Chapter Text
When the world had ended Carl had learned to live with loss early on, knowing that any second someone he loved, someone he admired, could be taken from him. However the thought of his dad being ripped from him had rarely crossed his mind despite the many close calls, maybe that made him idiotic.
Carl had finally made it back to the gates of Alexandria, covered in blood and exhausted yet relived to finally be home. Though once the gates slid open and he was faced with Aaron's horrified expression he knew something had happened. While Carl had liked Aaron he was not expecting the man to let out a heavy sigh before wrapping his arms around Carl and gripping him close. Carl froze, before reminding himself where he was and letting himself melt into the embrace, yet the feeling of unease didn't let up.
Aaron’s voice was strained when he finally spoke, barely more than a whisper against Carl’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Carl's stomach dropped.
He pulled away from Aaron, gripping the others shoulders. "What happened? Judith, is she?"
"Carl!"
Behind Aaron, Michonne was rushing towards them before reaching forward and pulling Carl into her arms. It almost seemed as if all Carl's worry had dissipated in that moment. Carl burrowed his face in Michonne's shoulder, feeling the woman's hand cup the back of his head, stroking his hair.
"Oh god, your okay, oh baby." Michonne's words both comforted and distressed him.
He pulled back slightly to properly see her. Her eyes were wet, her jaw trembling in a way he’d never seen before. She lifted a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing away blood that wasn’t his.
“Michonne,” His voice cracked. “Where’s Dad?”
Michonne's face gave everything away. Carl barely recognized her, she looked far from the indestructible samurai he knew her as.
Her eyes flicked down, as if she couldn’t bear looking at him.
“Carl,” she said softly, voice trembling. “Sweetheart-”
“Where is he?” Carl demanded, though his voice cracked halfway through.
“We should get you inside,” she murmured, her hands trailing up and down Carl's arms over the blood stained flannel. It seemed to be more for her own comfort than his. “We’ll talk inside.”
Carl had only been gone a few weeks after a supply run gone wrong. His dad had been hesitant to let him go alone, but everyone else was busy with building the bridge between the communities and dealing with the remaining Saviours. It was most peace they'd had in months.
When Carl left, Rick had clapped Carl on the shoulder, told him to promise to be safe. He was only supposed to be gone for a day, two at most. A quick run, a simple route they'd done before. If Carl didn't encounter unwanted company he would've been back home weeks ago.
“Michonne,” he repeated, quieter this time, almost pleading.
“Inside,” she said again, voice barely holding together. “Please.”
Carl let himself be led through Alexandria, Michonne’s hand firm around his wrist. There were few people milling around Alexandria, and the few who did see him paused before doing a shitty job of pretending they weren't staring.
He noticed the chalk drawings on the pavement outside their house, they looked recent, it almost made Carl smile, knowing that Judith was okay.
Michonne pulled him up the steps of the porch and into the house, closing the door behind them. It was unnervingly quiet.
She reached out, cupping Carl's cheeks and looking him over for injuries.
“Carl,” she whispered, her voice trembling. "Are you okay? We thought-"
She stopped herself.
“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice cracked. “Michonne… what’s going on?”
Michonne breathed deeply, "Carl, there was an accident with the bridge, we don't know where Rick is right now."
For a moment, he just stared at Michonne, processing what she said.
“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?” Carl asked, voice cracking. “What does that mean?”
“There was a horde of walkers on the bridge,” she said quietly. “Rick blew it up, to protect everyone.”
“He blew it up? Well where the hell is he then?" Carl snapped.
Carl had a feeling he maybe being too harsh, but he wished Michonne would just tell him what happened. He thought everyone had stopped treating him like a kid by now. He forced himself to calm down, despite his frustration he didn't want to make this harder on Michonne than it already was.
Carl felt his chest tighten. “Michonne,” he said, softer, “Just tell me.”
“Carl…” She swallowed hard. “He was on the bridge when he blew it up.”
“So you’re saying he’s dead?”
Michonne’s breath caught, her hands tightened slightly where they had trailed to his shoulders.
"No," Michonne said sharply, trying to sound convincing. "But we are looking for him. We haven't found his body, he's still out there okay?"
He stared at Michonne, her hands still gripping his shoulders. There were tears in her eyes, and her face was filled with desperation and Carl couldn't help but think back to when he and Michonne first met, not too long after Lori died.
