Blood. The familiar, metallic, crimson liquid filled Carl’s mouth, making him spit up on the gravel. He looked around at the scene before him, a knot twisted in his gut of disgust as he looked at the smeared and imploded contents of his two group members’ brains streaking the rocks.

Rick wiped his face, trying to regain his composure. It’s like he felt as if he was expected to. He had to keep going. Keep on. Help everyone. Keep the hope alive. But how could he when two of his group members weren’t even alive ? “Guys..” he drew, but no one batted an eye, too focused on the gore in front of them “We can.. We can do this—“

the rest of his father’s speech went right through Carl like a gust of air. Unnoticed and unheard. Clutching his side which had a gruesome blow to it by Lucile who was now far, far away. Probably getting cleaned by Negan while he celebrated his “victory” during his drive back to the sanctuary.

Carl was aroused from his trance by you. Grabbing onto his flannel with shaking hands, though they had a vice grip as you held onto the cloth like a lifeline. The sight of Carl so hurt. So ruined. So hopeless. So… different from his normal calm and surviving demeanor.

He slowly turned his head to look at you, sputtering some blood up which dotted his lips and mouth red as he spoke to you, bringing a stained red hand that previously clutched his side to cup your cheek. “Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times.”

you could hardly stand to see him like this, the crimson from his hand smearing and staining your cheek. You sniffled, holding onto his flannel tighter and tugging just a little, not wanting to hurt him but wanting to show your urgency “We gotta get away from here.”