De Ja Vu It Right

The Mustang idled quietly on the shoulder of the highway, its dark navy-blue paint gleaming in the morning sun. Twin black racing stripes sliced sharply down its body, catching the light. Inside, Rick sat motionless in the driver’s seat, his hands resting loosely on the black leather steering wheel. Beside him, Carl sat with his silver-winged backpack on his lap, his small hands gripping the straps tightly. The weight of their conversation hung heavy in the air, the silence between them charged with unspoken truths.

Carl had just uttered one word, simple yet profound: “Everything.”

Rick exhaled sharply, the sound breaking the silence. His chest tightened, and he turned slightly to face his son, studying the serious expression on Carl’s young face. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no uncertainty—just the look of someone who had endured far more than their years should allow.

“You remember... everything?” Rick asked, his voice low, measured.

Carl nodded firmly, his grip on the backpack tightening. “Yeah, Dad,” he said, his voice steady. “Everything. The walkers. The panic when people realized the world was ending. How they turned on each other to survive. Losing people—Hershel, Shane, Glenn... Mom.” His voice caught slightly as he added, “And you.”

Rick’s throat tightened as Carl’s words hit him. His fingers curled against the wheel, and his voice came out almost a whisper. “How long?”

Carl took a deep breath, glancing down at his lap before looking back at his father. “A little over two months,” he said. “I woke up one morning, and I knew. I could tell right away that no one else remembered—not you, not Mom, not Shane. It was just me.”

Rick frowned slightly, leaning toward him. “Just you?” he echoed. “How do you mean?”

Carl hesitated briefly before explaining. “Sam told me you’d come back—that you’d remember, too. So, I waited. I didn’t say anything to anyone because I didn’t know how they’d react. I thought maybe you’d wake up one day like me and know. But... then you got shot.”

Rick stiffened, his jaw clenching as the memory flashed through his mind—the pain, the chaos. He exhaled sharply, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

“That injury didn’t happen in this timeline,” Rick said carefully, studying Carl’s reaction. “But I remember it... vividly.”

Carl nodded, his voice quieter now. “After you got shot—in the other timeline—Mom changed,” he explained, his tone steady but filled with an undercurrent of pain. “It was like she stopped pretending to care about me. She didn’t even try anymore. And by then, I’d already started pulling away from her. I couldn’t trust her, Dad. I knew too much about her and Shane, and I couldn’t see her the same way. It made her angry, I think, when she realized I didn’t trust her.”

Rick tilted his head, his brows furrowing. “She treated you like that? Right after I got shot?”

Carl nodded again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She barely talked to me unless someone else was watching. She didn’t even look at me half the time. But it wasn’t just the other timeline, Dad. As soon as I came back here two months ago, I started pulling away from her. I couldn’t see her the same way after everything I remembered. I couldn’t act like I trusted her—not after what happened before. And I think she realized that right away.”

Rick exhaled deeply, his voice quieter now. “Carl... why didn’t you tell me about it then? In the other timeline? Why didn’t you say anything about the way she treated you?”

Carl hesitated, his gaze falling to the backpack in his lap. For a moment, his grip tightened on the straps. Then, he took a deep breath and spoke softly, his voice tinged with emotion. “At first, I was just so happy to have you back, Dad. After everything we went through, losing you, thinking you were gone... I didn’t want to bring you down. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Rick’s chest tightened, but he stayed silent, letting Carl continue.

“And then...” Carl sighed, looking up at Rick with eyes far too wise for his age. “Then everything got crazy. Shane and Mom... their affair. The fights. The walkers. Every day was about surviving, trying to keep everyone safe. There was just so much going on, it didn’t seem like it mattered. Not in the grand scheme of things.”

Rick’s heart ached at the weight Carl had carried. He reached over, pulling his son into a firm hug. Carl stiffened at first, surprised by the gesture, but then he relaxed, gripping the edges of Rick’s shirt as though anchoring himself.

“Carl,” Rick said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You listen to me, okay? I don’t care what’s happening or how bad things get. You come to me. Always. If something’s wrong, if something’s hurting you... you talk to me. Don’t hold it in. Don’t think it’s not important, because it is. You are.”

Carl nodded against Rick’s chest, his voice muffled as he replied, “Okay, Dad. I will.”

