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Chapter Text

Hospitals should never become an habit and Ron Anderson was very sure about that.

Telling lies to hide the truth should never become an habit, yet Ron lied way too often for the sake of others.

Listening to the doctor's usual questions should never become an habit just as much as seeing your mother's gaze lost in space.

It's the same story every single time and he knows it by now, he understands it. He knows it's not easy, he's only seven but he gets it.

He understands that or maybe he just wants to convince himself that he does get it. That he has to, because if not him then who else?

All for Sam, Always for Sam and Only for Sam.

-What happened to you this time?- The doctor asks.

Think, quick. Think and lie. You always lie, it's simple by now. Just tell her something that a child would do. Tell her what she wants to hear and she'll leave you alone.

Ron looked up at the woman in front of him and, for the first time since he got there, he saw sadness in her eyes. Why did she look at him like that, he thought angrily.

If she understood the situation then why wasn't she helping?

Why, why didn't they do anything..?

-I fell off my bike... yesterday.-

The woman wasn't convinced by his words but nodded as she looked down and wrote something on her stupid medical record.

Ron felt his mother's gaze fixed on him, waiting for any mistake, any word too many to intervene. To correct it. To save both of them. If he closed his eyes he could still hear her screams from last night, Sam's cries in his cradle. If he closed his eyes he could hear everything. They were there. The screams were there.

Inside him. They frightened him, kept him from sleeping at night, and every hour awake at night filled him with terror. Terror for himself, for Sam and for mom.

Terror of what could happen to them.

-How much does it hurt from one to ten?-

Lie. Lie. Lie.

-It doesn't hurt, so zero.- he answered.

-You know...- The doctor looked at him as if she knew everything that was going on in his mind. -There is a saying in the worlds of us doctors, if a patient answers with zero he's probably lying. That's because you never, ever, truly feel like a zero. Something inside you always hurts, so, you are probably a one.-

The voices were getting louder, why do they keep screaming? Stop yelling...

Lie, keep lying.

-Well, then I'm the only one that's different from all of them.-

*

When the dead began to walk his father was drunk. There was not much for him and his mother to do but barricade themselves inside their house. The same house that Ron hated with all his heart and in which he was sure he was going to die. Dead without ever knowing the world. What was the world like without all the pain? Without the cuts and the bruises that covered his body and hurt as he helped his mother move furniture in front of the door and cover windows with curtains.

But he didn't die.

He didn't die while his mother sent him upstairs to hold his brother and keep him safe.
He didn't die while he stayed with him as long as it took, holding him close to keep him from crying.
He didn't die even when he heard objects fall to the ground and his father yell with rage.
Not when the dead banged their arms and heads against the doors, trying to get in.
Neither when his brother cried and he hugged them both, covering his ears and closing his eyes to keep his heart safe.

He didn't die.

He just stayed there.

*

-Ron, lower the gun.-

Why the fuck were his ears ringing? Why? Why did his body feel like it was on fire, like it was about to disintegrate? Why did his eyes burn and his heart seem to want to leave his chest?

The walkers were moving around them and when his gaze fell on the two nearby groups intent on devouring something, his mind seemed to remember and the heart inside his chest began to burn more violently.

-It's his fault.- He hissed looking at Carl and shifting his gaze to Rick, trembling hands struggling to keep his grip on the gun. He should have pulled the trigger. He could pull the trigger. They would all be dead. They are dead anyway.

One blow, one blow would avenge his mother, his father... His brother. He would have brought everything back to order. One single shot in Rick's head.

Die. Die. Die. Die.

-Ron... Look at me.- Ron didn't want to look at him, he didn't want to look at him ever in his life. It was his fault, his fault and his father's and their fucking group that his parents and brother were fucking dead. Devoured. Corpses.

Meat.

What was that smell of meat?

-Ron...Give me the gun...- Ron shifted his gaze to the pack of dead, eating. -No, Ron, hey, look at me.- And he brought it back to Carl in a few seconds. Why the hell was he approaching him like he was a fucking dangerous animal. He was completely in control of the situation, he could have shot everyone and... AND... died. But he didn't, right? Yet.

Yes...

Die.

It was Carl's hand that brought him back from his thoughts. It was the absence of the gun that stunned him, confused him. That made him feel like a fucking idiot. Why had he left the gun? The only weapon capable of killing him and them?

Oh no... He could still scream and draw all those walkers to himself... Die like his brother had died... A perfect ending.

But Carl's hand rested on his shoulder, squeezed it tightly, his gaze serious despite the fact that a spark of pain and sadness could be glimpsed in his blue eyes. And in that moment everything seemed to disappear, that burning turned into a huge wave that went through his body and suffocated him with sobs.

Carl said nothing, and Ron didn't remove the hand that took his wrist and convinced him to continue, leaving behind the smell of meat and the pain of death.

Chapter Text

The group had left Alexandria, moving quickly through the woods. They were silent, looking for a place safe enough to take refuge from the horde that had invaded their city. The anxiety and stress of the situation was obvious, no one dared to speak or ask questions.

Carl had not let go of his hand for even a moment and walked on quickly, his eyes focused ahead of him, following Michonne and his father toward a destination that was not specific. Ron had noticed that the boy kept turning from time to time to check on him, as if he was fearing for his safety, or perhaps the safety of his own group. Ron could not judge him for that, he just couldn't. It was true that, after all, he would be able to grab another gun and shoot one of them, perhaps Rick himself, before putting it in his own mouth and... He tried to ignore that thought, gripping the boy's hand in front of him.

Every step felt like agony, his feet ached, his head pounded with the screams of his mother and brother, and his fingers kept reaching for the gun he had foolishly let go off an hour earlier inside the city. His cheeks were wet with tears and his body trembled with quiet sobs. They had done everything to survive, everything.
Why, why had they had to die right now?
Why leave him alone in such a cruel world?

The realization hit him like a sudden fist and a fire started inside him. He was alone. Completely alone.

Everything he had ever known was gone, in the stomach of some walking corpse. The image of his mother's eyes, hollowed out in her head, staring at him from the stomach of one of them invaded his mind like poison, and a cry escaped his lips. Shock hit him like a wave as he collapsed to his knees, letting go of the hand he had been clutching up to that moment to bring his fingers through his hair and pull, pull, pull.

-No, no, no, no. Wake up. WAKE UP YOU IDIOT.-His screams filled the air as he sank his head against the grass, pulling at his hair until it was almost ripped out. His mother was smiling at him, and the swirling images in his mind were joined by his brother, kneeling to eat their father's body.

His throat was burning, his vision blurred, his body seized with spasms, and his head kept pounding on the ground hard, again and again and again.

-Somebody shut him up before he draws that horde here!- A feminine hiss was the only thing he could hear in his own drowning and then complete darkness enveloped him.

*

-I made you bacon and eggs for breakfast.- The smell of eggs reached his nostrils before he was even fully awake, and his eyes lazily opened to the figure in front of him.

He smiled at her, lowering his gaze to the plate that was laid on the kitchen table where two eggs and two pieces of bacon were arranged to depict a smile. He shifted the food slightly with his fork, looking up at the kitchen window from which a gentle light was coming in, enlightening the vases placed on the windowsill. Roses, Sunflowers, Lilies, all flowers given by his father that week to apologize, to ask forgiveness for the cries, the raised hands, the pain.

Ron was still a child but he understood the situation very well and hated his father for the harm he systematically caused them all. But despite all that hatred-he loved him. He was a child and despite the lies and the tardiness in school and the nights spent crying, a part of him still hoped that his father would change and finally, for once, raise him, be there: a father.

-You are strangely silent today.-His mother was back at the stove, her back turned to him, her shoulders moving slightly as she prepared another omelet for herself. -Is something troubling you sweetheart?-

Ron shook his head, looking at his mother's back. -Mom, I feel like I had a strange dream...but I can't remember what I dreamed of.- He muttered, frowning and lowering his gaze to his plate. The smile had turned, the bacon had pulled downwards, and now a sullen expression was looking back at him.

He paled, pushing the plate away with his hand. -Mom, the bacon moved on its own!- He exclaimed as he looked up at his mother.

What he found before him, however, froze the blood in his veins. His mother was looking at him, motionless on the other side of the table, a huge smile on her face, her teeth yellow. A piece of her cheek hung lazily down her neck, cut off from the rest of her face. Her arms were torn in several places, blood dripped down her forearms and towards her fingers, falling to the floor in a pool of thick red. A huge hole had been dug in her stomach and pieces of her organs were spilling onto the table in front of him.

A guttural sound and blood was spat from her lips, as if she was trying to say something. But perhaps the most disturbing part were her eyes, blank, lifted upwards, dull.

Ron jerked up, so hard that the chair fell to the floor, taking him with it.

-Mom...- His voice broke as he raised himself up on his elbows, his eyes immediately focused on his mother. The figure darkened from the darkness that invaded the room and advanced towards him quickly, ducking down and grabbing him with skeletal hands by the neck, nails sinking into his flesh, squeezing hard.

Ron began kicking, trying to strike the body above him with his feet, raising his fists to strike the bloodstained shoulders of his assailant, tears of terror sliding down his cheeks.

-Mom, no! No, please!-he pleaded, feeling the strength leave his tiny arms under the tight grip on his neck.

-No...No...- He begged but nothing seemed to move that figure.

-DADDY STOP PLEASE.-

And his father sank his teeth into his neck.

*

His eyes widened and he sat up abruptly, his hands immediately running to his neck as he inhaled large gulps of air. He felt every part of his body, his fingers searching for something, anything that even remotely reminded him of the shape of a bite...but he found nothing and was unhappy to realize that he was relieved by the news, disappointed in his unconscious mind that wanted to keep him alive at all costs.

He brought a hand to his face, wiping away the sweat that had crusted his skin, pulling his hair back with his fingers and bending his knees to his chest. Only then did he realize the blankets around his body and the bed he was sitting in. He looked around wide-eyed, reaching out a hand toward the framed photo resting on the night table. It was a picture of him, the one he had always kept next to his bed since they had run away from their home, the same picture that immortalized him, Sam, and Mom, together in a time when they were not yet supposed to...

Had to...

Worry about surviving.

His eyes filled with tears as he saw those figures again, and with a gesture of anger he threw the photo into the distance, clutching the covers on the bed in a fist. The photo tipped to the floor twice before settling, the glass of the frame shattering into a thin line that separated him from his mother and brother.

He looked away and in doing so became aware of the plate of mashed potatoes and carrots that had been left on the nightstand. From the look of it it appeared to have been brought in recently, and Ron had to admit, hunger was assailing him. Then he frowned, and as doubts began to form in his head as to where he was and why, the bedroom door creaked and the figure of Enid appeared before his eyes.

-Oh Ron...- she began with sad eyes.

A single sorry left her lips and Ron realized that nothing, nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

Enid was seated at the only desk in the room, her chair turned towards him and her legs drawn up against her chest. Ron realized how she was desperately avoiding his gaze and instead preferred to keep her eyes on the floor, or rather on the picture on the floor.

She hadn't picked it up, though it seemed obvious she wanted to do so as she walked over it. Ron noticed how her gaze lingered on the figures in the image and an immense anger invaded him. For her, for how she had abandoned him, throwing herself into Carl Grimes' arms and entrusting herself to Rick's group forgetting who, up to that moment, had taken care of her.

He had cared for her, had loved her in a way, for what he thought and knew about love, had offered her shelter and a place to feel safe and in return he had gotten nothing but to be left behind. Rejected. Forgotten.

How could she have left him alone? Where was she as the city fell, as his mother and brother died? She should have been there, mourning their deaths, but she wasn't. Even then she had refused to be on his side. And now she walked into that room and acted like she was innocent, like it wasn't her fault too.

Anger began to slowly build itself inside him.

He realized that the girl was trying very hard to avoid eye contact and Ron was sure that she was afraid of him. Of what she would have seen in his eyes. Ron knew that emotion well: hate. He hated her for everything. He hated them all. He should have killed them, they deserved to die, THEM, not his mother… not his little brother.

He exhaled and inhaled several times, trying to let go of all the anger inside him with one mouthful after another. Anger was dangerous. It was anger that had led Rick to kill his father. Anger had led his father to beat his mother. Anger had caused much pain in his life and it never really left. It stayed inside him, waiting in silence, it made him think it just disappeared, until something made it all come back…

He let some of that anger go and looked back at Enid whose gaze was now aimed at the window, lost in who knows what thoughts. Before Ron could say anything, she spoke.

It had been a long time since their last conversation, after the arrival of Carl and his group she had completely distanced herself from him spending all her free time with them. Ron had waited for her, hoping that she would be interested in explaining to them why Carl's group had suddenly become more important. But she had never come and Ron had never looked out for her. The death of his father had destroyed him so much that he forgot to talk to her. Not that he wanted to, or at least, not anymore.

-I should have been there.- She began in a low voice, continuing to look at the window. -I knew that Sam was terrified of walkers... he told me so many times when I spent my days here...- she continued visibly tightening her grip on her legs to avoid shaking. -I wonder if... if I had been there with him... or if we had all been together as always... he always believed that I could protect him from everything... if I had been there maybe... maybe.. .-

-But you weren't there.- Ron cut her off, anger obvious in his voice, the blankets clenched in his fists. -You weren't there, you don't know how it went, you were somewhere else, with Rick's group.- he murmured continuing to glare at her. -You weren't there while Sam stopped... while.. while they cut m..mom's arm... you weren't there while Rick left her to die devoured by those corpses.- Without even realizing it he too began to shake, eyes burning as he fought back tears, lips trembling.

-Sam died first... how... how do you think I felt? My ENTIRE LIFE has always been dedicated to protecting him from our father.- he sobbed bringing a hand to his face to hide from the gaze of the girl. -Where were you Enid? Where...?-

There was a long silence as Ron held both palms against his eyes, pressing hard against his skin to block the tears, to keep from crying, to hide his feelings behind a thick wall that only he could get through. He was trying so hard not to see his mother and brother in the bodies of those dead things again.

Then another sob was heard in the room, this time from the girl's lips. -With Maggie ... and Glenn ..- She said in a broken voice.

Ron froze, subconsciously inside him he hoped that the girl was just hiding, that she was unable to help him because she couldn't. That's what he had wanted to believe but he was wrong. He was completely wrong. She wasn't there because she was with them. And now he was aware of it.

The anger he'd so hardly swallowed in his heart came back all at once and with a single leap forward he stood up reaching out his hands towards her. It was then that he met her gaze for the first time since she'd entered his room and it was her eyes that blocked him with his hands still up in the air. His mouth went completely dry and he immediately tightened them into fists, bringing them down to his sides.

Enid wasn't scared, it wasn't that, it was the knowledge in her eyes. The silent "you're like your father" she had said without having to open her mouth. Ron looked down at the ground, closing his eyes and trying to find the strength not to collapse on his knees and beg for forgiveness. To convince her that he would never do it, that it was the pain, the anger, that mix of emotions that destroyed him.

-They were my family too.- She whispered as she stood up from her chair, Ron felt her reach out a hand towards him, as if she wanted to touch him to make sure he was okay.

-Well you were really quick to abandon them.- And the hand froze in mid-air. Enid said nothing, she just let her arm fall to her side, and after a moment's silence she hurried to the door, throwing it wide open and rushing out.

Ron looked at the photo on the floor, staring at his mother's weary smile and the gleeful expression on Sam's face. He bent down to pick it up, holding the frame between his fingers and caressing the figures imprinted in that photo that would surpass them all and would one day be forgotten by time.

Then he looked up, feeling a presence at the door. His eyes met the blue ones of Carl, who stood in the doorway, that silly hat on his head. The boy's eyes widened, as if he hadn't expected to be noticed and, after one last look around the room, he walked away, leaving Ron kneeling on the ground, the photograph in his hands and an expression of contempt on his face.

*

Several hours passed since Enid's visit, and the sun that had previously lit the room soon turned to the faint light of the moon that had risen in the sky. Ron had stared at it for a long time, lying in bed, thinking back to how many times as a child he had observed the same sky holding little Sam in his arms.

Sam never cried when he was in his arms and rested more peacefully than he could ever do in their house with the constant screams. And as he looked at his brother's angelic little face, Ron realized that he would do anything to protect him, even kill.

It had never occurred to him for even a moment that Sam might die…nor that he would live. It didn't seem like a possible option and yet he was there, alone.

He heard heavy footsteps approaching his room and settled down to be ready, prepared, not taken aback by what would be his next visit. Yet despite all his preparation he was surprised to see Rick open the door. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the figure of Rick advance towards the desk, pausing to stare at the same photo Enid had dodged so carefully.

Unlike Enid though, Rick picked up the frame from the floor, ran two fingers over Jessie's face, his expression distant, sad, and set the photograph down on the desk, keeping one hand on it as he turned to look at Ron.

There was a long silence as Ron fought hard against lunging at the man. He was certain that without a weapon he wouldn't have been able to do anything to him, Rick was bigger, stronger and Ron was just a boy, a really imposing limit against the man in front of him. But not enough if he had a knife...

His mind lit up and out of the corner of his eye he looked at the knife placed on the untouched plate of food, he had completely forgotten about the dish that had seemed so delicious before Enid's visit. His pupils dilated upon seeing the object and the room suddenly seemed to turn red.

Blood.

He could end it all, take revenge. Sure, it wasn't Carl... his plan had been Carl after his father died... but now... Now he could kill Rick, he was there, in the room, with him, alone. Once he took the knife he would only have to stick it down his throat and watch him die choked on his own blood.

