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M E G A N

Everything we needed had been right under our noses ever since Tara came back from her little adventure.

And it didn't take long for us to scout out the new community after she finally told us about it.

Her hesitance could've costed us everything, had she chosen not to disclose her knowledge of this hidden place. But after a few days of watching the rest of the group scramble to find enough guns, the woman knew it was time to give the community up.

Tara broke a promise to their people. One that she was forced to make because, they too, had an encounter with the Saviors. An encounter that left every one of their men over the age of ten dead.

As if boys that young can even be considered men.

What worries me about our excursion to this place, is the simple fact that Carl fits well into that deadly category. And that what happened to us, the night we lost Glenn and Abe, could've easily been so much worse. Not that anyone thought it could've gotten any worse from there.

I'd never allowed myself to really dwell on the thought about what it would have been like to have lost Carl on that night. The Oceanside's story introduced a new dynamic to my fear of the Saviors: their willingness to do the same thing to a child.

A dual-sided fear that I continue to carry with me as Carl and I slowly walk along the tree-line, fully armed.

The two of us have been on some sort of perimeter watch, while the rest of the group slowly moves in, and prepares themselves for Rick's plan to corner Oceanside into agreement. Whether it be to fight alongside us, or to simply hand over their guns, the schemes will leave them with little to no choice.

I can only feel so guilt-riddled about the plan to ransack the community, before realizing that this is the only way to make sure that what happened to their men never happens to anyone again. Especially not to Carl Grimes.

"You doing okay over there?" He mutters to me. The boy doesn't turn his head away from the sound of the distant waves as he speaks to me.

I sigh, managing to bring one word to the surface. "Yeah."

"Are you really okay?" He ignores my unsatisfactory response. The boy then sucks in a breath, before I can mutter another. "And how about the truth this time?"

"I just—" I stutter. "I have a bad feeling."

The boy tears his eye away from the trees. "About Oceanside?"

"No." My eyes keep roaming around, as my hands keep a steady grip on the heavy rifle draped across my front side. "Just a feeling."

Carl scoffs under his breath, stopping in his tracks. "Do you know what about?"

There are—in fact—several reasons for my impending headache.

Starting with the simple fact that we're almost nothing short of stealing defense from a community that once stood no match against the Saviors, in order for us to have a fighting chance of our own. Then continuing on with the extent of the wrath these women had faced, and the imagination of it ever happening to our own people.

Lastly, the image of it all happening to the boy standing right in front of me.

I lightly shake my head. "No."

My lie spares me from whatever distraction the truth might cause, that would keep us from focusing on the task at hand.

"Whatever you say." Carl sighs, before returning his gaze back towards the motionless trees and continuing on with his carefully-placed steps.

Over time, the boy's learned when to drop something and when to not. And it relieves me, that in this situation, he no longer continues to question my evidently active nerves, which would only have made them worse.

A sharp whistle cuts through the few moments of silence, and my feet stop dragging themselves. 

My grip on the rifle in my hands tightens, as I pretend to be quick enough with this large of a gun to be able to even have such a reflex. Both Carl and I turn our heads towards the noise.

The last time we heard whistling through the trees, it was the beginning of the end.

Twigs and dried leaves snap underneath her feet as Tara moves from behind a tree.

"Come on guys." She nods towards Carl and I. "Time to move in."

Without a word, the boy and I begin to quietly follow behind the woman, as she guides us farther towards the ocean. The crashing waves sound closer and closer with every step we take towards the oblivious community.

"Psst."

My eyes flick from their harsh focus on my own two feet, and look up towards Carl, who stands in front of me, no longer walking. The boy stays still for a few moments, waiting for me to catch up to him.

Once Tara walks a good ways in front of us, he turns his head over his right shoulder, nodding back to me. "Look,"

"Hm?" I creep up closer behind the boy, closing the gap between us.

Once I follow his gaze through the tree-line, my eyes land on the almost motionless beach.

One that hasn't been touched by many in a very long time, as the moist, brown sand has no textured footprints. No one's had the luxury of trampling their way towards the ocean and ruffling up the sand, since this place has become more of a hiding spot than a paradise.

