isn’t he here?!

Rick looks to Daryl right after he registers his son's lack of appearance, fear blooming in his chest as he waits for some kind of answer. As he waits for the worst. The man tells him what Rick's eyes are already asking, resting a hand on Rick's upper back as a grim smile appears on his face.

"Couldn't find Carl anywhere," the archer says quietly, getting straight to the point which Rick is grateful for, "someone said that they saw 'im climb over the walls a couple hours before, but nobody has seen him since. Was gonna send a couple people out to look for him, but then Negan appeared, and we didn' get the chance."

Missing.

Carl is missing. 

"And no one stopped him?" Rick cries out, jerking his head around to look at everyone gathered in the sewer. They all duck their heads down almost immediately, refusing to meet his gaze, except for Michonne, who takes a small step forward, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder in a way that was probably meant to calm him.

It doesn't. 

Rick isn't going to be calm until he finds out where the hell his son is. If he's safe. 

Because if he isn't-

Because if he isn't-

If he isn’t-

Rick doesn't even want to think about that being a possibility. His son is alive.

He has to be.

"It's my fault," Michonne says hoarsely after a moment or two, quickly catching Rick's attention, "I noticed he was gone, but I didn't say anything because I thought... I thought he was in his room or something." Michonne's voice trembles as she speaks, guilt coating her every word, and she ducks her head, taking in a shaky breath before forcing herself to continue. "I knew... I knew he was super pissed off when you didn't let him help with the attack on the Sanctuary, and… and I thought he was... was avoiding me because of it."

The realization slams into Rick without any warning -- this is his own fault. He should have brought Carl with him, or at least tried to say something to him before he left. 

"We need to find him," Rick insists, making a move to the ladder. But Dwight -- who had hidden with the Alexandrians when one of the Saviors found out about his betrayal -- shoots up to his feet almost instantly, grabbing Rick by the shoulder and yanking him back away from the opening.

"Are you crazy?!" The former Savior hisses, eyes wide and stepping back when Rick shoves his hand off his shoulder. "If you go out there, Negan is going to find you!" 

"If I don't go out there, Negan is going to find Carl," Rick responds, his voice brimming with anger and fear. "I won't let that monster get his hands on my son again. God knows what he might do to him.”

Michonne and Daryl exchange nervous glances at his words. Judith squirms around in Daryl's arms, her lower lip wobbling as she also appears to notice her older brother's absence. 

"Carl is a smart kid," Rosita pipes up, drawing Rick’s panicked gaze over to her, "knowing him, he's probably hiding out somewhere waiting for the Saviors to leave. Or maybe he went to go find help." Tara starts to nod quietly beside her, arms crossed as she shoots a yet another dark glare over at Dwight. 

Unwanted moisture prickles in the corner of Rick's eyes, and he reaches up a hand to try and wipe it away. If Negan or any one of his Saviors found Carl, then Rick knows that the chances of him seeing his son again are low. Negan may not kill him, but from what Rick has seen, the man likes his mind games -- he'll do anything he can to mess with Rick, and what better way to do that than to take his son hostage?

But then again, for all Rick knows, Carl might already be in the man's grasp, or maybe his son is outside the walls still, blissfully unaware of the chaos happening back in Alexandria. With this in mind, he exhales slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries desperately to calm himself down. Rick needs to be smart about this -- worrying isn't going to help anybody -- it's only going to make things worse. 

"The moment that the Saviors leave, I'm going out there to look for him," Rick declares after a brief pause, trying to keep the shakiness in his voice to a minimum. No one looks surprised by this -- they probably had been expecting Rick to say something like that. No one tries to argue with him, no one dares to try and contradict him -- most of the people down here are too scared to even think straight, and Rick finds that he can't blame any of them for that either.  

"I'll go with you," Michonne offers after a second or two, reaching out to squeeze Rick's hand, fear and determination shining in her eyes.

"So will I," Daryl says, stepping forward. He makes a move to hand Judith over to Rosita, but Rick stops him with a small shake of his head. 

"No, I need you here." Daryl opens his mouth to protest, but Rick cuts him off before he can get the words out. Before his brother can try to change his mind.

"Daryl, you're one of our best fighters I know. I need you here to help protect everyone else in case something happens." Rick takes a small step in his brother's direction, giving the man a smile that he knows doesn't reach his eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

Daryl is quiet for a few moments.

Then, he nods. "I can," he says quietly -- reluctantly -- but he agrees to it nonetheless. Rick takes that as a win.

"Thank you," Rick breathes, giving the archer a quick hug. 

Above them, yet another explosion goes off, the sound slightly muffled but still easy to hear. It causes the ground beneath them to shake, and a few of the people who are standing stumble a bit. No one falls, but it leaves everyone unsettled. More so than before.

Rick stares up at the sewer's opening as the Savior's shout orders to one another above them. He hopes that Negan and his people leave soon because he doesn't think he can wait much longer. He'll only rest once he has his son back in his arms: alive, healthy, and safe. 

And only then will things be okay again. 

The Saviors leave.

The Alexandrians head for Hilltop.

Rick and Michonne go out searching for Carl, calling out his name and digging through the debris for some kind of sign of his missing son.

Hours pass like years.

Hours pass and they don't find him.