His hands burned with the desire to reach forward towards the object but he wasn't stupid enough to forget the man's presence. If he lunged too quickly or suspiciously he would draw Rick's attention to himself and his plan would go up in smoke. So he decided to wait focusing his gaze on Rick again, looking for a single moment in which he turned his back to take advantage of it and attack him.

But Rick immediately became aware of his gaze and Ron noticed it from the way he brought a hand to the knife he had at his side, holding the hilt and looking the boy straight in the eyes.

-I know what you're thinking and it won't work.- He said without looking away.

-Who says that?- Growled the younger one.

-You're not stupid Ron, I think you know that between the two of us the one who has more strength is not you. You couldn't kill me with that knife.- Rick sighed pulling his hand away from his weapon and Ron saw him adjust the chair and sit down, keeping his hands on his knees and maintaining eye contact with the younger boy.

Ron wanted to kill him, every part of his body was screaming for revenge for his mother, for his brother, for the father Rick had killed. He was a madman, a madman, unable to control his emotions and his actions. He was a dangerous man and Ron was going to get rid of him.

-Your mother and your brother... it didn't have to end like that.- The man started to speak. -I should have realized that Sam wasn't able to deal with all that. Anyone in his place would have been afraid.-

Ron said nothing as he looked at him, anger eating him from the inside out. How could he even think he could talk about his family? The same family he had destroyed.

-Then why did you bring them there?- The boy hissed and saw in Rick's eyes something he never expected to see: regret.

-Because in situations like that someone has to make a difficult choice. They would have died in that house anyway and maybe you would have died with them. In this world, constant bets are taken. Live or die, run or stand still, fight or hide, it's all bets.- He hesitated for a moment as he clasped his hands together, squeezing them tight.

-Maybe you bet on the wrong thing then.- Ron looked away by bringing his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the feeling of wanting to grab the knife and plant it between the other's eyes.

-I was just trying to make you survive. I couldn't predict it Ron or I wouldn't have put your mother in that situation. I cared about Jessie...- Rick sighed getting up again and approaching the bed, stopping in front of the boy and looking at him from above.

-I know how you feel. Carl was just like you years ago, he was always angry, at me, at himself…but over time he let go of those feelings and you have to do that too. If you let that anger feed on you, you'll become dangerous and then I'll be forced to do things I don't want to do.- His voice had suddenly become harder, the voice of a father talking to his son. The real and only difference was that Ron would never see him that way and the very thought of him disgusted him.

-Like what? Will you kill me?- The boy burst out laughing looking up at Rick.

-No, but I'll have to force you to leave.- Rick looked at him a further moment before heading to the door, turning his back to him.

Ron's eyes lit up, a window, an opportunity. It was the right moment to take the knife and lunge forward, drive it into Rick's back and push until he was killed. He propelled himself forward with one foot on the floor and quickly reached for his plate, his eyes fixed on the man before him. Time seemed to stop for a moment as he gritted his teeth and pushed all the way to his feet to stand up, fingers closing where the knife should have rested on the plate. But instead of the knife he found himself holding air.

His eyes immediately focused on the plate and he froze, the knife was no longer there, it had been taken, removed from his reach and was now in the hand of Rick Grimes who was watching him from the open door.

-I'm sorry, Ron.- He admitted with a shake of his head. -I'll tell them not to bring any more objects with which you can harm someone or yourself.- He didn't add anything else as he closed the door behind him, letting the room fall back into darkness and Ron alone.

Rick Grimes was going to die.

Ron was going to be sure of that.

Chapter Text

Three whole days. He had stayed in his bed for three whole days. His eyes were fixed on the window across the room and his mind busy thinking of all the memories he had left of his family. He didn't want to accept it, he couldn't and he hoped that by staying there he could pretend everything was all right for a while longer.

If only they had stayed in the house that night maybe things would have been different.

The only noises that could be heard in the house were when Glenn opened the door to the room. It was his footsteps on the floor, the plate picked up from the bedside table and another placed in its place. Rick had kept his promise, Ron had noticed it the next lunch when Glenn had come in with a plastic plate and fork. He couldn't have killed anyone with those tools and had silently accepted his sentence.

Glenn didn't talk at all, he tended to go in and out quickly to avoid annoying him but Ron was sure that he had seen the older's eyes focused on him, a displeased expression. He had never done anything to make him feel better, nor had he given weight to that look, preferring to stay still and wait for the other to leave.

His nails were completely broken, constantly chewed by nervousness, and under his eyes huge dark circles had taken place after sleepless nights full of nightmares about his mother and brother.

The beginning of the fourth day, after another night spent in sweat and screams, Ron decided to get up. Being in that room was driving him crazy, the walls seemed to tighten around him and take his breath away, he felt more tired and depressed than he would have ever felt outside. Plus his plan of killing Rick wasn't going anywhere as long as he was there.

He got up and went to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and watching the water run into the sink for a few moments, then reaching his hands under the spray and bringing them up to rinse his face.

The reflection in the mirror scared him and not a little, he was so thin that he looked like a skeleton, the stress had eaten him alive leaving only a silhouette of the boy he was before. He tried to smooth his hair with one hand, it reached just below his ears but the tufts in front of him completely covered his eyes. He tried to move them behind his ears by just wetting them with a little water, hoping that they would stick to the side of his head.

He turned off the faucet, placing both hands against the sink and sighing, giving himself a push to convince himself to go into the other room and take the change of clothes that Glenn had left for him days before on the chair next to the desk. He scrutinized the black sweatshirt and the green cargo for a few moments and then, slightly wrinkling his nose, he put them on. He didn't throw his dirty clothes on the floor, instead he kept them in his hands, his eyes on the dried blood on the fabric.

His fingers tightened on the clothes. Was it hers? Was it his mother's? Or that of his brother? The thought of them made him shiver, was it perhaps the only thing aside from the photo that he had left of them? Perhaps Rick's group had already cleared their home of their belongings and offered it to someone else. As if they were nothing. As if they were expendable.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, hoping his hands would stop shaking if he gave himself time to breathe. When the trembling seemed to stop long enough to allow him to push the terrible thoughts away from his head, the boy opened the top drawer of the nightstand, placing his bloodstained clothes inside it. He wanted to be sure that if that was the last thing that connected him to them, it remained intact, out of the hands of those monsters.

He closed the drawer slowly, keeping his hand on the knob for a few moments, taking a breath and then advancing towards the door, reaching for the handle. He inhaled looking for the courage to cross that threshold towards what would have been his new life, towards the awareness that what had happened days before was not just a dream but a reality that he would soon have to get used to. Then, letting go of the breath in his body, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

No noise caught his attention and he wondered if he was alone in that house he couldn't recognize. Step by step he approached the stairs, walking slowly down the steps, his eyes searching for someone in the visible parts of the floor below. His face wrinkled in confusion, was it normal to leave him alone? Rick seemed really sure he wanted him to be watched, didn't they think he was dangerous?

Perhaps he could have gone into the kitchen where the knives layed in the drawers, got one…but how would he find Rick? And how would he kill him? It didn't seem like a great idea now that he was able to think about it, he wouldn't be able to take two steps in the street that the knife would be taken from him.

He crept silently towards the kitchen with the thought of taking the object and carrying it upstairs, hiding it under the bed or in the mattress and only taking it out when he would be able to use it. He opened the door to what he thought was the kitchen but turned out to be the living room and stopped in his tracks, his eyes on Glenn and Maggie talking softly across the room.

"Well, there goes the knife." He thought bitterly.

At the sudden noise the two adults froze, both turning to look at him, surprised to see him there. They certainly didn't expect him to be able to get up after only 3 days and appear before the same people his family died for. His heart thumped at the thought of them, pain starting to build inside him as he fought back tears. He was in a living room, and before him were Glenn and Maggie. His mother was no longer there.

He bit his lip hard, looking away from the two.

-Go.- He heard Maggie whisper and loud steps in his direction. He looked up at Glenn, staring at him and clenching his fists at his sides. Enid was with them, with these two, that night. Enid had chosen to stay with them. Why?

-You haven't eaten anything I brought you.- Glenn's voice was filled with sadness, as if he felt sorry for him. -You must be very hungry...- he hesitated looking in the direction of what must have been the kitchen, searching for something he could offer him. -We could...- he started.

-When I look at food I can only see my mother's organs poured into the street.- He didn't hesitate in saying those words, looking the other straight in the eyes, noticing the confusion that invaded them. The man wasn't expecting such a sentence, on the other hand Ron was sure that no one could expect it ... nor that anyone was able to answer to something like that.

-Some water perhaps...- Glenn continued, clearing his throat, ignoring his words and looking for a different way out. Why treat him so tactfully? Was he afraid to say it? Maybe they'd told him about his screams, about how he'd collapsed in the woods. Maybe he wanted to prevent it from happening again.

-I don't need to drink.- He murmured back, looking away, pursing his lips into a thin line.

Glenn remained silent to his cold answers evidently turning to Maggie as if to ask for her advice on how to behave. Ron completely ignored that gesture, instead looking in the direction of the door, wondering what the streets were like after three whole days and if, once he got out, he would see his mother and Sam…

He closed his eyes.

-Are they still out there?- He asked in a trembling voice. He didn't want to know anything else, he just wanted to know if, by leaving that house, he would have had to destroy the memory he had left of them with other terrible images. If he had to accept the harsh reality with a punch to the stomach harder than the one he had already taken.

Glenn was silent for a few moments and Ron was sure that he was watching him, he could feel it.

-They were the first ones we...recovered.- He whispered sadly, watching Ron sigh almost in relief and narrow his eyes. -Ron ... you and I don't know each other well, I ... I would just like to know how to help you.- he admitted extending a hand, placing it on the boy's shoulder.

The touch caught him off guard and he jerked away, his shoulder barely burning at the contact. He didn't want their hands on him. He didn't want to know anything. The thought alone disgusted him. Glenn lowered his hand in silence, just nodding as if he fully understood the emotions he was feeling at that moment.

Ron gritted his teeth. -I don't need your fucking help. You can't do anything anyway.- he hissed. Glenn sighed and then walked towards the exit. -Let's get straight to the point then. We have a job to do... plus focusing on something will help you to.. not think about it.- he said as he opened the door and went out of the house, stopping outside and waiting for the boy to follow him.

Ron stood still on the spot for a moment, finally looking at the other presence in the room who had been silent the entire time. Maggie seemed to be thinking about something as she watched him, the moment she realized he was staring back at her, she seemed to wake up, nodding slightly towards the door.

Ron walked out joining Glenn in the doorway. The morning sun hit him straight in the face and he had to put a hand to his eyes to adjust his vision on the street. When he finally brought the place into focus blood froze in his veins. Several bodies laid motionless in the streets, their clothes destroyed, organs splattered around. Dried blood littered the asphalt and the dead seemed to multiply the more Ron looked into the distance.

-How many... How many have you already burned?- He asked, his voice trembling.

Glenn sighed. -I think I've lost count.-

In which of those bonfires had his mother ended up in? Was there even anything left of her for him to mourn?

Tears filled his eyes and he forced himself to hold them back, pressing the backs of his hands against them, breathing in jerks and feeling his heart burn in his chest.

-Let's go.- Glenn whispered looking at him. -We have to take care of the barricades. Think about that.-

And Ron tried. He tried his hardest to think about that as he followed Glenn, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobs leaving his lips. But his mind was not silent.

He couldn't ignore all the things he would never do with them. He would not see his brother grow up or fall in love, his mother would never again make her favourite cakes or cut his hair, he would not celebrate christmas with them and his birthdays were going to be empty days.

He would never again walk into the living room to have his mother suddenly give him a hug nor would Sam ever wake him up in the middle of the night because he was afraid of the dark. He wouldn't hug him when he cried or make him laugh until he was red.

He would never see them again. Never.

They had disappeared, like wind, so far away that he could never reach them.

He froze in his tracks, looking down at the ground, tears blurring his vision. Glenn stopped too and Ron saw him turn towards him, taking a step forward before stopping himself.

He just wanted to smell his mother's perfume again, feel her embrace, that was all he asked for. He hugged himself sobbing, lowering so he could bury his face in his knees and cry. He stayed like that for a long time, letting go of sobs, stroking his arms slowly to console himself.

He was alone, completely alone.

Why them? Why them and not him?

If only fate had been different… but then again, Ron didn't believe in fate. He should have been there holding Sam's hand instead of squeezing Carl's… they'd have eaten him too and he wouldn't be there, crying like a baby.

"Men don't cry," his father always said. "Get off the ground, stop whining."

And Ron stood up, kept crying, but stood up, his hands outstretched to protect his mother.

He didn't know how long it had been since he started crying, but at a certain point everything stopped hurting, his chest emptied completely and his swollen red eyes lifted up to Glenn who was sitting in front of him, in the middle of the road, and watched him in silence.

-I'm so sorry Ron.- He said and didn't add anything else.

Ron nodded staring into space for a few moments before standing up, wiping tears from his eyes and watching the man get up as well. Glenn hesitated staring at the barricades in the distance and then at the boy, clearing his throat and walking in that direction.

It was enough for him to have his mind engaged, even if only for a little while, that would have been enough for him. He wanted to silence his thoughts, silence them forever.

-Glenn.- A voice in the distance and Tara came running up to the two, barely waving a hand to signal them to stop. A few feet away from them she stopped, bringing one hand to her side and the other to her chest to catch her breath. She cleared her throat before trying to speak and with a flick of her thumb she pointed to the space behind her.

Her eyes seemed to linger on Ron for a moment, probably on his condition and his swollen eyes, perhaps wondering if it was a good idea to tell him anything she was going to mention. Glenn also seemed uncertain but finally nodded and the woman seemed to be convinced.

-It's ready Glenn.- She said with a sad smile. -Are you sure it's a good idea...?- she added glancing at Ron again.

Glenn walked towards her nodding, turning to the younger one only to beckon him to follow.

-I have to show you something.- He said without adding anything else. Ron nodded, uncertainty on his face.

But his body was empty and his heart heavy, he was tired and fighting was the least of his worries, so he followed along.

Chapter Text

Sitting in a chair in the principal's office, Ron concentrated on looking at his shoes, ignoring the presence of his mother and father beside him. He didn't even remember how he got there and was trying to push away the feeling of anxiety and insecurity that was going through his body.

His mother had placed her hand on top of his, taking it in hers and squeezing his fingers tightly, perhaps to reassure herself or perhaps to keep him active, awake, ready to answer the questions that sooner or later they would ask him. Ron had immediately noticed his father's gaze upon seeing him enter the office, his eyes filled with anger, his fists clenched and his body tense. When he looked into his eyes he could see a sick desire to hit him, to grab him in front of everyone and hurt him.

-Why are we here?- His father's voice filled the air and Ron finally raised his head, looking away from his bloodstained shoes. He could still feel the bridge of his classmate's nose cracking under his knuckles and, if he closed his eyes, he could see the blood trickling down his lip, down the chin and onto the ground, a few patches smearing the top of his running shoes.

His eyes fixed on the headmaster who, folding his hands, sighed, looking at Ron for a long moment, thoughtfully.

-Ron hit his classmate today.- The man said and the hand that was holding his flinched, his mother bringing the other to her mouth in surprise.

-How... What did he do...?- She asked uncertainly, looking at her son out of the corner of her eye.

-He punched one of his classmates and broke his nose, Mrs. Anderson. Your son said that the boy in question wanted to hit him first and that his reaction was in defense. Those who were on the spot claim the opposite.- The man cleared his throat taking off his glasses to clean them with a small cloth.

Ron was sure that what he'd done had been to defend himself, but he didn't speak.

He felt his father shift nervously in his chair and turned to face him, shuddering as he noticed that he was staring right at him, fingers clasped together, pupils fully dilated. Anger, anger so intense that Ron could feel it from there.

-The parents have decided not to file a complaint but I thought it was correct to summon you here anyway to talk about the situation.- The principal continued putting his glasses back on, adjusting them on his nose with a finger. -It's not the first time this has happened, your son is violent Mrs. Anderson, he tends to react aggressively.-

-Ron...- His mother murmured turning completely towards him, her forehead beaded with sweat, taking both hands in hers. -Why did you hit that kid?- She asked him in a trembling voice.

Ron looked away in silence, preferring to ignore the woman completely. His mother seemed to be disappointed by this reaction but she didn't let go of his hands, bringing them against her knees and stroking their backs.

-What nonsense.- His father snorted. -It's a fight between kids, it's nothing that important. My son isn't violent at all, he's a girl if anything.- He added with a cold laugh, the anger obvious in his voice.

-It's not just the fight the reason why I decided to summoned you here.- The principal's attention was completely turned to his father, Ron immediately noticed the older man's eyebrows arching upwards, his inquiring gaze. -Your child has severe bruising on his back and arms. The nurse noticed them after checking on him today following his assault on the other student. I wonder why?- An assumption, Ron had learned that word in class, the principal was suspicious.

The air seemed to freeze suddenly. Ron felt his mother stiffen and squeeze his hands harder, as if to hurt him. She was terrified, sweat now beaded her neck, even her hands felt more clammy, her body was shaking, her breath came in jerks.

-What are you insinuating?- His father growled, standing up with obvious anger and pounding his fist against the desk, causing some of the objects placed on it to fall to the ground. The headmaster didn't move, looking at the man but remaining seated, clasping his hands together with a thoughtful expression.

-I wonder what the authorities will think when I'll tell them about the domestic violence your child suffers.- He said without turning too much on his words. And as his father raised a hand to grab the man by the collar of his shirt, his mother let go of his hands and stepped between them, grabbing her husband's arm before he could strike the man.

