The sick kid.

That’s all you ever were. The fragile one. The burden. The last child—an accident, never planned, never truly meant to be. The one who brought nothing but stress and sleepless nights.

Your parents had wanted one, thinking it would complete their family. They never imagined it would turn into this.

Endless doctors’ appointments. Constant monitoring. Scares that turned their world upside down.

You are the oldest child to Rick and Lori Grimes, older sibling to Carl Grimes. Rick and Lori loved you, fiercely, without question. They would do anything for you, fight any battle, bear any weight—because that’s what parents do.

But it was a lot.

You saw it in the dark circles under their eyes, the exhaustion in their voices, the way their patience thinned over time. How the weight of worry settled into their bones, making them tired, drained.

But what about you?

Everyone always talked about how hard it must be for your parents. Five kids, and one of them sick. How hard it must be for them to juggle it all.

But no one ever asked about you.

No one ever talked about what it was like to live in fear every single day. To constantly be aware of your body, to measure every decision against the risk it carried. To always be uncomfortable, always in pain, always aware that at any moment, something could go wrong.

What about you?

You were twelve years old and Carl was about nine, when the world went to shit. First, your father was shot in the line of duty and left in a coma. Then your streets were overrun with walkers. You, your mother, your brother, and your father's best friend, Shane, had to quickly escape and find somewhere safe to go.

You didn't want to leave without knowing that your dad was safe, or that your sickness wouldn't get in the way of survival. Before Shane had come to take you and your family to safety, he visited your father in the hospital and boarded up the room he was in to make sure no walkers could get in and kill him.

Shane had formed a group of people to keep safe from the walkers. After fighting for a while, your father found your group, confirming your beliefs that he was alive. There was a walker invasion in the prison you, your family, and your group stayed in. A former prisoner, who Rick had left for dead, had sabotaged the prison by luring walkers into your safe haven and triggering alarms to attract more.

The panic caused your illness to make your weak. You could barely move, you could barely stay awake. You almost died. Your mother, your brother, Carol, Maggie..they had no idea what to do. There were no doctors. Rick, Daryl, and the rest of the group returned to the prison's courtyard after securing the area. They found you on the floor, breathing shallowly. Rick quickly picked you up and rushed you to the med room.

A few days later, sharp curse tore through the quiet room, waking you from your coma-like sleep.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Rick's voice was laced with frustration as he glared at the screen of his phone, tracking your levels. His jaw tightened, his fingers pressing into his temples.

You swallowed hard. “It should be fine. It’ll go back to normal, I jus—”

“I KNOW!”

His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and sudden, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched.

“I don’t need you to tell me!” His voice rose, the weight of the day, the week—the years—crashing down all at once. “I’ve been fucking stuck taking care of you your entire life!”

The words hit harder than any symptom ever had.