Chapter Text
Rick slowly blinked awake, trying to become aware of his surroundings. He had had the strangest dream that he was back at the hospital, Shane at his side talking to him like he did before the outbreak, before everything went from bad to worse. He was packing the guilt away as his eyes began to focus sharply on his strange yet familiar surroundings. He tried to move quickly, shock taking over him but his body ached and nausea rolled through him at the suddenness of his actions. A strong ringing shot through his ears as his vision wobbled. Unable to grasp back onto his sense of balance he fell back into the cushions of the hospital bed and took a moment until the nausea and ringing stopped.
“What the-?” he moved his head slower from side to side, feeling the hospital pillow behind him, the thin hospital blanket covering him. He glanced at the needles and tubes in his arm - which looked so different from how he looked now- then- before he woke up. He was deathly pale, dirt-free and thin in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. Sure he had been thin from lack of food during the apocalypse but he had built muscle from all the work and movement and simple needs of survival. He was reminded of his scraggly teenage years for a brief moment before his brain settled into panic.
Where was everyone else? Was it all a dream? Are they okay? Are they even real? Is anything real? The thoughts raced through him, bringing back the nausea. He tried to breathe through the panic, it wouldn’t get him anywhere but dead. If his family were out there, they needed him and he needed them. He needed to live. He tried to settle his racing heart, trying to focus on the here and now.
Last time… last time he had simply walked out of the hospital, not checking for much of anything around him in the dream-like state he had been trapped in. He slowly sat up, letting his body take its own pace as he looked around himself. There was a small drawer to the side of the bed, Rick barely flinched as he pulled out the needles and tubes from his arms before reaching over to open it up. One of his folded-up uniforms and boots lay inside with one of his work issued fire-arms and a holster. It must have been Shane, he thought as the guilt he tried to squash reared its ugly head back up. He did his best to ignore the bitter taste of his tongue and got to work.
Getting dressed was an ordeal. His body hadn’t felt this kind of weak in a long, long time. It was painful pulling his shirt on and his fingers fumbled at the buttons. He pushed through it, there was no way, no way that could have all been a dream. Not with it starting just as it had before. That was too strange, even with everything that had happened. What was this? Rick stopped himself. He could think about it later. He tried to pull together the exact memories of how he had gotten to his people in the first place. His heart ached as he thought of them all. His stomach rolled as he remembered Glenn in particular, the way his eyes had squeezed out of his skull. Rick emptied bile onto the hospital floor, leaning against the hospital bed for support as he tried to strengthen his resolve. He was going to need it. He tried to think, where had he gone last time?
Home. He had gone home.
If he was remembering correctly it was empty. Carl and Lori had fled with Shane. But what if that had changed? What if the others had remembered too? Had anyone else had this strange dream? He had gone home and then he had met Morgan. Morgan and his boy Duane. Rick stared at his own hands that he no longer recognised. Could he change what had happened? Could Duane live? If Carl and the others remembered too, he was sure they would give him grace of trying to save a little boy and the sanity of his father.
First things first, Rick knew his luck had burned fast and quick with how he had simply walked half dazed out of the hospital the last time. He would be more cautious, just in case it had been a dream, just in case he had no clue what he was getting himself into. Firstly, a weapon. Shane had obviously left him a gun but loud noises were to be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately the hospital room didn’t offer much in the way of a blunt force weapon. In his weakened state he didn’t think he could start pulling things apart for a makeshift weapon and he might make more noise and draw unneeded attention. Rick worried at his lip, even if he had somewhat of an upper hand this world was still a dangerous place where one wrong move could spell certain death. He eyed the adjustable-eyelets of the IV stand. It wouldn’t be the strongest and would work more for precision which he didn't have at the moment but it was still better than nothing. He put all his weight on the stationed feet of the IV holder and yanked every which way as the top of the pole became loose and finally it came free with a sharp clatter. Rick tried to catch his breath as he fashioned a sheet-bag from the hospital bedsheets. Prepared to grab what he could. Memories of T-Dogs infection flashing through his mind. God, T-Dog, that was someone he hoped he could save this time around. His sacrifice had hit everyone at the prison hard.