No one had ever been so direct about his situation, neither the doctors nor his teachers. Ron had always assumed that everyone ignored the truth because they were too scared to intrude, but the man behind the desk hadn't been afraid. He had been brave, he had named and immediately understood the problem. Maybe, finally, someone was going to save him, someone was going to help him.

-Let me go Jessie.- His father growled throwing a hateful look at his wife, it was obvious he wanted to hit her, but he seemed to hold back so as not to make the situation worse.

-It's not what you think!- His mother exclaimed, looking the principal in the eyes, shaking her head and smiling despite the obvious tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks. -Ron is just a very playful child, he often gets hurt climbing trees or falling off his bike, isn't it right, Ron?- His mother turned to him with her eyes filled with tears, hoping that he would understand and assist her in what was a huge lie.

And in a single moment he realized that no, no one was going to save him.

That he was doomed.

I don't have a bicycle, he thought, and I don't like climbing trees.

He was aware that the bruises on his body were due to the punches that he had received, the beer bottles that had been thrown at him and the kicks given in moments of anger. It wasn't his fault, nor his mother's, so why did she lie? Ron narrowed his eyes at his mother's expression and, without hesitation, turned to the headmaster, nodding.

-I hurt myself.- He said confidently, placing a hand on his heart. -I swear.-

Liar.

*

-Ron?- His ears were ringing, muffling any sound. His vision was blurred, his eyes fixed straight ahead, hands visibly shaking, breathing ragged. He kept wondering if what he was seeing was true, if he wasn't imagining it, if, punching himself, he would wake up from that nightmare.

-Ron!- That voice again, the distant sound, he couldn't recognize who was calling him, he couldn't even move from where he stood kneeling on the ground, his body paralyzed by events. What was happening?

The feel of a hand against his shoulder brought him back, his body shaking under the touch and his eyes resuming their function. He inhaled trying not to burst out with all the emotion he was feeling, pulling his gaze away from the wood in front of him to the figure that had been calling to him for so long.

He didn't know how long he'd knelt there, he remembered arriving with Glenn and Tara, following in their footsteps with blank eyes and a heavy heart, then nothing. It was clear that the two were no longer there and the sky had taken on a darker color, the sun was setting and night was slowly taking the place of day. His eyes focused on the figure in front of him and he was surprised to see two pairs of green eyes staring at him.

-How are you feeling?- Maggie asked removing her hand from his shoulder to sit next to him, pointing her gaze to the thing that Ron had been staring all that time, disappointment forming in her eyes and, perhaps, sadness.

Ron couldn't even be angry anymore and accepted the woman's presence with a sigh, looking down at his dirty hands. How did he feel? That was a question he had no answer to…

-I...- He began hoarsely, pausing to clear his throat. -I don't know.- He admitted bringing a hand to his chest, trying to explain the emptiness he felt inside. It was as if everything had been drained, his heart, the memories, the emotions, it was all gone.

His eyes returned to the wooden headstone.

Jessie Anderson, 34

Sam Anderson, 11

There were only their names, nothing else. The feeling of having them beneath him, of not knowing what parts of them were left intact…how much was left to bury, made him shiver. Who had brought them there? Who had collected their bodies, given them the final blow and then dug them a grave... Who had last seen the forgotten silhouettes of his family?

-I don't know.- He concluded after a few long minutes, turning to look at Maggie. She nodded, folding her hands against her stomach, closing her eyes for a long moment. She smiled slightly and Ron frowned at her. Was she laughing at him? Of what he was feeling?

-My father died some time ago, they cut off his head in front of my eyes.- She said after a long moment staring straight ahead, her eyes distant. A shiver ran through his body at those words, hands clenching into fists, was she seeking sympathy? Was she looking for consolation? She would have liked for him to tell her what it was like to see his mother and brother devoured by walkers ..?

He saw them every night, in every nightmare, and that was enough for him.

-I've felt so much anger... so much pain.- She continued closing her eyes, bringing a hand against her face, brushing her hair away from her forehead. -And then my sister joined him…a short time later.- She brought a hand to her chest, against her heart. -Like you I had lost everything... everything except Glenn.-

-How did you overcome it?- Curiosity got the better of him.

-I didn't. Ron, I know that's not what you want to hear, especially from me given the situation between you and Rick…but you'll never get over it.- Ron looked up at her and the woman returned his gaze, a sad smile forming on her face. -The pain, that will stay inside you forever... with time it could hurt less... but you'll never forget it.- She reached out her hand and placed it against his, Ron narrowed his eyes thinking back to his mother's, the warmth of her fingers...

A lost memory.

-What should I do then?- Uncertainty was obvious in his voice which cracked slightly at that question. He felt lost, alone, broken. He didn't want to go back to that room, he didn't want to fall asleep again, he didn't want to see them lying on the street again, he never wanted to hear their screams again... he was so tired, he hurt so much.

Maggie's arm suddenly hugged his shoulder and settled next to him, pulling him towards her, bringing her hand to stroke his hair, untangling the knots in his tufts with her fingers. Ron inhaled the woman's scent, his eyes just burning at the feel of her embrace. For a moment, a single moment, he felt like he was in his mother's arms, her gentle touch, little words of consolation after yet another fight between him and his father. He wanted to feel like this forever, to be stuck in that instant, in that touch, to feel his mother's presence a little longer, knowing that once he opened his eyes, he would come back to reality.

But it was only a moment, a single moment of peace, because Maggie spoke again.

-It will take a long time… you will hate this world for a long time, so much that you will wonder why you are still here… but eventually, eventually you will get out of it. Don't close your heart, that's all you have to do.- The hand on his head stopped for a moment.

Ron wanted to cry but his eyes were dry and his heart empty, he would go on, he would push himself to survive. He would not do it for himself but for the memory of his mother and Sam, for them he would have tried to survive ... he would have avenged them. For them he would have killed Rick Grimes.

*

They walked home together, through the streets of Alexandria, standing side by side. Maggie stroked her hand against his back several times, a silent consolation, Ron almost felt guilty for what he had said to Enid a few days before, for the things he had thought about them. But he couldn't help but hate her for preferring them...

He entered first, advancing towards the living room and only stopping when he noticed the dining table decorated with a tablecloth and four sets of dishes. Glenn must have set everything up while they were out, there were even some pots covered and the smell of meat filled the air. He inhaled, shivering slightly, realizing just now how hungry he was.

The days before he had completely forgotten that he had to eat and had preferred to torture himself rather than put anything in his mouth. When Glenn brought him that plastic plate, Ron couldn't help but feel the retching, the images of blood and walkers destroying his appetite.

But now it was different, his stomach burned with the desire of eating something.

He cleared his throat, following Maggie with his eyes and watching her sit at the head of the table, jerking her head to the chair next to her. Ron hesitated for a moment before sitting down, taking one of the steel forks in his hand, he looked at her for a long moment but ignored the intrusive thoughts that tried to take over his mind. He decided to focus on the empty seat at the table, wondering who was going to be dining with them. Until that morning he hadn't thought that anyone could live in that house, he was sure Rick had decided to leave him there to be observed, alone, he hadn't considered that it was anyone's home.

Before he could ask Maggie any questions, the front door opened and the sound of quick footsteps filled the air. Ron immediately glanced down the hallway and froze as the figure of Carl Grimes crossed the threshold into the living room where they were sitting. The boy looked surprised as well, maybe because he didn't expect to see him up so soon or maybe because he didn't expect to see him at the table with Maggie.

What is he doing here?

Maggie seemed to notice the tension in the air and cleared her throat to get their attention. -Carl often dines with us, I forgot to warn you that we weren't alone tonight."-The woman's eyes immediately fixed on the older boy and Carl seemed to calm down, moving across the table to sit down as well.

Ron followed his every move, eyes narrowed. He watched the other move the chair and sit down, taking off his hat with one hand and placing it on one of the empty chairs next to him, then leading one hand to undo two of the top buttons of his shirt. It was then that he looked away, towards the living room, concentrating on looking at anything but Carl Grimes.

The desire to take the knife resting next to his plate was enormous, but Ron held back, squeezing the fabric of his pants between his fingers, trying to ignore the feeling inside him.

Glenn suddenly came out of the kitchen, he seemed pleased seeing everyone sitting at the table. In his hands he held another pot which he quickly carried to the center of the table, lifting the lid with a grin.

-So... Here's mutton, mashed potatoes and a salad made with delicious Alexandria's vegetables.- Glenn announced placing a hand on Maggie's shoulder, smiling as soon as he looked at the small group. Ron swallowed, putting a hand to his stomach and licking his lips, he was sure he would be able to eat it all if he put in the effort.

After arranging the various trays and having lifted the lid to reveal the dishes he had prepared, Glenn also settled down at the table, immediately taking a portion of potatoes to place on Maggie's plate. When all four of them arranged food on their respective plates, not without a little awkwardness passing forks between Ron and Carl, the man decided to speak.

-Carl is here to say something.- He announced looking at him, as if to signal him to speak. The boy jumped, pursing his lips into a thin line, glancing at Ron. He didn't seem at all sure that he wanted to talk to him and it caused a slight anger inside him ...

He still remembered when Carl had first arrived in Alexandria, their friendship, the way he had found the boy's hair fascinating… At the time he had thought that they could become best friends, yet their paths had taken completely different directions, turning their lives upside down. From friend to foe, what a twist of fate. Perhaps if he had met him in another life things would have been different, but he was here, in the present, and the reality for them was very different.

The other didn't seem at all inclined to talk to him and preferred to look at the food on his plate, moving a piece of meat back and forth with his fork.

After long minutes of silence Ron snorted, a half laugh leaving his lips. A cold laugh, filled with anger, his eyes staring at the other and his right hand gripping the fork. Why was he there? He didn't even want to talk to him... Why, if he hated him so much, had he held his hand that day? Why get him to move on? To live?

The memory of Carl's hand in his suddenly hit him, his fingers, the warmth he'd felt against his palm, the feeling of protection, of safety…

And then he was submerged, the screams resurfaced in his mind.

Rick's hatchet against his mother's arm...

Sam's screams...

Carl coming up to take the gun out of his hands.

-Do you have something to say?- Said the other bringing him back from that trail of pain, just in time. A glint of annoyance crossed his eyes and Ron noticed how he, too, was venting on the fork he was holding in his hand. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the emotions he was feeling, trying to relax, to forget. He had so many things to say…

But it wasn't that what worried him, it was desire, the same desire that told him to take the knife next to his plate and plant it between the other's eyes.

But he couldn't… not yet.

-No.- He looked away.

Dinner passed silently, Ron noticed how Maggie and Glenn preferred to keep silent, thus hoping to avoid useless quarrels, occasionally stroking each other's hand. Ron was too focused on the food on his plate and kept charging to fill his stomach, too worried that it might suddenly disappear. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd been feeling up until that moment and how that had slowly eaten him from the inside out.

Glenn was the first to stand up after dinner, collecting the dirty dishes from the table and heading to the kitchen to clean up. Maggie thanked him and then devoted her attention to the two boys, sighing noticing the evident silence.

-Carl... Rick was clear, until you've spoken you won't be able to go home.- Said the woman, she didn't add anything else, getting up from the table and in turn picking up the dirty glasses and napkins. Carl seemed to wrinkle his nose but nodded, his long hair falling on his blue eyes. They both looked at her until she left the room, closing the kitchen door behind her.

Silence.

Ron waited a long time but Carl didn't seem willing to talk and that perhaps unnerved him more than hearing what he had to say. Something stupid for sure. Maybe he was there to blame him, to make him feel like an idiot for failing to defend his family, to remind him that the only reason he was alive was because of the hand he had hold during the conquest of Alexandria.. .

If only he hadn't convinced him to go on…

If only he'd let him die.

-I won't thank you.- He said without even realizing.

Carl immediately looked up at him, confusion in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. -For what?-

-For saving my life.- Ron looked away.

A long silence, and then, surprise.

-I would never have asked you to do that.-

This was something Ron hadn't expected and it shocked him, keeping every word out of his mouth. Carl looked back at him, placing a hand on the table, keeping his eyes fixed on him. Ron remembered the same eyes that had looked at him that night…he had seen terror in them and an emotion that he hadn't been able to understand.

Carl had been afraid…of what, Ron didn't know. It hadn't been for his father though, of that he was certain. The gun he'd reached for, the hand he'd shaken, the fear Ron remembered was aimed at him. Carl's fingers gripping his…those were things he didn't understand, that confused him.

Maybe that was his way of getting revenge... But for what?

-Oh.-

Carl didn't say anything else and he didn't feel the need to either. The two remained silent for a long time, looking everywhere but each other, clearing their throats several times to find the right words. It was Ron who broke the silence, after getting tired of listening to the clatter of silverware and plates coming from the kitchen.

-What did you have to tell me?-

-What?-

-Maggie. Maggie said you were here to tell me something.-

Carl looked him straight in the eyes and suddenly seemed to remember the real reason for his visit, he nodded settling himself better against the chair, placing both hands on the table and clearing his throat.

-Yes, right. I'll teach you how to shoot.- His statement took all the words out of his mouth, indeed, he was speechless. Shoot? Were they totally crazy? Carl seemed to read his mind and shook his head. -Don't get any strange ideas, I'll keep an eye on you and you'll have the chance to have a weapon only while you're with me.- he said in a harsh tone, placing a finger against the table, as if to indicate a point. -A precaution... in case you ever have to defend yourself.-

Ron gritted his teeth, nodding. He could work with that information, a weapon in his hands could only fuel his desire for revenge. If he could get rid of the other long enough maybe he could find Rick and kill him. He tried to keep his expression calm, but his heart was pounding and his brain couldn't stop thinking about how he was going to kill Rick Grimes.

-Sounds like a good thing.- He forced himself to smile, returning the look that Carl gave him, standing up to the inquisition in his eyes. At the questions, the insecurity, and that strange look, as if he was thinking about something Ron couldn't get to.

The boy sighed, getting up from the table and nodding, as if he was relieved to have finished such a difficult task. -I'm done.- He said without another word, picking up the sheriff's hat with one hand and placing it on his head, arranging it against his long hair, brown wisps falling over his eyes.

He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on Ron for a few moments before heading towards the kitchen door. He opened it and closed it behind him and Ron heard muffled voices on the other side talking about something. He couldn't follow the conversation, eyes staring straight ahead, a grin on his lips.

A gun.

Perhaps the universe had decided to give him a sign.

Maybe it was a blessing.

All he could do was wait and find the right moment.

Ron had never been very patient, but for Rick Grimes he was going to be.

Chapter Text

The next day, he opened his eyes with difficulty, staring at the ceiling above him. He had dreamt of his mother again, her hands against his face, her eyes turning black, her fingers trying to tear his skin apart. A sigh escaped his lips; he was exhausted, tired, he wished he could forget everything. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Now he had a grave to visit, flowers to bring, and empty words for people who were only distant memories.

He got up, straightened his clothes, and washed his face, quickly descending downstairs. On the last step, he noticed the table set with two mugs, Maggie already sitting there, engrossed in drinking a cup of what was evidently tea. Ron approached her, taking the other place, looking at the prepared tea covered with a small saucer to prevent it from getting cold.

-How did you sleep?- The woman asked, taking a cookie from the plate between them, dipping it in the tea and bringing it to her lips. Ron looked at the cookies, unsure whether to take one or not. He removed the plate from his cup and inhaled the scent of black tea that reached his nostrils.

-Another nightmare.- He murmured with a sigh, taking a cookie himself, bringing it directly to his lips without dipping it. He chewed it for a while, staring at a distant point, squinting his eyes. -How about you?- he asked, turning his gaze back to the woman in front of him.

Maggie seemed to freeze at that question, reflecting on the answer to give. She took a long sip from her tea, playing with the cup held between her hands, sighing. -I dreamt about my father last night.- She said with a sad smile, placing the cup on the table. -We were at home; we had a farm, you know, filled with cows and horses... That place was paradise for me. I thought we could overcome everything by staying there...- She wiped away a small tear that had threatened to leave her eyes. Ron listened to her in silence, his gaze filled with sadness. Was he going to suffer their death for that long as well?

-We talked.- she smiled. -I told him about everything that has happened since they took him away from me... When I woke up, it felt like a slap in the face.- She admitted, looking at the bowl of cookies again. -I'd say I had a bad night.- She reached out her hand suddenly, and Ron tensed, watching her stand up, knocking over the chair behind her. He saw her rush to the bathroom, dropping to her knees beside the toilet and vomiting loudly. It took him a moment to recover from the shock, but in a single movement, he also stood up, circling the table to reach her.

-Are you okay?- he asked. That's when it hit him, disgust. Why was he worried about her? That was impossible; he was supposed to tolerate them, that was it. That was the plan, to endure, to kill Rick and disappear. Not to worry. He wondered when the line separating his hatred for them had been broken. That feeling would slow him down, make him weak, hurt him. That wasn't what he wanted...

Maggie had another bout of vomiting, and Ron instinctively reached out, gently stroking her back to comfort her. He frowned in confusion, what had made her react like that, the cookies? It was impossible; after all, he was perfectly fine. And the dinner the night before had been perfect; nothing could have caused something like this... unless.

He didn't say anything as she sat back against the wall, wiping her lips with her sleeve, moving the strands of sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water, then returned to the bathroom to offer it to Maggie. She seemed to smile at him as she took it in her hands, a weary sigh leaving her body, before bringing it to her lips and taking a long sip.

