⊱ 09 ~ ❝ worker bees ❞ ⊰
〖season two, episode two〗

The act of bleeding out can happen quickly ⎯⎯ it's estimated that it could happen as quickly as two minutes. 

While running blindly through the woods and following only the vague descriptions given by an unknown man ⎯⎯ Clementine wondered if Carl had already surpassed his window to live. How much blood had he lost, and how much more could he lose?

The moment his frame hit the leaves the front of his shirt blossomed with a blood stain in the making. Was that the moment he died or was he somehow capable of holding on a tiny bit longer?

Somehow she'd managed to keep up with Rick Grimes as he sprinted. It was unclear if it was the limp weight of his son weighing him down or the obstinate desire not to lose track of the man and his son for even a second that lit a fire of speed beneath the little girl's feet.

Shane and the unknown man were out of sight and Clementine was too fearful to spare a glance back ⎯⎯ in fear of Rick and Carl disappearing into the overgrown masses of trees within the few seconds she didn't have her eyes trained on the back of his sheriff uniform.

Finally, Rick busted through the forest edge with Clementine a couple of yards behind, he glanced back, faltering for five seconds at most to shout something, but Clem couldn't hear his screams over the thumping of her heart in her ears. If she collapsed into the dirt from a heart attack ⎯⎯ she wouldn't have been surprised.

It didn't matter much that she couldn't hear him, he was screaming at Shane and their new companion. 

Clem kept running, taking the few seconds of Rick being stationary to fully catch up with him. A pain had found its place in her side, and the ache in her shins had returned tenfold. The ability to breathe was limited the longer she pushed herself forward. The more she ran the tighter her chest felt ⎯⎯ her ribs closing in around her lungs.

There was no end in sight ⎯⎯ until there was. Roughly half a mile later, finally, something had shown on the horizon as they made it over a small hill. A great big white farmhouse, surrounded by pastures for acres. It had to be the place the man spoke about. He said he could get help for Carl ⎯⎯ this had to be it. If it wasn't . . . Clem wouldn't be able to keep running. If she stopped moving at all she was certain her legs wouldn't start again.

A woman stood on the porch, looking their way before quickly retreating inside. They gained more distance in the time she spent within the building, breaking free from the fields and running up the dirt path toward the front door. A whole family coalesced onto the front porch ⎯⎯ the prior woman being a part of the group, but the one standing at the head of it was most certainly the man they were sworn to find.

Lips moved with verbiage that failed to reach Clementine's ears, the older gentleman waved his hands towards the front door, guiding Rick to follow him inside as he struggled to keep Carl in his arms.

Clementine was barely standing as she stumbled after Rick into the farmhouse, her feet nearly not lifting high enough to take proper steps.

Every single sound made fell silent on her ears ⎯⎯ all she could do was watch the pure chaos of it all.

The family ushered Rick to rest Carl on a bed in the first bedroom, which was directly to the left of the front door. Within seconds the group of unknown faces swarmed the room, bees to honey.

Carl's jacket was forced open his shirt pushed up to his chest, and the oldest of all of them pressed a white cloth to the boy's wounded stomach. Everybody's lips were still moving, yet not a word reached Clem's eardrums.

She assumed it was orders being barked by the way people filtered in and out of the room with different items.

There wasn't anything she could do to help. Nobody noticed the little girl cowering in the corner ⎯⎯ even less when she only kept taking steps away from the bed until her back hit the wall. She slid down until she landed on the hardwood floor, her knees tucked close to her chest.

Was he dead? Was he dead in his father's arms the whole time?

Questions hummed in her mind unending ⎯⎯ the family living on this farm was working overtime trying to save the boy's life but a sinking feeling in Clem's stomach told her it was all useless.

They were trying. Muttering words back and forth as they exchanged glances, looking at the boy and then back to each other. Thankfully, none were directed towards Clementine ⎯⎯ but they'd hardly seen her walk into the room at all. Sure, they'd all seen the little girl running up to the farm a few paces behind the man carrying his bloodied son, but priorities were listed.

Carl's survival sat at number one. A random little girl with no visible injuries? Well, that was undoubtedly at the very bottom of everyone's ranking system.

Even if they had paid any mind to her ⎯⎯ an incessant buzzing in her ears blocked out the noise. Maybe it was in her head, but it was like swarms of bees. Worker bees were going crazy. They were fighting to save Carl's life, surrounding him in the form of complete strangers. Worker bees with gauze, an IV bag, and small bottles Clementine couldn't read the labels of. 

The sound dug under her skin, crawling across her veins like trails of ants at a picnic in search of bread and fruit. Tears threatened on the brim of her eyelids ⎯⎯ not for the buzzing, but from what she was forced to witness.

