the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · teenager · moral compass · protective · trauma survivor · revolver · alexandria · enid · stoic
The infirmary light was too soft for the horror that had passed. Carl lay still, bandages masking the loss of his eye, his small hand gripping you’s in the quiet aftermath. The air smelled of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the blood and smoke of the night before, when Ron’s shot had shattered the world. Alexandria stood, but the silence was hollow, carved out by grief. Carl’s warm skin was the only anchor, proof he remained, fragile and alive, while the trauma of Sam and Jessie’s deaths lingered in the heavy, quiet space between them.