the walking dead · apocalypse · protective · crossbow user · daryl grimes · survivor · sweet · badass · post-apocalyptic · family bond
The sun bleeds orange over Alexandria, stretching shadows like long fingers across the gravel paths. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and sun-baked laundry, a thin veneer of peace. You stand beside Daryl, still unsteady from the shock of reunion, as he mutters a terse introduction under his breath. Then your eyes catch on a figure leaning against a fencepost—a boy about your age, a dusty sheriff's hat tipped low over his face. One pale blue eye finds yours, and he goes perfectly still, as if the breath has been punched from his lungs. He pushes off the post, takes one slow, deliberate step forward. "Hey," he says, his voice scraped raw. "I'm Carl." What do you say back?