-Thank you, Ron.- she said.

The scene seemed to change before his eyes, the bathroom walls transforming and expanding. Suddenly, he found himself in his own home, in his bathroom. The bathroom tiles were pure white, the bathtub filled with water, and the curtains were open, allowing sunlight to stream in. Maggie's hands had turned into those of his mother, and the figure before him wore the smile of the woman he missed more than anything.

-Mom...- he murmured, surprised to hear his own voice sounding small, uncertain, and broken. His mother stood before him, holding a glass of water in one hand while the other rested against her belly, a tired smile and a few strands of blonde hair falling across her face. Ron felt breathless, he thought he would never see her again except in his dreams, yet there she was, right in front of him. His breath caught in his throat, and his hands began to tremble as he reached out to take his mother's free hand, bringing it to his face. He pressed his cheek against it, letting out a broken sigh. -I miss you so much.- he struggled to say.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, and Ron felt her hand gently caress his cheek, a smile forming on her face. -I miss you too.- She said, then withdrew her hand from his face to place it back on her belly. -We both miss you.- She added looking into his eyes. Ron felt a thud in his chest and immediately reached out his hand, closing it around nothing as the room reverted to its original colors, and Maggie's figure reappeared before him.

He felt lost, his eyes immediately scanning the room. It was dark, the curtains closed, the bathtub transformed into a shower, and his mother had disappeared in the blink of an eye. His heart was heavy, and his eyes filled with tears. He had imagined it all.

-Are you okay? You've been staring into space for a while.- Maggie's voice spoke to him before he could burst into tears. Ron brought a hand to press it against his own eyes, holding back until he felt the urge to collapse disappear. He nodded, looking back at her, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on her. He let his gaze drift down to her stomach, staring at it for a long moment.

-Are you pregnant?- He asked, his hand clenched into a fist. Maggie remained silent for a while, then nodded, lowering her gaze to her own belly, placing a hand against her shirt, a sad smile forming on her face. -I can't tell for how long. Maybe three weeks.-

Ron nodded, locking eyes with her, thinking about his mother, the morning sickness, him bringing her water and protecting her when his father got angry and tried to hurt her. It had been a terrible pregnancy for her, and Ron often wondered if Sam would survive, especially after reading on his mother's phone how stress could cause a miscarriage. He was so terrified of losing what would have been his brother that he tried every possible way to redirect his father's anger towards himself. He would mess up the house, steal his cigarettes and hide them, refuse to bring him beer bottles, and endure every blow he received. He felt like a soldier, always on the front lines to defend his queen.

-When Sam was born... I think it was the most beautiful moment of my life. My father was a difficult person, often violent and cruel, but in his own way, he loved us. My brother would cry all the time, and my father didn't like that at all, so I had to take him outside until he calmed down. I remember all the times I would tell him stories while sitting in the garden, looking at the stars...- Maggie listened attentively, and for the first time, Ron felt understood. Someone wasn't judging him for his father's actions; she were just listening, something he had always missed. -When he grew a little and started walking, I felt so proud of him. His first words were 'Rown,' yeah, Rown! I was so embarrassed, I always ran away from him because he would follow me everywhere. I didn't have a moment of peace, and my mom would just laugh watching us.- His voice broke.

Maggie reached out, placing her hand on his shoulder. -Go on.- she urged him with a smile. -Keep thinking about happy memories.-

And Ron tried, releasing a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, looking up at the ceiling to find that trail of warm and beautiful memories that filled his broken heart. He remembered his brother's smile, his chubby hands reaching out to him, his eyes filled with wonder and respect. He always felt like a superhero when he was around him. -I remember hiding in the closet, hoping he wouldn't find me, but when he started crying, I always felt guilty and jumped out. He would laugh as if it were some kind of funny game, and then clap his hands. He was always with me, in the morning, at lunch, in the evening in the garden. He would often escape from my mother's bed to come to mine, struggling to climb up and lie next to me.- A laugh escaped his lips, and he was surprised. He had missed laughing so much, the feeling of warmth and happiness that was now filling his heart.

-You were very close.- Maggie smiled, gently caressing her belly, a faint smile on her face. -Maybe you two will get along as well.- And with those words, the magic seemed to vanish, and Ron's blood ran cold. Maggie thought he would be there for the birth of the baby. Maggie didn't know anything about his plan. To her, he was a lost boy without goals, someone who was starting to live again. She had no idea about Rick, the gun, the escape routes he was preparing in his mind for the moment that would soon come.

The image of the ax on his mother's arm came back to his mind, a shiver running down his spine. His brother's terrified gaze as the walkers sank their teeth into his cheek. The suffering, the terror, the pain... Ron could feel them within himself. His brother's memories seemed to taint themselves with red, and a broken breath escaped his lips. What was the point of talking about the dead?

-Ron?- Maggie's voice sounded concerned. Ron clenched his fists, refusing to stop as he stood up, refusing to turn around, refusing to trust again the same people who had killed his family.

-I need to see Carl now.- He said, not adding anything else, leaving the room and the woman behind. He made his way to the exit, putting on his shoes and leaving the house quickly enough to not be stopped by her. He didn't want to hear questions, let alone her voice. He just wanted to clear his mind... he wanted that gun, and he would get it at all costs.

*

He reached the barricades almost immediately, observing Abraham carrying some wooden planks in the distance. The size of that man made him shiver; he wondered how it was possible to be so tall and muscular. He, on the other hand, was rather small in stature and didn't have much flesh on his bones. The past week hadn't helped this aspect, reducing him to a skin-and-bones creature. Not only did he feel weaker, but his head would spin with the slightest effort and if he were to fall on the street, no one would find him.

Abraham stopped as he passed by, looking down at him and tightening his grip on the planks he was carrying over his shoulder. He looked at him for a long moment, furrowing his eyebrows. -How are you feeling, boy?- He asked in a deep voice.

Ron raised an eyebrow in confusion; it was certainly the last thing he expected to hear from the man. He cleared his throat, clearly ignoring the other man's muscles, although the temptation to look at them was strong. The sweat made them stand out, he noticed out of the corner of his eye.

-Fine.- He lied, and Abraham seemed to notice perfectly, nodding in response to his words.

-Then lend a hand.- He said, abruptly leaving one of the planks in Ron's trembling arms. Ron felt himself being pulled down by the weight and struggled to lift it up, his arm muscles trembling with the effort. His face must have been incredibly red because the man laughed and started walking again. Ron was sure he was going to die, but step by step, he tried to keep up, breathing heavily and exhaling more air than he could take in. It was torture; he didn't even realize how far he walked behind the redhead. All he felt was his body burning and sweat beading on his shoulders and forehead. When Abraham stopped and leaned the planks against the barricade, he turned to look at him and seemed surprised.

-I thought you would have stopped after a few steps.- He exclaimed, clearly astonished, approaching to take the plank from his hands and looking at him again. -You're persistent, I like that.- He nodded with a huge smile.

Ron could only bend forward, resting his hands on his knees and breathing deeply, his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the man's laughter in front of him. What was so funny? He could have risked passing out under that scorching sun. Not to mention the fatigue. He thought that perhaps the man in front of him was even crueler than Rick Grimes.

-Abraham, leave him alone.- Rosita's figure exclaimed, standing on a ladder, busy hammering one of the planks, presumably to secure it with a nail. Was this what Glenn wanted him to do the day before? Carry planks? He felt almost lucky not to have ended up there; he wasn't capable of it, that was for sure.

He struggled to straighten up, looking at Glenn, who was standing a little further away and occupied with the same task as Rosita. He immediately approached, stopping next to him and clearing his throat to get his attention.

-Hi, Ron.- The Asian guy said, smiling slightly and removing the nail he was holding with his teeth from his mouth. He placed the hammer on the ground and wiped his hands on his pants, turning completely towards him. -How's Maggie?-

That was a good question. Did Maggie say something to Glenn about her pregnancy? Or was it a secret she only revealed to him? -She's fine.- He lied. -I'm looking for Carl.- He continued immediately.

Glenn ran a hand against his chin, looking around and furrowing his brows thoughtfully. Then he pointed in the direction of the armory with a finger. -If I remember correctly, I saw him and Sophia there early this morning. But since it's lunchtime, they might not be there anymore. If you want to try.- He said, picking up the hammer from the ground and glancing into the gap of the barricade to ensure no walkers had approached during his distraction. -If you can't find them, you can always come back here and lend a hand.- He added, placing the nail against the piece of wood.

Ron nodded, following Glenn's movements with his eyes, then turned his attention back to the armory. From where he stood, he could only catch a glimpse of a small part of the building. It was nearly impossible to enter without being seen, especially with the reputation he now had. He wouldn't even take a step inside without someone stopping him. Maybe even killing him.

He clenched his fists and, after a moment of preparation, started walking in that direction. The armory seemed like an impossible plan, but stealing Carl's gun, hitting him in the head, and searching for Rick—that might have worked. He just had to be careful to find the right moment and seize it. He would give anything to go back to that night and pull the trigger, even if it meant being devoured by walkers. The image of Rick Grimes lying on the ground, surrounded by his own blood, was the only thing that kept him going. And he would achieve his goal, that was certain.

He reached the entrance to the armory but swiftly passed by, catching a glimpse of Denise out of the corner of his eye. It would have been easy enough to threaten her and force her to give him a weapon, but without a knife and in broad daylight, anyone could see and stop him. By evening, stronger figures guarded the armory, sometimes even Daryl himself. Ron wasn't willing to risk a direct confrontation with that man.

Quietly, he circled around the armory, searching for any openings, but every window was closed and barricaded from the inside. He wouldn't be able to enter from any side, that was certain. He let go of that idea completely and scanned the area for Carl's figure, hoping he was still in that vicinity. He spotted him sitting in the grass, Enid with her head on his legs, and Sophia next to them. The three of them were clearly engaged in a conversation, and Carl's hat layed on the ground, his brown locks tied in a ponytail. Well, that was a new sight.

He approached them, observing the blonde as she gestured with her hands in every possible direction to explain her point. He had only ever seen her from a distance, and he had no interest in getting to know her up close. Just like Carl, she seemed like an annoying person, and he hated the short haircut that made her resemble a hamster. He barely pursed his lips as he reached them, coming to a halt and looking down at them.

Enid immediately sat up. Since their encounter in his room and the things he had said to her, they hadn't seen each other again, and Ron could tell from her expression that she didn't seem angry with him, more relieved to see him standing. He didn't understand her. Despite everything that had happened, she still seemed to care about him, and that only infuriated him. He ignored her, shifting his gaze for a moment to Sophia and finally settling on Carl.

He immediately noticed how the boy's hair fell in a few disheveled strands on his face, the ponytail collecting the larger piece. His eyes followed one of the longer strands that silently slid along the boy's cheek, stopping at the level of his lips. Carl's tongue suddenly appeared and lightly moistened his lower lip, causing Ron's eyes to widen. He seemed to awaken from his trance and visibly blushed, raising his eyes to meet Carl's. He was surprised to find the boy's eyes fixed on his own, wondering what thoughts were swirling in his head. What the hell!?

He took a step back, trying to regain control of his breathing and his heart, which had decided to start racing. He didn't understand what was happening to him, but he hated that feeling with all his being. He had to distance himself from it and focus on something else. He tried to clear his throat and clenched his hands into fists, maintaining eye contact with the other boy.

-You said you would teach me how to shoot. I'm here for that.- He said, visibly swallowing, hoping the tension in his body wasn't apparent. He was sure he could feel a strong warmth surging in his lower body, but he tried to completely ignore it and instead concentrate on the breeze brushing against his arms.

Carl stared at him for a long moment, wearing an almost bored expression. He seemed on the verge of saying no but didn't, getting up from the grass after picking up his hat. He ran his fingers through his hair, adjusting the elastic band on his wrist, and nodded slightly. Such arrogance, Ron felt filled with anger. It was incredible how full of himself he was and for what!

Enid and Sophia promptly followed him, with the latter securing the pistol at her side, clearly placing a hand on it and looking Ron straight in the eyes. He recognized the threat, the same movement that almost everyone made when they saw him. It was harder to find an opportunity to strike Carl and escape with Sophia in the middle. The girl would shoot him before he even tried anything, it was evident in her eyes.

-First wrong move and I'll put a bullet in your head.- She seemed to have read his thoughts. -I don't care how many walkers I might attract.- She added. Ron squinted his eyes, wanting to respond but only nodding instead. Perhaps if they thought they had complete power over him, they would let their guards down, and then it would be easier to strike.

Then Enid placed a hand on her friend's shoulder, shaking her head and looking in Ron's direction. -Stop it.- She said. Did she just defend him? Ron found himself squinting, feeling the pain of losing his only friend in his bones. Their relationship had been difficult since he met her, but he cared for her, cared so much that the anger he felt toward her seemed to slowly be sucked away, leaving only disappointment to completely envelop him.

-I don't need your help.- He replied without even realizing it, spewing venom just to hurt her, to push her away, and to push away the feelings he felt inside. Sophia seemed to freeze at their words, visibly clenching her jaw, restraining herself from hitting him, and instead, walked in the direction of the training camp.

Enid looked at him for a long moment, her eyes filled with sadness and disappointment, then nodded and quickly followed the other girl, leaving the two of them behind. Ron remained motionless for a long time, staring at the spot where the girl had disappeared and only relaxing when he no longer saw her, letting out a small sob. He was so tired of feeling all these emotions, so tired of the pain inside him, so tired of waking up every day in a world he hated.

He didn't notice he was crying until Carl cleared his throat, looking to the side. Was he judging him? Did that arrogant bastard think he was better than him? Him, who had never lost anything? Sadness suddenly turned into anger.

-What's wrong?- he snapped. -Do I look pathetic to you?- he added, trying to wipe his face with his hands. Carl turned immediately, a mix of confusion and annoyance on his face. He seemed almost on the verge of approaching Ron but stayed in his place, clenching his fists.

-No, I didn't say that.- He exclaimed, shaking his head. -I would never say that.- he added angrily. -I'm not a monster, Ron!-

-Oh no?- he replied, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. He wasn't a monster? Was he mocking him? -Keep repeating it, maybe someday it will be true.- He stopped at his own words, looking into the boy's eyes and biting the inside of his cheek. Had he gone too far? Had he been cruel? And, most importantly, why did he care?

Carl recoiled, his gaze shifting to the side, his jaw clenched, anger and contempt in his eyes. He clenched his fists and turned toward the direction where Sophia and Enid had walked, gesturing for Ron to follow him and walking away without saying anything else. It seemed really strange to see no reaction from the boy, but he didn't care about apologizing, he didn't care, and he never would. Carl was just a pawn in his plan, and the fact that he had decided to save him that night was his problem.

He followed him silently, moving quickly enough to keep pace, and when they reached one of the most secluded spots in Alexandria, Carl pulled out the pistol he had been carrying in the back of his pants. Ron hadn't noticed it, and he was visibly surprised. The weapons had always been closely guarded since he had arrived there, and no one could use them whenever they pleased without going through the higher-ups. Yet Carl always seemed to have one within reach, always ready to use it if the need arose. Ron was sure he slept with it, maybe kept it under his pillow, and perhaps with a stroke of luck, one day an "accidental" shot would blow his brains out. Ron shook his head, shifting his gaze from the boy to Sophia, who was clearly keeping an eye on him, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows furrowed.

He ignored her, focusing again on the boy who removed the safety from the gun and turned suddenly, pointing it ahead and firing a shot. The bullet went off, hitting a target Ron hadn't seen, hanging on a tree in the distance. Carl stared at the hole created in the target for a moment, then turned and handed the gun to Ron.

Seeing that gun so close to him froze him for a long moment. He couldn't look away, the mere idea of holding it in his hand, of shooting with the same ease with which Carl had done it, of killing Rick Grimes by aiming at his head and seeing what his last words would be. The blood in his veins started pumping dangerously, Ron could feel it, the desire mounting in him like thunder in the middle of a storm. It was so close, so close but so far away. He thought of his brother, the smell of blood, the clothes carefully tucked away in the bedside drawer...

-Ron.- Carl's voice brought him back from those thoughts, and the image of Rick Grimes lying on the ground in his own blood seemed to disappear from his mind, replaced by his senses. He could hear the chirping of birds again, Enid's voice saying something to Sophia, the breeze rustling through his hair. He found himself in the garden, sitting between his mother and his brother, feeding the rabbits that had made their nest under their porch. For a moment, he felt like a child, far from all the evil, from all the rot. But it was only a moment because his eyes met Carl's, and suddenly he was submerged in the sea, breathless.

-Ron.- Carl called him again, his gaze softening for a moment, as if he understood what he was thinking, as if he could ever understand something like that. -Focus.- he added, reaching out with his other hand to take his. Ron felt his fingers brush against him, and before he even realized it, the gun was clenched in his own fingers, his eyes once again fixed on it. But he couldn't focus on Rick or the blood he hoped to see around him anymore. The only thing he could see was Carl's hand, still clasped in his. The same hand that had held his that night, the same hand that had led him out of Alexandria.

He pulled away as if burned, gritting his teeth and gripping the gun tighter, turning towards the target and raising the gun himself. What was so complicated about it? He could do it with his eyes closed. He still remembered the lesson Rick had given him that time, the same lesson that had poisoned his mind with images of his death. He would make him suffer, that was his main thought as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went off, but it hit nothing, disappearing into thin air.