There are too many walkers in the area, and the two of them are forced out of Alexandria empty handed. 

They meet up with everyone at Hilltop, and Rick feels a part of him break a little more when Enid runs forward, a hopeful expression on her face. 

He shakes his head.

"We couldn't find him." He says.   

“I don’t where he is.” He says.

“We tried.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Her face falls. 

The guilt and grief is near suffocating. 

Carl can only stare at Hershel's limp form on the bed.

His dad and everyone else had brought him back at least an hour or two ago, claiming he'd been bit by a walker while they were clearing things out. But instead of just putting him down like they would have usually done, they cut his leg off, praying for a miracle.

Carl personally doesn't really think that there's much to hope for. Hershel had been bit, and being bit is a death sentence. That means they need to put him down. It's as simple as that. They shouldn't be getting their hopes up only for Hershel to die sometime in his sleep and try to eat them. 

The boy rubs his hands together, frown deepening when he hears the adults conversing a couple cells over. They had been in there for the last forty minutes or so. And once again had banned Carl from joining -- saying something about the conversation not being suitable for children. The thought makes him scoff -- since when is anything in this world remotely suitable for children? Carl knows that it's just an excuse and that only makes him so much angrier. He isn't a child anymore, hasn't been since the moment all of this shit started.

You can do it now -- the darker part of him whispers -- there's a knife sitting right there. Just grab it and put Hershel down before things get any worse. Don't let him suffer any more than he has. It would be better this way.

Carl glances over at the knife on Hershel's bedside, left there by Carol before she had joined the adult discussion. His fingers twitch, and he casts a wary look over toward the doorway of the cell. The adults are still talking a couple cells down. If he's quiet, he can just sink that knife into Hershel's temple before the man turns, and no one will have to find out until later on. He can do it. Right here. Right now.

Just when Carl was about to climb to his feet and grab the knife, Beth walks into the room, her face sullen and hands shaky as strands of blonde hair hang limply in her face. She gives a small nod toward Carl when she sees him, trying to muster up a smile only for it to fall seconds later when her eyes land on her father's limp form. She goes straight to her father's bed, grabbing his hand and staring down at him with a devastated expression. Immediately, he looks away, guilt beginning to well up inside him.

Carl forces himself to his feet, not daring to look at Beth as he ducks out of the cell, using his hat and hair to hide his face from view. Had he really been about to do that to Hershel? Their group had lost so many people already -- people who hadn't deserved it, ones who should have lived -- so had he really been considering adding another name to the list? Guilt swirls around inside him, and Carl takes in a shaky breath.

"Carl, is something wrong?" Carl looks up, spotting his mom sitting by the stairs. She has an arm wrapped around her swollen stomach, and while her face is scrunched up with discomfort, he can see the worry in her gaze as she stares at him.

"No... just worried," Carl glances back at Hershel's cell, and he sees the understanding fill her eyes.

"He'll be alright, sweetie," his mom says, smiling at him -- though it looks strained. 

"Yeah..." Carl mumbles, crossing his arms and swallowing down the lump in his throat, "yeah, I know."

"How are you feeling?" Rick asks after the Saviors attack on Alexandria, worry creasing his brow.

Michonne leans against the wall of their room in Barrington house, which doesn't really feel like much of a room, her lips pursed as she rocks a sleeping Judith in her arms.

It had been around three hours since they had come to Hilltop, and throughout all of it, Rick's thoughts always found themselves straying back to Carl. It's something that leaves Rick on edge. Not knowing where his son is or if he's even alive, it's just killing him, and it leaves Rick unable to think straight, leaves him uneasy, and Rick knows that the longer that Carl is missing, the less of a chance that he has of ever finding him. He doesn't like thinking about it, but he isn't naive enough to say that it isn’t a possibility.

He can tell that Michonne feels similarly about this whole situation -- if not even more unsettled. After knowing the dreadlocked woman for as long as he has, it was easy for Rick to figure out how she felt. His past as a cop also gave him the ability to read people, a skill that definitely proved to be pretty useful in the last few years of living in this hell of a world. They never knew who they could trust. This world changed people, some more drastically than others, and very rarely for the better. 

"I feel like I should be the one asking you that," she muses, and when Rick flinches, she shakes her head, looking guilty. "Okay, I guess. I'm just worried... you know?" Michonne answers after a second or two, her tone weary, "we didn't lose very many of our people, but a part of my mind is just... I don't know... not letting me rest." Michonne hefts Judith up slightly, combing her fingers through the little girl's blonde locks. Rick can't help but smile at the sight, but that smile falls as soon as Michonne starts speaking again. "I feel like I failed him. I should have noticed that he was gone so much sooner. But I didn't, and he could be dead because of it."

"We'll find him eventually," Rick assures her, but he isn't sure how confident he is of his words. "For all we know, Carl might turn up tomorrow. We just have to be patient."

The thing is, Rick knows how likely something like that could be, but it leaves him with something to hope for. Something to wait for. He wants to go out there... wants to find his son more than anything else in the world. But he has duties here, and it leaves Rick feeling worse and worse as the minutes go by. Rick just wants his son. He wants him here, safe and sound. If he hadn't been the leader, Rick probably would be out there right now. Searching. Looking. Trying to find any trace of his son's whereabouts. 