Rick pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, his hands still resting on Carl’s shoulders. “I mean it, son. You don’t ever carry something like that on your own again. You don’t have to.”

Carl nodded again, his voice steadier now. “I promise.”

Rick smiled faintly, his grip firm and reassuring. “We’re in this together, Carl. Always.”

Carl offered a faint smile, glancing down at his backpack. “And I’ve been getting ready, Dad. For what’s coming.”

Rick tilted his head, intrigued. “What do you mean, getting ready?”

Carl adjusted the bag, unzipping it to reveal rows of neatly packed medical supplies. “I started prepping. Food, clothes, medical stuff. Everything we ran out of last time. I didn’t want us to get caught off guard.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Where did you keep it all?”

“In the basement. The man cave,” Carl said simply. “Only you and I have access, and you’ve been so busy at work these past two months, you haven’t been down there. It was the safest place.”

Rick leaned back slightly, impressed. “What did you stock up on?”

Carl began listing the items meticulously. “Food first: 200 cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, Dinty Moore beef stew, Bush’s baked beans, Del Monte green beans, fruit cups, and Chef Boyardee ravioli. I got 50-pound bags of Carolina long grain rice and Goya black beans. Boxes of Barilla spaghetti, Kraft macaroni and cheese, Carnation powdered milk, and Hungry Jack pancake mix. And snacks—10 packs of Jack Link’s beef jerky, Planters mixed nuts, 20 boxes of Sun-Maid raisins, Nature Valley granola bars, Welch’s grape jelly, and Jif peanut butter. For drinks, there’s Country Time lemonade mix, Lipton iced tea mix, and even instant coffee packets.”

Rick’s brows lifted slightly. “You really stocked up.”

“I didn’t stop there,” Carl continued. “I got clothes too—packs of Hanes T-shirts, Fruit of the Loom sweatshirts, Wrangler jeans, Timberland hiking boots, and extra socks and underwear for everyone. And water—20 cases of Poland Spring bottled water, plus 10 boxes of water purification tablets and LifeStraws for each of us, with extras.”

“And the medical supplies?”

Carl’s tone grew more serious as he described his hospital visits. “Three times a week. I’d go at different times—early mornings, afternoons, evenings—and switch floors every time. Pediatrics, surgery, intensive care. I’d tell people I was visiting someone or pretend I was lost. I took everything we might need—bandages, gauze, antiseptic wipes, ibuprofen, amoxicillin, trauma kits, forceps, scalpels, clamps, suture kits. IV supplies too—IV kits, saline bags, tubing, and syringes. I even grabbed injectable antibiotics, nutrient solutions, and morphine drips. I found a portable blood transfusion kit, one that doesn’t need a machine, just in case.”

Rick exhaled deeply, astonished. “And for Mom? Judith?”

“I thought about them too,” Carl said. “I grabbed prenatal vitamins, sterile drapes, umbilical cord clamps, and baby formula packets. Bottles, pacifiers, saline nasal spray for babies, infant Tylenol, and baby wipes. Things we didn’t have enough of last time.”

Rick leaned back, the enormity of Carl’s efforts settling over him. “Carl... you’ve thought of everything.”

Carl met his father’s gaze steadily. “I had to,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t going to let us get caught unprepared again.”

Rick stared at his son, his chest swelling with pride. “You’ve done more than anyone could’ve asked of you,” he said quietly. “And because of you, we’ll be ready this time.”

Carl offered a faint smile but quickly turned serious again. “There’s still stuff we need, Dad. Clothes, bedding, hygiene supplies, fuel. The man cave is full, but we need to figure out how to get everything to the sanctuary.”

Rick nodded thoughtfully, his mind already turning to the logistics. “A truck,” he said. “We’ll need something big—a moving truck or something similar.”

Carl thought for a moment before replying. “There’s that old storage facility near Route 6. We could rent one of their trucks, load everything up, and drive it to the sanctuary. We could stop at stores along the way to pick up whatever else we don’t have yet.”

The Mustang sat idling in the driveway, its engine rumbling softly before Rick finally turned the key and silenced it. He took a moment to collect himself, glancing over at Carl in the passenger seat. Carl clutched his plain school backpack, its straps worn from constant use. The bag, still stuffed with textbooks, had doubled as Carl’s makeshift supply bag during the past two months of preparation. Now, however, it was simply a reminder of everything they were leaving behind.

