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Carl's arms are shaking as he gathers his new baby sister into his arm, trying his best to safely gather her. As he tried to pick her up carefully, the baby slid down his arms, leaving a trail of blood and slimy substances on his skin from where he had rolled up his long sleeves. Just like his mother had described to him, Carl grabbed the umbilical cord, trying his best to cut it with that damned knife. It slipped through his fingers more times than he could count, but he eventually got it tied off.
A very gentle smile settled on his face when he wrapped the baby up in a stray piece of cloth, though he was already covered in the blood of his mother. It made Carl remember that his mother was still lying there, so Carl gently set his little sister to the side on the fabric and turned to Lori's body.
She wasn't breathing like she was before. She stopped groaning- stopped screaming in pain.
"Mom," Carl whispered, grabbing her hand both of his, trying to cradle her larger hand in his small ones. "Mom, we gotta' go," he says. When she doesn't react, he moves his left hand to grab the side of her face, the same way she had just minutes ago. "Mom," Carl begs. A tear slips down his face as he closes his eyes.
"You see my old c-section scar?" Lori had asked, pulling up the hem of her shirt to rest above her stomach. She opened her mouth to continue, but Carl's cheeks were soaked in tears, and he shook his head.
"I can't," he muttered, ignoring her protests. "I can't-"
Lori shook her head. "You have to," she says. Despite this, Carl keeps muttering under his breath, shaking his head and repeating how he 'can't do it.' "Carl?" She says, grabbing his attention. She reaches forward, grabbing his hand in hers. "Baby, I don't want you to be scared, okay? This is- this is what I want," Lori says, swallowing the biggest rises of fear that she could handle. She squeezes his hand tighter to stop her own shaking. "This is right."
"Now you-" she pauses, smiling. "You take care of your daddy for me, alright? And- and your little brother or sister, you take care-"
Carl sobs into the air. "You don't have to do this," he argues, squeezing her hand in return. "You- you don't-"
"You're gonna' be fine," she says, pulling her hand away. "You are gonna' beat this world. I know you will," Lori specifies, tapping her finger against his leg. "You are smart, and you are strong, and- and you are so brave, and I love you."
"I love you, too."
Lori nods, flattening her hand on his knee and rubbing it. "You gotta' do what's right, baby. You- you promise me, you'll always do what's right." As her son nods, Lori makes sure to explain in order to ensure that the young boy can do this. "It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world. So don't-" she swallows, blinking away the tears in her eyes. "So if it feels wrong, don't do it, alright? If it- if it feels easy, don't do it. Don't let the world spoil you."
Reaching her hand up, she swipes her thumb across Carl's cheeks, his young face still rounded, and he's almost never looked so young. "You're so good," she says, chuckling lightly. "You're my sweet boy. I love you, I love you-" Lori mutters carelessly, the emotions of it all finally slamming into her. She grabs his shoulder and pulls him down, wrapping her weak, shaking arms around her back. Her son it quick to return the gesture as best as he can. She kisses the top of his head. "The best thing I ever did. God, I love you. You're my sweet, sweet boy."
She shakily inhales and pats his back. "Okay, okay," Lori mutters, gently pushing his shoulders away and forcing Carl to sit up. Lori wipes her tears away as quick as possible, hoping that her son doesn't spot them. "It's alright. It's alright."
Carl sighs and nods, leaving a kiss on the back of her hand before moving down towards her legs. He retrieves his knife and hesitates to press the cold metal to her skin. When he does, not even pressing the blade far enough to leave an indent, Lori hisses.
"Whew, whew, alright," she mumbles. "Goodnight, love," Lori says.
The last thing Carl does before he presses the blade in is whispers that he's sorry, and before he knows it, his mother's screaming is the loudest, most gut-wrenching noise he's ever heard in his life.
He looks down at the blood caking his hands, the built-up puddles drying underneath his fingernails, the uncomfortable stretch of skin each time he closes his fist. He knows that Lori would never want him to see her like this- weak and vulnerable and bleeding out on the concrete floor of an old boiler room- but he doesn't have much of a choice. He has to make the decision that he never quite wanted to.
Carl knows that Lori's unconscious, that she can't feel all that much, but her chest is still shakily rising and falling, trying to fight the inventible death that she'll soon face.
Carl can't let her succumb to the virus alive.
So, he does the only thing that he can think of doing. He pulls out the cold python that he keeps for emergencies, because he'd rather put a bullet in his mother's skull to stop her suffering than let her lie, slowly dying on a dirty floor. Ever so gently, he presses the barrel to her forehead. As hard as he tries to convince himself to close his eyes, it doesn't work, and he stares lifelessly as his finger instinctively pulls the trigger.