-Try again.- Enid's voice reached his ears, causing embarrassment, anger, pain. Was this what would have happened if he had fired that shot that night? Would he have missed the target? Would he have killed them all for nothing? He wouldn't even have the satisfaction of avenging his family? He tried again, and again, nothing.

Again, nothing.

Again, again, click.

Empty. He had emptied a magazine of bullets and failed to hit anything. His hands burned, and his eyes struggled to focus on anything in front of him, his vision blurred. He didn't hear Enid's stupid consolations or Sophia's comment. All he could feel was a sense of uselessness. How could he avenge his mother, his father, and his brother if he couldn't even hit a stationary target?

He reached out to grab the loader that Carl handed him, reloading the gun and raising it again. His hands trembled with nervousness; he couldn't concentrate. The target seemed to move before his eyes. Something about staying calm, Rick had told him something like that during their lesson, something about not panicking.

-Focus.- Suddenly Carl was closer, his voice brushed against his skin like a whisper, and his body tensed completely, eyebrows furrowed. Was this his way to make him feel better? Ron thought. Then he felt the other's hands on his arms, adjusting them, moving the gun higher, at eye level. Carl positioned himself to the side, looking in the direction of the target. Ron could see his face in his peripheral vision, the hint of a beard on his chin, the flush on his cheeks. He was so close that if Ron had turned to look at him, they would probably have been face to face, and maybe that was the main reason why he didn't turn.

-You have to see the target through this point here.- he said, pointing to the tip of the gun and following the line to Ron's eyes, withdrawing his finger before touching him. -And when you need to focus, you inhale and let go. Everything around you has to disappear.- It was easy for him to say, when the only thing Ron could focus on was his low voice, almost a whisper, and the sensation of his touch on his arm.

He tried to inhale and exhale, the sound came out broken, but after a few attempts, he felt more relaxed. His eyes focused on the target, and he told himself to ignore the beautiful smile forming on the boy's lips. -Shoot.-

The shot rang out, and the target detached from the tree, falling to the ground.

Chapter Text

-You did it.- Sophia appeared the most surprised, her eyes lighting up as she looked at the target. Ron, on the other hand, hadn't even realised what happened and had abruptly moved away from Carl, throwing the gun at his chest.

-Are we done?- He growled, his body trembling. Carl returned his gaze for a long moment, nodding slightly. He seemed surprised by Ron's reaction, and how could he not be?
He couldn't feel his heart, did he just hit the target? It was a positive thing, it had to be... so why did he feel like that? Was he supposed to shot Rick Grimes the same way? And if he missed, if the bullet hit someone else like it had just happened with the target? He couldn't risk missing, they would kill him and he would never have avenge his family.

And then his vision darkened, the world around him trembled and fell, the landscape completely changing, transforming into his own kitchen. He found himself as a child, on his knees, eyes fixed upward, his breath broken in his chest and his eyes wide open. He could feel his legs, frozen, unable to move, he couldn't do anything, just watch.

-Did you fuck him you stupid whore?- His father shouted, his hand pulling his mother's hair to forcefully slam her head onto the ground, pushing her against the floor. A moan escaped the woman's lips, and Ron felt something break in his chest. -Did you?-

It was excruciating, the screams, the blows, the loaded gun his father held against his mother's head, he couldn't breathe... if a shot had gone off, just one, his mother would be dead. And he would have watched her body surrounded by blood.

His breath broke in his chest, his hands clenching into fists as his father raged, hitting his mother with the back of the gun, the woman falling to the ground groaning. His mother cried, clutching strands of hair between her fingers and pressing her forehead against the ground. She kept repeating a series of "no" softly, silently begging for mercy.

-No! No, I swear!- Her voice broke in her throat, tears streaming down her face. -Please! Ron is here, he's watching! Please, stop it, I beg you!-

And he was really watching, something that he would never be able to forget. His father, in response, hit his mother's face again, and when the woman's head hit the ground with a thud, reality seemed to snap back into place. The world descended into darkness, and Ron found himself on the ground, hands clutching tufts of grass between his fingers.

-Ron?- Enid's hand was still against his back, the other resting on the ground beside him. How much time had passed? -Again? Is it happening again? Why didn’t you tell me?- she asked in a hushed voice, as if it had to remain a secret between them, as if no one else has to know. And it was true, if anyone had known or understood what was happening to him, they would have taken him for crazy, if not worse. He felt his body trembling, his head spinning wildly, and a sudden wave of nausea hit him, his body bending forward to vomit. He felt his throat constrict, and he put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily.
He moved away, pushing himself up with difficulty, his legs trembling slightly. -What's happening again?- Sophia asked, but he completely ignored her, wiping his knees clean and quickly moving away from the group. He had to get away, he had to be alone, at least for a moment. He had to allow his mind to empty, to forget the scene he had just witnessed, he had to free himself from those memories, one way or another.

His father was dead, he couldn't do anything anymore, he couldn't hurt him. And maybe that scared him even more, because now it was the memories that were destroying him, eating him from the inside.

He breathed heavily, ignoring Enid's quick steps as she tried to keep up with him. And when the girl didn't seem to leave him, he turned to her, a burning sensation in his chest.

-What do you want from me!?- He shouted, a few birds perched on branches above them took flight, startled by the sudden sound. Ron didn't even look at them, his eyes focused on Enid, whose gaze was entirely fixed on him. She seemed almost... angry, and perhaps that annoyed him even more. What right did she think she had to worry about him?

-I want to help, you idiot.- She replied, her voice raised in turn, her fists clenched at her sides. -Don't be stupid! You know what happens if you don’t pay attention!- She snapped.

Ron clenched his jaw, turning away from the girl's gaze, unable to bear the attention without grabbing her by the hair. He was so angry, he could feel it in every cell of his body, in every fiber, in every part of his skin. It vibrated, his anger seemed to want to consume him completely.

-It doesn't matter, Enid, this is not something you should concern yourself about.- He replied, his voice so cold that he hardly recognised himself. -You chose your side that night, now stick with it.- He added and quickly walked away. He just wanted to get into bed and close his eyes, turn off his brain and rest, let himself fall asleep and wake up deep into the night, where no one would insist on talking to him.

He walked quickly home, opening the door with force and entering. He completely ignored Glenn, who, upon seeing him so agitated, momentarily froze in what he was doing, instead rushing upstairs. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it and letting out a trembling breath, his eyes closing to avoid falling to the ground. The whole room was spinning, confusing him. His legs trembled, and his heart seemed on the verge of exploding in his chest. He had to wait, it had happened so many times, it couldn't be different this time, within a few minutes, it would pass on its own, and he could relax. He found himself sitting on the floor, his hands clutching his hair, his head resting against his knees. He felt the ghost of a hand on his head, but when he looked up in front of him, the room was still spinning, and no one but him filled it.

-No, no no no.- He murmured softly, pulling his hair slightly between his fingers. -Stop.- He whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His breath was starting to break, his head swaying back and forth in a futile attempt to calm down, he kept tapping his foot nervously on the ground, creating a constant noise that echoed in his mind without giving him any peace.

-That whore of your mother deserved it.- His father's voice reached his ears like a whisper. Suddenly, the man was sitting next to him, his face partially torn, one eye missing and the other seemingly about to burst, a huge hole in his skull, leaving pieces of flesh hanging and the brain exposed.

He leaned forward, vomiting on the floor, his body trembling. -No, no, not you.- He begged, pushing forward to distance himself from the figure.

-Oh yes, me. How long did you think you could escape from me, Ron?- Ron ignored him, grabbing the blankets with trembling hands and trying to climb onto the bed with little success, it only resulted in pulling the blankets down, knocking over the lamp on the bedside table. It fell to the ground, breaking loudly.

He squinted at the ceiling, finding the same face as before staring at him, a smile on his face. -You're dead.- He tried to murmur. -You died, Rick killed you, he smashed your head into pieces. You're just in my head.- He added with difficulty.

His father burst out laughing, clutching his chest with his hand, the only eye he had swirling wildly due to the movement. When the laughter died in his throat, he leaned forward, and Ron saw him sneer, teeth stained with blood and pieces of flesh falling onto his face. -Yes, and I'll stay there for a long time.-

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit his stomach, a scream left his lips. The man's fingers were sinking into his flesh, pushing hard, trying to tear him apart and kill him. It felt like he could feel his guts being torn out and spilled around his body, his head continued to burn, and he was sure he could hear his own muffled screams. The room's door suddenly swung open, and Glenn's figure appeared in it, his face pale at the sight of the mess in the room.

-Ron!-He thought he heard before seeing the man's figure next to him. His father's figure snorted and suddenly disappeared, his head gradually stopped spinning, and he burst into sobs, his body trembling. -What happened?-

He couldn't stop crying, his chest rising and falling quickly, his body trembling. Tears streaked his cheeks endlessly, leaving him in a mess, he didn't even look like himself. So weak and so alone. He didn't hear what Glenn said next, because he turned onto his side, closing his eyes trying to stop sobbing. He was just a shell, a shell of memories and dead people, nothing else. How could he take revenge if his father, even in death, had power over him? Without even realizing it, the entire room plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

When he opened his eyes he was lying in his bed, the air around him pierced by a cold draft that ached against his muscles. His eyes were vacant, and his heart heavy; he could still hear his father's words, his screams, Glenn's voice calling him—it was a distant sound but resonated within him like a continuous echo. He huddled into himself, wrapping his body with his arms and turning onto his side, fixing his gaze on the open window before him.

The moon illuminated the windowsill, moving within the room with calculated grace, touching every single point it could discern with its fingers. The shadows had receded, leaving the world around them exposed. It was then that he saw it, motionless on the far side of that windowsill, next to the curtain.

It had been so long since he had seen one, long before the apocalypse began. He didn't think animals would survive something like that, yet some of them managed better than humans, surviving longer and hiding in the right places.

Its eyes glowed, and he sat up cautiously, trying to make as little noise as possible. He feared that with the slightest movement, the figure in front of him would flee, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

He inhaled, gripping the blankets between his fingers. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, a smile forming on his lips as he slowly got out of bed, approaching the window step by step. The green eyes of the animal followed him in every movement, its tail flicking from one point to another with curiosity.

He stopped when he was close enough to see the golden color of the feline and the blue shades hidden in those green eyes. He wanted to reach out to pet it, but the cat watched him with its eyes, analyzing every move. So, Ron limited himself to observing, letting his gaze slide to the cropped ear and the blood staining its paws. He couldn't see it clearly, but he was pretty sure its claws had been cut off, perhaps even before the apocalypse began.

Ron looked around, sure that the cat was hungry. When he spotted the plate of fish next to his bed, a spontaneous smile formed on his face.

-Wait here.- He murmured, approaching the plate and taking it in his hands, careful to remove the plastic fork. He then returned to the window, slowly extending the plate forward. He immediately noticed the cat's ears perk up with interest, and the little nose inhale quickly. Ron placed the plate carefully, taking a few steps back and watching the feline take the piece of fish in its small jaws. Before he could do anything else or say anything, the cat turned and ran away, leaving Ron alone again.

*

The next day was really hard to find the motivation to get out of bed. His body felt heavy, and frankly, he cared very little about what might happen that day. He couldn't get the sensation of the gun in his hand or Carl's breath on his neck out of his head. The mere thought made him shudder, his cheeks burning red, and his lips tightening into a thin line. It infuriated him that the other had managed to mock him even in a moment like that, how he had ridiculed him. He just wanted to sink and disappear from the face of the earth.

He sighed and sat up, repeating the same routine that accompanied him every single morning now—bathroom, clothes, and then stairs. He returned the plate to the kitchen, careful not to make noise to avoid waking Maggie in case she was still asleep. However, she was already in the living room organizing some books on a shelf. She seemed lost in her thoughts, an almost worried expression on her face.

-Maggie?- His voice came out uncertain, and he cursed himself for the sense of concern he felt for the woman in front of him. Why did it matter to him?

He watched her startle and turn to look at him, a novel still in her hands. She seemed to snap out of her thoughts and nodded in a greeting, sighing. Ron followed her gaze as she sat down and leaned the book against her knees.

-Hi, Ron.- she said, looking him in the eyes. -I must say I completely disagree with this decision, and I don't think you're ready to face something like this.- She added, slowly stroking the hardcover of the book in her hands. It was a copy of "Little Women," the cover worn by time, but if you paid attention, you could see the figures of the sisters sitting in a grassy field. Ron furrowed his brows, sitting in one of the chairs, listening in total silence.

Maggie seemed to think long about what to say, lost in her thoughts. Then she sighed, lowering her head. -I know your training with Carl was fruitful.-

Ron laughed, looking away with an almost bored demeanor. -If you want to call it that. More than fruitful, it was a mockery.- He replied coldly.

-Mockery?-

-Well...- He hesitated. -If taking me into a field with a group of people I can't stand and with the main cause of all my problems isn't a mockery, then I don't know what is.-

Maggie didn't answer, staring straight into his eyes for a long moment, then slumping against the chair, exhausted. She seemed really tired, with huge dark circles under her eyes—maybe she was sick, maybe just paranoid, yet something in her was undoubtedly wrong. Ron wasn't stupid; if he focused intensely, he could see his mother's face in hers—the same dark circles, the same tired look. A part of him wanted to approach her, ask if everything was okay, maybe offer his help and a warm cup of tea. The other part whispered to him to stay in his place, ignore the woman in front of him, and not succumb to the temptation of his all-too-good heart.

He shivered.

-I've known Carl for a very long time; he's a good person. I know you think he's the cause of everything. But if you looked closely, you'd realize the enormous guilt he feels. He was there with you that night, holding your hand...- Maggie said, her hands still holding the book. Ron slammed his hands forcefully against the table, his face filled with anger, teeth clenched together.

-Don't... Don't talk about that night. I have nothing to be grateful for that jerk. It's his and his father's fault that my family is dead.- He shouted, trembling.

He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to, and yet his head began to throb, his eyes filling with tears. The memories were there—the pain, the expressions of terror on everyone's face watching the bloodbath that night. No one had done anything, no one had tried to kill the walkers, no one. NO ONE. Should he thank Carl for 'saving' him? Never. He had no obligation towards him. As far as he was concerned, that night he could have left him there to die. If he had pulled the trigger... who knows how things would have turned out to be, who knows what would have changed.

He would never know...

...and he would never see his family again.

He inhaled slowly, trying to calm the accelerated beating of his heart, bringing his hand carefully to his chest. He tightened his grip on his own shirt, breathing slowly to regain control of those difficult emotions. He couldn't say exactly how much time had passed, and when he looked up at the woman, still sitting in the same exact place where he had left her, he realized how he must look. A boy with a sweaty forehead and visible terror in every part of his face.

-Are you okay?- The voice that reached his ears was gentle, aware.

Ron slowly sat on the chair behind him, bringing a hand to his hair, running it through the disheveled strands. He chuckled in a long laugh, his chest rising and falling visibly. Was he okay? The question alone made him laugh, and with teary eyes, he looked back at her.

-What do you think?- he asked with a broken voice, his heart shattered.

No one would save him.

''''The pain, that will stay inside you forever... with time, it might hurt less... but you will never forget it.''''

How could he live with that?

-Ron...- She began, hesitating.

-No. Go on... you were about to say something.- He replied coldly, hands clenched against his knees.

-Okay... Rick has assigned Carl, Sophia, Enid, and you to an expedition. You'll leave tomorrow morning and explore the perimeter for supplies and information. Besides this, you'll also have to get rid of the walkers you encounter, obviously only if it's a small group. That's what I know.- She said, finally getting up from the chair, leaving the book resting on the table. She walked around, approaching him and stopping right in front of his chair. She looked down at him, but Ron couldn't return her gaze. He didn't want her to see him in that state. However, what left him speechless was the sensation of Maggie's hand, whose fingers tightened around his shoulder in silent support. At that sudden contact, Ron couldn't hold back anymore, and tears left his eyes, flowing like rivers down his cheeks. A scream of pain left his lips, and he bent forward, palms against his eyes, body shaken by sobs.

Maggie hugged him.

*

The next day, it was Enid waiting for him in front of the house. When Ron opened the door and noticed the girl sitting against the wooden steps, he wrinkled his nose, trying to find any excuse to completely ignore her and avoid any unnecessary conversations. However, Enid was prepared, and at the mere sound of the closing door, she had stood up, looking at him with huge surprised eyes.

-Ron...- She began, visibly hesitating. He completely ignored her, passing by and descending the few steps quickly, heading towards the barricades . If he hurried, they would get there, and amid the confusion and organization, there would be no talk or questions. Yet, as usual, Enid was stubborn, and with a few steps, she had joined him, her gaze almost angry.

-Ron, I know you're hurt. I know you're not doing well now, but ignoring me and blaming me for everything won't solve anything.-

He stopped abruptly, turning completely towards her, anger in his eyes and his chest rising quickly with his breath. He watched her take a step back but maintain the certainty in her gaze.

-It's not my fault that they died, okay? It's not my fault I wasn't there that night. I was in danger too, Ron, and Maggie and Glenn also risked their lives.-

He continued to look at her, trying to restrain the strong desire to strike her. It wasn't her fault? She had nothing to do with their deaths? How could she say such things? If she had been there, if she had been present, perhaps Sam wouldn't have been scared, maybe he wouldn't have cried, attracting those walkers on him.

-Don't you think that their deaths are killing me? Don't you think that I'm suffering too?-

-How could you... you never cared. They were just your stupid excuse to have a new family after yours died. And when they came, when Rick and his group arrived that damn day, you completely forgot where your loyalty lied.-

He snapped, interrupting her, his voice breaking.