“Michonne, we'll find him.”
Her breath hitched, It was clear she hadn’t expected that, a small smile spread across her face. Michonne stepped closer, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his arms.
“We will,” she said determined.
Michonne pulled him into her arms, and this time he didn’t resist. Carl almost collapsed in her arms, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Michonne tightened her hold instinctively, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other wrapping around his shoulders. She just held him, just like she had when he was younger.
Michonne pressed her cheek to his hair. “I missed you,” she whispered.
He nodded against her shoulder, silently communicating he missed her too. His eye burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.
His hands trembled where they lay against her back, the same tremors he’d had ever since the eye injury. They had gotten better with time but they came and went, sometimes barely noticeable, sometimes strong enough that his hands were barely functional. Right now, they were impossible to hide.
Michonne felt it immediately.
Her hand slid up his spine, grounding him the way she always had. She didn’t mention the shaking, barely anyone did anymore, but her touch softened. Despite her comforting presence Carl tensed up, his mind unable to stay in the moment. He clutched his hands into the back of Michonnes shirt, a futile attempt at hiding the tremor that had only gotten worse.
Michonne pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears, but she was trying to keep it together.
"You said you were okay? Are you sure? Siddiq's not too busy, it wouldn't hurt to get you checked over."
“I’m fine,” Carl said automatically.
Michonne didn’t buy it for a second. “Carl… you’ve been gone for weeks. You look exhausted. You’re pale. And you’re covered in blood.”
“It’s not mine,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Most of it.”
Her jaw tightened. “That's not reassuring.”
“Later, I’m just tired, and I want a shower. And clean clothes” he muttered, looking away.
Michonne studied him for a long moment, the visible exhaustion in his posture and the tremor in his hands. She exhaled slowly, the fight in her easing just a little.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Shower first.”
She stepped aside, giving him space. Michonne watched him closely as he ventured up the stairs to get a clean pair of clothes for himself. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ll be quick,” he said.
Michonne’s expression softened. “You don’t have to rush, take as much time as you need.”
Carl nodded, then stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
He set the clean clothes on the counter and locked the bathroom door. The mirror caught his reflection, and he paused. His hair was a mess, soaked with sweat and blood, much like the rest of his body. His face and clothes were smudged with dirt and grime.
Carl stood there, as tears finally spilled down his cheek. His shoulders rose and fell with each shaky breath, but he stayed upright, staring down at his hands gripping the edge of the sink. He bowed his head, letting his hair fall forward, hiding his face from himself.
He knew he should be more optimistic but despite Michonnes words he couldn't help but believe his dad was dead. He was on a bridge with walkers that blew up. He'd seen it many times before, the unmistaken evidence that someone was dead but their loved ones just would not take it. Still believing they're alive with everything pointing in the opposite direction.
Carl steadied himself against the sink, he kept replaying Michonne’s words, but they couldn’t drown out the image burned into his mind. He’d seen enough death to know what it looked like, hope didn’t change facts. And the fact was simple, people didn’t survive things like that, not unless the world bent itself in impossible ways.
A soft whimper escaped him. His fingers loosened on the sink, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, wiping the tears away even as more threatened to fall.
His dad was probably dead.
Carl hand raised to his head, yet his fingers only brushed against his hair. He pressed his palm harder against his scalp, as if the hat might suddenly appear. But It was gone, lost somewhere between that warehouse and those woods.
He’d lost it and the timing felt cruel, like the world was preparing him for something worse.
His hand slid down from his head to his mouth again, trying to muffle the sound building in his throat. His shoulders trembled. He squeezed his eye shut, his hand cupping his mouth, not wanting Michonne to hear him.
After a long moment, he lowered his hand from his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His breathing was still uneven, but steadier than before. He wiped his face with the back of his hand as he sniffled.
He turned away from the sink and began peeling off his shirt. The fabric stained a dark red, clung to his skin before coming free. He stared at the blood, his mind wandering to the place he’d been trying so hard not to go. He gripped the shirt tight his knuckles whitening.
He discarded the shirt. His boots came off next. Then his jeans, covered in dirt.
His fingers trembled as he reached for the shower tap. Carl stepped under the spray, letting the heat hit his shoulders first. Dirt and dried blood began to wash away, swirling around his feet before disappearing down the drain.