He lets out a wispy breath, one that effortlessly flows from between his smiling lips. "I guess we got our day on the beach, after all."

Allowing a small smile to pull its way across my tense face, I slowly strap the rifle behind my shoulder, and wrap my arms around Carl's waist. The side of my cheek presses itself against his shoulder blade, which sits sharply just underneath his rough flannel.

Minutes ago, I was relieved that the boy didn't continue to press on about whatever it is that I'm feeling. But it was a little dense of me to think that Carl Grimes wouldn't find a way to make me forget all about it. Even if just for another moment.

As I snake my hands underneath the rifle that he also holds against his front side, I prop my chin on top of his shoulder, right next to his neck. "Now all we need are some popsicles—then a movie."

The boy only slightly cranes his neck—as he knows it's pointless to try to see me over both his bandage and his right shoulder—and his body vibrates mine, with a quiet chuckle. "You forgot about the sex part."

In this painfully curious moment, it's probably best that the boy's good eye can't see the stupid grin on my face.

"No, Carl." I sigh. "I definitely didn't."

☆

After both successfully taking the weapons from Oceanside and reluctantly accepting whatever information Dwight could've given us about the Saviors, tensions have been higher than ever. And as the garbage trucks roll through the front gates, filled to the brim with the people of the junkyard, the essence of war is certain in the air.

Carl and I stand poised, on the sidewalk, as Rick and Michonne converse with their leader. The rest of their people clammer out of the vehicles and kickstand their bicycles. The two of us watch their every move, as there's nothing else for us to do, except wait.

A fallen tree in the road is what stops the Saviors from blowing through all of Alexandria like the big bad wolf. This gives a good portion of our people barely enough time to post themselves and to rig their little contraptions just beyond the walls.

To add onto the gravity of the situation, the boy had previously told me that the group acquired several explosives whilst on the journey back from the Kingdom. Carl had—so-conveniently—forgotten to mention it to me, until he had no other choice. It was probably for the best, considering how I reacted to his little field trip to the Sanctuary.

"You still have that bad feeling?" Carl playfully nudges my arm with his elbow.

Although not having looked in a mirror recently, I'm almost certain of the white cast across the skin of my face. The lack of color being a result of my bad feeling—feelings about the approaching war.

I never thought I'd have to come across another time like this. A time where I feel exposed and out on my ass, just waiting for another war. Some kind of fight that promises more death. Similar to our old rendezvous with the governor.

"Yeah, Carl." I sigh. "I still have it."

The optimistic boy scoffs, as yesterday's access to the Oceanside's entire armory of guns has granted him his first glimmer of hope in a very long time. A relief from Alexandria's constant helplessness that the boy's let weigh down his shoulders. Almost as if it's something he's been dealing with all on his own.

The boy sighs from right beside me, as the sides of our folded arms brush against one another. "Well you shouldn't."

I force a faintly curious smile to cross my nervous lips. "Why's that?"

I feel Carl's arm shrug as he takes a few moments to prepare his words. "The guns, the junkyard people, Dwight. Now that they're on our side, we finally have a fighting chance."

"A fighting chance doesn't magically make everything better." I start, sucking in a long-winded breath. "It just means that there'll be another fight."

The boy tilts his head to the side, lowering the direction of his voice right towards my ear. "A fight that we're going to win."

"With Sasha and Eugene on the other side of the walls," I trail off. My voice loses itself for a moment as I slightly motion with my hand, switching my gaze up towards Carl. "We'll lose either way."

The stubbornly calm boy meets my eyes after my usual pessimistic words. "You can't keep thinking that way, Megan."

Pulling my eyes away from a stern Carl, I let them flick towards the crowded street once again. A sigh flows from between my tense lips.

"You can't keep living like these horrible things have already happened." He steps back into my view, and I reluctantly let my eyes rise to his face. "Because if they actually do happen, then you'll just have to live through them twice."

I gently scoff. "Does it count as two different times if the feeling never quite goes away?"

Carl's eyebrow furrows, as his expression angers at my response. A look of disbelief plasters itself across his face. "What feeling?"

"I d—"

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Megan." He angrily shakes his head. "I'm not going to let it."