In the back seat, the two silver-wing backpacks Sam had sent rested untouched. Their weight—both literal and symbolic—lingered in Rick’s mind as he turned to address his son.

“You know the plan,” Rick said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re taking everything that matters to us—clothes, gear, keepsakes. If it’s worth keeping, it goes in a box. Lori can have the rest. After today, this house is hers.”

Carl nodded, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. “Got it, Dad,” he said. “We’re not coming back.”

Rick gave him a small nod. “Exactly.”

Father and son stepped out of the car and climbed the porch steps, the quiet creak of the wooden boards beneath their feet punctuating the stillness. Rick let Carl enter first, pausing briefly at the doorframe himself. As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of home washed over them. It was a bittersweet moment—this house had once held all their memories and dreams, but now it was just a shell of a life they were ready to leave behind.

The living room was nearly empty, save for the neatly stacked boxes that lined the walls. Rick stood in the entryway, scanning the room briefly before clapping his hands together. “Let’s get to it,” he said, his voice steady but resolute. “We pack everything—clothes, gear, anything we want to keep. It’s all coming with us.”

Carl nodded with determination and headed upstairs to his room. Rick began his work in the living room, moving methodically as he boxed up photo albums, carefully wrapped keepsakes, and stacked books into neat piles. Each item he touched brought back memories, but he didn’t linger. This wasn’t about nostalgia—it was about preparing for the future.

Upstairs, Carl pulled open his closet and began gathering every piece of clothing he owned, summer and winter alike. T-shirts, hoodies, jeans, jackets, socks, and gloves went into a large duffel bag. He added his favorite sneakers and rain boots to the pile, ensuring he was ready for any situation.

He moved on to his desk, where his DVDs were stored. Carl carefully packed them into a box alongside his laptop, which had a built-in DVD drive, and his solar-powered charger. Next, he reached for his long case of fishing gear, tucked neatly in the corner of his room. He opened it, smiling faintly as memories of peaceful mornings by the lake with his dad flooded back. He packed the rods, reels, and tackle box with care, knowing they’d need them in the days to come. From the garage, he retrieved Rick’s fishing gear and added it to the pile.

Finally, Carl turned to his bed, where his comic collection was neatly stacked. He carefully packed the entire collection into a sturdy box, making sure the pages wouldn’t bend or tear. Satisfied with his work, Carl lugged his boxes and duffel bag downstairs and set them near the growing pile of boxes in the living room.

“I’ve got my clothes, comics, DVDs, laptop, solar charger, and our fishing gear,” Carl said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “What about you?”

Rick gestured toward the pile he’d been working on. “Photo albums, keepsakes, tools, and all my clothes—summer and winter. My laptop and DVDs are in there, too,” he said. He glanced toward the front door, where the Mustang sat parked. “And Sam’s backpacks are still in the car. They’re ready whenever we are.”

Carl nodded, relieved. “Good. Those are important.”

The house was eerily quiet, stripped of its warmth and personality, with only the faint smell of packing tape lingering in the air. Stacked cardboard boxes lined the living room like silent sentinels, each one labeled in black marker with the room it belonged to. Rick stood in the middle of the room, surveying the last few items he and Carl had packed away. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with sweat and grime. Carl sat cross-legged on the floor by the couch, clutching his silver-winged backpack tightly in his lap, his expression guarded.

The rumble of an approaching vehicle broke the silence. A moment later, Shane’s Jeep pulled into the driveway, the familiar hum of its engine unmistakable. Rick straightened as Shane stepped out, slamming the door behind him. He sauntered up to the porch, his boots clunking against the wooden steps.

“Rick!” Shane called out, flashing a grin as he reached the open doorway. His gaze drifted to the sleek Mustang parked out front before flicking back to Rick. “Man, I knew you were finally takin’ that leave, but you look like you’ve been busy already. And what’s with the car? When’d you pick that up?”

Rick smirked faintly, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Not long ago. Carl and I just got everything packed up.”

“Packed up?” Shane’s grin faltered slightly as he glanced past Rick, taking in the scene behind him—the barren walls, the sea of boxes. His brows furrowed. “You movin’? Since when? Where’re you goin’?”