As he moved through the hospital he moved quickly but quietly. Wincing as he remembered his yells for help and attention. How he had not drawn more of the dead to him he had no idea, he chalked it up to the new horrors of the world were just waking up and he had just managed to wake up that bit faster. If a room was clearly empty he quickly picked through it for any meds, anything to use as a better weapon, any vending machines that were smashed open were picked over. By the time he had reached the door he had left last time he had a small haul that he hoped would be helpful, he didn’t recognise many medications by their proper names but hopefully someone at camp or Hershel would. He fought the thoughts of how he had last seen the older man down with a nauseated grimace. He hadn’t found a better weapon than what he had and he hoped that he continued to have the luck he had had the first time around. Hell, he was dressed this time around, so that was something of a win at least. He opened the door slowly, checking for any walkers before slipping out into the streets. Keeping low and quiet, aware of his surroundings as he stepped between the strewn corpses on the floor.
The journey to his home was scarily the same, apart from the fact he refused to stop for the torn apart walker on the side of the street. He kept his eyes on the movement of the sun whilst still not powering through too much in case he passed out from exhaustion - that would definitely make him a dead man, luck or no. Coming up to his home had taken a steeled heart. What if Lori and the others had remembered and not made a run for it? What would he find inside if they hadn’t? Whatever it was, he would deal with it. None of his family deserved to walk the world as one of the dead. Even if it would break him once again.
He tapped at the door and windows like he had done a thousand times whilst surviving. He waited a few moments, hearing nothing. He slowly opened the door. It was like stepping from one dream to another. It was exactly as it had been before all those lifetimes ago. A layering of dust had started to collect, just like last time. The only signs of life were those of quick packing of clothes and some food. It was just the same as last time.
“Is this a dream?” he whispered to himself whilst going to scratch at a beard that hadn’t grown in yet.
He moved on, even if it felt like moving through molasses of a dozen different lives and memories. Moving his scavenged goods into his fathers old military backpack and duffel bag. To ignore his rushing thoughts and feelings he started to plan what would be most needed let alone appreciated at the camp. He took a few of their hardier clothes, toiletries, and any kind of medication or medical equipment - Rick felt sick seeing Lori’s endo medication still in their bathroom cabinets and he quickly stuffed them into his bag. He cleared out all his bullets and his other gun from the home safe, took a few of the better kitchen knives and even scrounged out his old tyre iron from the closet, giving it a few practice swings to test it out alongside his weakened state. Much better, he felt some relief creep in that he tried to push away. He wouldn’t let himself feel it until he saw his peoples face again, until he knew what was what. He took what food hadn't been taken - which was most of it but he regretted that in his state he couldn’t carry more of it. Maybe he could get Morgan to come back here with him. Packed up with what he could take he felt the familiar twinges of a job well done that he and his family would share at a good scavenging haul.
He paused at the door he had left till last. Carl’s bedroom door, his little boy who had to grow up far too quickly. Whatever came at them this time he wanted to do better by his son more than anyone. He had left it last, just in case. Just in case the worst was inside. He didn’t think he could continue on without his boy. He knocked gently at the door and waited. Nothing. No telling gargles or scrapes or movement. Rick gave a quiet crazed laugh of relief, pushing the door open. It wasn’t the most practical but if anything could give his boy hope it was worth it. Rick just hoped it toed the line between hope and survival enough. He didn’t want his boy being too soft when things started to get even worse. On Carl’s bed was his childhood teddy, one that had been well loved and chewed on as a toddler. Shane had gotten it for Carl when he was born when he could finally visit to see the baby. He tucked it gently amongst the folded clothes, alongside a few well-read comic books and Carl’s little league baseball bat. It would do as a good weapon for him.
The sun was lowering outside the window and Rick hissed his displeasure with a grimace, he might have already missed Morgan for the day. But he couldn’t be sure, his memories were faded from all the years. He quietly stepped out of the house and made his way to the street he had first met Morgan and Duane. Hopefully this time Duane wouldn’t try to knock him out cold - Rick allowed himself a smile at the bittersweet foggy memory.
