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

14. Season 4 ~ After

Summary: Carl stays busy. Oliver recovers. Rick has fallen unconscious and will not wake up.

~

The next morning, Carl couldn't get his father to open his eyes, even when he shook his arm and called out to him. He gave up when he woke Oliver by accident. Sighing, Carl took their bag into the kitchen and made himself a bowl of dry oat flakes and molasses. He took the bowl upstairs alone.

After eating on the bed in the kid's room alcove, Carl got up and explored the bookshelves. They weren't filled only with books, but other things, too. There was a bass guitar, a skateboard, puzzles, and some beanies. Carl picked a book at random and began reading it on the bed. Soon, he heard footsteps coming upstairs until Oliver peered into the room with a blanket wrapped around himself.

"Are you mad at me?"

Carl scowled at him over the top of his book. "Why would I be mad at you?"

Oliver shrugged. "You seem mad."

"I am mad," Carl said. "Just... not at you."

Oliver nodded and shuffled over, taking small steps so as not to trip on his blanket cocoon.

"You still looking for a new beanie?" Carl asked him, and pointed through the alcove wall at the bookshelf on the opposite side. Oliver glanced. His eyes widened. He took his pick of the several there and came away with a burgundy one, pulling it on over his head. He sighed, like he'd just slid into a warm bath or something. It covered the terrible bruise and gash on his temple.

Oliver sat on the bed at Carl's side, wincing and clutching his stomach as he got comfortable. His sneakers muddied the sheet. Carl offered him breakfast, and when Oliver nodded, Carl left to pour him some oat flakes and molasses. When he went back upstairs, Oliver had already begun to bleed through his beanie. He didn't seem to take notice, though, and was reading his own book — somehow he'd managed to keep Tom Sawyer on his person through all the chaos yesterday. The corner of its pages were bloody.

They needed new clothes, so while Oliver ate, Carl dug through the wardrobe. Size-wise, he and Oliver had switched recently to Oliver being an inch or two taller, and although Carl used to be scrawnier than him, farming must've bulked him out some because he was a little stronger than Oliver lately, despite being slightly shorter. Regardless, the kid who lived here before the Turn was roughly their size, if not a little bigger, so they were able to change from their dirty clothes into all new, clean outfits.

"The dude really liked flannel shirts, huh..."

"Great," Oliver said, "we can look like lumberjacks from now on."

Once they were dressed, they were still dirty —and in Oliver's case, bloody— but they were at least a little more comfortable. Carl knew his job today would be looking for something to help with Oliver and his father's injuries. Not just bandages or things to clean them with, either, but antibiotics, if he was judging the discolouration of their wounds properly. He didn't mention it out loud to Oliver, though, so as not to worry him.

"Your dad okay?"

"Yeah," Carl lied.

"Are you?"

"Yeah," Carl lied.

For a while they were just silent, and it occurred to Carl that after yesterday, his and Oliver's silences were going to be different from now on, and unless they found a way to get used to it, they weren't going to manage being friends anymore. Oliver managed to make it feel a little more normal when he began to read again, and Carl picked up his book, too, and they both read in their silence together, almost like they used to, and it was almost alright.