"Carl." Sucking in a short breath, I can no longer conceal the worry that takes over my expression. "The last person that I'm worrying about here is myself."

The anger—for a moment—slowly leaves Carl's face, as he realizes exactly why I've been so fearful. My dark cloud of anticipation that towers over us is not out of concern for myself, but for him.

Before, I managed to get away with my worries. But now, they stare me in the face. Confused expression, awe-stricken parted lips and all.

"I—"

It's Rick who unknowingly comes to my rescue, by placing a strong hand on Carl's shoulder.

"Come on," He mutters to the both of us. "It's time to get in position."

Out of my intensifying nerves—and slight fear of Rick Grimes—I wait for the man's son to move first, before beginning to trail my feet behind his.

I follow the boy to the platform just behind the front wall, and he comes to a stop just before reaching the ladder. In a hesitantly stubborn way, the boy turns around to fully face me.

A thousand thoughts running through his angry mind just before we load our guns and prepare them to fire.

"You first," Carl slightly motions his hand, pointing his finger upwards towards the platform. "I'll stay down and keep the ladder steady, for you."

A small smile crosses over my lips, as the boy passive-aggressively steps aside, allowing me full access to the ladder. "You can never quite stay mad at me. Can you Grimes?"

My change in demeanor almost effortlessly changes the boy's as well. His weighed-down expression slightly lifts itself, as I step forward and begin to pull myself up the first few steps of the ladder.

"No." The boy chuckles. "It's not that."

"What is it, then?" I tease, tilting my ear in Carl's direction, although I can no longer see him over my shoulder.

A few moments of silence occur, before I continue to pull myself back up the steps. "It's the perfect view that I have of your ass, right now."

I—once again—stop climbing upward. The two of us briefly laugh amongst ourselves.

"Very classy, Carl."

After the boy leaves me in another silence, I begin to climb up the ladder. A more few steps creak underneath the weight of my body as I consciously try harder to better mind the placement of my hips.

It's clear to the both of us that the boy is just trying to lighten the mood, using something that almost never misses with me: his odd sense of humor. But, nothing can distract me from the not-so-distant reality that Carl Grimes, himself, will soon be fighting in a war. As will I, but that's not the most important part.

"Megan?" The boy's voice echoes from below me, sounding out in more of a serious manner than before.

With a sigh, I slow down my climbing, now only about a quarter of the way up the ladder. "Hm?"

"It might not be today," Carl starts. "But we're going to win this."

☆

A moment of silence was all it took for my bad feeling to kick into overdrive.

A moment of silence that was—instead—supposed to be filled with a series of explosions happening right in front of my very own eyes. The prepared bombs we all braced ourselves for never even went off.

It was then, that Carl and I looked to each other. The two of us almost telepathically reaching out for one another underneath the baffling stun of Alexandria's own failure.

As if the silence wasn't loud enough, the gentle clicking sound of a series of firearms being cocked right behind our heads wasn't a much better replacement for it. I would've preferred to spend just a few more moments basking in confusion, than to have realized what exactly was going on between the junkyard people and the Saviors.

But that realization was only the beginning.

It was Carl who'd fired the first shots towards the people holding us at gunpoint. Everyone of them was too busy gawking at yet another shocking revelation.

The grand realization that the Saviors had no more leverage over a revolting Alexandria, as their theatrically opened casket revealed the remains of an undead Sasha.

Nobody knew how she died.

Nobody knew why she died.

All we knew was that the sudden domino effect of gunshots was an opportunity to get out of that mess. An opportunity that we did not want to miss out on. One that we didn't hesitate to take.

We took advantage of Sasha's death.

The woman would have done the same, had she been fighting alongside us. She'd be proud to know that she saved Alexandria, even beyond her very own grave.

Of course, all of the back-and-forth gunfire wasn't a direct way out. That would've been too easy.

Instead, there came a point where my bad feeling—it wasn't just a feeling anymore.

Bad things were about to happen to Carl Grimes right in front of my own two eyes. They were about to happen right on top of the plush grass inside of our very own community. He almost perished in the place we've grown to call our home.