Rick sighed, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “Yeah, we’re movin’. Lori and I are done, Shane. I filed for divorce.”

The words seemed to hit Shane like a blow, and he shifted on his feet, his face flickering with emotions he quickly tried to mask. “Divorce? Jesus, Rick. What happened?”

Rick’s jaw tightened as he crossed his arms. “It’s been a long time comin’. Lori’s been havin’ affairs, Shane. Since the beginning of our marriage, as it turns out. I finally reached my limit.”

Shane’s face paled, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence faltering. “Rick...” he began, his voice hesitant. “There’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”

Rick’s brow furrowed, his arms falling to his sides. “What is it?”

Shane hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He finally exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. “Lori’s been tryin’ to get me to sleep with her since right after you two got married,” he admitted, his voice low. “I always turned her down, Rick. Every single time. I told her it wasn’t right—you were my best friend, my brother. But... three months ago, I gave in.”

Rick’s jaw tightened as he absorbed the confession, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Three months ago?” he repeated, his voice low but steady.

Shane nodded, guilt flickering across his face. “She caught me at a bad time, Rick. My dad had just died, and I... I didn’t know how to deal with it. I hated him for leavin’ me and my mom, for walkin’ out on us when I was just a kid. But when he died... I don’t know. It messed me up. I was overwhelmed, angry, and grieving all at the same time. And Lori... she used that.”

Rick’s expression softened slightly, though his jaw remained tight. “Why didn’t you tell me about your dad?” he asked quietly. “I would’ve been there for you, Shane.”

Shane looked at Rick with pain in his eyes. “Because I didn’t know how to talk about it,” he said. “You knew what my relationship with him was like. I hated him, but when he died, I... I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. I was messed up in the head, Rick. And Lori... she saw that. She took advantage of it.”

Rick’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the back of a chair. “What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

Shane hesitated again, his voice trembling. “She started the affair, Rick. And I was riddled with guilt afterward. I hated myself for it. But... I kept goin’ along with it because she threatened me. She said if I didn’t, she’d tell you I... she’d tell you I raped her. She said you’d believe her, Rick. That you’d hate me, and I’d lose you and Carl—my only family. I was so lost, so alone. I didn’t know what to do.”

Rick exchanged a glance with Carl, who had been listening quietly. Carl’s expression hardened as he spoke up. “She’s so manipulative,” he said, his voice steady but filled with anger. “She always gets what she wants, no matter who she hurts.”

Rick nodded, his gaze returning to Shane. “Carl’s right. She’s manipulative as hell. And I’m sorry, Shane. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most.”

Shane’s shoulders sagged, his voice trembling as he said, “Rick... Carl... I’m sorry. For all of it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know how much I regret everything. I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

Rick stepped forward, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Shane, you’re my brother. You always have been. And yeah, you messed up. But you came clean, and that matters. You’ve got my forgiveness.”

Carl nodded, his voice steady as he added, “Mine too.”

Shane’s eyes glistened as he looked between them. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you both.”

Rick gave Shane’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “If you want to mend this brotherhood, Shane, come with us for the weekend. Get away from Lori. We’ll talk, explain everything. Just hold your questions until then.”

Shane hesitated for only a moment before nodding firmly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come. I never want to see that bitch again.”

Rick smirked faintly. “Good. Let’s start by gettin’ a moving truck. You wanna come with me?”

Shane grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”

For the first time in a long time, they all felt a fragile sense of peace—one that reminded them they were stronger together. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a family.

Rick offered him a faint smile and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Good,” he said. “Carl, I’m leaving you here to keep packing while Shane and I go pick up the truck. You good with that?”

Carl nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, I can handle it,” he said, his tone confident.

Rick stepped toward the door, picking up his keys from the table. “We won’t be gone long,” he said, glancing back at Carl. “Keep an eye on things while we’re out.”

Carl gave him a small smirk. “I’ve got it covered,” he said.

With that, Rick and Shane stepped out of the house, the door clicking shut behind them. As they made their way to the Mustang, Shane glanced back at the house, his thoughts racing. Despite everything that had happened, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of purpose. For now, that was enough.

And so, the two men climbed into the Mustang and drove off, ready to tackle the next step in their journey.