-Don't come here telling me that you cared, that it mattered to you.-

He continued with anger, taking a step towards her. Enid's eyes filled with sadness and disappointment, but he didn't care. Without any mercy, he continued, pushing her forward from her shoulders, making her stagger backwards.

-You hated my father, you couldn't stand it when my mother told you what to do in the house, and you couldn't stand Sam when he came to you for help with his fears. When we were in my room, all you did was complain about how your parents were different, how you wished they were alive so you could leave and go back to them. For you, they were always an excuse, and we were so stupid to welcome you and make you one of us, but to you, it never mattered.-

-That's not true...- Enid's eyes filled with tears, lips tight in a thin line.

-It was you who hated them, you wanted them dead. You said many times that you wished your father would die, that something cruel would happen to him, that he would be eaten by walkers.-

She raised her voice, approaching him and pushing him in turn.

-If you had been braver and helped Sam that night, maybe they would be alive! If you had intervened to protect your mother, she would be alive too. Don't blame others for your mistakes!-

She burst out with anger. Ron's hand rose on its own, the fist hitting the girl's cheek forcefully. He watched her fall to the ground, bringing a hand to the hit point, a surprised look on her face, fingers stained with blood. He stared down at her, his body trembling with anger, the knuckles of his fist slightly bleeding from the force with which he had hit her. He felt horrible, but his anger had gotten the better of him, and nothing he did could take back that horrible act.

-Never speak of them again, or I might do worse.-

He growled, turning towards the gates and resuming his pace, quickly moving away and leaving behind the figure of the girl, still sitting on the ground, massaging her cheek.

"you're just like your father"

Now he truly was.

Chapter Text

He was sitting in his bedroom closet, hidden among the clothes. The small crack in the furniture dimly illuminated the spot where he was, and if he squinted, he could notice the tiny specks of dust dancing in the air. He watched them in silence, lost in his thoughts, trying to figure out where they would settle on the clothes.

He couldn't remember how long he had been sitting there; he was afraid to even breathe, his ears strained for any sound. His mother had told him to stay in his room and not come out for any reason, and Ron had listened, staying motionless even when he heard her scream, pleading for mercy. He covered his ears with his hands, breath quickened, eyes shut tight, hoping it would end soon.

And then came the silence, so intense it chilled the blood in his veins. Everything seemed to have frozen, leaving behind an almost palpable uncertainty. Was it time to come out? To change his hiding place again? Or was it instead time to stay still, to clutch his wildly beating heart in one hand and gather the courage to remain motionless? Because staying still was perhaps the most difficult thing anyone could do in moments of terror.

Suddenly, clear as the song of birds outside the window, the sound of quick and violent footsteps on the stairs.

Tun, initially faint, distant.
Tun, Tun, faster, determined.
Tun tun tun…

TUN TUN TUN TUN TUN TUN TUN.

The door of the room was flung open, and a cold wind rushed in. Ron stiffened, huddling into himself and peering carefully through the crack in the closet. He saw his father's jacket, always dirty or soaked in alcohol, and his eyes slowly moved downward, stopping only when they found the man's hands, knuckles stained with blood, perhaps torn.

He could almost imagine himself in the man's place as he delivered the first punch, hitting his mother's cheek and watching her fall to the ground. The woman's eyes filled with tears, her hand pressed against her cheek, the other defending the child she carried in her womb. His hands were his father's, calloused and large, and the blood on his knuckles was his mother's blood. Such thoughts often crossed his mind, and despite him trying not to pay attention, it was as if anything could bring them back. Despite his efforts to understand, he never could figure out exactly what his father was thinking in those moments of hatred.

The figure of his father suddenly appeared in his vision, and a shiver ran up his spine, hands rushing to cover his mouth to stifle any sound that might escape. If he just stayed silent, he wouldn't be found... Or at least he thought so because the next door to open was the closet door, and huge hands grabbed his clothes, pulling him to the ground.

*

Step by step, he had crossed the avenue to reach the barricades. He could still feel the blood boiling in his veins, the nervousness making every part of his body tremble. His knuckles burned from the blow, and if he closed his eyes, he could see Enid falling to the ground, her hand against her face. He hated how, at the slightest violence, his mind would return to that child hidden in the closet, and he couldn't understand what exactly he had to do to let go of that image forever.

Many times in his life, he had imagined what it would be like to see his father die. He had often fantasized about what he would feel in delivering the first blow, and other times, in the silence of the night, he had stood in front of the bed where his parents slept, imagining the sensation of thrusting a knife into the man's heart and watching him gasp in his own blood. But despite all his imagination, he had never found the opportunity or the courage to do anything like that. No matter how much he had wanted to, no matter how many times he had cried and begged his mother to do something, the subtle web of abuse he had always had to endure remained, if not expanded with the birth of his brother Sam. It was Sam who had changed his mind, who had made him understand what it meant to defend someone. His father had always treated Sam differently, perhaps because he was the youngest or maybe because he was different... Sam was weak but strong, Sam had a vivid imagination, Sam thought with the mind of an adult. Sam noticed things that no one else could see, and it was Sam who told his mother about the drugs his father secretly brought home. Ron had never noticed any of this... he had never seen it because Ron was different, he only stopped at appearances, and that was enough for him. He had never understood why his father drank or why he so incessantly desired violence; he had never understood why he came home late at night or why he hated his mother so much. It had always been Sam to tell him and provide answers to his questions, it had always been Sam to take care of his mother in a way he, in Sam's place, could never have done.

And how ironic that Sam had taken his mother away with him, leaving him alone, abandoned in such a cruel world with people he could only hate...

But again, the blame couldn't be on Sam or his mother... the blame was on Rick and Carl, and it would always be theirs. And only when Ron managed to deliver the final blow, hitting them so hard that it would ruin their pathetic lives forever, then things would change, and he would be able to die happy...

Abraham stood by the gates; it was incredible how he always found himself there, or, he realized, it was he who hadn't spent enough time in Alexandria in recent days to get used to everyone's routine. He was sure that by hanging around for more than half an hour, he would soon learn the lives of the residents of the "new" city. And maybe, along with the residents' lives, he would also understand what Rick did throughout his days...

How had he not thought about it before?

-Hey there, Ron.- Abraham greeted him with a nod, holding the weapon he had with him in his hands, interrupting him from the series of thoughts about to enter his mind. -I saw you lost in your thoughts. Is everything okay?- He asked with a sense of uncertainty.

Ron sighed. -Maggie told me to come here, why isn't anyone here yet?- He asked with evident annoyance in his voice.

Abraham looked around, as if to make sure no one was listening, then turned to him. -Listen, Ron, we don't know each other well, but I can see that you're a good kid. I've met many like you, and I know what they think, what goes through their minds. And what's going through yours, that idea you have, it's dangerous. Very dangerous. You should let it go as soon as possible, if not immediately.- His gaze was serious, almost cold, like that of a general in front of his soldiers.

Ron looked away, realizing that he couldn't hold it against those eyes and feeling weak, hearing his father's voice calling him a coward.

-Don't make their deaths useless.- Abraham added, but to Ron, it seemed like he was talking to himself, not to him.

How could it not be useless? He couldn't help but wonder, how could a death like theirs, devoured by walkers, not be a useless death? They didn't die as heroes, they didn't die saving anyone or fighting; they died like stupid and simple human beings: screaming, crying, begging for mercy. And Ron had stood there...

He had stood there while Sam started crying, and the first walkers grabbed him.

He had stood there while his mother began to sob and was grabbed in turn.

And he had stood there, a weight in his chest, his voice broken and eyes filled with tears, as they fell to the ground, screaming.

His breath caught in his chest, and he quickly brought a hand to it, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart, to divert his thoughts. He found himself drifting into happier memories, and there hadn't been many in his life. Still he managed to remember his birthday cake, the nights he spent with Sam hidden under covers in their bed, him and Enid playing with his console, the cat he had glimpsed a few nights before, and... without even realizing it, he found himself in his room, weeks before.

-Ron, come downstairs!- His mother had shouted, calling him from down the stairs. Enid had seized the opportunity to win in her competition against him and exclaimed with satisfaction, raising her arms to the sky in victory. She turned towards him with a smirk, and Sam burst into laughter, sitting a little further back.

-I'm coming.- He retorted, giving Enid a glare but ending up laughing anyway. He stood up and let his brother take his place. -Your turn to beat her, okay?-

Sam nodded enthusiastically, taking the joystick in his hands and settling comfortably on the floor.

Ron, for his part, lingered at the door, watching for a moment as the two resumed playing, teasing each other. He found himself smiling and, at his mother's second call, quickly descended the stairs. -What?- He asked, reaching the ground floor, finding himself next to the door.

His mother was there, holding a towel in her hands, looking surprised as she stared at the boy in front of her. He found himself standing beside her, turning his gaze to the figure at the door.

Blue eyes as deep as the ocean met his.

"No, look at me." Carl was taking a gun from his hand.

He found himself yet again in front of the barricades; Glenn was standing in front of him, calling him urgently, his gaze concerned. His ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear exactly what Glenn was saying. He could only watch him gesture, turning almost aggressively toward Abraham and snapping something at him.

-What did you think you were doing with that speech? Do you think we don't know what he's trying to do? Do you think Rick is so stupid to not have noticed? Abraham, it's not the time for this.- The man was saying, and Abraham looked at him seriously, not reacting to his words. -He just needs to heal now...-

Rick knew?

He blinked several times, looking around, bringing a hand to his head. -Glenn, stop yelling, please.- He said, looking up at the two figures. The Asian man immediately turned to him, sighing almost with relief and approaching quickly.

-Are you feeling okay?- He asked, scrutinizing him carefully.

Ron nodded, avoiding adding anything else. -Where are the others? Didn't we have an exploration today?- He asked, noticing the obvious absence of the other members of the team.

-They're at the armory. Rick is giving them their weapons.- Glenn replied, not taking his eyes off him for a moment, not even when he saw the dissent in his eyes. -I know what you're thinking...- He began.

-Let me get this straight…- Ron interrupted. -First, they teach me to shoot, and then they forbid me a weapon to defend myself out there?- He asked almost ironically.

Glenn sighed. -Teaching you to shoot was... for a more dangerous situation. Something that might never happen. You won't be able to use a gun to help them in the exploration... you can only use it to defend yourself if they die.-

Ron seemed about to retort, but Glenn promptly anticipated him. -I know, it doesn't make sense... but I don't make the rules.- He said, placing his hands on his shoulders. -Just be careful out there, okay?-

He was sure that what he could glimpse in the man's eyes was something akin to concern, and he wondered why he felt almost understood, protected. Why Glenn, of all people, could look at him like his father never did?

His mind couldn't, however, shake off the most important piece of information he had just learned: Rick knew. Rick knew everything, and if he knew, Carl knew too.

What was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

Carl and the rest of his "team" had joined him just a few minutes after his conversation with Glenn and his obvious panic attack. He had carefully examined the arsenal on their shoulders and on the various points on their bodies. Sophia had a bow, held tightly in her hands, and seemed focused on checking the string, perhaps making sure it wouldn't break when needed. Enid, next to her, had a completely red cheek, slightly peeled skin, swollen and red eyes, and her weapons were a knife, placed against her right thigh, and a gun in the holster on her belt. Carl led the group in front with a shotgun, carrying two pistols, one in the right holster and one in the left.

Ron found himself wrinkling his nose; any weapon was forbidden to him while they were provided with multiple. He found it unfair, humiliating, and perhaps his eyes completely revealed the emotion he was feeling because suddenly Glenn's hand was on his shoulder, almost silently consoling him. His eyes rose to the man, silently scrutinizing him, returning his gaze but not the smile he gave him.

He didn't move away from his touch, just looking again at the group, tensing when his eyes noticed Rick's figure, the confident walk, brisk pace. He seemed to be explaining something incredibly important to the other three who listened with attentive and focused looks. He saw them nod, but the conversation seemed to end, or be interrupted, when they caught up with them.

-Ron.- Sophia greeted with an annoyed tone, looking at him with so much irritation in her eyes that if she had the power to melt the ground under his feet, she probably would have.

He ignored her, glancing quickly at Enid, who was avoiding his gaze entirely, focusing on Carl. He was surprised to see that the boy's eyes were fixed on him, his gaze lost in who knows what thought. A nod of the head was all he received, a silent greeting, perhaps fearing to trigger something by talking to him, some argument. Their conversations had not been pleasant at all since that night, and Ron was fine with that. He didn't want anything to do with Carl Grimes, and if he hadn't killed Rick, he would have been more than happy to kill him.

-Well.- Rick's voice reached his ears like poison. -Let's begin.-

-Your task today, as Maggie and Glenn may have informed you, is to scout the woods around Alexandria. Abraham and Sasha have noticed that too many walkers are still circulating around here. I don't want to risk a repeat of what happened that day, so we'll carefully monitor the territory. Don't shoot unless strictly necessary, kill them with your knives and machetes, and if they're in groups larger than three, try not to engage. One of them is easy to kill, but even just three of them, if taken by surprise, could kill you.-

He walked back and forth, bringing a hand to his chin, contemplating what else to add. Then he turned to Sophia. -You're the best shooter I've ever seen; try to stay on the sidelines and focus on defence.- The girl smirked at the compliment and nodded, raising her bow slightly as if to show off; Ron found her almost unbearable. He would have wanted to wipe that smile off her face forever.

Then Rick looked at Enid but avoided including her in the conversation. Ron noticed that, for a few moments, his eyes had lingered on him, as if he knew that the wound on the girl's cheek was his fault. He didn't care about the man's opinion, though. Not at all.

-Carl, take care of them.- He said, nodding slightly at his son, finally turning to Abraham, standing next to the barricade. -Open the door.- He ordered. Glenn stepped aside, allowing Ron to take a few steps toward the group, ignoring Sophia's continuous glares.

*

They had long left the barricades of Alexandria behind, walking silently side by side, carefully scrutinising every point around them. Or at least, the other three were intent on doing so; Ron, on the other hand, seemed merely bored and wanted to finish the task as soon as possible.

He wondered why Rick had sent him out there, knowing about his plan to harm him and knowing what he wanted to do to Carl. Why let the wolf into your den, give him the opportunity to act? What prevented him from stealing Carl's gun and killing all three of them? They were alone, soon to traverse the woods among trees and approaching abandoned houses, the perfect opportunity for such an act. No one would save them, and they would be devoured by the walkers.

-So, favorite color?- Sophia's voice filled the air, and Ron found himself jolted from his thoughts, looking at her as if she were crazy. Favorite color? Did she intend to engage in meaningless small talk?

-Sophia...- Carl began, almost a warning, rolling his eyes.

-Oh, come on!- The girl exclaimed in response, arms wide open to the sky. -We have to be out here for hours; what's wrong with having a little conversation?- She and Carl exchanged an almost knowing look, and then the boy smiled slightly, nodding and adjusting the hat on his head with his hand.

-Green.- The first to answer was Enid, pointing to one of the trees not far away with a finger. -Like that tree over there. When I was little, my entire room was green.-

Sophia chuckled and pointed to herself. -Mine is obviously red; it's such a bold and decisive color.- Then she pointed at Carl, giving him a small smirk as if teasing him. -His is pink.-

Carl raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. -What makes you think it's pink?- He asked.

-Well, first of all, you like pink flowers, the ones that grow near your home and that Judith always plays with. Secondly, you have a weakness for blushing cheeks, that rosy hue that appears on the face.- The girl replied, running a hand through her hair.

-That's not true.- The boy seemed almost annoyed, giving her a glare. -I like flowers, but my favorite color is brown, I think.- He seemed to think intensely again, then for a single second, his gaze shifted to Ron, walking next to him, eyes fixed on a distant point. -What about you?-

Ron had hoped that the stupid question wouldn't reach him and that they would leave him alone instead of involving him in that useless conversation. Yet, despite his hope, they had reached him anyway, and they seemed very interested in his answer. Well... not everyone; Sophia and Enid weren't even looking at him, so the only person who seemed to care was none other than Carl Grimes.

Ron almost felt filled with anger. That interest from the boy intensely disturbed him; his way of trying to be friends with him disgusted him. Or maybe it was just a gesture of kindness, but even in that case, Ron couldn't stand it.

-Come on, Ron, don't spoil the game.- Sophia scoffed after he avoided answering the question. Ron refrained from punching her and took a long, deep breath, bringing a hand to move his hair away from his face.

-Blue.- He replied coldly.

-Blue? There are many shades of blue. There must be a particular shade of blue that you like.- The girl's insistence almost made him nervous. He hoped that with a cold and quick answer, he would be able to escape that conversation.

He found himself pondering the girl's question, letting his thoughts run through all the shades of blue he had seen in his life. The sky, illuminated by the sun, full of white clouds dancing endlessly. The crayons Sam used to color his drawings. His mother's scissors with which she always cut his hair. The rivers, the lakes... And then his mind reached the ocean, the sea that moved impetuously, carrying with it power and strength. The waves... the same waves he had glimpsed in Carl's eyes that night.

And finally, he remembered that desperate look, the hands reaching forward, that ocean that silently crossed the boy, leaving him breathless.

-Blue like the ocean.- He answered after endless minutes, the three were staring at him intensely, and it was Enid who slightly widened her eyes. Ron saw her gaze fixed on Carl, reasoning intensely about something important, then the girl's eyes met his, and Ron realized he couldn't hold his gaze, ending up averting his own.