Had the Hilltop and the Kingdom not entered through the breach in the walls just before the barbed-wire wrapped bat was lowered, I'd be sitting here reliving a very different story. Over and over again.

It's because of those two communities that Alexandria still even has a story to tell. They're the reason that Carl lives to see another day. Most importantly, they're the reason that my bad feeling is—once again—just a feeling, and no longer my immediate reality.

Now, my immediate reality is the bittersweet aura of my infirmary in between its moments of full capacity.

Of course, gawking down at Rosita's bullet wound and Michonne's fully-battered appearance is quite awful. Having patients in such conditions is never a good thing. It's something I've even grown to dread ever since the Saviors have come into our lives.

A certain relief washes over me, however, knowing that this may be the turning point in which the people of Alexandria stop getting hurt so regularly. Now that we've finally leveled the playing field, we no longer have to blindly accept whatever it is that those men have taken from us.

For the first time in days, my own bad feeling seems to put itself at ease.

That is, until a suddenly placed hand on my shoulder causes my reflexes to spike at an all-time high.

I spin around on my heel, swiftly tearing my shoulder from underneath the palm that formerly gripped at it. My mind subconsciously tries to remind myself where the nearest weapon is, before my eyes land on the familiar blue and white patterned flannel.

Carl raises his hands in defense. "It's only me."

Sucking in a few sudden breaths, my body takes a few seconds to adjust to however much adrenaline it just created. The simple sight of the boy in front of me is what immediately soothes my rampant nerves. As my eyes scan the familiar details of his face, I soon ground myself.

Without a second thought, my lip quivers, although I don't necessarily feel like crying. The boy sees my bothered state, and opens his arms out to me.

I close the gap between myself and his chest, resting the side of my face against the strong beat of his heart. The boy wraps his sleeved arms around my backside, placing a palm on the back of my head and squeezing my body tightly against his.

Carl smells of fresh gunpowder, as he's just come in from the blaring outside heat, which intensifies the memory-filled scent. As a fragrant contrast to the boy, I'd gotten the chance to have a quick shower and sterilize myself before tending to the wounds of the women asleep in the beds behind the two of us.

"It's only me." He repeats into my hair.

Seemingly, all of my bad feelings about the war have subsided the mere second my mind catches up to my body, trapped within every aspect of Carl's embrace. The boy's been distracting me from certain doom all day. And now that the daylight is dying, what could a little more distraction hurt?

"Is it over?" I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing myself to soak in every single second of the boy's presence within my grasp.

"No, but it will be." Carl's long hair dangles over the exposed skin of my collarbone, as he shakes his head. "And soon."

Out of confusion, I step backwards from Carl's embrace, lifting my head from its burrow in his chest. My eyes meet his single blue one, as he stares down at me with a gleam hopeful enough to make up for the bandaged void of emotion that mirrors it.

"What?"

The boy sucks in a shaky breath, his lip quivering too, out of pure emotional exhaustion. "It's not over until he's dead. You know that, Megan."

Almost as if I'm on autopilot to conceal my true feelings about ever having to lose Carl Grimes, I return a simple nod underneath the boy's endearing gaze. Without another word, the two of us tighten our arms once again, standing together as one in the middle of the darkening infirmary.

Except this embrace is far different than the one we shared a few moments ago. The comfort being removed from the situation right after the boy's determined words.

It leaves me unsettled within his arms, as I come to the last brutal realization of the day.

My bad feeling didn't depend on the war—on the Saviors. It depended and forever will be dependent on the safety of the boy who currently uses my embrace to bask in the glory we've not yet achieved. And even if we ever do rid Alexandria of everything we've been forced to face these past couple of weeks, it will not matter to me.

Because, as long as Carl Grimes is living in this world, having to fight his way through every battle that comes along with this life, I don't think my bad feeling will ever quite fully go away.

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3560 words

A/N

there's a 50% chance I'll go in and make soundtracks and add titles to every chapter before I start publishing season 8

i made a trailer for his chapter on my tiktok!! and I feel like it's one of those cases where the trailer is more action-packed than the rest of the content LMAO

sorry for my lack of a lengthy A/N, the further into this book I write, the more emo I get

☆vote if Oceanside's backstory is slept on ☆