Carl... 

Rick takes in a shaky breath.

I'm so sorry. 

Michonne gives Rick a watery smile, reaching out a hand and resting it onto his shoulder. She gives it a squeeze, and Rick finds himself leaning into her, trying to find some sort of comfort. "Where do you think he might have gone?" She asks him softly, her voice unsure. "If he had gone back to Alexandria and saw the Saviors, where do you think he would go? I had thought... hoped he would have made his way to Hilltop. But he didn't, and... I just... I don't..." Michonne squeezes her eyes shut, turning around and pressing her face into Rick's chest, sandwiching a still sleeping Judith between them.

"I don't know, Michonne..." Rick whispers, feeling his heart break even more as he says this, "I wish I did, but I really don't know."

Dawn is slowly creeping up on the world as Siddiq makes his way through the thick forest. For once, he finds himself avoiding any of the dead ones he comes across instead of wasting time trying to kill them. He needs to find some kind of medicine to help Carl, and he doesn't have nearly enough time to loiter around killing the dead ones. No matter how much he may or may not want to.

It was quite a bit of a walk from the gas station to the nearest town in the area, around thirty minutes or so if he isn't rushing. And while Siddiq usually finds the sounds of the forest around him peaceful, all that his mind is on is getting the medicine needed to help Carl and getting back to the injured boy slowly bleeding out on the gas station's bathroom floor before it's too late. 

If it isn't too late already.

No. No, he can't think that way. 

Carl is going to be alright. Siddiq will make sure of it.

It's the least he can do for him after getting him bit.

Siddiq crouches down behind one of the trees nearing the edge of the forest, eyes darting around the town before him as the corners of his lips twitched into an even deeper frown. Only a few of the dead ones are stumbling around -- Siddiq spots five from where he is, but he knows from experience that more might be hidden somewhere nearby, just waiting to pop out and make things so much harder. Just like they had with him and Carl.

He remembers finding this town a couple days ago when he first came into the area. He hadn't been able to explore all of it due to the number of dead ones in the town at the time, but he can recall seeing a veterinary clinic while here. If he can get that clinic without getting eaten, then, hopefully, Siddiq might find some kind of medicine to help Carl with. A lot of people don't think of looking in veterinary clinics for supplies. So there should be something of use inside.

And if not...

Well, the chances of Carl pulling through are horribly slim.

But he has to try. He owes the boy that much.

Taking a careful look at the area around him, noting each of the dead ones' positions and ensuring that none of them are too close to the small cluster of trees that Siddiq is currently crouched in, he starts to creep forward. As he moves, he makes sure to stay slow and steady -- not wanting to bring any unwanted attention onto him.

Get it together, Siddiq. Just get to the clinic, get the medicine, and get out.

He just wishes it was as easy as it sounded. 

He creeps behind a cluster of trashcans piled on top of one another, scanning the street and residential yards for some kind of opening. The veterinary clinic should be a couple of streets down if he's remembering things right. Maybe if he ran for it, he could get there without any of the dead ones catching up to him. They're slow as hell, so Siddiq has a pretty good chance of outrunning them if he does try it. He hefts up his backpack somewhat, his frown deepening as he lets out a tense exhale. 

He peeks around the trashcans. The nearest of the dead ones is around ten or fifteen feet away. He'll have a clear path down the street if he goes fast enough. But Siddiq doesn't know if there are any more of the dead ones in the area -- there probably are, and that makes him unsure. If he tries running to the veterinary clinic, then he'll possibly have a couple dozen walking corpses following behind. That would put him on even more of a time crunch than before.

Quickly, Siddiq debates his options. 

Run or don't run.

Either way, he needs to get to that clinic.

While creeping around would ensure that none of the dead ones would be remotely aware of him, it would take way too much time to actually get to the clinic, and with Carl as injured as he is back at the gas station, Siddiq needs to get those supplies quickly. He doesn't have the time that is required to sneak around the town. He wishes he does, but wishing won't help him right now.

So running it is then.

Siddiq hefts up his backpack, takes in a deep breath, pulls out his knife, and starts to run. Immediately, he hears the dead ones begin to moan and snarl, turning with their teeth barred at the sudden movement of Siddiq racing down the street. But he doesn’t cares And really, how can he when there’s already so much at stake?

Barely breathing, Siddiq dodges between the grasping hands and blackened teeth, not daring to look back at their faces once he passes them. He turns a corner, nearly slamming face-first into another of the dead ones and only just manages to avoid it's snapping jaws as it lurches forward, preparing to tear him to bits.

Cursing in frustration, Siddiq barrels past it, his feet slamming against the ground with a surprising amount of force as he tears through the almost empty streets. For once, it seems as if luck is on his side this time. There aren't nearly as many dead ones here than there had been last time he had been in this town -- so Siddiq manages to make his way through without too much trouble. 

After running a few streets down, Siddiq spots a building that nearly makes him sob in relief. The veterinary clinic. He changes direction almost instantly, practically tearing off toward it, ignoring the burn in his lungs and the soreness in his feet. He kills one of the dead ones lingering by the door, pulling to a stop and doing a quick glance around. The nearest dead one is at least fifteen feet away and is slowly stumbling toward him. Siddiq turns around, trying out the doorknob.

Locked.