Carl lifted a hand, running it through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a knot. He closed his eye and let out a slow breath. The hot water was almost too nice, it felt undeserving.
He tipped his head back, letting the spray hit his face, his hair, the bruises along his collarbone, the heat loosened the tightness in his muscles. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palm to the tile.
He just stood there, staring at the tiles on the floor. He wasn't sure for how long but when he finally blinked the water had run clear.
He reached for the soap, finally starting to clean himself.
When he stepped out of the shower, he finally saw the extent of his injuries. They weren't too bad, but without the layer of grime the bruises and scrapes over his body were much more stark against his pale skin.
The mirror was still fogged, but even through the haze he could make out the dark smudges along his ribs, the faint purple blooming across his shoulders, the scraped skin of his forearms. A deep cut on his thigh, Carl probably should be worried about. He lifted a hand, tracing the edge of one bruise with his fingertips, wincing when the pressure led out a dull ache.
When he finally stood, fully dressed, he felt better, somehow, contained enough to pass for normal if he kept his head down and didn’t let anyone look too closely. As if he could forget the last few weeks. He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it out of his face, it fell right back into place.
Carl closed the bathroom door behind him and stepped into his room. He stood there for a moment, just inside the doorway. His room looked exactly the same as when he’d left it, the unmade bed, the pile of comics on the nightstand, a jacket he’d tossed over the chair days ago. Nothing had changed.
He moved toward the bed and sat down slowly, careful of the bruises along his ribs. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands twitching loosely between them.
His fingers curled into fists, then he let them loosen again. The tremors didn’t stop. He rubbed his palms against his pants, grounding himself in the rough fabric. It didn’t help much.
Carl lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, he told himself he’d get up in a minute, go downstairs, find Michonne, pretend he was okay.
But the quiet of the room was such a welcomed change. His breathing slowed and the tremors in his hands eased into small, tired twitches.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep.
***
Carl's eye blinked open halfway, then closed again. The room was quiet, it was light out.
He didn’t move. His body felt too heavy, the bruises along his ribs still throbbed, not enough to make him care. He stared at the ceiling through a half lidded eye, breathing slow.
He didn’t want to get up. He might’ve stayed like that forever if not for the soft sound of small footsteps padding down the hallway. Judith didn’t knock, she never did. And the door creaked open to reveal her standing in the doorway.
“Carl?” she whispered.
He pushed himself up slowly. His ribs ached, the skin on his thigh pulled, and his head felt thick with sleep despite just waking up.
Judith hovered for a moment, fingers curled around the edge of the door like she wasn’t sure if she should come in. Her eyes were wide, looking over him for the first time in weeks.
Carl cleared his throat, the sound rough. “Hey, Jude.”
That was all the invitation she needed. She quickly padded across the room and climbed onto the bed. Carl wrapped an arm around her automatically, Judith settled against him without hesitation, her head fitting neatly under his chin.
“Your back,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m back.”
He tightened his arm around her, careful of the bruises along his ribs. She was warm against him, grounding in a way nothing else had been all day.
Judith tipped her head back to look up at him. “You were gone a long time.”
Carl swallowed. “Yeah. I know.”
“You scared me,” she said.
His chest tightened. He rested his cheek against her hair. “Didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” She leaned into him again.
He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. During those few weeks, he'd missed her more than anything else.
“I missed you,” he whispered into her hair.
Michonne appeared in the doorway a few minutes later. She paused, one hand resting lightly on the frame, her eyes settling on both of them.
"I spoke to Siddiq," Michonne said, stepping fully into the room now. "He's free all of today."
“Oh,” he murmured. “Okay.”
Michonne’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to go right this second, he said whenever you’re ready.”
Carl nodded, his cheek brushing Judith’s hair again. “Yeah. I just… In a minute.”
Michonne stepped closer, her voice gentler now. “You can take your time.”
Carl nodded again, slower this time. Judith was warm against him, small fingers curled in his shirt like she was afraid he’d disappear again. He didn't want to leave just yet. The thought of sitting on that exam table, of someone looking too closely at the bruises, the cuts. Someone inevitably asking about his eye and his tremors once again. He didn’t want to explain why he hadn’t come home sooner.
Carl sat with Judith a little longer, her fingers curled tightly in his shirt. But eventually, she grew heavier in his arms, falling asleep, and Michonne stepped forward, lifting the toddler from his chest.