Rick looked around the street he hoped he remembered correctly before feeling the cold contact of metal against the base of his skull and the sound of a gun clicking. He tried not to smile like he was crazy, knowing exactly who it was behind him.
“Turn around, slowly” Morgan's voice was cold, and Rick did as he was told, moving his arms to keep his hands in sight.
“We ain’t seen anyone living around here in a long time, the hell you doing here” the man growled, Rick noticed the little boy looking anxiously around his father at the man.
“I’m officer Rick Grimes” Rick started, ignoring the strangeness of using the title once more “I woke up recently from a coma, the worlds gone crazy, I live a few streets over, I was hoping I could find anyone else at all” Morgan scoffed
“A coma? Yeah right, you’d have to be the luckiest man in the world to not have been bit let alone torn apart”
“Someone had blocked my room up with hospital beds, I- I can show you the gunshot wound if you want?” Rick gently gestured at his armpit “I got shot by some bank robbers, got me in the bank and that was the last I saw before I woke up just today, I swear it” Morgan said nothing but gestured with the gun for Rick to show his wound which he did. Awkwardly undoing the buttons enough for Morgan to get a good look at the almost healed wound.
“Damn, you were telling the truth” Morgan hissed, eyeing at the wound “Man, lets hope your luck doesn’t run out on us, come with us, we’ve got a little place up the street you can bunk with us for the night” Morgan levelled him a look “but if you try anything, anything at all to put my boy in danger I will put you down like a sick dog” Rick nodded, buttoning his shirt back up.
“Trust me, I’d never dream of it, I’ve been trying to find my wife and boy all day - I- I found a note at my old place about a refugee camp but” Morgan winced as Rick internally battled with thoughts of Lori, oh god Lori.
“Hate to tell you but those got burnt to a crisp, if your families out there let’s hope they didn’t make it to the camps before they got bombed” Rick tried to look shocked as best he could, he must have sold it as Morgan gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“Let’s hope” he said, following next to Morgan to his and Duane's home “Can I know your name? Your the first living person I’ve seen since I woke”
“I’m Morgan, this is my son Duane”
“Hi” Duane said in a small voice, still hiding somewhat behind his dad.
“Hi there, Duane, don’t you worry, I won’t cause any problems for you or your dad here, in fact” he tapped at his side bag “I’m sure my boy won’t mind if you borrow his comics” Duane gave him a little smile, and Morgan eased just a tiny fraction.
“Come on, best get in before they start getting more active”
“Huh?” Rick played up the clueless act
“The walkers, they’re more active at night” Rick winced, knowing that that wouldn't last long.
“Right then, lets get going, I got some food if you need it, mostly tinned stuff” Rick could feel his starved stomach growling at the mere thought of eating his first meal in a long time.
Rick couldn’t un-tense his body that night. How a roaming crowd of walkers hadn’t sniffed them out and torn down the walls to get to them the first time around he will never know. But he stabbed at his can of peaches, hoping that whatever look on his face he had Morgan took for worry for his wife and son. Duane had quickly gotten into the comic books with a quiet 'thank you' to Rick. His dad had tucked him in tight to the pile of pillows and blankets, giving his son a soft kiss to the top of his head with a goodnight.
The door handle started to rattle, just as it had before. Duane gasped and Morgan quietly told him to look at his comics and cover his ears. Rick winced at the advice, if he kept Duane alive and Morgan sane that would have to be nipped in the bud quickly to continue keeping them both alive.
“It’s my wife” Morgan muttered, grief clouding his eyes “She got sick, ran this awful fever and then- then she was one of them”
“I’m so sorry” Rick whispered, he needed Morgan to like and trust him, see the Rick from before if he had any chance in hell keeping them safe and alive. Morgan nodded.
“I know I should have dealt with it then and there but- but I just couldn’t” he muttered “now she’s haunting us” Rick gave the man a sympathetic look, knowing nothing he could say would help.
“Do you- do you want me to um” he started, trying to be gentle for the man in what he was trying to ask. Morgan shook his head.
“No, no I should be the one to do it, I’m her husband, I’m meant to look after her” Rick nodded, even as dread began to set in him.
“Okay man, just, it’s there if you need it” Morgan gave him a small thankful look of acknowledgement.
