[ x. i know your temper ]

june 24th, 2012

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"ASTRID. HEY. WAKE UP. Can you hear me?"

Someone was shaking the Lancaster woman's shoulder. The world around the unconscious woman blurred and trembled, as if reality itself was unsure of its boundaries. Her awakening senses were mired in a fog of disorientation, a numbness that encased her like freshly poured cement. Every fiber of her being protested movement, muscles rigid and aching.

Finally, her eyelids struggled open. There, beside her, knelt Carl Grimes, his eyes widened with concern, lips chapped from worry, his entire demeanor fraught with frantic apprehension.

Astrid strained to move, to break free from the shackles that bound her to the couch. It was as if her very essence had been locked away from herself. The effort to merely communicate felt monumental, her vocal cords creaking with disuse. "What is it?" She rasped.

"You were talking in your sleep," Carl revealed gently. "Then you started crying. I had to wake you up. I didn't want to, but it's been two days."

Astrid's blood-crusted furrowed brows deepened into a frown. "Two days?" She questioned.

"Two days since we found this place."

Astrid's groggy mind reeled as she tried to piece together the fractured fragments of her memories. She had been out for two days? The last thing she recalled was their arrival in a new neighborhood, and taking shelter in a secure-enough house, but the events that followed remained cloudy. Her gaze flitted upward as if expecting answers to manifest from the very walls around her.

"What happened?" She wondered.

"On the first night here, you and my dad went to clean yourselves up," Carl began. "I heard your screams. A little while later, my dad came back out, holding you. I thought you were dead."

Astrid's heart plummeted at his words. She could not even begin to fathom the depths of fear and despair that had likely held him that first night. No fourteen-year-old should ever have to go through a pain like that.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. Anxiety and fresh fear coursed freely as she scanned her surroundings. "Where's your dad?" She inquired. Carl moved aside, revealing Rick's unconscious form sprawled on the hardwood floor. Astrid attempted to rise, to check on him. However, Carl's gentle but insistent push forced her back onto the couch, and she turned to him with wide-eyed panic. "Is he alright?" She asked.

Carl nodded. "He started to wake up last night and fell off the couch," He explained. "I tried to help him back up, but he was too heavy."

The revelation that Rick had also been asleep for nearly two days sent shockwaves through Astrid. She reached out to grip Carl's arm. "And you've been awake this whole time, taking care of everything by yourself?" Her words carried a deep worry, and she felt a guilty knot tighten in her stomach.

Once more, Carl nodded. "It wasn't too difficult," He murmured. "I know how to handle things. I even went to find some supplies."

Astrid's eyes widened, stunned by the boy's audacity. "You went outside on your own?" She demanded. "You could have gotten hurt."

"We needed food," He insisted, his shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. "You and Dad needed medicine."

"Carl—"

"I did what I had to do. I'm not a kid anymore, Astrid. You said it yourself back on the farm. No more kid stuff."

Astrid tried to voice her concerns once more but found herself struggling for words. She could not deny the truth in Carl's actions. While she had encouraged him to grow up, seeing him now, she still could not shake the image of the vulnerable boy he once had been in Atlanta. The thought of Carl facing danger alone tore dangerously at her conscience. What if, by chance, she had woken up and discovered he was gone—only to find him outside, killed by a walker? She could not dare to stomach it.

"I don't want you getting hurt," Astrid said, her tone firm and protective.

Carl countered, his voice tinged with self-assurednesss. "I'm fine, okay?" He gestured to himself with a hint of defiance. "Can't you see that?"

"But what if you weren't?" She pressed. "What would we do then?"

Carl hesitated. He chewed on his bottom lip, grappling with the unknown, before finally lifting his head with a newfound resolve. "It doesn't matter," He decided, the strength returning to his voice. "I'm fine."

Astrid allowed a poignant pause before resuming, her voice soft. "I remember what I told you back on the farm," She confirmed. "But do you remember what I said at the prison? The night we found Tyreese's group in the tombs?" When Carl shook his head, she continued, "I told you I'd always be there for you. And I promised that I'd never let anything happen to you, whether your father was around or not. I won't break that promise—not even if I'm in a coma."

Carl's swallow was audible, his attention fixed on the floor, as he recalled their exchange. They had been so close then. But they were still close now. When the boy finally met her gaze again, his eyes betrayed his remorse and sorrow. "I'm sorry," He whispered.

The Lancaster woman was taken aback by his sudden apology. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Carl repeated. I've been a complete asshole to you and Dad ever since we left the prison. There was no reason for it. You could barely stand, and I just kept pushing you around. Who does that? I'm a monster. I know I don't—"

"Carl," Astrid interrupted softly. "It's okay."

The boy fiercely shook his head. "No, it's not," He protested vehemently. "You can't just accept my apology so easily after how I've been acting."

