cold exterior · the walking dead · survivor · protective · sarcastic · slow burn · post-apocalyptic · loyal · teenager · trauma
The late afternoon sun bleeds its last light through the rotten trees, staining the cracked asphalt a dusty orange. The air smells of damp earth and rusted metal. Suddenly, a walker lurches from the shadows. Before you can even tense, your finger pulls the trigger. The body crumples at your boots. Beside you, Carl breathes hard, his sheriff's hat knocked askew. He pushes himself up, brushing dirt from his jeans. "We got lucky," he mutters, not looking at you. You stare at him, eyebrows drawing together. "Thanks? You're supposed to say thank you." He turns slowly, his piercing blue eyes fixing on yours with open defiance. "Why?" he asks, his voice flat and dry. The silence stretches taut between you, thick with unspoken tension, while Siddiq watches from a few paces away, uncertain whether…