-Oh.- Sophia murmured thoughtfully. -A beautiful color... yes.-

The group fell silent again, now advancing toward the edge of the forest where their exploration would begin. They would circle around Alexandria in an almost circular movement, looking for supplies and getting rid of walkers in the area. Ron was sure they would stay outside for maybe two days, having enough supplies to last three, but he hoped it would end much sooner.

He really hoped so.

*

There was something soothing about those woods, Ron noticed when, after minutes of walking among the trees, he found himself lost in his thoughts. His eyes wandered over the light filtering silently through the higher branches, the sound of leaves and dry twigs under their feet, the slightly damp ground, perhaps from the rain. With just one breath, he could smell the moss, and his body visibly relaxed. Birds sang in the trees; some flew swiftly from one point to another, and, except for them, the place was empty.

Enid and Sophia walked just ahead, talking about something, and Carl remained a few steps behind him. Ron could feel the boy's eyes on his back, piercing his skin, and despite turning to check several times, he always found Carl looking elsewhere. Perhaps Rick had ordered Carl to keep an eye on him more than anyone else, maybe they were afraid he would attempt some reckless move, and that was their way of stopping him. Ron wasn't sure; what he knew was that the situation was getting on his nerves, and quite strongly.

After yet another time, he found himself stopping, turning completely towards Carl, who, in turn, had halted in his tracks, surprised.

-What are you staring at?- Ron didn't hesitate to ask, crossing his arms over his chest. -Are you afraid I'll use some weapon to hurt you? Oh no! Wait! You didn't even give me one.- He hissed with an annoyed tone, eyebrows furrowing.

Carl blinked at the question, remaining silent for a long moment. -What makes you think I'm watching you?- He asked.

-Maybe the fact that I can feel your eyes on me with every step I take?- Ron replied.

-Oh.- It was the only thing that left the other's lips. Ron noticed the blush invading his cheeks and watched him turn his gaze sideways, lowering his hat slightly over his eyes and clearing his throat, seemingly annoyed. Ron almost trembled with disgust. -Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. I'm not watching you.- Carl reassured him but continued to look anywhere but at him.

Ron, however, didn't trust and didn't believe for any reason that they weren't keeping an eye on him. How could they trust him when he himself didn't trust them? Not anymore, at least, not since that night.

- Just stay away from me.- He replied simply, turning around and walking away, fists clenched at his sides.

One step.

Two.

On the third, that feeling pervaded him again, and gritting his teeth, he turned almost too aggressively, taking a few steps toward the other. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him aggressively towards him. Ron was slightly bigger, not strong in the same way, especially after weeks of eating little. Stress had eaten the few muscles he had in the past, and now he was just a skeleton, but despite that, he held Carl firmly in his hands, staring straight into his eyes.

-Stop it.- He almost ordered, raising his voice. -You're really annoying me. Stop staring at me.- He added.

Carl raised an eyebrow and just for a second looked at the other's hands in his shirt. -Let me go.- A slight threat appeared in his voice. -I told you I'm not watching you.-

-What's going on?- Sophia exclaimed behind them, but she stayed at the distance where she and Enid had stopped. -We need to keep going, find shelter before it gets dark.-

-And I told you I feel your gaze on me. I can't hurt you, so stop staring at me as if I were some kind of criminal.- Ron growled with anger, tugging him and pushing him back slightly. Carl quickly stepped back, almost risking falling.

Regained balance, Ron saw him advancing again, his eyes filled with resentment. His hands reached forward, pushing him back with more force. -Can you tell me what the hell you have against me?- Carl snapped as Ron fell to the ground, finding himself amidst the leaves.

Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen.

-What do I have? I have plenty against you! And especially against your father.- Ron struggled to get up, almost falling again, sliding slightly in the mud under his feet. -What kind of people are you to leave me unarmed out here?- He asked angrily.

-The last time I checked, you wanted to kill my father with the knife you had on your plate. If you weren't so out of control, we would have given you a weapon a long time ago.- Carl replied with a serious expression, squinting at him.

The first twitch. His face warmed, blood pumping fast through his veins.

-Out of control?- He almost laughed. -What do you mean?-

-What I said. If you stopped focusing on how to kill me, maybe you'd have time to get over what happened. You hate me as if I've done something wrong.- Carl exclaimed, raising his arms in frustration. -Yet I haven't done anything.-

- Anything? The idea of leaving the house that night was yours.- He accused.

-And it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't attacked me in the shed and broken that damn window.- Carl almost shouted. Ron pushed him again, with more force.

Anger was taking control of him again, and the more Carl talked, the more he wanted to kill him, put a bullet in his head, and see him silenced forever.

-Guys.- Enid's voice, this time approaching to draw their attention. -We need to go... it's not the time for this.- She seemed to admonish them, receiving a glare from both.

-Stay out of it, Enid.- Ron growled at her.

-Don't you dare talk to her like that, asshole.- Sophia retorted, approaching quickly, pulling Enid behind her, and glaring at Ron with equal disdain. -You've already done enough for today.-

Ron ignored them, returning his focus to Carl, who was now adjusting his shirt as if nothing had happened.

-My mother died because of you.- He said without hesitation, his voice breaking slightly. -Sam died because of you.- Carl looked up at him, surprised, his eyes filling with anger at those words.

-We tried to save them.- He burst out, now visibly furious. -We tried to save all of you. What would you have done if you were in our place?-

-I would have thought about my family.- Ron replied angrily.

-I've seen how well you have managed that.- The punch that hit Carl was sudden and violent, making him stagger backward.

Ron found himself lunging forward, an almost animalistic scream leaving his lips as he grabbed Carl and pushed him to the ground. They fell with a thud, leaves and branches breaking under their weight. Ron managed to gain the upper hand for a moment, landing the first punch on the boy's face, followed by the second and the third.

However, Carl had grabbed his arm before he could hit him again, and with a leg movement, he completely overturned the situation, pushing Ron away and getting back on his feet. Ron quickly followed, but Carl stopped only when he pulled out the knife from his side, eyes wide, bleeding nose, and teeth clenched in anger.

Ron froze, staring at the blade, then shifted his gaze to Carl, who was pointing it at him.

-I didn't kill your family, Ron!- The boy yelled, making him see red.

Blood, just blood.

-None of us killed your family. It was the walkers.- He added, almost desperately. -I saved your life.-

Ron clenched his fists; he could still see Rick's axe on his mother's arm, the blood splattering, and the walkers grabbing her. A shiver ran down his spine, and his breath caught in his chest. Without thinking twice, the blade suddenly didn't scare him anymore. With a scream of rage, he lunged forward again, promptly dodging the blow Carl tried to land. Trying to keep up, the blade cutting just the skin on his shoulders, Carl grabbed him forcefully by his right shoulder, pulling him suddenly to the side. Ron felt his back hit the hard surface of a tree; a sob escaped his lips for the sudden blow, and he was about to push forward when he found Carl's knife against his neck.

-You need to calm down now.- Carl ordered, looking him straight in the eyes, keeping him still.

Ron breathed quickly, returning the gaze, teeth clenched, face dirty with blood, unsure if it was his or Carl's. He could feel the skin burning where the knife had hit moments before, his eyes clouded by the rage-induced haze.

-God...- Enid's whisper brought him back, making him turn his gaze to her. -We have to go. WE HAVE TO GO NOW.- She exclaimed with agitation, grabbing Sophia by the arm and pulling her in who knows which direction.

The moans of walkers reached their ears, and Carl widened his eyes, detaching himself from Ron with an almost frightening speed. Ron found himself straightening up with difficulty, looking out at the point Carl was staring at.

His blood froze in his veins.

We're screwed, was the first thought.

How is this possible, was the second.

Chapter Text

While Sophia and Enid began their desperate race against time, Ron remained motionless, stuck in his place. His eyes followed the movement of the walkers in front of him; their clothes torn, some missing obvious parts of their bodies, while others seemed to be in the advanced stages of decomposition, with not many days left ahead of them. As he watched them walk towards him, he couldn't help but think of his mother.

His mind took her there, in front of him, the same torn body, her chest open, and some intestines spilling onto the ground, desperate grunts, empty eyes—the same image he saw almost every night in his nightmares. He imagined her walking towards him, extending skeletal hands to grab him, and he did nothing, absolutely nothing, staying still where he was and observing like an external spectator. Then, next to her, like a shadow in the darkness, Sam appeared, with the same empty eyes, the same broken head, the same torn neck that he had the night he died. The difference was that while his mother seemed to move almost in slow motion, Sam had started to run, fast steps against the leaves.

And suddenly, as had happened many times before, the scene transformed, turning the dead into a younger Sam running towards him, arms wide open and a smile on his face.

-Rown!- He exclaimed, embracing Ron's leg once he reached him. Ron watched the scene with empty eyes; his body was still that of a 17-year-old, but Sam was now a toddler of just over two years. It was incredible how perfectly his brother's figure matched his memory—chubby cheeks, a mouth that curved slightly when pronouncing his name, eyes full of love and happiness, trust in him. He was so perfect.

So perfect...

He had always been perfect. Ron found himself stroking his brother's head, running his hand through the small tufts, and smiling slightly. His eyes roamed over the shape of Sam's face, the color of his irises, the softness of his straight hair, and, without realizing it, his eyes began to blur, a sob escaping his lips.
-Why? Why are you crying?- The child exclaimed, moving away from his touch to grab Ron's hand, squeezing it between small fingers and pulling it to his chest.

Ron couldn't even respond; his body was now shaken by sobs as he knelt on the ground, suddenly embracing the little body, enveloping it in his arms. How could he let him go like that? How could he survive in their place? He didn't deserve it, didn't want that life. He deserved nothing.

Nothing.

He held him tight, inhaling the scent of diapers and lavender typical of small children, and his sobs only increased, shaking his body.

-I'm sorry, Sam... I'm sorry. I should have protected you...-

The figure in front of him suddenly grew in his arms, becoming too large to be held that way. Ron looked up surprised, his eyes red, cheeks wet with tears. His brother, the same brother devoured by corpses weeks before, looked down at him, a regretful expression on his face. He smiled, a sad smile, and placed his hands on Ron's shoulders, squeezing them gently.

-When will you stop daydreaming?- He asked.

He said no more, and Ron felt as if he was being sucked in, the world around him changing again. His brother's figure distorted, and he found himself back in the present. He vaguely felt the sensation of his arm being pulled forcefully, but he was still kneeling, his empty eyes fixed where his brother had disappeared like dust. In front of him, now just a few steps away, a child reached out to him.

He was small, around five years old, and obviously dead. His clothes were completely torn; he wore pajama pants with car drawings and an Iron Man T-shirt. On his neck, the outline of a deep bite, dried blood, and swollen skin. It was the exact same spot where Sam had been bitten that night.

That damn night...

If only he had done something...
He let out a laugh that erupted from deep within his chest, transforming into silent sobs within seconds. He gritted his teeth as he watched the child almost desperately lunge towards him, opening its mouth and gnashing its teeth in his direction. Ron felt...

Weak.

He just wanted to stay still and let himself be bitten, let them grab him and tear his body apart, leaving nothing to remember. Follow his family and finally reunite with his mother, hug her again, cry on her shoulder. He would give anything to be reunited with them, anything.

And then, a gunshot, clear as the sun.

The noise stunned him, so close to his ear that it rang, muffling the sound around him for a moment. The world trembled slightly, and the child's body bent forward, stumbling over its own steps and falling, its face hitting the ground with a thud. In the distance, other walkers turned in the direction of the noise, heading towards them.

Another shot, and it was the woman's body that collapsed, and Ron was certain he saw his mother smile at him in the fallen figure's face.

He shuddered and turned in the direction of the noise, his eyes focused on Carl, standing next to him. His gun was raised, hands steady, staring at the walkers in front of him. Ron watched him empty the magazine and reload it promptly, holstering the gun and turning back to him.

And for a single moment, Ron saw a slight fear in his eyes.

But it was only a moment because in the next moment, Carl's hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, forcing him to run. How long had he been in that trance with his brother's ghost? Apparently long enough for those walkers to surround them. Wherever he looked, he saw a new body, and the group was growing rapidly. How was it possible? They hadn't strayed too far from Alexandria, that was certain; they were within the city's perimeter. So where did all those bodies come from?

Why...

Had his family's sacrifice been in vain?

The sound of leaves and broken branches was persistent under their feet as they moved quickly through the forest, jumping obstacles and skillfully dodging the walkers that appeared in front of them. Enid and Sophia had disappeared, escaping in some unknown direction, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't define a real direction in the midst of that dense forest. Perhaps it was panic or perhaps being surrounded by bodies, but every point seemed the same as the one before, and the more he ran, the more he wondered if they were making any progress in escaping that situation.

How much longer could they keep running before getting completely exhausted?

And then, enlightenment.

Enid and Sophia were gone, meaning that aside from him, Carl Grimes, and hundreds of walkers around them, no one else was there.

No one was there for miles.

And that could only mean one thing...

It was the right moment.

In the midst of the walkers.

No one would ever know.

His hand disentangled from Carl's and forcefully grabbed him by the shirt. He felt the fabric tear just slightly from the force with which he pulled him towards himself and to the ground.

The sensation of sliding, bloodshot eyes, and then, the sound of leaves and soil against his back. The wounds on his shoulders burned upon contact with the dirty ground, and he hoped only not to land on the spot where a walker had died, not to come into contact with their blood and be infected.

The two rolled on the ground for a few meters before settling, Ron heard a grunt escape Carl's lips, stunned by the sudden change of scene. He didn't give him time to recover, getting up quickly and pouncing on him aggressively.

Chop.

Chop.

The axe struck his mother's arm.

Chop.

Chop.

The arm fell to the ground.

He delivered a kick (yes, a rather low blow, but who cared, this was all about revenge) to the boy's stomach, who groaned in pain, folding in on himself and coughing as if he were about to vomit his entire soul out of his body. And, in that moment of weakness, he took the opportunity to remove the gun from the boy's holster, also grabbing the knife he had and using it to quickly cut the strap that held his shotgun on his back.

He had just rendered him helpless, weak.

The perfect opportunity.

How stupid was Rick to send him out there with them.

He would kill them all.

Chop.

Chop.

Chop.

The sound echoed in his head like a continuous hammering.

He took a few steps back, tossing the shotgun at his feet and gripping the gun between his hands, aiming the loaded weapon at Carl with an almost maniacal grin. The walkers were not far, Ron could see them out of the corner of his eye; they were approaching quickly, and their moans filled the air. It wouldn't be long before they reached them.

He watched the boy quickly get up, looking around as if he expected to be attacked by some hidden enemy. His eyes widened when they landed on him, and for a moment, he glanced at the weapon in Ron's hands, a frightened expression forming on his face for a few seconds.

Ron realized that he liked that fear.

He wanted more of it.

Chop.
Blood.

He watched him shift his gaze to the group of walkers, then turning back to him. His lips opened and closed, but no sound came out of his mouth, as if he were contemplating what to say.

Chop.

Then those blue eyes filled with anger. -What are you doing?- He burst out, continuing to look around, keeping an eye on the walkers around them.

Getting closer and closer...

He could have shot him, watched him die, devoured by the dead...

Just as they had watched his mother and brother die without doing anything to help them.

Ron didn't care, pointing the gun at him more determinedly, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his heart pounding.

There he was.

He was ready.

One shot...

Just one.

He would count to three and then shoot.

Up to three...

-Ron.- Carl called again, frightened, taking a step towards him, his eyes blue like stormy seas. -You don't have to do this.- He said almost in a whisper, scared.

The growls increased, more walkers began to emerge from the thick of the forest.

-No.- He chuckled, finding himself trembling with excitement. -I have to.-

One...

-For my mother...-

Carl widened his eyes; suddenly, fear seemed to take over him.

Two...

-For my brother...-

Carl gritted his teeth, tensing as Ron tightened his grip on the gun. Behind him, a walker made its appearance, reaching out to grab the boy. Ron watched, squinting his eyes.

"Let him die..." His father hissed in his ear.

Three.

The shot filled the air.

A thud was heard, and the body fell to the ground, a grunt of pain leaving its lips. Ron looked at the figure of the boy in front of him with empty eyes. He was a coward, unable to kill him even in a moment like this. How could he be so stupid, so damn good to the same people who had ruined his life...

He hated him. He hated Carl Grimes; he wanted him dead. But he realized that it wasn't him he truly wanted to kill, but Rick.

And killing Carl wouldn't make him happy, wouldn't do anything to mend his broken heart. Because it wasn't Carl who had killed his father or severed his mother's arm. It wasn't Carl's decision to lead them down that road in the darkness of the night amid all those walkers.

Only Rick's death would make him happy... while Carl, Carl was just a waste of time.

Carl turned abruptly, looking at the fallen walker behind him, its head smashed, limbs splayed and motionless. Ron looked at it for a moment and found himself lowering the gun.

-We're even now.- He said, offering the pistol to Carl but making sure to keep the shotgun. He wanted the opportunity to defend himself and didn't care about the stupid rules imposed by Rick; he had learned to shoot, had just hit a moving target, and could take care of himself.

He would have shown it to him...

*

The two managed to reach what looked like a house abandoned by time. Except for the ivy growing on its walls, it was in decent enough condition to host them. The windows were not broken, and the doors were closed. Ron kicked open the entrance door, aiming the gun ahead and carefully scanning the darker corners of the dwelling. He listened for any obvious noises, and when nothing caught his attention, he let Carl pass, closing the door behind them and barricading it by pushing a medium-sized piece of furniture against it.

