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M E G A N
A few days ago—when Carl finally convinced Denise to let him take me home from the infirmary—was when he first took notice of all the people missing from the group. It was then that I had to tell him everything that happened. Both to the prison and a few of our loved ones.
His lack of reaction made it hard to guess what exactly he was feeling. My best bet was that he was consumed with the same guilt he's been carrying around since we were out on the road.
The worst part of it all—for the sake of his ongoing guilt—was finding out that the group still wasn't aware of how we made it to Alexandria and how Glenn had given us an ultimatum. We have no choice but to come clean about the prison, and soon.
Aside from dealing with a grieving, guilty Carl, I also have another mourning teenage boy to keep my eye on: Ron.
His normal, happy-go-lucky mood is nowhere to be seen, and I've been deeply missing it. The boy I'd grown to love like a brother disintegrated the moment Rick pulled that trigger.
His impulsive, self-destructive behavior made itself known soon after he started to come visit me while I carry out my bedrest. He always makes an effort to wait until Carl is out of the house to come and see me. As if Rick's son would be bound to do the same to him, copying the actions of his father.
It was becoming easier for Ron to avoid Carl. Because the moment Deanna realized he was back inside the walls, she finally gave Carl his assignment.
He was going to start weapon training with the inexperienced Alexandrians. Which was exactly why he wasn't going to be home all day, giving Ron the perfect opportunity to come and visit me.
Except this time, when Carl headed out for his shift, Ron never came.
I was confused at first—maybe a little hurt and lonely—until, surprisingly, Enid showed up in his place.
The girl has been impossible to track down from the post of my painful bedrest. Every time I'd asked, both Carl and Ron told me that they hadn't seen her anywhere. She obviously didn't want to be found, and I didn't blame her after everything that went down a few days ago.
There were very few things I knew about Enid. I've learned that the complex girl acts on reason. And boy, did she trudge up the stairs and into my room with good reason.
"Are you sure?" I ask her, sitting up from my tangled bedsheets.
"Yeah. Saw him leave a few minutes ago." She shrugs nonchalantly, the situation clearly rattling me more than her.
"Why didn't you go after him?" I nearly shout, causing her eyebrows to furrow. She then carelessly shrugs.
"I just thought I'd come by and let you know." Her monotone voice making it clear she couldn't care less. I couldn't blame her, because sometimes I know exactly the way she feels. "So now that that's off my conscience, I'll be g—" The girl turns on her heel, ready to exit through the doorway to my room.
"Enid." I start, rolling my eyes and pushing myself to sit up. My sore muscles nearly fail to do their simple job. The girl stops in her tracks. "He's in danger. He doesn't know how to handle himself out there. You know that." I say.
"How come?" She starts. "I know you've been taking him outside the walls."
I sit in silence for a few moments, taken aback by Enid's knowledge of something that I thought was a secret. "He's never been out there alone. And he's never seen a walker."
"Not even one?" The girl asks with a smirk as if she thinks I'm joking.
"No, Enid. Not even one." I state, getting more annoyed.
"Well—What do you think you're going to be able to do about it?" The girl says, clearly talking about my obvious hindrance.
She then hesitantly rushes to my feeble side, realizing my determination to get out of my bed.
"I have to do something." I say. My arm wraps around her shoulders as I lean most of my weight on her. "I don't know why you're not doing anything. He's your boyfriend."
"He's like your brother." She mutters, her hair swaying from side to side as she helps to pull me off of my bed.
I suck in a breath, adding Ron to the list of people that have now been referred to as my various adoptive family members.
"Then we should both bring him back." I state.
"Look," She starts. "I care about Ron—I do. But not in the same way you do. You are who he needs right now, not me." Her words make their way into my ears, bouncing around in my head as I take a few moments to process them.
My body takes a pause, just before I take my weight off of her.
In a way, she is right. She's completely right. But that doesn't keep me from resenting the simple fact that she didn't stop Ron from going outside the walls in the first place.
"Nothing I can say to him will help." Her voice starts again, noticing the far-away look in my eyes. She then sighs in defeat. "The most I can do is help you, help him."
"Oh? Would that ease your conscience?" I mockingly ask the girl, still angry at her blatant selfishness.
She chuckles a bit at my hostility, her body vibrating underneath my arm. A certain warmth comes from her smile that catches me off guard, as I didn't expect that sort of response from my snarky comment.
"Yeah—Yeah it would."
☆
After Enid helped me over the wall and sent me on my way, I realized that my injuries were more healed than I thought.
