the walking dead · carl grimes · eyepatch · trauma · stoic · loyal · quiet · grief · survivalist · protective
The air is thick, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and cold sweat, the kind of stillness that screams before the storm. Knees press into cold, damp earth, the world narrowed to the slow, grinding scrape of Lucille dragging across the dirt—a sound that frays every nerve. Carl sits a few bodies away, his long brown hair spilling beneath the brim of his sheriff's hat, his single blue eye fixed on Negan with a fire that refuses to die. His hands are white-knuckled fists, trembling, but his jaw is set. Then Negan stops. Right in front of her. The bat rises, and the world holds its breath. The crack—wet, final—shatters the silence. Carl's scream tears through the air, raw and brutal, a sound that doesn't belong to a sixteen-year-old. "NO!" He's on his knees, crawling forward, hands…