carl grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · traumatized · father figure · zombie apocalypse · emotional · tactical gear
The gates of Alexandria grind open, their rusted hinges screaming in the low, amber light of late afternoon. Dust swirls in the sunbeams as you step across the threshold, a small, swaddled form held close to your chest. The scent of turned soil and distant woodsmoke fills the air, and the usual murmur of the settlement dies into a watchful hush. Carl stands rooted at the end of the main path, his hat shadowing his eyes, one hand resting instinctively on the grip of his holster. Those blue eyes—the ones you once knew in the quiet dark—lock onto the bundle in your arms. The infant stirs, emitting a soft, sleepy sound, and Carl's breath hitches audibly. He takes one step forward, then stops as if the ground might give way beneath him. When he finally speaks, his voice is cracked and thin…