Over the past few days, I'd noticed that any time I would stand, I'd quickly get a throbbing headache, or a violent cramp in my gut. Maybe even both.
But, now—as I trek through the woods, alone—my headache has ceased and my stomach pain is nothing but a dull ache. Although it may be due to the meds that Enid gave to me, I decide to just be thankful for the few painless moments.
The stubborn girl helped me find my weapon, handed me some of my prescribed medication, and then, finally, helped me over the wall, leaving me to my sneaky endeavors.
A familiar feeling of paranoia washes over me as I repeatedly check over my shoulders for any creeping walkers. Something I haven't had to do in a very long time, even when Ron and I come out here. But—because I haven't been out here alone since we were on the road—I choose to be careful, not forgetting what can happen outside of the walls.
The echoing of a walker sounds out in the distance. A sound I'd somehow never thought of once while I've been within those walls. My grip on the handle of my screwdriver tightens. A soreness spreads across my palm and fingers, not having held a weapon in so long. Being out on the road, my hands blistered and then healed, once becoming used to such friction.
Knowing that Ron is out here, I pick up my pace. The walker may see him. He may see the walker, and try to take it on by himself. Who knows what he'll do if he's reckless enough to go beyond the walls alone and without telling anyone.
Shortly after making my way to the echoing walker, the noise multiplies, getting louder as I get closer to the source. Clearly hearing several walkers, I start to run through the trees, trying to find out why there are so many and what they are chasing after.
Just before I dart out towards the source, my feet come to a sudden stop, as does the ground.
A quarry, filled with walkers, all wandering along as they bump into several others just like them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of groans echo within the rocky walls of the quarry.
Two large semi-trucks parked on the hill make a barricade, stopping any walkers from traveling up and out. Across the way from me, the loud noise draws in a few stragglers. They follow the noise before plummeting down the rocks to join the rest of them.
The threat of this horde of the dead being so close to Alexandria sends shivers down my spine. Although, it does reveal why there are almost no walkers near the walls, as well as why the safe-zone has been untouched and standing for this long.
All of the walkers for miles must end up here.
Tree branches whip and dead leaves crunch as more walkers make their way toward the quarry from behind me. I quickly duck behind a rock, waiting for them to pass.
As the walkers approach, I notice one of them moving particularly fast, nearly running. I squint my eyes, studying the speedy footsteps of someone who is clearly not dead.
Ron Anderson.
The boy runs, looking back at a few of the dead as they chase him. As he neglects to look ahead, I step out from behind the rock, quickening my feet to reach him.
"Ron!" The all-painful blur knocks the wind out of me. All I can focus on are the passing walkers' groans disappearing as they tumble into the quarry, one by one.
Ron and I catch our breaths. My returning headache and intensifying stomach pain quickly fade as the scary moment doesn't take long to fill me with a gust of adrenaline. I quickly pick myself up off the ground and use my palms to dust myself off.
"You're supposed to be in bed." Ron says blatantly, still lying in the dirt.
"You're supposed to be back home. Safe." I snarkily reply, feeling the first bit of genuine anger I've ever had towards him. "What the hell has gotten into you lately? Sneaking out—without me? You almost just got yourself killed. Do you understand that? If it weren't for me, y—"
"I wanted to know where my dad was buried." He emotionlessly mutters.
My words immediately stop and my tense eyebrows relax themselves. It's in this moment that I recall Carl telling me that Pete wouldn't be buried inside the walls, because he killed Reg—and we don't bury murderers inside the walls. Although I agree with Rick's reasoning, I'd never admit it to Ron.
"Come on." I reach a hand out to him, which he grabs, and allows me to pull him to his feet.
The two of us walk back into the tree-line in silence, myself slowly hobbling alongside the bothered boy lost in his own thoughts.
After we continue on or way through the trees for a few minutes, I notice a few people standing around, holding shovels.
"Look." I whisper, nudging him. We both come to a stop behind a tree, looking at the scene in front of us.
Rick and Morgan repeatedly jab their shovels into the dirt, digging somewhat of a shallow grave, clearly having no regard for whoever's body will end up in it.
Next to the hole lies a very tall body under a tarp. I switch my gaze from the body, to the boy next to me. His upper lips slightly twitches. His dull, baggy eyes stay glued to nothing but the body.
I gently grab Ron's elbow, and—before Rick and Morgan can notice us—begin to pull him away.
"Come on," I mutter. "Let's go back."