Not that Siddiq is expecting anything else.

Sighing, he circles the building. Thankfully none of the dead ones are back here, and Siddiq uses an old plank of wood to break the glass in one of the back windows. Wanting to be quick, Siddiq starts picking away at the remaining glass with trembling fingers, relieved to find none of the dead ones inside. A low snarl sounds somewhere in the direction of the street, though, and Siddiq grimaces, pulling off his backpack and tossing it inside what looks like an examination room.

Crawling through himself is horribly uncomfortable, especially with the small bits of glass still poking out from the bottom, but Siddiq manages to wriggle his way inside with little trouble. He stumbles as he pulls his body through, but he keeps his balance fairly well. And while being inside of the clinic lets some of the tension ease out of his frame, Siddiq can still hear the snarling of the dead getting closer and closer with every passing second.

So, picking up his backpack once again, Siddiq unzips it and starts looking around the room hurriedly -- opening and closing drawers and taking every little thing his eyes land on. There isn't much in this particular room, but he finds a few antibiotics in the cabinets, and he shoves them into his backpack before stepping out into the clinic hall.

One by one, Siddiq checks each of the rooms. To his relief, a shit ton of medical supplies remains inside -- just as he hoped. And Siddiq takes what he recognizes -- takes what he knows he'll need -- and puts it into his bag. There are no dead ones in the building, and while he can hear them wandering around outside, they have mostly lost interest. Siddiq takes that as a win.

It's still a little nerve-wracking, though -- taking medicine like this as the dead wander around outside. Because Siddiq has no idea if any of this would actually end up helping Carl in the long run. What if, by the time he gets back to Carl, an infection would have already settled in? What if when he got there, it will already be too late for him? Siddiq doesn't know why he cares so much -- he hardly knows this kid, but already he feels so worried about his possible fate. Maybe it's the doctor instincts kicking in or something. Or perhaps it's because of something else.

Either way, he knows he has to do this.

Siddiq creaks open the door to yet another room. It looks pretty empty at first glance, but Siddiq knows at this point that checking is always a must. Even if there's nothing inside, it's best to be sure. So Siddiq goes to the cabinets, opening them and immediately getting to work on sorting through them. There are a few bandages, some more antibiotics, a couple sedatives that probably wouldn't work well on a human (Siddiq is taking them anyway), pain relievers, and more antibiotics. More than he had first thought, but he sure as hell isn't complaining.

He piles them all into his backpack, which is getting heavier and heavier by the minute as he puts more and more medicine inside, and when Siddiq hefts it up onto his back, he can hear them rattling around within. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances toward the window. It's a little brighter now -- probably not dawn anymore. That means Siddiq's been gone for at least an hour or two now -- nearing three at this point. 

He should probably start heading back. He doesn’t feel comfortable with how long he’s left Carl alone for.

But there are a few more rooms Siddiq wants to do a quick look at first. His mom always said to be thorough when scavenging, and what if there's something of importance inside one of the other unchecked rooms? Siddiq wants to at least take a peak before leaving.

So Siddiq sighs, adjusting his grip on his backpack straps as his gaze swiveled around the room, doing one last sweep. Humming in faint satisfaction, Siddiq starts to turn around, feeling a little more hopeful than before, and-

Click.

Siddiq freezes as the barrel of a gun is pressed into the back of his skull, his blood going cold.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?"

Chapter Text

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?"

Siddiq's heart seems to stop beating, his breath catching as the gun is pressed harder into his skull.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, he inwardly chastises himself. Siddiq should have been paying more attention to his surroundings. How had he missed hearing someone enter the veterinary clinic? How had he not picked up on any sign of people being somewhere nearby? He usually never made a mistake as fatal as that one, and because of that, he is now being held at gunpoint by a total stranger who may or may not kill Siddiq at this very moment. Or maybe they'll steal the medicine he had found and leave Siddiq with nothing to help Carl with. 

"Now, I want you to listen very carefully to what I say, or else I will blow your fucking brains out," the low, gravelly voice says from behind him, sounding oddly chipper despite his violent words, "Got it?"

Siddiq nodded. "Got it."

Despite this, his mind spins as he thinks about his options. If he moves quickly enough, could he maybe take the man by surprise? He has a knife tucked into his pocket, so if he can grab that, then perhaps he can try and stab the guy? But even if he tries that, there's no guarantee that will work; for all he knows, this man can have a group or something, and that isn't something Siddiq wants to risk.

Either way, the man seems to realize his train of thought, putting a stop to any possible attempts of attack. "Turn around,” he demands sharply.

Siddiq sighs but does as asked, slowly turning his body until he's facing the man who now holds a gun to his head. Immediately, he starts to study him. The guy has a balding head of hair and a mustache that looks so bad that it actually makes Siddiq feel slightly embarrassed for him, but behind the man, Siddiq can see two other men standing in the doorway, both wielding guns. 

"Good," the mustache man's voice drips with venom, "now drop the bag."

Siddiq's eyes widened, horror churning in his gut. No... no, this isn't happening. He needs this stuff -- Carl needs this stuff; there is no way they can just take it from him. "Please-"

The man narrowed his eyes, pressing the gun into Siddiq's forehead. "Now," he growls, and Siddiq has to bite back the anger that rises up within him.

