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Judith was a mess. She was too young to stop herself from breaking down, to mask her pain for Carl’s sake like everyone else. She screamed and cried, hugging Carl as tight as her little arms could manage. Carl practically raised Judith on his own. The girl loved her brother more than she loved anyone else, more than she ever could love anyone else.
“You’re leaving me,” Judith had sobbed, squeezing Carl’s upper arm with all of her tiny fingers.
“No, Judy,” Carl spoke so soft, trying his best to reassure his sister despite the tears in his eyes, “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”
Judith’s crying seized almost instantaneously, her red-rimmed eyes wide and hopeful. “You’re not?” She’d asked.
Carl gave her the best smile he could manage, smoothing a hand over her mess of blonde curls. “No. Even.. Even if you can’t see me or feel me, I’m always gonna be with you.”
“You will?” Judith had pleaded, grabbing fistfuls of Carl’s sweat-soaked shirt.
“I will,” Carl breathed, a lone tear sliding down his cheek, “I will.”
Ron spends the first few days with Judith. He wants to be with Rick and Michonne, to get through his loss with the only people who could truly understand, but he felt as though he would be overstepping. The parents need to grieve on their own.
Ron remembers the way Carl asked him to take care of Judith. ”She loves you. She can’t lose you too, Ron. She’s gonna need you.” As much as it hurt him to look at her, to see Carl’s blue eyes shining back from the toddler’s face, Ron couldn’t let Carl down. Couldn’t let Judith down. She lost her brother, the most important person in her world. Ron wouldn’t let her go through this alone.
It isn’t until the fourth day that Judith begins talking to herself.
Ron finds her one morning, in the room she shares with Rick and Michonne, sitting on the floor and having a full conversation with no one. It’s near impossible to keep up with what the girl is saying with how fast the words come. Ron hears Judith talk about her parents, about the Barrington house and how big it is, even hears his own name brought up in an excited burst of unintelligible words.
Ron approaches her slowly, not wanting to startle her. Once he gets closer, he sees it. The sheriff’s hat Carl wore, the one he gave Judith, in front of her on the floor.
“Judy,” Ron says softly, getting down on one knee next to the girl, “Who are you talking to?”
Judith grabs Ron’s hand, lifts it up and giggles. “I told you he’s okay!” She says matter-of-factly.
Ron moves his hand out of Judith’s grasp to rest it on her small shoulder, giving a tiny squeeze. “Who are you talking to, angel?”
Judith looks at Ron, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It’s Carl! I know you know him!”
Eyes widening, Ron removes his hand. His gaze flits over to the hat on the floor. Judith misses her brother. She’s pretending he’s there. He’s not there.
With damp eyes, Ron shakes his head. “Judy, Carl is..”
Not here. Dead. Gone. Never coming back. Judith stares up at Ron with Carl’s big blue eyes and he falters.
“Carl is really lucky to have a sister like you,” he tells her with a small smile, leaning forward to press a kiss into her hair. “Let’s go get you some breakfast, alright?”
“Okay!” Judith pushes up to her feet and rushes to the door.
Ron waits until she’s gone to lean forward, letting the tips of his fingers rest on the top of Carl’s hat. “I don’t think you’re here,” Ron whispers, “but I love you.”
Ron tosses Carl’s hat onto the bed before he sets off after Judith.
It isn’t long before people start to return to Alexandria. Some houses are still intact. The others will be rebuilt.
Ron spends the entirety of his first day back helping repair the fence and clear out the dead. He takes down walkers with a ferocity he’s never wasted on the dead before. Each time his knife sinks into a skull, Ron wonders if it was the one to bite his love.
When the sun has set and the community is secure, Ron finally makes his way to the house. The one he lived in with Carl and his family. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll be welcome to stay there anymore.
Ron finds Rick and Michonne in the kitchen. Judith is being fed by Michonne. Rick is watching with just a hint of sadness in his eyes, and Ron understands. Carl was always the one to feed Judith and put her to bed.
“Ron,” Rick greets him, offering the best smile he can manage.
“Sorry to bother you,” Ron says quietly, tugging on the ends of his sleeves, “Tara said I could stay with her, so.. I just need to grab some things.”
Rick and Michonne share a look. They’re communicating without speaking, somehow. Carl and Rick would often do the same. Ron never understood how they knew exactly what the other was thinking through just a facial expression.
It’s quiet for a moment and Ron doesn’t know if he should go or not. It’s been a long time since he was so nervous and unsure around Carl’s parents. They feel like strangers now.
