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steadyfire · 10 years ago

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thxfathxr

Since the boy had come into the world, Rick, as a father, had wanted nothing more than to protect and rear him with love and tenderness–he had wanted to make the boy smile and laugh whenever he could–even after the earth as the knew it ceased to exist and was consumed within a living hell. A bitter smile crossed the man’s lips. Yes, he would tell his son to bury him, even if this was too much to ask. How, he wondered, could he be so selfish to ask such a thing of a boy who already mourned the loss of a loved one. "I’m so sorry…” Already, he had failed his son.

Ragged-looking, with a face of sheer regret and agony, the man pulled Carl into his arms, as tightly as he could in his weakened, shocked state, buried a grey beard into dirty chocolate locks and didn’t say anything for the longest time. The suggestion–the fact that Carl wanted so desperately to keep him alive–made Rick smile. He shook his head. “I was bit… on our way over here. Went to stab at the damned thing–got me while I… couldn’t see it.” He was angry with himself for being so foolish. All the injured and ailing man wanted to do that moment was hold his son in his arms and cry–he wanted to break down and feel human for the last time before his body was overcome by some cruel infection and the fever of death whisked him away, only to bring him back a dead man walking.

“I think…” He began, his tone low and lacking hope. Thinking; he’d been going far too much of that lately. “I think that we… should go, and spend our last night together. There is no saving me. But let’s not think of that. At least not now.” He grunted, leaning heavily upon Carl–his form surprisingly light. “… can we do that?” He hoped that Carl would just agree– they could hole away in their tent, and hold each other til Rick’s fate overtook him. “You… you don’t even have to put the bullet into my brain. Get Glenn… Daryl or Maggie–I think Carol would do it no problem.” He smiled faintly and tilted his head to the side. “There’s options. A son shouldn’t have–you shouldn’t have even had to do it to your mother–all my fault…"

As hard as he fought to keep from any negativity, Rick couldn’t help but ramble on and on about any regrets or upsets that plagued him. The pain in his limb was intense and quickly spreading–but for some reason, his body failed to grow hot with a fever. Would he simply drop dead with no warning? Would his death be different? It all made no sense. Sure, the man felt ill and weakened beyond the will to live, but that didn’t mean that he was necessarily leaving yet.

How he clung to his son was pathetic. Perhaps he was being selfish in not wanting to lose a leg–but only selfish for the sake of his son. In his mind, losing a leg would burden the group. If he burdened the group, then Carl would be at risk, because if they were busy focusing on him, carrying him or attempting to help him, then any care for Carl would be brushed aside. "I don’t want to lose my leg… I just want to… It’s my time, my boy. I’m so sorry…” He shook his head with each word, like he agreed with none.

Tears spilled over his cheeks at this point, though they were silent, they were thick and rolled off his jawline in the moonlight, glistening like the blood upon his leg. Rick cared no more for the pain, his arm still tight around his son as he hopped towards their tent, each hop making his body quiver, jerk and ache from such agony. They needed to get back and spend some time together–intimate time, before it all ran out, or before he was too incoherent to do so. Determination set on a pain-stricken face, the man continued to make his way forward. There were no more cries of pain; his throat had been chafed raw from each so that his voice grew coarse as sandpaper and no more cries could flow forth. The feeling of the warm, sticky fluids leaking down his leg from the ‘bite’ and the tear by alabaster bone, made his stomach turn–once a stomach so strong that he could tear apart one of the walkers and spread it’s entrails about in heroics, he couldn’t even bear the feeling of his own blood. He stopped the moment he managed to hop outside their tent, and collapsed with a quiet gasp, dragging his son down into bloodied grass atop him. Rick was a broken mess that could no longer be fixed.

This was all so much to take in, to even begin to process. All he could think of was shooting Lori and the time he thought he’d lost his dad. Rick was all Carl had left here, all that really kept him going. Since day one, he’d had faith in his father. Sure, it faltered every now and then when he made questionable decisions or he messed up, but he looked up to him and admired his strength and leadership skills. Rick was easily the biggest role-model in Carl’s life, the person who he leaned most heavily on, and the person he would miss the most if they were to bite the bullet. And now here Rick was, practically begging him to just let him go.

It hurt to hear and know how much he was suffering; how tired and weary he was of this life. The younger tried hard to swallow the lump that had settled in his throat, a few tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and wetting the fabric of his father’s shirt. There is no saving me. The words hung in the air, plaguing his mind despite Rick telling him not to think about it. How could he not? Minutes or hours from now, he could be one of them. Minutes or hours from now, Carl would be without family.

Carl gripped at his dad’s shirt while scruff was buried in his hair, the boy shaking his head defiantly at every word that passed the taller’s lips. “You can’t just give up like this. You can’t just leave.” Sorry wouldn’t cut it. He wanted to see him try, to do everything he could until they knew that there was nothing more that they could do to save him. “You, Judith, mom. Dad, it’s not fair. They didn’t have a choice, but you do, and you’re choosing to leave me. To leave all of us.” He needed him, and they needed him. Rick was his father and their leader, and without him, he just couldn’t imagine things remaining the same. Yes, they were all like family, but it was Rick who directed them and really kept them in line. This system that they had going could crumble without him.

“It’s not your time. We can still save you,” Carl began, his arm wrapping itself around his father’s mid-section as he began hopping and limping away towards their tent. He tried his best to hold his weight, knowing he was in a lot of pain and was gradually growing weaker, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold Rick up when he ended up collapsing outside of their tent, instead just getting dragged down with him onto the blood-covered grass. Quickly, the teenager rolled off of his dad to prevent any further injury to him, bright blue eyes flickering from Rick’s bloodied leg to his tear-streaked face. He knew that he was hurting, physically and mentally, but he just wanted him to be strong enough to keep trying. Giving up just--it wasn’t an option. Not when there was still a chance. Carl gave a shaky breath and wiped his face with his sleeve in an attempt to collect himself, soon after grabbing a pillow from inside the tent and settling behind his dad to place it under his head.

Another uneven breath was breathed out as Carl placed his hands on either side of Rick’s head, the younger doing his best to remain strong for him. It was just so sad to see him like this; so broken, defeated and willing to give up on him and everyone. For a while, he was silent, but silence was exactly what he didn’t want. “Dad?” He spoke up, straining to keep his voice steady. “Let us help you. Hershel did it, remember?” It had been a challenge, but the old man had got along just fine with a bit of practice, and everyone would be willing to support and help Rick on his journey to recovery. It was no burden, and surely they’d be worse off without him. “Please,” Carl continued, his voice softer as he leaned his head forwards to rest his forehead against his father’s.

The tears that had began to spill were both due to frustration, anger, and sadness. He was furious that his dad would leave him, furious that he’d just give up, but devastated all at the same time because it would leave him alone, and devastated because the man that he’d always put his faith in had finally admitted defeat. “You can’t leave,” he repeated, his eyes shutting tightly while tears still continued to spill from the corners. If he had to, he’d knock Rick out. He’d get a little help from the others to assist with the removal of the leg and prove to him that this wasn’t the end. “I don’t want your apologies.” Sorry meant goodbye. “I want you to tell me you’re going to try.”

#thxfathxr #had to make this into a new thing bc tumblr was being dumb

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