☆
After the few disturbing discoveries we'd just made, Ron and I didn't quite have it in us to sneak our way back inside Alexandria. Instead, we walked right up to the front gate, where we asked Eugene let us in.
We now walk through the streets of Alexandria, the sun beginning to set on the community. The boy is guided by my movements as I lead him toward the end of the street, approaching my own house. The place where I'd told Ron we'd have one of our usual sleepovers, like we did before any of this happened. Although he'd prefer to avoid Carl, I didn't give the boy much of a choice.
Ron's feet drag through the grass of my front yard as we make our way toward the front steps. A noise pulls my eyes from their unintentional stare at the ground, to my front door as it squeaks open.
Out walks a frantic Glenn, a bothered expression on his face. His eyes land on me before they dart to my side, looking toward Ron.
"Hi, Glenn." I say.
"Hey." He mutters, avoiding eye contact with me.
Without another word, his feet quickly patter down the wooden steps before he passes me and Ron, nearly fleeing from my yard.
"That was weird." I mutter to Ron.
My eyes look up to the boy as he walks next to me, only to receive no response. Just his same, stone-cold glare locked straight ahead.
We make our way up the porch steps. I hold the door open, allowing him to enter first. He walks into the living room before me, and I slide through the door behind him, closing and locking it.
"You should go." A harsh voice says.
Turning around, I see Carl leaning against the arm of the sofa with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His squinted, angry blue eyes stay locked on Ron, not even acknowledging my presence.
"What?" I ask, slowly making my way in front of Ron.
"You should leave." Carl repeats, and continues to look passed me, glaring at the boy behind me.
"Excuse me?" I say, causing Carl to briefly shift has gaze to look down at me. "What's your problem?"
"I think I'll just head out." Ron mutters, pitifully lifting his hand as if to send me a wave, before reaching it towards the doorknob.
"Ron, you don't have t—" I start.
The boy silently cuts me off, straightening his lips for a mere second, giving me an attempt at a grin. As if to let me know that he's okay with leaving.
"I'll swing by your house later, okay?" I tell him, once again making him pause on his way out the door.
For a moment, I move my eyes back to Carl, sending him an obvious glare, just to notice his angrier eyes still locked on Ron.
I turn back around and send the departing boy another apologetic, confused look. He sends me another forced grin, along with a slight nod. I watch—in embarrassment—as my guest flicks open the lock and walks out of the front door.
"We need to talk." Carl sternly says, not leaving many moments to pass after the door slams closed again.
"What was that?"
"What was that?" Carl angrily repeats my words. "I don't know Megan. Why don't you tell me?"
"What are you talking about?" My angry eyes stay glued to him.
"Glenn saw you leave today." He starts. "After what we did, he still thinks y—we're a flight risk." Carl's arms stay folded as he angrily tilts his hatless head. "Now he wants us to tell my dad when he gets back, tonight."
My heart sinks a bit as we now approach the inevitable consequences of our own actions. Another battle that has crept up on me, even though I always knew this day would come. Nothing comes out from between my parted lips as I stare at the boy in awe. As if we haven't already learned our lesson from having to struggle out there on our own.
"Now I know why you left." The volume of his voice rings out a bit quieter, following its previous intensity. "Is he really worth risking your life? Not to mention what the group would th—"
"He just lost his father." My face hardens at the boy's disproportionate worries, when he should know a thing or two about what Ron's feeling. "He went out there and I had to stop him from doing something stupid."
"Just like how you had to leave the prison with me?" He asks, his face slightly scrunching in anger.
My face immediately softens at his words. The hurt coursing through my veins makes whatever response I'd prepared, immediately get caught in my throat. The boy knew how to hit me where it hurt, and he just hit the bullseye.
Playing on how I once felt I had to choose between safety and a friend—a choice he knows that I never once regretted. Only now—after my series of complicated feelings about Carl, and the scene he'd just caused between himself and my only other friend—was I starting to regret that decision.
How quickly things turned this disastrous is yet another wake-up call. Only a few days managed to squeeze themselves by—since the boy's return—without managing to wreak havoc upon our friendship. Nothing we've been through can prepare us for what'll happen when the group finds out what we did. In a way, the majority of the group's low expectations for me have already set me up to fail, leaving only Carl in their good graces.
And in another way, one of my hardest decisions yet has already been made for me.
He carefully studies my change in expression, and his eyes flick all around the surface of my face. After taking a moment to realize what'd just come from his mouth, Carl's face softens. His hands nervously drop to his sides, as he opens his mouth, readying himself to speak.