Slowly, and reluctantly, he pulls the bag off of his shoulders, carefully setting it onto the ground. As soon as he does, mustache man makes a vague head gesture to his companions, and one of them walks forward, quickly grabbing the bag, opening it up, and starting to rummage through it. 

“Have an awful lot of medical shit in here," Mustache man notes, eyeing the now opened bag with great suspicion. He lifts his eyebrows, gaze moving back up to Siddiq, "They for you?"

Siddiq shakes his head, not seeing the point in lying about it. "No, they're not... I have a friend, he's hurt and... and, I'm just... I'm just trying to help him."

"Is it just you and your friend?" Mustache man asks, nodding to the bag.

Siddiq nods, breathing a tense exhale through his nose. "Yeah... it is, unfortunately." 

Mustache man nods and, lowering the gun slightly, leans back and pulls a walkie-talkie out of his pocket; "Hey, Big Man? It's Simon -- we tracked down the guy we saw, as you ordered. Found something you might be interested in." 

Siddiq tries not to react much to this, but he still ends up flinching back in surprise. God... he had gotten seen? 

Internally, he chastises himself. He should have been more careful; if he had, then maybe he would be on his way back to Carl by now. But he knows that there's no use in beating himself up about it now. It’s already happened, and right now, he has to deal with it. Find a way out of it. Because Siddiq has encountered people like this before -- he has an idea about how their minds work. Perhaps if he plays his cards right, he can still get the medicine to Carl. 

Yes... that's what he needs to do. He has to be smart about this. 

"Got anything to do with Rick the Prick?" A voice drawls from the other end of the walkie-talkie, low and clear, and Siddiq's attention is pulled back to the conversation now playing out in front of him.

Mustache man -- Simon, apparently -- looks Siddiq up and down, clearly taking note of the dirt and blood covering Siddiq's body. A frown is marring his face, and it takes him a few moments before he responds. "Nah, don't think so. The guy says he's all alone except for one friend -- has a shit ton of medicine too, says it's for the friend."

There's a pause, and then... "I'll be there in a few. Don't let the guy go anywhere."

Simon raises the gun slightly, a threat in his eyes as he stares at Siddiq, "got it." 

With that, Simon stuffs the walkie-talkie back into his pocket, keeping the gun between Siddiq's eyes as they wait. Siddiq tries to stay as calm as possible, but every second wasted here is precious time lost. And Siddiq needs to get back to Carl before all that time runs out. But he also has a feeling that these people aren't going to just let him go. People don't do that in this world, or at least not many of them, and even if they do let him go, he doubts it's going to be with the medicine.

So either way, he's kind of fucked. Wonderful.

He doesn't know how much times passes -- maybe a few minutes -- and despite the voice on the radio's promise, no one appears. Siddiq can see the other men getting restless, but right as Simon makes a move to pull out his walkie-talkie again, another man walks in, a cocky smirk on his face and a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire resting on his shoulder. Immediately, everyone else in the room straightens up, and Siddiq has a feeling that this is the leader -- the one he had heard on the other side of the walkie-talkie. 

The man pauses for a moment upon spotting Siddiq, but then a curious looks spreads across his face. "Oh, isn't this interesting," he says, and dread pools in Siddiq's stomach. "And who are you?"

"Siddiq," he says slowly, trying to stamp down the fear rising in his gut, "I don't want to cause any trouble."

"Well, hello there, Siddiq. I'm Negan," the man drawls, a lazy smile forming on his face as he nears, "have to say, wasn't expecting to see anyone in town."  

Siddiq shrugs, trying to seem casual. "I usually don't spend a lot of time in towns, but I needed supplies," he makes a vague hand gesture in the direction of his bag. Negan walks right up to Simon, nudging the gun down away from Siddiq's face. Then he peers down at where one of his companions is rummaging through the medicine Siddiq had gathered.

"Hmmm," Negan glares at the man still going through the bag, and Siddiq can't help but feel relieved when the man hurriedly gets up, not taking a single thing. Negan turns back to Siddiq, "you said you have a friend? Is that why you needed all this shit."

Siddiq nods, taking in a shaky breath. "Yes, it is. I know this is mostly for animals, but a lot of this might be able to help."

Negan seems to be considering something. "How badly hurt is your friend?" The man asks after a pause, leaning back on the balls of his feet. 

"Um..." Siddiq pauses, doing some quick mental math, "he got bit around a day or so ago. I cut off his arm pretty quickly, but we don't have a lot of medicine, and... that's why I came here. I used to be a doctor, and if I had the right supplies, I could save his life." Hopefully, by mentioning he was a doctor, that would give him a better chance of getting out of here with the medicine. It’s not likely, but it’s better than nothing.

Negan lets out a low whistle, turning around and shaking his head. "Well damn, that shit must suck." For a moment, Siddiq wonders if that's the end of it, but then Negan turns back to face him, a cheshire grin playing on his lips, "You are in luck, though, Siddiq. I'm the leader of a group called the Saviors. We have all the medicine you could need. If you show us where your friend is, we can bring him back and quite possibly save his life. But only..." he pauses, probably for added effect, "if you're willing to contribute. We are very much in need of another doctor -- what do you think?"