“Thank you”
The rattling stopped eventually, the creak of the porch signifying that she had moved on.
“I’ll take first watch” Morgan said “you get some rest”
Rick tried to, at least. He faked sleep but his mind kept working on. Could he really keep Duane alive and Morgan sane? Was he the only one in this world who had any memories? Had it been some sick twisted dream? So far everything had been the same but what if it would suddenly be completely different? Leaving Rick alone and lost in this living hell? He tried to compartmentalise those thoughts, thinking productively instead on the best ways to keep his family safe whether they remembered or not. Should they bother with the CDC after last time? How would he stop Shane from losing his grip? How could he keep Carl safer this time around without making him too soft for this harsh world? How was he going to face Lori and Daryl if they were from the before? The woman he had loved and snapped when she died, and the man he was currently in love with? His heart hurt thinking of them, of all of his family, keeping him from sleeping for a long while before his body's exhaustion knocked him cold.
The following day followed what Rick could remember, they slowly made their way to Rick’s old work place and he laid Leon Basset to rest with a shove of his tyre iron through the eyesocket as the walker of his old work friend pressed against the chainlink fence. Morgan and Duane had been overjoyed for the showers of which Rick stood guard before taking his own quick turn. They packed up what they could before going out to the cruisers, Rick felt the keys in the palm of his hand as if it had been yesterday he was holding them and not a lifetime ago.
“Come with me” Rick asked, trying to pour everything he could to sway Morgan in his voice “I’m sure we’ll find others, we can keep your boy safe and hopefully find my son and wife” Morgan shook his head.
“My wife is still there, I can’t leave her” Rick felt dread in his stomach, Duane leant on his dad, looking up at Rick.
“What’s your son called?” the boy asked, Rick choked up
“Carl, his name is Carl, he’s about your age” he smiled at the little boy, fighting back tears as he was flooded with memories of his boy when he was young before all the cruelty of the world.
“I liked his comic books” Duane looked up at his dad “Could we go, dad? I think-” Duane started crying, fat emotionally exhausted tears rolling down his face “I think mom’s gone and- and- and I don’t want to stay there anymore” Morgan looked down at his son with pure grief in his eyes. Rick hoped the words of his living son outweighed his feelings for his dead wife. Morgan, fought back tears.
“That what you want, Duane?” Duane nodded
“Yeah, I want to help find Carl and maybe we can be friends”
“I think my boy would love a friend like you, Duane” Morgan shot Rick a look before looking back at his son. The man took a deep, steadying breath.
“Okay, but one day I’m gonna come back, do right by your mama” Duane hugged his dad tightly. Rick nodded.
“Alright then, if I know how my wife drives she would have gone along the main roads, maybe we’ll find other people along the way as well” he mentally mapped the way he remembered to get to the quarry area on the outskirts of Atlanta.
“Or just more walkers” Morgan snapped, before sighing, the exhaustion of all he had been through and knowing there was no end showing on his face “Alright, Rick, alright”
The three of them piled into the cruiser with their supplies. Duane snuggly tucked up in the back with most of the supplies and wrapped in a blanket, already worriedly re-reading the comic books as if they were the only thing keeping him tethered to any kind of reality.
“Now you keep those doors and windows locked tight no matter what, alright Son?” Rick said “These cruiser windows are mostly bullet proof so they’ll keep you as safe as possible, okay? And if need be you can throw a blanket over yourself to hide in the footwell”
“You got your bat, son?” Morgan said as well as Duane nodded to their words, not looking up.
“Yes dad, yes Officer Rick” Duane was rocking some as he worried through the comic pages.
And they set off, Rick was desperately trying to remember the exacts of his journey before he inwardly cursed. He had come across Glenn and his group long before he found the rest of his people. How would he swing that with Morgan and Duane? By himself he had lived by the skin of his teeth and the last of his luck. He winced at the memories of the horse. To avoid that happening again they stopped to siphon all the cars they could and pick them clean of supplies. As the hours moved by and he got closer to the city, it was when the cruiser was brushing the city borders he almost swerved violently as he heard the car dispatch radio crackle.
“Hey you. Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank, Cozy in there?”