"Don't." I growl, forcing myself to—once again—harden my expression, pulling my eyes away from him and heading toward the staircase.
By now, my adrenaline had long gone, leaving my stomach pounding with the familiar ache as I trudge up the steps. His footsteps shuffle along the wooden floor behind me.
"Megan wait. Megan, I'm sor—" His words come to a halt when I reach the top of the staircase, quickly turning the corner.
It's not too long after, that I hear his footsteps following mine up the steps.
"I didn't mean it. I—I wasn't thinking. I'm just scared, okay?" Carl fumbles around with the words leaving his throat.
His quick footsteps follow mine as I enter my room. I continue toward my dresser, frantically pulling on the handles and continuing to ignore him.
"I—I," He starts. "Once we tell my dad, I promise it'll start to get bet—"
"When you tell your dad, I won't be around to see it." My voice breaks out as I back away from the dresser. I surprise myself when my voice doesn't immediately crack, given my overwhelming urge to cry.
"What do you m—What are you doing?" Carl asks, taking a few steps toward me. I throw a pile of my once-folded clothes onto my bed, not bothering to keep them organized.
"Packing."
"Packing?"
I subtly and angrily shake my head, keeping my stare down at my clothes, harshly stacking them up as I'd knocked them over with my rough placement.
"Wh—Where are you going?" He asks.
My eyes briefly look up to meet his, before quickly returning them to my pile of clothes. An image of the pained look on his face, the squinting of his blue eyes and the speechlessness of his parted lips stays burned into my brain as I fumble around with the pile.
I grab the cardboard box from the floor next to my bed—the same box Jessie had given me weeks ago when we'd first arrived—and place it on the bed next to the clothes, throwing them in and continuing to ignore Carl's questions.
"Meg—Megan?" He says, stepping in front of me and attempting to grab at my wrists.
His gentle touch sends nothing but nerves across my skin and not the good kind that I'd once felt with him. Before he can slip his fingers around my forearms, I step back and away from him. Because he's standing so close, I now have no way to continue my ongoing avoidance.
"I'm moving in with the Andersons." I spit out, finally looking him in the eyes.
His confused expression quickly turns into one of a deeper confusion, before his face finally drops. A gut-wrenching sense of guilt makes my—already throbbing—stomach sink, knowing that my words caused that look to spread across his face.
"Jessie asked me to a few days ago." I mutter, offering him whatever I can of an explanation. "At first, I told her I wasn't sure. I am now." I finish with a shrug.
Carl stands in front of me, still stunned by my words. I take this as my opportunity to move back around him, grabbing at my pile of clothes.
As I continue to throw them into the box, the boy stands still, staring in thought for a few more moments. I study him, once again moving passed him to get to my dresser. I pull out another drawer, hastily reaching my arms in.
"I don't want you to go."
I drop the clothes back into the dresser. "What?"
"You remember what I said before I left for the run?" He asks. "That I wouldn't go if you didn't want me to? Well—I meant it. And I still do."
"Well you did go." My anger takes over. Carl thinking that the torture I felt knowing he was out there for weeks, is—in any way—comparable to me moving across the street, makes my blood boil. "You went. You left. I didn't stop you." My feet take a few steps toward him, an angry finger pointed at his chest. "This isn't the same and you know it."
"Oh, right." He laughs. He laughs. "But you know what is the same?" He matches my angry expression. "Back in the woods—back when you left me—" He stutters, fumbling with his words. "God. At lea—at least when I left for the run, I knew I'd get to come back home to you." His nostrils slightly flare as his voice cracks and his anger begins to crumble. "Do you know what it did to me? When you left—just like that? When you were ready to just never see me again?"
Earlier on in the conversation, the boy called us flight risks. Really, I guess that's what we used to be. Leaving the prison, leaving each other. It finally made its way around to being full circle. And by doing this, I'm helping my own case.
A few moments of silence pass. I manage to choke down the lump in my swollen throat. Both scared at an angry Carl, and overwhelmed with the words we were too scared to admit back when we first arrived here. I stand there, completely frozen.
Forcefully, I pull my attention away from the boy in front of me. The part of myself that wants to reach out and comfort him remains a bit heartbroken by my own actions. But my fear of what's to come outweighs any desire I might have.
For a second, I try to convince myself that moving in with the Andersons would give me and Carl a better chance. That maybe we just need time apart.
But it doesn't take me long to realize that—as long as I'm feeling whatever it is that I'm feeling for him, and until I get rid of it—I'd only continue to do more damage. To the boy and to the group.