The kid isn't quite sure how it pans out after that. One second, he finds himself picking the baby up, gently trying to hush her barely existing cries, and he seems to succeed, since the next thing he recognizes is that he's out in the empty prison yard. And, despite that his conscious was probably seeking aid, there's no one there to help Carl out.
Somehow, Carl convinces himself to stumble out of the little exit of the room and towards the wall, collapsing against it as all the weight seems to be suddenly unsupported by his quivering legs. His shoulders dig into the rough brick as he heaves, trying to catch the breath that he isn't quite sure how he lost. He had finally willed his own cries to end, but the world is still fuzzy, he can't focus, and-
-and the baby in his arms as started to cry.
"No," Carl mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. He shakes his head, his father's hat falling to the ground and he does so. "No, no, please-" he sobs, wobbly rocking her back and forth. He tries to shush her, but the sound is broken up by his hyperventilating. "Please stop," he cries. The baby only continues to wail, each scream growing louder than the last.
Carl shakes his head as his tears fall from the peaks of his checks, landing on the bloodied skin of his little sister, washing very concentrated spots of blood off of her body. He brings of his hands to cradle the back of her head, holding her closer to his shoulder and he bounces her in his arms. "Please stop," he begs through a whisper, crying into her shoulder.
For a slight moment, he thinks he might hear people talking, something about who is still around, and suddenly, there's the dropping of a metal weapons and footsteps cease to exist.
"Carl?" he hears. Shockingly, he finds himself looking up to the unknown voice. The closest person to him is Maggie, her face filled with horror as she looks at the young boy.
"She won't stop," he sobs, holding his little sister out to the woman. His mom always knew how to care for babies. "Please, she won't stop."
Maggie nods, though she looks hesitant to do anything. Slowly, she walks forward and takes the baby from his arms, wrapping the cloth around her body and staring at the child with confusion. She turns around, looking to Glenn, who motions her to come closer. Even Maggie begins to cry as she approaches him, so Glenn holds her face and hugs her tight, careful of the newborn baby in her arms.
In the distance, he sees some people standing around each other, but they look sort of fuzzy, so he can't quite make out who they are. Yet, Carl can easily recognize his father's figure from anywhere- he'd never forget it after the long months of waiting for his arrival- as the man storms towards the boiler room.
"No," he mumbles, though it doesn't stop Rick. Carl pushes himself off of the wall and trips over his own feet trying to rush to his dad. His hand brushes Rick's arm just enough for the older man to turn around, stopping himself in his tracks. "Don't, Dad," he whispers, voice breaking. "Don't go in there."
Rick looks down in confusion, his furrowed eyebrows quickly straightening themselves as his eyes morph into horror. "Where is-" he stops himself, "no." He looks down at Carl, leaning with his hands on his knees as if he expects his son to do anything but the response he gives: Carl shakes his head. "No."
Carl watches in slow motion as he father rolls to the ground, a dry wail leaving his throat as he mourns for the loss of Lori, the woman he could never stop loving. His cries are somehow able to drown out those of his baby sister, and Carl can't get any other the members of his family out of his head. There's so many people standing around him, all in their own worlds, and not a single person is coming to him. Carl feels alone. He doesn't even realize it when his small fist begins closing tighter on the gun still in his hand, finger hovering over the trigger.
It's surprising that the hands on his shoulders are Daryl's. The man has never been close to him- close to any kids, at that- but he's looking at Carl like he would do anything to take the pain away.
He doesn't talk, just looks Carl in the eyes as he slowly, gently reaches his hand down to ease the gun out of his hand, sliding the weapon away from his reach and shoving it into his own pocket. The most shocking thing to happen, though, has to be when Daryl crouches down and pulls Carl into his arm. There's strong hands on his back, warmer and larger than the cold, frail ones of his mother's depleting body.
Then there's words. A soft, yet still scruff voice is in his ear, whispering that it will all be ok, that Carl is ok, that Daryl's here and he's not alone, that he's safe-
Carl finally crumbles.
He sobs, letting his shoulders fall forward as he throws his arms around Daryl's back. He hopes and prays that the man won't get mad at the blood on his hands, that it no doubt covering his precious vest as Carl grips the material with all the strength he can muster up. And yet, Daryl doesn't falter. Instead, his embrace grows tighter, suffocating Carl in immense comfort as he does his best to tell Carl that everything is going to be ok.
Even though he doesn't quite believe it, Carl cries in relief that he can just let go, and he does just that.
The world cries with Carl.