It was happening. It was really happening. Surely, if all of this was some sick nightmare, she would've woken up by now. Carl was really shot. In pain and dying right in front of her on a bed. But, she couldn't make this about her. It was Rick's son, Lori's son. Carl was just ⎯⎯ her friend. What place did that give her to sit there crying about it?

He wasn't her brother, she had brothers and both of them were gone. No, she wouldn't allow herself to cry over someone she barely knew, not when Rick ran for over a mile with the deadweight of his son. Not when Lori didn't even know any of it was happening at all.

• ───────────────── •

Sound was starting to fade back in ⎯⎯ just in time for Clementine to have to audibly witness the scream of pure agony from Carl Grimes as Shane restrained him to the bed.

She hadn't realized she'd gotten up and left the room until cool air hit her skin and the sound of the screen door slamming closed gave a sharp smack right behind her ⎯⎯ the sound putting the image of Carl hitting the ground and causing her whole body to jolt as if she hadn't been the one to let it close behind her.

I'm tough. I can protect him.

That was what she said, and it was all she could think about. She'd told Lori that her son would be protected by her ⎯⎯ and she failed. Completely . . . Failed. At the time Clementine meant every word of it but in the end, she didn't succeed at what she had sworn to do.

Clem stood on the wrap-around porch, hands tightly gripped on the porch railing as she stared at the farm ahead. It was a beautiful slice of land ⎯⎯ too beautiful. There was an overwhelming sense of doom stuffed in the pearly white clouds floating overhead. Something about the serenity felt too good to be true, but if Carl really was dying in there ⎯⎯ Clem couldn't find it in herself to care that much if her being on that farm would end badly for her.

The screen door released a whine as it was pushed open and a woman with chin-length hair came out. She hastily raced down the steps ⎯⎯ moving so fast she reached the dirt ground by the time the screen door snapped shut again, and Clem saw Carl collapse onto the dirt again, making Clementine flinch once more.

She watched the woman speed off around the side of the house. "Where are you going?" Clem shouted her voice squeaking at the attempt to be loud, thinking, aren't you supposed to be helping save Carl's life?

The woman whipped around, eyes darting around to find the source. She hadn't even seen Clementine on the porch until then. "I'm gonna go find your mom." The statement was said simply, as if there was no error behind her words ⎯⎯ but the very sound of the word mom sent bile rushing up Clementine's throat.

Obviously, she meant Lori . . . but she was Carl's mom. Not hers. This woman didn't know that, but the ultimate outcome of assuming she was a part of the Grimes family nauseated the girl.

Clem pressed her lips together hard, watching the woman walk away, and only once she was out of sight did she step up onto the lower bar of the porch railing and hunch over the wood, spilling all that was in her stomach onto the grass below.

There wasn't much left in her stomach to begin with ⎯⎯ the last proper meal she had was T-Dog's powdered eggs at the CDC . . . T-Dog. She wondered if he was dead too. Either way, whatever substance that had remained in her stomach was definitely gone then.

• ───────────────── •

People kept leaving. The girl left on a horse, and then Shane and the man who shot Carl drove off in a blue pickup truck. Nobody said anything to Clem, she had no idea what was going on, but couldn't bring herself to walk back inside and ask them ⎯⎯ not if she had to face Carl lying half dead on the bed again.

The screen door creaked and snapped shut again, the same image appearing in front of her eyes in a flash ⎯⎯ like a bolt of lightning gone before it was ever truly seen, but she saw it. It was loud and clear, burned into the inside of her eyelids to see every time she even blinked.

"Hey . . ." A voice came from her left and Rick Grimes shuffled over toward her where she sat on a wooden rocking chair. He cleared his throat, pushing his lips to turn up into a smile. "How are you?"

Clem's thin eyebrows twitched at the question ⎯⎯ he looked horrible. His shirt was permanently stained red, his face glistened with a cold sweat and his eyes shined with remaining tears. How could he ask her how she was doing when he was the one being hammered with pain and grief over and over?

When the girl didn't give a response, the smile faded from his face and he nodded. He nodded, because he knew it was a stupid question to ask ⎯⎯ a part of him had just hoped she would be able to let this bounce off her, the way she'd managed to crack a smile at him even after he'd been the one to drag her off the side of the road where they left Jim. "Yeah . . ."

Out came the older man, walking up to take place next to the father of his patient. A grown-up conversation was about to happen, and both of them turned to look at Clementine as if they were silently willing her to walk away of her own accord.

Rick squatted in front of the rocking chair, reaching to rest his hand on hers ⎯⎯ but she quickly pulled away. She didn't want comfort from him, he was the one needing it not her. Clementine did not want to be babied when this wasn't a situation she was allowed to be sad about.

"Hey," His voice cracked, withdrawing his hand and setting it on his knee instead. "Go inside and check on Carl for me, will you?"