"But I am," Astrid asserted firmly, her empathy unwavering. "I understand what you're going through. If I were your age, I'd probably act the same way. I know your temper . . . because I have it, too." A faint smile tugged at the corners of Carl's lips, and Astrid reached up to gently cup his cheek. "I'm just glad you're safe," She whispered.

"I'm glad you're okay, too," The boy replied softly. "I changed your bandages while you were out."

Astrid lifted her newly adorned shirt slightly, revealing a bandage over the wound on her abdomen that had visibly improved. The inflammation had subsided, and Astrid sighed in relief, reassured by her body's resilience against infection. She carefully lowered her shirt again. "Thank you, Carl," She said. "When—"

Before Astrid could inquire further, a crackling voice, unexpected yet welcome, intruded from behind the boy.

Carl's eyes lit up with a profound sense of relief. He turned around, allowing Astrid to catch sight of Rick Grimes, who, despite his injuries, was awake and sitting up slowly. His hand gingerly rubbed at the one eye that was not swollen. His own facial injuries were already on the mend.

A frail smile crept across Astrid's face as she raised a feeble hand and waved. "Hey," She breathed, knowing the lone word conveyed a wealth of meaning. Rick's response was a wide, heartfelt grin.

"You feeling okay?" He quietly asked her.

Astrid nodded. "What about yourself?"

"Sore," Rick admitted. "But I think I'll live."

Astrid's hand found its way to Carl's shoulder, where she gave him a gentle shake. "You have your son to thank for that," She said. The boy laughed softly, all the while his stare remained fixed on Rick. Astrid sensed that there were words left unsaid between father and son, words that Carl perhaps did not necessarily want to voice in her presence.

But then, a telltale growl emanated from the Lancaster woman's stomach, drawing her attention back to the immediate needs of the moment. She turned to Carl fully, her focus now on more practical matters. "You mentioned you gathered some food," She reminded him. "Where is it?"

"In the kitchen," Carl replied. "Do you want me to go get something for you?"

Astrid shook her head. "I've got it," She assured him, resolving to take charge despite the lingering ache in her side. Carl, ever the young gentleman, rose to his feet and extended a hand to assist her, pulling her up slowly. As she balanced herself on her good leg, she could not resist mussing up her helper's hair affectionately. "Thanks," She said with a warm smile. "I'll bring you both something back."

Both father and son nodded appreciatively, and Astrid made her way through the living room and into the brightly lit kitchen. As expected, the moment she left, she could hear Carl speaking quietly to his father, a conversation she deliberately chose not to eavesdrop on.

In the kitchen, she spotted a bag of dry cereal. Quietly pouring the crisp flakes into three small bowls and grabbing three spoons, she stood in reflective silence for a few more moments. She allowed the murmur of Rick and Carl's voices to recede, biding her time for the perfect moment to rejoin them. When she finally lifted the three bowls, she began her slow, limping journey back down the hallway.

"I've got breakf—" Astrid's words were abruptly stifled by a sudden series of foreboding thuds from the front door. The unexpected noise sent a jolt of fear racing through her veins.

The father and son pivoted their heads in her direction, their faces registering shock and apprehension. Then they armed themselves and rose to their feet. Carl cocked his gun, while Rick cautiously approached the door, teetering on the arm of the couch in an attempt to discreetly peer through the peephole. Astrid, meanwhile, carefully lowered the bowls to the ground and deftly retrieved her new kitchen knife from her back pocket.

But then, in an astonishing twist of events, Rick burst into laughter, his weapon slipping from his grasp and tumbling onto his lap. A wave of confusion washed over both Astrid and Carl, their brows furrowing in shared bewilderment. The boy turned back to his father. "What is it?" He demanded.

Astrid did not know what to do. Had Rick Grimes finally lost it? Was he laughing at some walker lurking beyond the door?

Rick's smile widened as he looked up at his son, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes. "It's for you," He cryptically informed. Astrid's brow furrowed even more deeply. As Carl cautiously approached the door, Rick cast a sly glance in Astrid's direction. "You're going to need to make another bowl," He added with a playful grin.

Astrid's gaze darted between the three bowls of cereal at her feet and Carl, who now wore an infectious smile on his own face. "Who's at the door?" She questioned.

Anticipation buzzed in the air. Astrid desperately wanted to uncover the identity of their unexpected visitor who stood on the other side of the door. Her mind began to race with a myriad of possibilities. Was it someone from the prison? Perhaps Daryl or Bailey? Astrid's nervousness grew as she tightened her grip on her knife, bracing herself for any outcome. And then, finally, Carl's answer sliced through the tension, releasing her from her anxious reverie.

A sigh of relief escaped the Lancaster woman's lips.

"It's Michonne."

~~~~~~~~~~

let's be real.  astrid may be terrified to raise children--but carl is already her first baby.  even if she doesn't realize it.  i love their bond so much.  i hope you readers do, too.