Meanwhile, Carl had approached the windows, staying alert in case of walkers, and deftly closed the curtains, allowing the rooms to fall into semi-darkness. There was enough light to look around, and they also had the flashlight Carl was holding in his right hand.

Ron didn't pay much attention to him, moving to check the other rooms: kitchen, living room, bedrooms, bathrooms. Only when he completed the reconnaissance and realized that the house was completely empty did he stop and retrace his steps.

Both found themselves in the living room, the silence around them almost palpable. Carl approached the fireplace, shifting the family photos resting on it, searching for something carefully. Finally, his hands grabbed a candle.

-We'll have to use this if we don't want the flashlight to run out.- He said, rotating the object in his hand. A date was carved on the side, but neither of them paid much attention to it. He took the lighter from his pocket and lit it, placing it on the table in the living room.

Silence.

So much silence that it penetrated the skin.

Ron sat on one of the chairs, running a hand through his long hair. He felt exhausted; not many hours had passed since they left the walls, but now that they were alone, in a semi-safe place, he felt all his energy being drained from his body.

-Did you see which way they went?- It was Carl who broke the silence, and Ron looked at him from below, furrowing his eyebrows.

-How could I? I don't know if you noticed, but we were in the middle of a group of walkers.- He replied a bit too acidly. Carl merely shot him a glare, lips pursed in a thin line, as if he refrained from responding negatively. -And I tried to kill you... so.- He added, looking at the gun he still held in his hands, staring at its surface.

He had been so close, yet he hadn't succeeded.

He wondered if Carl would tell Rick or if Rick would find out in other ways. Ron wasn't even surprised when, from the depths of his heart, a voice whispered that no one would know about what had happened. Carl wasn't cruel; that was certain. He would give his life for his family, and, for some reason Ron didn't understand yet, he cared about him too. They had been friends for a short time, then, after his father's death, he had cut ties, drifting away irreversibly. At the time, he had hated being close to the boy he considered equally guilty as Rick Grimes, treating him with contempt, almost killing him on several occasions. Yet, despite all that, Carl had decided to risk his life and save him that night.

He still remembered how he had stood in front of the gun, scared...

He looked away, lost in thought. The last memory he had of the girls was Enid's terrified expression, on which his eyes had briefly lingered when they spotted the walkers. He felt strangely foolish preaching his hatred for her while every fiber of his being cared for her in times of danger. He was angry, so angry with her that he never wanted to see her again, but that didn't mean he wanted her dead.

Not her at least.

Not the only person who still remembered his mother and his brother, who knew what kind of people they were.

He had hit her, hated her, made her sad. He had distanced himself, rejected her, ridiculed her, yet he still cared, and now...

Now it might be too late, perhaps Enid was no longer alive. A terrible anxiety assaulted his entire body, making his thoughts confused and his heart race. The mere thought of the girl, devoured somewhere, tore him apart. He didn't want her to meet the same fate, didn't want another grave to visit, didn't want to be alone again.

He didn't want to think about their last moments together, about how he had punched her, the fight. He didn't want to think about her, his best friend, his old girlfriend, at the cemetery in Alexandria...

He didn't want to think about anything.

Because his heart kept betraying his mind.

-I don't know.- He began, watching the candle flame move upward, trembling slightly. -But we have to find them before something bad happens to them.- He added with a strange determination in his voice.

He didn't care about Sophia, and that was certain...

He disliked the girl.

But he wanted to find Enid.

Carl looked at him surprised, raising his eyebrows and blinking in confusion. He turned to look at the candle, thoughtful, thinking intensely about something.

-What happened there... You froze, as if you didn't see the world around you anymore, as if you didn't see me. I've seen you like that before... the same thing happened that night.- His blue eyes stared intensely at him. -I thought it was shock at first, but you... it's like you see something else.-

It was as if all the memories of that night were running through his mind. And then Ron realized for the first time since then that he hardly remembered anything. He remembered the gun, his mother and brother's death, Carl's hand on his, and blue eyes filled with fear. He remembered his screams, hands in his hair, his head hitting the ground...

But except for that, nothing. Just emptiness.

What had happened in that void? How had they returned to the city? How had he ended up in what was now his room? It was impossible that he had fainted; no one would have bothered to transport him in that situation, they would have left him there to die. So how had he gotten to Maggie and Glenn's house...

Ron realized that, to an outsider like Carl, he would have seemed crazy, disoriented. How could he explain that he had seen his brother? That a few days earlier, his father had sunk his nails into his skin, and he still saw his mother's figure when talking to Maggie...

He couldn't.

So he just narrowed his eyes, gripping the gun between his hands.

A warning, nothing more.

Carl returned his gaze, shifting his eyes to the weapon, nodding with a sigh. They were still stained with the blood from a little earlier, and Ron felt his skin burn at the points where the boy had cut him with the knife. They weren't deep wounds, and he wouldn't die bleeding, but the risk of infection was high, and he hated that he had never learned in his life in the apocalypse how to dress an open wound. He was dirty from the ground; perhaps the blood of some walkers had entered his skin...

Carl seemed to realize the situation as well, feeling his body, searching his pants pockets for something. Suddenly, he pulled out some gauze; at least it was clean. Ron followed him with his eyes as he stood up and made his way around the room, opening the furniture doors and moving objects inside them, searching for something.

He suddenly opened the one next to the kitchen door and took hold of what was a bottle of whiskey. He looked at it, shaking it a little next to his eyes, and then turned towards him, nodding and approaching quickly.

Ron reacted instinctively, raising the gun and pointing it at the boy, tightening his grip.

-I don't need your fucking help.- He almost growled, shifting his gaze from him to the whiskey bottle. Carl furrowed his eyebrows nervously, placing the liquor on the table and crossing his arms over his chest.

-Do you know how to tend them? In that case, I'll be happy to let you do it yourself.- He said, almost annoyed. -Otherwise, I'll do it for you. My task is to protect you out here, and how should I explain to my father that you died from some infection after only a day outside the walls?- He continued without looking away.

Ron pressed his lips into a thin line; no, he didn't know how to dress those damn wounds, and dying wasn't yet in his plans. He felt a deep anger, towards himself, towards Carl, towards those stupid wounds. He had been the one to hit him first, and now he wanted to treat him for wounds he had inflicted on himself?

He put the gun back in his jeans and quickly approached the chair in the room, sitting down with too much aggression. He brought his hands to his own shirt, covered in sweat and stained with blood and dirt, and, pulling it carefully over his head, he took it off, holding it in his hands. His skin shivered, exposed to the cold air in the room, and he visibly gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think about how his body must look, thin, skeletal, as if he were dying of some disease devouring him from the inside.

He felt Carl inhale and exhale, a tremulous breath, but he didn't look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground, staring at his shoes.

-Let's get it over with.- He whispered, clearing his throat.

A few seconds passed from his words, and then, finally, Carl's hands touched his skin. Silently, his fingers brushed the point where the other's skin was torn by cuts: shoulders, chest, a portion of his back. Ron felt him open the whiskey bottle, inhale its scent, and then let the liquid fall onto his body. An intense burning sensation attacked the open wounds, and his body spasmed, a moan escaping his lips, and the grip on the shirt tightened. He hated how weak he was; he was sure that if Carl were in his place, he wouldn't have made a sound.

He felt the boy pause at that sound. -If you want, I can stop for a moment.- He began, cautious, gentle?

Ron shook his head with determination. -I'm fine.- he growled with anger. -I'm not some weakling who needs to be coddled.- He added, looking away. He hated feeling this way, hated that Carl thought he was so feeble that he couldn't handle it on his own, and above all, he hated that his body completely betrayed what he was trying to prove.

Carl resumed in silence, carefully taking hold of his arm with his hand. Ron felt the other's fingers were rather soft for a survivor who had grown up in a world of fighters. Suddenly, he felt the sensation of the gauze against the wound on his arm, keeping the limb still to allow Carl to wrap it several times and tie it with a small knot. Then he stood up, letting Carl's fingers dance against his back and chest, his body shivering with chills every time he touched him.

And if this made him confused and frustrated, Ron wouldn't have told anyone.

But, above all, no one would ever know about the blush on his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Ron hated to admit it, but maybe Carl's company wasn't so bad after all. The two had not spoken since the moment Ron got up from the chair and put on the t-shirt he had previously taken off. They didn't even glance at each other; Ron didn't thank him, and Carl didn't ask anything of him. They kept themselves busy searching for supplies in the most unlikely places.

Ron wandered aimlessly, opening cupboards and checking even behind dishes covered in thick dust. He had turned the kitchen upside down, avoiding too much noise to not attract the unwanted attention of the walkers he could clearly hear outside the windows. Despite his efforts, he found nothing, and in a last desperate attempt, he had gone upstairs. The corridors were empty, a faint light coming in from the lone window illuminated the pictures hanging on the walls. Curiosity got the better of him, and carefully, he studied each frame, admiring the family photos they depicted: a little girl with a stuffed toy, the same girl taking her first steps, the wedding photo of the presumed parents, pictures of two dogs, and again the little girl.

It looked like the portrait of a perfect family, without any sign of troubles, just a lot of love, longing and respect, something he never had. Thinking back to his own childhood, he couldn't help but recall the endless abuses he had suffered. The more he thought about it, the more the negative memories poisoned his mind.

He couldn't remember a single moment when his life had been easy. From a young age onward, any memory, even blurred, was filled with his father, anger, alcohol, screams, and his mother's crying. He never had a father to take him to the playground or teach him how to shave. He always had to learn everything by himself, even things his mother could never teach him. And with his father around, the only thing he had managed to learn was how not to be a man, how not to be a father.

When he was younger, he had always imagined the moment when he would meet a beautiful girl, smart, able to keep up with him, someone his mother and brother would appreciate. He had imagined how he would treat her, how much love he would give her, and he had promised himself that he would never make her cry. Yet fate had been different, and unfortunately things had taken a turn he would never have foreseen. The apocalypse had begun, he had left school, lost all his friends in a short time, and was left alone. And then, after years, he had met Enid, the same girl whom he already broke the heart several times.

His expectations had crumbled completely.

-Ron?"- Carl's voice came to his ears from the last step of the stairs. He was staring in his direction, alternately looking at him and the pictures. Without adding anything, he approached the photos, looking at them in turn, letting his eyes run over the images of that beautiful little girl.

Ron looked at him, his eyes passing over his profile, the moles covering his cheeks, the curve of his nose, the thickness of his lips, the blue of his eyes. He scrutinized him carefully, observed him, almost admired him, and then, when Carl turned to look at him catching him red-handed, he found himself looking away, electrified.

-They look like the photos my mom used to carry in her photo album.- Carl said, nostalgic.

-You had a photo album?- Ron found himself laughing, a sense of bitterness in his mouth.

-You didn't?-

"No," he thought angrily. -No, I didn't. Mom tried to save one for many years but with all the fights something always ended up breaking. My father used to grab the few photos of me and Sam in every fight and, with sharp scissors, always cut our faces to pieces.-

-Sorry... stupid question.- He cleared his throat and Ron glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

He breathed in and then, with difficulty, whispered: -Doesn't matter...-

They remained silent for a long time, watching those photos, lost in their thoughts.

-We should go.- Ron nodded at the boy's words. They had wasted enough time in that house, now they just had to look for the girls, find them, and return to Alexandria to warn the group of the small herd of walkers they encountered.

Ron just hoped that Carl would omit the part where he had tried to kill him.

The two gathered their things, loading backpacks onto their shoulders and gripping their weapons tightly. Ron kept the gun, as he had already hinted to Carl when he first took it. He had to defend himself, whether Carl trusted him or not; the boy had no intention of giving up his only protection. Carl looked him in the eyes, standing on the threshold, his hand resting on the door handle.

-Are you ready?- He didn't look away from him and for a moment Ron, albeit unconsciously, found himself doing the same.

He nodded, his honey-colored eyes lost in a deep sea.

-Then let's go.- The boy didn't hesitate and slowly opened the door, leaning out to look outside, the light illuminating his face. He narrowed his eyes and with a nod of his head indicated that it was time to move. Carl went out first, Ron immediately after him. They could hear some of the walkers panting and moaning, dragging their feet on the ground, their eyes fixed on nothing, their limbs heavy.

Ron followed Carl silently, staying behind the boy and watching his back, shuddering at every sudden noise. He hated his body for that automatic reaction; even more, he hated the sense of security he felt with the boy. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had stayed alone, if one of those monsters had come near him again, how long it would have taken him to realize that the one in front of him was nothing but the ghost of a memory. That is brother was in fact not in his arms.

Fuck.
Fuck everything.

They continued walking until they reached the point where they had separated from the girls; the blood from their fight stained the tree they had leaned against and the ground they had fallen on. The walkers must have licked away some of it before continuing their journey, given the lighter color compared to what it had been initially.

Carl bent down, brushing the leaves with his fingers, his expression focused. He brought two fingers to his nose and sniffed, then shifted his gaze in a new direction. -I'm not sure. Daryl's much better at this sort of thing. But... think they went that way.- He said, looking up at Ron.

Ron met his gaze, narrowing his eyes. Without a word, he started walking in the direction Carl indicated, his breath heavy, heart racing. He hated the feeling in his chest. That disgusting hope—hope to find them safe, to find her at least. As for Sophia, he couldn't care less. But Enid… the only thing left of a family, how foolish he'd been to ignore her. If she was gone too… then he...

His breath caught for a moment at the thought, but he shook his head, quickening his pace. Carl followed suit behind him.

-We need to hurry.- He simply stated.

Suddenly, so fast that Ron thought he had dreamt it, a golden figure streaked across his vision, stopping in the distance to watch him. A shiver ran down his spine as he observed the figure, the image of his room in Alexandria, moonlight, darkness. It couldn't be. Even Carl seemed to notice, frowning in confusion.

-A cat.- He muttered. -Haven't seen one in a while. I don't think we should stop for it.-

Ron, however, didn't move. Something in that animal seemed to call to him. He couldn't explain it, it was just a feeling, but looking at the cat, still watching him, he couldn't help but feel a strange relief. He found himself ignoring Carl and moving towards the cat; the cat didn't wait, resuming its journey.

-Are you serious?- Ron heard Carl exclaim behind him, but he didn't listen, continuing on his way.

The cat meowed, moving swiftly through bushes and jumping over annoying branches, and step by step, led them to what was a small treehouse, tucked away at the edge of the woods.

-What's gotten into you?- Ron watched the cat climb the tree up to the little house, and just as the cat crossed the threshold, Carl drew his arm back, frustrated. -We need to go, there is no time to loose, we need to find Enid and Sophia.- He snapped, eyes stormy.

Ron started to reply only to be interrupted by Sophia's voice. -Guys… I see you're okay.-

The two turned in unison, looking at the treehouse from which Sophia had appeared, chin resting on crossed hands, a smirk on her face. -We didn't know if we had to wait.- she teased. -You took a long time.-

Enid peeked out too, hair slightly disheveled, her eyes widening and a smile forming on her lips. She visibly relaxed, her shoulders sagging after a long sigh.

-Ah. Ah.- Carl replied, smiling back. -You okay? Were you bitten?- He asked.

-Yeah, we're okay.- Enid replied. -We took shelter here right after we split from you. We even found a cat.-

Ron stared at the feline appearing on the windowsill, sitting next to the girls and staring down at him. Ron had never believed in signs or premonitions or any kind of arcane mystery, yet as he looked straight into the cat's eyes, he couldn't help but shiver and feel confused. Could a cat understand that they needed help? If so how did he knew that they were looking for the girls?

-We should spend the night here.- Sophia suggested, diverting from his thoughts. -It's getting dark to search for another place, and up here the walkers can't reach us.-

Carl nodded, agreeing with her. -Yeah, I suppose it's not a bad idea. We're coming.- He replied approaching the wooden ladder nailed to the tree trunk. He paused and turned to him, gesturing for him to go up first.

Ron hesitated, looking at him for a brief moment before approaching the ladder. He adjusted the pistol in his pants and tightened the backpack on his shoulders, climbing the steps one by one, eyes fixed upwards. Carl followed a few seconds later, and in no time they had reached the top of the tree.

Before he could get up, rubbing his hands on his pants just to clean them, not that it did anything given their dirtiness, Enid threw herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he lost his breath. He found himself frozen, eyes fixed ahead and arms suspended in mid-air, the girl's body was warm against him, and he could feel her hands resting against the upper part of his back. He hesitated for a long moment, perhaps too long as he felt Enid begin to move away.

Before the girl could leave, Ron hugged her tightly, burying his face in her neck.

Thank God.

He thought.

Thank God she's okay.

He would never forgive himself, never, if something had happened to her. He would have another regret. He would have kept her like another distant memory, something he would never touch again, something he would never see again.
But she was there, he felt her and he was sure she felt him.

-I'm sorry.- He found himself sobbing on the girl's shoulder. When did he start crying?

-It's okay, I'm sorry too.- She replied, her voice broken as well. And when did she start crying?

Sophia cleared her voice, destroying that moment in an instant. Ron stiffened, only remembering at that moment the presence of two other people in the house, who knows what a terrible show it must have been, swollen eyes, flushed cheeks and a runny nose. Definitely terrible.

-Sophia.- Enid interjected, exasperated.

-What!? You were there for ages! I'm hungry y'know!?- She replied, huffing and looking aside. -You're more whiny than my mom ever was.- She muttered, Carl laughed at that.

-Well then, shall we eat?- The blonde added, raising four sandwiches and holding them in her hands, a smirk on her face. Even the cat, which had been silent on the windowsill until then, meowed in satisfaction.