“Why?” Michonne finally asks, the question startling Ron just a bit.
Swallowing, Ron shrugs. “I just thought you.. I didn’t know if-“
Ron cuts himself off when Rick crosses the room. Ron doesn’t understand what’s happening until his face is pressed against Rick’s chest, two strong arms wrapped around upper back, holding him in place. A hand comes up to the back of Ron’s head.
“He was yours,” Rick says, voice shaking, “and you were his. That means you’re ours, too.”
Ron isn’t expecting those words from Rick, and he isn’t expecting the tears they cause either. He wraps his arms around the man and weeps softly; it isn’t long before he hears the sound of Rick’s own sadness.
Ron feels something brush against his lower back, similar to the way Carl would drag his fingertips across Ron’s back in a gesture of comfort. Ron pulls back from Rick to find that Michonne is still at the table with Judith. There’s no one else in the room.
It’s impossible, Ron knows it is, but he felt something.
Carl watched a lone walker drag itself around the perimeter of the wall. He and Ron both knew they should probably put it down, but neither was inclined to move from their spot curled up together on the platform near the gate. Carl was sat between Ron’s legs, leaning back against his chest, with Ron’s arms wrapped around his middle loosely.
“What do you think happens after we die?” Carl had asked as the walker pushed itself against the fence.
Ron shrugged, pressing a kiss to the boy’s jawline. “It’s better not to think about it.”
Taking one of Ron’s hands into his own, Carl was silent for a moment. The walker snarled, decaying fingers slipping between the links of the fence.
“Maybe he’s looking for someone,” Carl whispered eventually.
“You think so?” Ron asked, doing his best to get a view of Carl’s face.
“I always thought my mom was.. Around, somehow,” Carl’s eyes were locked on the walker, but they were distant. “Judith would laugh at things that weren’t there. She’d start crying and then she’d stop before anyone got to her.”
Ron nodded, urging Carl to continue. “There was a few times I thought I felt her. I would feel something touch me, and no one would be there but it would feel so real.”
“Maybe it was her,” Ron said, squeezing Carl’s hand once, “or maybe you were just grieving. We’ll never know what’s out there- not until we’re there.”
Carl finally took his eyes off the walker as it began to wander into the woods. He focused on Ron’s hand, studying the lines on his palm, tracing them with his own fingers. “I think people stick around if they have unfinished business. My mom, she still had to raise me and my sister. I haven’t.. If she was ever here, she’s gone now. I grew up. Judith has Michonne now. My mom doesn’t have to worry about us anymore.”
“I think that makes sense,” Ron said, “I never thought my mom was with me. I guess that means I don’t need her.”
“Maybe,” Carl said, dropping Ron’s hand and settling back against his torso, eyes closed.
“If you died, I hope you’d haunt me,” Ron said into Carl’s hair, and really, he was only half joking.
“Oh, I would,” Carl said with a small smile, “I could never leave you.”
“Promise?” Ron mumbled teasingly, lifting a hand to rest over Carl’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart against his fingers.
“I promise.”
It’s a few weeks after his capture that Ron is tasked with feeding Negan for the first time.
The man looks pathetic in the cell, and it makes Ron smile. It’s what he deserves; rotting behind bars for the rest of his life. Rick was right to keep him locked up. Death would be too good for him.
Ron slides the tray of food under the cell door wordlessly. Negan mutters a ‘thanks’ and begins eating.
It takes a few minutes, but Negan starts talking.
“You were close with the kid, right?”
“Carl,” Ron says, “his name is Carl.”
“Fuck, I know that,” Negan says, raising an eyebrow, “so?”
Ron sighs, sitting on the floor a few feet from the cell. “We were together.”
“Thought so,” Negan chuckles, “I remember how worked up you got when I told Prick to cut his arm off. It was cute.”
“Right,” Ron rolls his eyes, “Just finish your food.”
“I saw him,” Negan blurts out, “When Rick cut my throat, before I passed out from the blood loss, he was there.”
Ron frowns, glaring at the man. “You were hallucinating. You were dying.”
“Nah,” Negan shakes his head, “That wasn’t it, I swear. He told me I still had a chance. He said I could still be a good person.”
“Well, he was wrong,” Ron mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “and it’s pretty fucked up of you to try and use Carl to get to me-“
“That ain’t what I’m doing,” Negan huffs, “I just wanted to know if the little serial killer is really hangin’ around here. You seen him?”
