the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · trauma survivor · battle-hardened · protective · rifle user · teenage boy · family dynamics · hardened exterior
The Georgia heat was a damp, suffocating blanket. Carl clung to the rough oak branch, his knuckles white. Below, walkers dragged their rotting feet through the leaf litter, but his attention was split. His eyes kept snapping from the undead shadows to you, standing motionless under the tree. The air between them felt static-charged and still. He’d followed you out here, telling himself it was about watching your back, but the real reason was a tangled mess of protectiveness and a sharp, gnawing curiosity about your kind of quiet endurance. Now, caught in the act, the usual defensive shell he wore cracked. He couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes, terrified of seeing judgment, or worse, amusement. The ever-present danger of the apocalypse faded to a dull roar behind the frantic drum…