"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

forty nine, the bolter

"HEY, HEY, ITS ALRIGHT, i'm here," she whispers into his ear as he slowly sits up. He's panting heavily, a single tear running down his cheek as he turns his head to look at her. His eye is tired and red, and his hair messy and ruffled. Even in such pain, he looks so beautiful.

The tent is cold and smells like sweet earth, something the two of them had become acutely aware of (and familiar with) in the past few months. It's been about two weeks since Carl had had a bad dream as deep as this one. He says nothing, craning his neck down to nuzzle his nose into her collarbone. She holds his body faithfully against her own, almost trying to protect him from an outer force that even she couldn't reckon with.

"Tell me about it, what happened?" She asks, and he takes a deep breath.

"Do you think I could've done it?"

"Done what, hon?"

"Been my father. Did what he did, lead everyone? Fulfil his space?"

"Carl Grimes." She states, placing her hands on his cheeks, pushing his eye up to meet hers.
"You're the most capable, most brave man I've ever met. Those people believe in you whether you're there or not, because of your spirit, and your faith in them. And even if no one else did, I would believe in you. Because I know I don't have to. I know you, and I know that you could do anything. You are your fathers son, but you are also so much more."

"The war, and everything that happened. There will be more of it, I'm sure. What will happen back home? Might my dad come back to a graveyard?"

She stops, unable to answer as she thinks about home. They'd spent so long protecting it, that it was so strange to think of it as some far away place that they hadn't been for months.

"It was gone, all gone, in my dream. A wasteland. There was no Judith, no Michonne. No you."

Goosebumps arise on her skin: due to the cold air or the way he said her name, she wasn't sure. She brings a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek and swiping the tear away with her thumb.

"They believe in us. So we have to believe in them. That they themselves are strong enough without us."

He nods slowly, leaning into her hand, and soon, her embrace, as she engulfs him in her arms again.

"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." She whispers, faithfully, planting a soft kiss on his cheek as she caresses his arms gently.

"Jesus, J, did you sleep down here?"

She lifts her head at the sudden sound, and looks up groggily to see Henry standing at the kitchen counter. A cup of coffee sits to her left, and a piece of paper with the words 'dear Rick' scrawled on it rests underneath her arms. She picks it up and scrumples it between her fingers, tossing it into the trash can haphazardly. She can still taste the sick forest air on her tongue, and it's a melancholy feeling.

"I guess so."

"You okay?" Henry asks, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. My neck hurts like a bitch."

Though he believes Jane usually, he can't help but notice something off about his sister. Unfortunately, there's not many things he can do to make her feel better if he doesn't know what's up.

Jane hadn't wanted to tell anyone who she'd seen, or where she was last night. She physically couldn't, because even now it hurt tremendously to think his name, let alone say it.

"You've got leaves in your hair." He tells her, delicately reaching over to pluck one out.

"Thanks," she grumbles, clearly still tired. "You have a good time last night?"