Stale M&M's (recently plagiarized as "Sweet Tooth") The Walking Dead Fanfiction

10. Season 4 ~ You Did What You Had to Do

Summary: Carl confesses.

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Everyone —Michonne, Tyreese, Daryl, and Bob— had made it back from the college in one piece. Carl's father helped them take all the medicine and equipment to A block as soon as possible. Carl and Oliver were told to return to the office blocks. Carl guessed it must've been rough in A block because Oliver was covered in new scrapes and bruises. His shoulder especially seemed to hurt because he couldn't stop rubbing it. His chest was making a racket like Daryl's motorbike.

Carl reached into his jacket pocket and handed Oliver his inhaler from it. Oliver shook his head. Carl took the cap off.

"Take it."

Oliver did, three or four times. Carl watched. As the pale moonlight emerged from behind the clouds, Oliver's face looked like it was sheened under a dim-blue vale. Carl thought about the colours he'd need to create it on paper. Oliver took another puff of his inhaler, breathed it deep, and Carl only realised he had inhaled, too, when Oliver narrowed his eyes at him.

"Stop that," he said, "it makes me nervous."

"Watching you take your medicine?"

"Yes."

With a scoff, Carl walked ahead of him, crossing his arms. "Just makin' sure you're still breathing is all..."

He heard Oliver chuckle and turned around at the same time as Oliver rushed up on him, knocking him off balance. He grabbed Carl around the middle to stop him tripping. Carl shoved him, laughing, but was secretly thrilled by the way Oliver always seemed to catch him so easily, holding him like he might've been about to lift him in his arms. He didn't though, so Carl snatched his hand and pulled him towards the office blocks.

He couldn't help the stupid smile on his face. He was so glad the medicine had arrived. Suddenly he wanted to skip as he and Oliver headed through the office blocks — he definitely didn't, though.

They let go of each other as spooked faces began emerging from the offices, asking what had happened. Carl told them what he'd told his father.

"Everything's gonna be okay..."

He was beat by the time they got back to their office. He collapsed on top of their messy pile of sleeping bags and listened to Oliver mull about the room in his way. He'd picked up a first aid kit on the way through the block and Carl could hear him opening it and rifling through. He turned his head to watch Oliver sitting on the floor beside him, cleaning and band-aiding his bloody elbows. He gave Carl a soft wrap with his splayed out leg.

"Sorry," Carl said. "Watching again."

"No, idiota. Change your clothes. I don't wanna share a sleeping bag with someone who reeks of brains."

Begrudgingly, Carl got up and left to change his clothes in the washroom, rinsing the walker blood off his arms and face. When he'd returned, Oliver was sitting on their sleeping bags wearing only his underwear and socks, complaining that his clothes smelled of gunpowder and sweat. There were more clean clothes in Carl's bag but Oliver didn't make any effort to look for them yet. Carl didn't mind.

As he sat at Oliver's side, he saw the large bruise across his shoulder and armpit.

"Kickback get you?"

Oliver nodded. He pressed his fingers into the bruise and winced.

Carl chuckled at him in bemusement. "You know, it usually hurts less if you don't touch it."

"No, it's a good pain," Oliver said. "Here." He reached out to Carl's forehead. Instantly, at Oliver's touch, Carl hissed through his teeth at the deep ache and jerked his face away. He felt the raised skin on his skull. It had been where part of the fence had hit him when it finally caved in. Oliver chuckled. "You don't like it?"