“I’ll take her,” she murmured. “You go.”
He pushed himself up from the bed, his muscles aching. The movement pulled at the cut on his thigh and tugged at his bruises. Michonne shifted Judith higher on her hip.
“You good?” Michonne asked quietly.
Carl nodded. “Yeah."
***
Carl reached the infirmary just as Siddiq stepped outside, he froze when he saw Carl approaching.
“Carl,” he breathed.
Before Carl could say anything, Siddiq closed the distance between them and pulled him into a gentle hug, aware of any potential injures.
Carl stiffened at first, surprised and caught off guard before his hands came up slowly, gripping the back of Siddiq’s shirt as he let himself lean into the embrace. Siddiq always had a comforting presence.
Although Carl knew it to not be true, it felt as if Siddiq knew exactly where the bruises were without needing to see them. He hadn’t expected them to get this close. Back when he’d first met Siddiq, Carl had just wanted to help someone, to do the right thing.
Carl trusted him more than he expected, maybe that was because Siddiq didn’t look at Carl like he was just Rick’s son, or just a kid, like many of Alexandria did.
Siddiq pulled back just enough to look at him, hands still resting on Carl’s shoulders, steadying him.
“I had a feeling you'd be back,” Siddiq said softly, relief clear through his voice. "let’s get you inside. You look like you’ve been through hell.”
Carl let out a tired chuckle. “Feels like it.”
Siddiq’s expression softened, something warm and protective settling in his eyes.
“Come inside,” he insisted.
He turned slightly, guiding Carl with a gentle hold to his elbow.
Siddiq led him inside, pulling out a chair with one hand and gesturing for Carl to sit as he crouched in front of the kid.
“Alright,” Siddiq said softly. “Before I start patching you up, I need to know what happened.”
Carl stared at the floor for a moment, his hands curled on his knees. He didn’t answer right away, the words felt stuck somewhere deep in his chest.
Siddiq didn’t push. He stayed crouched in front of him.
Carl swallowed. “Uh, I don’t really know where to start.”
“Start anywhere,” Siddiq said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Carl exhaled slowly, taking a moment to compose himself, thinking over his words before he said them. “I ran into a group at one of the abandoned stores, and they chased me out. I ran."
Carl’s voice faltered already. His fingers twitched against his knees. “I… I didn’t think they’d follow me that far, I thought I lost them.”
Siddiq nodded, encouraging.
Carl’s breath hitched. “I didn’t want to fight, I just wanted to get away. I knew I couldn't take them on alone."
“You did the right thing,” Siddiq said quietly. “Running isn’t weakness. It’s survival.”
Carl’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It didn’t feel like survival, It felt like I was just trying not to die again.”
Siddiq shifted slightly, lowering himself so he was eye level with Carl.
“You were outnumbered,” Siddiq said. “You made the choice that kept you alive. Stupider men have ran right into trouble for the sole reason of not being seen as cowardly.”
Carl's shoulders slumped a little, some of the tension seeping out of them.
“Yeah I guess,” he murmured. “But… I guess it didn't really matter, They eventually caught up to me and-”
Carl’s voice thinned out, the rest of the sentence collapsing before it could form.
“They caught up to me,” he said again, quieter this time. “And roughed me up a bit."
Siddiq's eyes softened in that way that told Carl he saw straight through it without calling him out.
“They pushed me around, but-.” His voice wavered. “They're dead now.”
The tremor in his fingers were more noticeable now that he was talking faster, trying to get the whole thing out before he lost the nerve.
“And I was in the middle of the woods,” he continued. “And I’d left the bag with the map at the store, so I wasn’t sure where I was. That’s why it took a while to get back home.”
Siddiq didn’t interrupt. He just listened in a way that made it easier for Carl to keep going.
“I ran into some walkers after,” Carl said, shrugging like it was nothing, even though the motion made him wince. “But I’m mostly fine, I think. Just some bruises and scrapes.”
When Carl finally finished, Siddiq let out a slow breath through his nose.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s… a lot.”
Carl shrugged, “It's fine, I handled it.”
“Carl, getting chased by a group of strangers, losing your supplies, getting jumped, and wandering through the woods alone and injured for weeks, is not ‘handling it.’”
Carl looked down, avoiding Siddiq's eye contact. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Siddiq exhaled, deciding to change the subject as Carl clearly didn't want to talk about it.
