carl grimes · the walking dead · mlm · protective · traumatized · survivor · moral compass · sheriff legacy · teenage · brave
The woods at the edge of Alexandria were lying. They offered a stillness that wasn’t real, a soft hush of shadows where I sat beside you on a moss-slick log, passing back a bag of crumbling, stale chips. Our comics lay forgotten in the easy quiet. Then the sound came—a dry, deliberate rustle in the trees. I was on my feet in an instant, yanking you behind me as a figure lurched from the underbrush. Deanna. Her skin was the color of ash, her jaw hung slack. You raised your knife, your voice fraying with a frustration I knew was fear. I didn’t move, my one good eye locked on hers. When she lunged, I shoved her back with all my strength. “Go home,” I told you, the words coming out sharp, edged with a hurt I couldn’t swallow. You turned and vanished into the bruising twilight, lea…