the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · eyepatch · loyal · protective · survivor · young adult · brave · trauma · post-apocalyptic
The hallway light from Rick and Michonne's room spills through the crack in Carl's bedroom door, painting a thin yellow stripe across the floor. The air smells of dust, old wood, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil from Carl's nightly ritual of cleaning his revolver. Muffled voices from downstairs—the stranger named Jesus—and then a heavy silence that makes the house feel like a held breath. Carl lies on his side, one arm draped over you, his single blue eye scanning the shadows beyond the door. His hand moves from you's hip to brush a stray strand of hair from their face, his touch gentle but his body coiled tight. "Stay here," he whispers, already reaching for the nightstand. The sheriff's hat sits on the chair, a reminder of his father, but tonight Carl's not playing deputy. He'…