My hands reach back into the open dresser drawer and scoop up the pile of clothes. I avoid eye contact with Carl as I shoulder past him and throw them onto the surface of my sheets. My hands continue to pluck certain clothing items and throw them into the box, not necessarily having a system.
"I guess history does repeat itself." He mutters from behind me. "Look at me—just standing here, begging you not to leave. Again." His breathless, quiet voice sounds out from behind me.
The pain dripping from his tone reminds me of every time I've ever felt similar. Only this time, I felt even worse.
I stop what I'm doing and turn around to face him. Reaching the point of no return, warm tears begin to build in my eyes, stinging as they do so. Carl notices and a sympathetic look immediately crosses his face. His eyebrows gently raise and his face softens, as he extends his hands out toward me, to which, I—once again—take a step back from.
"Please," A lump forms in my throat. "Please don't make me have to choose between you and a family."
His hurt expression—the one caused by my slight rejection—changes into one of realization, acceptance. While he stands in front of me, pondering my harsh words, I quickly move my hands back to my clothes, fumbling with the fabric, as to distract myself from my quivering chin.
"I mean—" He trails off for a moment, his broken voice fading out. "Was it crazy of me to think that we were a family?" He mutters, his voice once again cracking. His words being in the past tense are one more harsh blow to my dwindling feelings.
He's right. In a way, the Andersons and Carl Grimes are both my family.
Jessie has become my mother. As to replace the one that left me too soon. The same exact kind, nurturing personality as the woman my very own blood comes from. The striking similarities nearly carrying themselves over from the world before.
Sam is exactly what I thought it'd be like to have a little sibling. Of which, he also replaces someone special I'd lost. I need to be the one to look out for the kid, as if I've always been here and always had his back.
And then there's Ron. Ron is hands-down the only person in this world I'd connected with so fast. Besides the rest of his family, of course. Although only older by a year, he guides me as if he has some sort of aged wisdom that he needs to pass on. The bond I have with him will come along very few and far between in my life.
With the Andersons, I feel welcomed. I feel included and wanted. Three things I almost never got to experience at the prison, not being too far off from what my life was like before.
Until I stumbled upon this one angsty, curious boy.
Carl Grimes.
Carl is someone I'd never quite had any version of, and someone I'd never known I'd long for in this way. I don't know what he is to me, or what he ever will be, if anything. Naturally—and without intention—he too became my family.
Carl is the one person who makes me feel safe. He's the feeling of familiarity in any place, no matter how strange. He's protection, a shelter. He's warmth—a light that illuminates my dull life.
Similar to the way the boy unknowingly became family to me, the Andersons had also managed to take hold of my heart. Now comes the time—that so quietly crept up on me—where I have to choose which family I need the most.
"Carl, we are a family." I sigh, dropping my head down for a second, before removing my hands from the clothes. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
My guilt takes over, and I reach my hands out for the boy, wanting to comfort him from my own words.
He takes a step back. His simple motion allowing more tears to build in my eyes. One last blink sending the first one over its edge. The warmth trails down the skin of my cheek.
"Then how did you mean it?" He sternly asks. I take notice of a few tears of his own threatening to drip from his gloomy eyes.
"It's just different." I start, my voice catching in my throat as I fumble with my words. "It's just—you and the Andersons. They're my family." I state, my broke voice just above a whisper. "But you—you're—" I trail off, not quite finding a way to avoid what we're both thinking.
"I'm what?"
"You're—" I start, barely managing to choke back a sob. "We're—" My hands motion back and forth between us for a few moments.
"We're what?" He starts, his throaty, damaged voice speaking volumes above my hesitant one.
I open my mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out. "I—I,"
Nothing comes out because there's not a single complete thought in my head. Just the same jumble of my confused feelings—for once—allowing themselves to be brought to my surface.
"What are we, Megan?"
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4860 words
A/N
Fun Fact: In s2 when Rick stabbed Shane, in the original script, he was supposed to see Shane turn. THEN he was supposed to grab Shane's gun and attempt to put him down. But when he pulled the trigger, the gun clicked bc it was empty. MEANING that Shane didn't actually want to shoot Rick.
Isn't that sad :(
They def should've done that bc they easily could've kept Carl's first walker kill in, if he had to save Rick from walker Shane
^^ that was my attempt at distracting you from the cliffhanger!!
^^ that whole thing is from the original A/N I had for this chapter and I decided to keep it xoxo
I love this angsty chapter !!
☆vote if you want to know what Carl and Megan are too ☆