If he were being honest, Negan's words take Siddiq aback. He does want to help Carl, but he hadn't expected a stranger of all things to offer him assistance. But Siddiq knows better than to deny something like this -- the medicine he has right now has no guarantee of helping Carl, and while there's still a chance that Siddiq won't be able to save Carl with the supplies Negan says he has, the chances of the kid living would be much higher than they used to. However, the more paranoid part of him senses that there's something wrong with this situation. It just doesn't sit right with him. 

Siddiq glances down at the bag, then back up at Negan. Siddiq thinks of Carl -- lying on the bathroom floor in that gas station, slowly bleeding out as his fever worsens. He doesn't have a lot of options here. Either agree to Negan's offer or don't. Both could potentially get both him and Carl killed, especially if Negan was lying. But at the same time, that was a risk Siddiq knows he has to take. He may not have known Carl for long, but he has already committed to saving him. 

So, with his decision made, Siddiq looks up at Negan, his heart heavy.

“Okay,” he says, and despite knowing that this was going to help Carl, he can’t help but feel as if he just made a deal with the devil.

Carl hears gunfire.

He doesn't know when it starts or why, but one moment, he's lying on the ground, not having any idea what is going on, and the next moment the world seems to explode. The sound echoes inside his skull, making his head spin and his ears ring so intensely that he's vaguely reminded of the time Ron shot his eye out. The feeling is similar, and, for a second, he wonders if he's reliving that moment, but then he realizes that no, this is different. He hears multiple gunshots, not just one, and he realizes that the groans of the walkers are being cut off, one by one. 

Like something is killing them.

The gunfire dies down after a moment, and Carl thinks he can hear the sound of a door opening, followed by shouting -- the volume of it all makes his head ache even more, and he whimpers. He thinks he can hear another door opening, and moments later, he feels a cold palm pressing itself to his forehead. Carl flinches back, groaning, and the hand is quickly snatched away.

The voices are back, but this time, he hears them shouting. He can't make out any words, but they're so loud... Carl just wants them all to shut up.

Then, suddenly, like someone flipped a switch, the shouting stops. For a moment, there's silence, and then Carl feels a gloved hand brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to his face, but he doesn't have the energy to even flinch away. 

"Shit, kid... what happened to you?" 

That isn't the voice from before. It sounds familiar, but Carl knows it's not the same one. It's not his dad's either... or Michonne's... Something is nagging at the back of Carl's mind, trying to get him to remember, to get away, but he can't. The only thing he can do is whimper as the pain in his arm and head grows worse and worse -- more than unbearable. 

"Wait... you know him?" says a different voice, the other voice -- the one he's been hearing since the pain started.

There's a snort. "Well, we're sure as hell not friends -- in fact, I'm pretty damn sure that the kid hates my guts." The concern in the second voice shifts to something different. Something… dangerous. "Now... how do you know him? Thought you said you were alone except for one friend -- and I know for sure that he's a part of a community."

While he can catch a few snippets of hurried conversation, Carl isn't able to make sense of the other voice's words -- he thinks he can hear someone yelling for a brief moment, but everything is muffled, and his ears are ringing, so it's hard to know for sure. It feels like his head has just been dunked underwater, and by the time his hearing comes back to him, the supposed yelling had quieted back down to a low whisper. 

Carl tries to open his eye, wanting to get some idea of what was going on, but it feels like his eyelid weighs a hundred pounds on his face, making the action next to impossible. He feels the energy leaving him bit by bit, and the only thing he's able to see before he lets his eye flutter shut again is the blurry face hovering above him. The face seems vaguely familiar, but Carl isn't sure why. He can't care less either; Carl just wants the pain to stop.

He wants to go back to sleep.

He wants to go back home.

He wants his dad.

Before Carl even realizes what's happening, he breaks out into a violent coughing fit, spluttering and gasping as pain erupts in his lungs. He can feel the tears forming at the corner of his eye, but he can't get himself to stop. Vaguely, he hears the sound of panicked voices, and the next thing he knows, there's a hand being pressed to his forehead -- he hears a voice curse.

"The fever is getting worse," the first voice whispers, horror seeping into their tone, "will... will you still help him?"

He hears the other voice snap something back in irritation, and through a dark fog, Carl weakly registers himself being lifted into the air. He's suddenly reminded of the times before the world went to shit -- when his dad would pick him up after school and spin him around in the air. He tries opening his eye again but is rewarded with nothing but darkness. 

"Dad...?" Carl barely feels the word slipping out of his own mouth. Distantly, he hears the sound of car doors opening. 

There's a beat of silence after Carl speaks. "Don't try and talk, kid. Need to save your energy," says the voice from above, and Carl frowns. He faintly feels himself being jostled around, and he is unable to bite back a whimper when something brushes against his arms, causing the limb to explode with pain that is much worse than unbearable.

"Everything 'urts," he says, his voice unbelievably small, "I wanna go home."

Home. Where is home? An image of a burning neighborhood comes to mind, flames licking at the mowed lawns and freshly painted houses as walkers stumble around, but that can't be right. Carl's mind then pulls up a picture of the same place, but this time, none of it is burning, and there are no walkers -- that looks better, that's his home. He wants to go there. 

He hears a sigh and the sound of a car engine rumbling. "I know, kid. We're getting you help right now. You'll be okay." 