Ron takes a second to study the man. He can’t quite figure out what Negan’s intentions could be with this. Maybe he’s really just curious; maybe what he thinks he saw freaked him out. Maybe he’s trying to get under Ron’s skin. No matter what, Ron doesn’t think Negan has the right to talk about Carl.
Something tells Ron to indulge him, though, so he does. “His sister talks to him.”
“Really,” It’s a statement, not a question, like it all makes perfect sense to Negan when Ron can’t wrap his head around it. “I heard a long time ago that kids can see the dead. Their imaginary friends ain’t so imaginary, the creepy little fuckers. Animals and dying people can see them too.”
Ron doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have anything to say. Negan finishes his food in silence and slides the tray under the bars when he’s done.
When Ron is almost out the door, Negan speaks again.
“You think he was right?” There’s something eerily close to hope in the man’s voice, “That I can be good?”
Ron takes a second to think over his words. “Carl was one of the last good people in this world. No one else sees what he saw in you, but I trust his judgment more than I trust my own. So maybe he was right.”
Ron shuts the door behind him, closes his eyes, and takes deep breaths until the tears stop coming.
It takes a while before Ron can bring himself to visit Carl’s grave. It feels so wrong, knowing that his love is buried under the dirt and he’ll never be able to see him again, to hold him again.
When he finally forces himself to sit next to the wooden cross that marks where the boy is buried, he isn’t sure what to do. He never had graves to visit for the rest of his family.
“It feels stupid to talk to you. I know you can’t hear me,” Ron sighs softly, “I just.. Fuck, I miss you.”
Ron pauses, like he’s waiting for a response even though he knows it’s never going to come.
“I wish I could hear your voice again,” Ron says, “If I could go back, I never would’ve let you go out that day. I need you here. I don’t know what I’m doing without you.”
Ron feels a sudden cold embrace him, but there’s no goosebumps, he doesn’t shiver. There’s no breeze, it’s the middle of a Virginia summer, and he’s sitting out in the sun. He shouldn’t be cold. There’s something comforting about it; it makes him feel safe, content. Makes him forget about his grief.
The chill is gone as quick as it came, and Ron is left feeling hollow, lonely. He doesn’t want to be at Carl’s grave anymore.
“I love you. So much,” Ron leans forward and presses a kiss to the grass next to Carl. “I’m always going to love you.”
Ron leaves with a sense of peace he hasn’t felt since losing Carl.
When Ron gets back to the house just minutes later, Judith is waiting for him in the living room.
“Carl wanted me to tell you something,” she says.
Ron frowns, kneeling down next to the girl with a bit of curiosity and a whole lot of pain in his eyes. “What is it?”
“He misses you too.”
Ron’s eyes widen and he leans back, shaking his head. “Judith. Stop. Right now.”
“But he told me!” Judith says, grabbing at the sleeve of Ron’s t-shirt. “He said you were visiting him. He tried to talk to you but you can’t hear him!”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Ron grabs Judith’s hand and pulls it off of his sleeve, holding it between both of his own hands. “How did you know I was visiting him, Judy?”
“Because he told me,” Judith says in a tone that suggests he should know already, that it’s obvious, and Ron doesn’t know what to think.
How could Judith have known that? He didn’t tell her, or Rick or Michonne. There’s no way she could’ve known Ron was just at Carl’s grave, but somehow, she did.
“Is he here now?” Tears burn in Ron’s eyes and his voice trembles, but he needs to know.
Judith nods, and Ron finds himself looking around the room. He knows he won’t see anything but he can’t stop himself.
“Will you tell him I love him?”
Judith giggles, slipping her hand out of Ron’s loose grasp. “He can hear you. He said he loves you too. And that he kept his promise.”
Ron looks at Judith, face pinched in confusion. “What promise?”
“That he would never leave you.”
Ron lies on his bed that evening, staring the polaroid picture he took with Carl on Carl’s last day alive. Carl looks so happy, so content. Ron doesn’t understand how he was so collected, knowing his time was running out so quickly.
“I guess you’re really still here, huh?” Ron mutters, dragging the tip of a finger down the edge of the polaroid.
“Makes sense. It wasn’t your time. You should still be here,” Ron sighs, dropping the picture onto his chest, right over his heart.
Something brushes against Ron’s hand, something he can’t be sure he even felt it’s so faint. It’s not until seconds later, when an almost non-existent pressure settles over palm and squeezes between his fingers, that Ron smiles.
Carl is there. He never left.