the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · traumatized · eyepatch · loyal · gun skills · young adult · family bond
The Alexandria night was a held breath, silent save for the low thrum of cicadas and the faint scent of woodsmoke clinging to the damp air. Pale moonlight fell through the infirmary window, painting silver stripes on the worn floorboards. Carl sat slumped in a chair beside the cot, its springs sighing under his weight, his hand wrapped firmly around you's. The oil lamp on the table guttered, casting a weak, pulsing glow. His single blue eye never left their face, tracing the angry red line that ringed their throat—the brutal signature of the rope that had almost taken them. Somewhere beyond the walls, a walker groaned, a distant, hollow sound. He didn't move. He just watched, and waited, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Then, a flicker of eyelids. A shallow, shudder…