Clem stood up and quickly retreated into the farmhouse ⎯⎯ she didn't want to talk to anyone anyways. Everyone would only see a little girl, a sad little girl ⎯⎯ but she fought every mental battle to not be what they expected her to be. "Well, hello there, sweetheart." An older woman with blonde hair said a saddened look stuck on her face as she walked into the room where Carl lay unmoving. "I'm Patricia, can I get you something?"

"You wanna get me something . . ." Clem muttered, her bottom lip unwillingly quivering at the sight of her friend. "I didn't get shot." She spoke sharply, her eyes welling up with tears ⎯⎯ unable to move her gaze away from Carl.

"Go ahead, you can sit with him." She waved, motioning toward the room ⎯⎯ apparently she didn't want to talk much either.

Her feet moved forward, the invitation pushing her body before her mind could catch up and remember that she didn't want to feel what she was feeling. Being there and looking at Carl, standing so close to him ⎯⎯ her living and breathing and fine ⎯⎯ when he was like that. It all made it increasingly harder to stiffle the bubbling emotions inside her chest.

The pain of running had subsided, but a different ache resided in the same space as Clem moved around the bed, feet planted on the rug with her hands tightly stuffed in the pockets of her jeans. "Carl?" Her voice cracked. It was too late, she couldn't hold it back any longer ⎯⎯ that was why she stayed outside, to avoid this. None of this was a pain she felt permitted to experience, and yet she couldn't stop it from consuming her. "Carl." She repeated ⎯⎯ some part of her childish naivety hoping he'd wake up and be fine just because she asked him to.

Not at any point did the boy wrench his eyes open or respond to her ⎯⎯ he wasn't in the best shape.

Clem turned her head, wiping her cheek on the shoulder of her jacket. "Don't cry." She pleaded with herself ⎯⎯ biting down on her bottom lip and taking slow deep breaths through her nose.

She wished it was her. All her family was long gone ⎯⎯ everyone would find a way to go on without her, but Carl . . . Everyone loved him. Carl was nice, never lashed out, and he had his family ⎯⎯ Clem, she was mean. At one time or another, the girl most likely found a reason to yell at every single one of the people in the Atlanta camp, and she had continuously gotten herself in harm's way forcing someone else to put themselves at risk just to save the girl's life.

It was inevitable, she would eventually succumb to what the world had become, and she accepted that. Clem knew she wouldn't grow old like Dale and while she didn't want to die ⎯⎯ right then she had wished she'd taken the bullet instead.

From a distance, Clem could hear the porch steps creaking as someone walked on them. She moved toward the window ⎯⎯ where her eyes landed on a horse and the woman that left with it . . . Lori was with her, nearly toppling off the back of the animal trying to get to Rick. Clem couldn't see the look on his face but his expression conveyed something to Lori ⎯⎯ ripping a wail from her as she wrapped her arms around him.

Clementine shuffled back away from the window as the married couple approached the front porch ⎯⎯ she was scared. She'd promised Lori something, and here she came to find out that Clem's promises meant absolutely nothing. The girl didn't want to face the wrath of a grief-stricken mother, not when she couldn't even keep her useless tears at bay. She'd seen Lori give people a piece of her mind . . . when Daryl wanted to put a pickaxe into Amy ⎯⎯ when everyone debated putting Jim out of his misery.

The girl quickly exited the bedroom out of the secondary door into the hallway. A small bench sat up against the wall.

Clem sat down on the cushion, bending her knees up to her chest and the heels of her tennis shoes on the edge of the wooden bench ⎯⎯ listening to Lori cry as she walked into the other room.

There wasn't a single good outcome to form in her mind, Clem only imagined the worst when it came to picturing the mother's response to seeing the difference between her son and Clem's physical state.

I'm tough. I can protect him.

She was too scared to physically put herself into any of the possible scenarios. If she couldn't bear to look Lori in the eye, Clem doubted the woman wanted to see her either.

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〈〈 𝐀 𝐔 𝐓 𝐇 𝐎 𝐑 𝐒 𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄 〉〉

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HIYA MY LOVES

I would just like to start this by stating the (fairly obvious) about Lori in this chapter. 

She would NEVER actually blame Clementine for what happened to Carl. All of the talk about Lori's wrath and her giving a piece of her mind, that's Clementine's warped mental state at the moment. She is very clearly not doing too well, but when is she ever tbh. 

I will not take Lori slander, if you have something shitty to say, go find the Lori haters and say it to them, I DO NOT CARE.

Sorry this chapter is so short and contains almost nothing but Clementine's mind, I could've made her be a part of more scenes, but it truly wouldn't have made any sense for the future of Clementine in season 2.

Please do not be shy about commenting or anything. I actually love and adore the spam of comments and being able to read all the thoughts on everything. It really motivates me! Also, please vote on my chapters if you enjoyed it, thank you!

Thoughts?

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