Okay. Since when has Carl ever been okay? He tries straining his mind, tries to remember, but the effort only causes his headache to worsen. But the voice's words are oddly comforting, and Carl wants nothing more than to believe them. Despite this, he can already feel the darkness closing in on his mind once more, and something inside of him is afraid he won't wake up if he lets it take over again.

"Promise?" Carl whispers, for once not caring how childish he may appear.

Another pause. 

Another sigh. 

What feels like hours later, the voice speaks. "Just hang on, kid. We're almost there."

Carl is dreaming again.

He doesn't remember when exactly he passed out, but one moment he's lying in a stranger's arms as a car rumbles beneath them, and the next, he's being forced into a dark nightmare that Carl fears he won't ever awake from. Countless memories assault him -- some good, some bad. Usually bad, and they play in his mind like a broken record, going one after another until it's like a neverending playlist of pain and terror. 

He sees his mom standing outside the school, hears her telling him that his dad got shot on the job. He sees the first walkers stumbling around outside the car as Shane drives them to who knows where. He sees Sophia stumbling out of the barn, hears his mom's pain-filled screams as Maggie cuts her open to bring Judith into this world. He sees Daryl walking out of Grady, Beth's lifeless body in his arms. Sees Glenn and Abraham being killed again and again and again.

Eventually, all the good memories seem to fade, leaving him with only the bad ones. He sees himself shooting the walker that once was Shane, sees the Claimers surrounding them as a strange man yanks Carl out of the car and pins him to the grounds, he sees Jessie and Sam being ripped apart, sees Ron aiming the gun at his dad. Carl sees memories of the people he loves dying before him over and over again. 

At some point, the memories start to turn into his worst fears. Instead of seeing his mom lying on the cold boiler floor, the alarm blaring around them, he sees Michonne. Instead of seeing Glenn or Abraham having their skulls beaten into the ground, he sees his dad. Instead of Sophia stumbling out of the barn, it's Carol -- her eyes lifeless and low groans escaping her lips. Instead of his dad, Daryl, and Michonne killing the Claimers, he witnesses Joe shooting all of them before turning to him with a wide smile and-

And-

And nothing.

Siddiq stares at the unconscious figure lying motionless on the bed -- at the figure that one might think was dead if it weren't for the slow, nearly invisible rise and fall of his chest. Dark hair is stuck to a face covered in a glossy layer of sweat, and the thin body is hooked up to various IVs that are just barely managing to keep him alive. 

It had been two or three hours since Carl had been brought to the Sanctuary -- a compound that he had been told is the enemy of Carl's dad's community -- and things have only gotten slightly better. Siddiq, using the supplies that the Saviors gave him, had managed to get Carl to somewhat stable condition, but the teen isn't totally off the hook quite yet -- there's still a chance that things might go wrong, that Carl might not make it. 

And as for Negan...

Negan had left the factory around thirty minutes ago, but not before pulling Siddiq aside and telling him to 'keep the kid alive for me.' While Siddiq hadn't been given any details about where they were going, he has a feeling that whatever Negan might be doing isn't just going to be a random supply run -- the number of people Negan had taken with him had been much too large for just that. And the countless weapons they all carried had been yet another giveaway that something is going down. 

Siddiq didn't dare ask, though. His only focus is to keep Carl alive, which is a task that is made much harder with every rising problem.

His eyes move down to the bloody arm -- or the stump that used to be an arm -- that is lying limp at Carl's side. Siddiq had changed the bandages twice now, cleaning the wound and trying to keep the chances of an infection low. Negan hadn't been lying when he said that he had a shit ton of medicine, something that Siddiq is growing more and more thankful for by the moment. He quickly tears his eyes away, though; not entirely sure if he can stand staring at it for any longer. So he looks up instead, gaze now pinned to the ceiling of the infirmary.

He doesn't know how much time passes by like that -- maybe a few minutes or even a couple hours, but Siddiq doesn't move from his spot. While a part of him says that he should go and get some much-needed rest, another part of him feels obligated to stay here; just in case something changes. The infirmary also remains deathly silent, which means that there is no mistaking the sound of a door being opened several minutes (hours?) later. 

When Siddiq turns, he half expects to see Negan swaggering inside with the barbed baseball bat on his shoulders and a wide grin on his face as he spouts out some sort of insanely inappropriate comment. But instead, he immediately finds himself tensing up, hand darting toward his knife when he sees an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, staring at Siddiq with wide eyes -- looking suspiciously like a deer caught in headlights. Just way less innocent because it's a full-grown man and not a cute little deer. 

The man has dark hair styled into a mullet, and not for the first time since arriving here, Siddiq finds himself questioning the fashion sense of the people in this place. Seriously, what is up with these weird ass hairstyles? Either way, Siddiq slowly turns to face the man, crossing his arms and looking him up and down, trying to figure out if he was a threat or not. Because while he may have agreed to take Carl to these people, that doesn't mean he trusts them entirely. Thankfully, the man doesn't appear to be armed, but Siddiq doesn't lower his guard.

The man takes a step forward, letting the door fall shut behind him. When neither of them makes a move to speak, the man then starts shuffling his weight from foot to foot, wringing his hands together nervously as his eyes dart around the room, eventually landing on Carl's motionless form lying on the bed behind Siddiq. A second passes, and a flash of recognition dawns on the man's face, followed by a look of horror and surprise as his eyes went round.