“You said they roughed you up?”
Carl hesitated, “Yeah. A little.”
Siddiq’s brows lifted. He shifted closer. “Carl,” he said. “I need to know what ‘a little’ means. I cant help you as much as you need if I dont know what happened.”
Carl’s gave a half shrug. “It wasn’t that bad or anything.”
Siddiq didn’t argue, he simply nodded once, he didn't exactly trust Carl's word.
He shifted even closer, lowering his voice.“When you say they ‘roughed you up,’ I need to know if we’re talking about bruises, cuts, a cracked rib, a dislocated shoulder… or something worse.”
Carl swallowed, throat tight. “Just… bruises. Mostly.”
“Mostly,” Siddiq repeated.
Carl didn’t answer.
Siddiq let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he murmured. “Then let me see. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just let me check.”
Carl hesitated before reaching for the hem of his shirt, he winced as he pulled the fabric over his head. The shirt landed in Carl’s lap, and Siddiq’s expression shifted. The bruises had darkened since Carl had last seen them, dark purples bloomed over his sides, aswell as over his arms that had been hidden by his long sleeves.
Siddiq’s eyes moved slowly, taking everything in, but there was a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. His eyes lingered on the faint finger shaped bruises and the raw scrapes on his arms like Carl had been dragged or shoved on the ground. Carl was technically correct, in a way, it wasn't anything too bad, but Siddiq worried about potential broken ribs, as well as the true cause of these injuries.
Siddiq let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said quietly, “I'm just gonna feel along your ribs, to see if anythings broken.”
He moved closer, his hands gentle and deliberate as he pressed them against Carl's skin. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he said.
Carl nodded.
Siddiq started at the top, his fingertips tracing along Carl's ribs. The kid stiffening at the touch.
The few weeks out there had clearly had an effect on Carl, he had always been skinny but the way his ribs noticeably jutted out was concerning.
“You’ve lost weight,” Siddiq murmured as he continued with his exam.
Carl attempted to shrug, though due to how tense he was because of Siddiq's poking and prodding it didn't come across as one.
“Didn’t have much food,” he muttered stiffly.
Siddiq didn’t comment, but the crease between his brows deepened.
He moved his hand lower, fingertips pressing gently along another rib. Carl sucked in a sharp breath.
“Alright,” Siddiq said softly. “That one hurts.”
Siddiq went on with the exam, Carl tried to swallow down any noises but failed.
Once Siddiq was done he let Carl settle for a moment before speaking. “Nothing feels broken. They're most likely bruised. There's not much we can do about that, I can give you some painkillers, but mostly just rest."
Carl nodded, still catching his breath.
“And eat,” Siddiq added. "Build up your strength, your way too skinny.”
Carl’s shoulders tensed, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
Carl thought to the cut on his thigh, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth it to mention.
He shook his head. “No. That’s it.”
“Alright,” Siddiq said slowly. “If you’re sure. But you know you don’t have to hide anything from me. If something else hurts, or if something happened out there, you can tell me. I'm not a therapist or psychiatrist or anything, but if you need to talk about anything I'm here, and I wont tell anyone what you say, unless you want me to.”
Carl briefly nodded, eyes dropping to the floor. “I said I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Siddiq said quietly. “I hear you, but if you change your mind I'm here.”
Siddiq’s gaze drifted to Carl’s hands.
“And the tremors?” he asked gently. “Are they worse than before?”
Carl sighed.
***
As Carl was taking the medication Siddiq had grabbed a knock sounded at the door, and Michonne stepped inside.
“How’s he doing?” she asked.
Siddiq glanced at Carl, giving him the chance to answer first.
Carl cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”
Michonne raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
Siddiq stepped in before Carl could dig himself deeper. “He’s a bit banged up. Bruised ribs, malnourishment, dehydration, but other than that he’ll be alright, physically.”
Michonne nodded slowly, her gaze softening . “Good.”
“He should be resting,” Siddiq added. “No patrols, no runs, nothing strenuous.”
Michonne nodded again. “He won’t be going anywhere.”
“I can still-”
“No,” Michonne said sternly. “You’re done for a while.”
Carl’s mouth snapped shut.
He looked away, “I’m not helpless or anything,”
“No one said you were,” Michonne replied, her voice gentling but not losing its edge. “But you’re hurt, you need to rest.”