"Can I help you?" Siddiq asks, unable to keep the bite out of his words.

The man flinches, not responding for a moment or two. And then-

"I have come at the summons in order to evaluate the well-being of my fellow associate," the man says with an entirely straight face, "I was not made conscious of the fact there would be other people carrying out the same actions."

Siddiq blinks, his brows knitting together. 

What the hell..?

He looks the man up and down as his mouth tightens into a thin line, trying to figure out how exactly to go about this situation. The man continues to shuffle his feet nervously, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, and as Siddiq stares at him, trying to find some sort of hidden malice in the stranger's wide eyes. Trying to figure out why exactly he would be checking up on Carl-

Then, it clicks. 

"You know him?" Siddiq breathes, his eyes widening as the realization crashes upon him. "You know Carl?"

The strange man glances away as soon as the words leave Siddiq’s mouth, looking even more anxious now. He even takes a peek over his shoulder at the door, telling Siddiq that the man clearly was considering whether or not he should bolt just so he can avoid this taking this odd (and awkward) encounter even further.

"We are moderately acquainted with one another," the man replies, turning back to Siddiq, "though, after taking recent happenings into account, I am not of the opinion he views me as a friend."

Siddiq snorts, slowly turning around so he can adjust the IV's that are connected to Carl's body. "From what I've heard, which granted, isn't much, he wouldn't call any of the people who live here as 'friends.'"

The man grows quiet, and Siddiq imagines that he's slowly inching toward the door. "You would be correct in that assumption," he says after a beat of silence, and Siddiq glances back at him for a moment before turning his attention back to Carl, who seems to be getting paler and paler by the second. At this point, Siddiq is half-convinced that he should just ignore the odd and very awkward man until he leaves, but then he says something that Siddiq is unable to ignore, "be that as it may, Negan has plans for him."

"Plans?" Siddiq narrows his eyes as he turns to face the stranger, not liking the sound of his words. "What do you mean by that? What kind of plans?'" 

The man flinches again. "I am not in every respect optimistic that it has been brought to your most eager attention, but the boss and Carl's patriarch are, as one might say, in the midst of a war."

Siddiq freezes as he processes the man's words. At war? While Siddiq had known from the little bits of conversation that he'd picked up from Saviors that there was some kind of conflict going on between Carl's community and this one, he hadn't thought they meant a full-on fucking war. This only makes things ten times more complicated, and as Siddiq watches the unfamiliar man stare over at Carl, his face a mask, he can't help but get a horrible feeling in his gut. One that only grows larger by the second. 

"War?" Siddiq echoes, praying that perhaps he'd simply misheard. 

"I'm afraid so." The mullet-man shakes his head, slowly walking forward until he's standing at the end of Carl's bed, staring at the teenager's ghostly pale form, blanching when his eyes land on Carl's arm -- or rather, what's left of it. "May I ascertain the occurrence that put him in such an egregious state?" he asks, and Siddiq watches as something akin to worry flickers across the other man's face. 

"He got bit," says Siddiq, guilt still gnawing at him. And he glances away as the memories of that day flash through his mind, "saving me."

Mullet-man nods, his expression grim. And before Siddiq can convince himself not to, he's talking again. "The fever has gone down a bit, and while he's not in the clear quite yet, his chances of survival are getting better."

He doesn't really know why he's telling the stranger this -- maybe it's because of the blatant worry on his face. Siddiq knows perfectly well what it's like to be worried about someone who may not make it, and it isn't a pleasant experience, so assuring this man that Carl -- friend or not -- has a chance of making it through is the least he can do. 

"If within your capabilities," mullet-man (Siddiq really needs to figure out this dude's name), "I would prefer to be notified when he is wake n bake; thank you kindly."

"You'll have to ask Negan about that. I don't think I'm really allowed to leave the infirmary." So far, Siddiq hasn't really tested it. He's been in the infirmary for most of the time, and he hasn't really had a reason to go outside of it. And even if he was allowed outside the infirmary, Siddiq has no idea how to navigate this place. He would get lost within seconds, and that's not an experience he wants to have any time soon. 

"I see," mullet-man starts moving toward the door again, clearly about to leave, but pauses right as he reaches for the doorknob. He peers over his shoulder to look at Siddiq, eyebrows furrowing. "May I acquire the name of whom is behind my compadre remaining alive and kicking?”

It takes him a second to realize what the man is asking. Then again, it seems to be like that with everything this dude says.

"My name is Siddiq," he says, "and it's not a problem. It's the least I can do for him after all he's done for me."

And it's true. Carl hadn't even known him for longer than a day, and he still got bit while trying to bring Siddiq back to his home. Not many people would be willing to get bitten to save someone's life -- much less a stranger's life -- but Carl, for some odd reason, was willing to do just that. Siddiq owed this kid his life, so even if he had been unable to stop Carl from being bit, he can still try and save his life the best he can. It's the least he can do for him. 

But as he stares down at Carl, he thinks of Negan, who had a frighteningly wide smile on his face when Siddiq had first gotten the teen somewhat stable, and Siddiq can't help but feel as if he'd just made the worst mistake of his life.