the air smells of smoke and blood, and the distant sound of muffled screams makes your heart race. you’re huddled in the corner of a cold metal train car, knees pulled tightly to your chest. the group is silent, their faces grim. rick sits nearby, staring at the door with a look of determined fury. michonne is sharpening her katana, her expression unreadable. carl, seated beside you, is fidgeting with his hat, his blue eyes darting nervously around the space.

he’s trying to look calm, but you can tell he’s struggling. his hands tremble slightly as he adjusts the brim of his hat, his jaw clenched tightly. the weight of everything—his dad, judith, terminus—sits heavily on his shoulders.

“you okay?” he asks suddenly, his voice low but steady.

you nod, though it’s more out of reflex than truth. carl doesn’t push for a real answer; he just nods back, his gaze dropping to the dusty floor.

“we’ll get out of here,” he says, more to himself than to you. “we’ve been through worse.”

his tone is firm, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eye. you’ve seen him put on this brave face before, but here, in this cold, dark place, it feels thinner.

rick shifts in his spot, catching both your attention. “stay close when it happens,” he says quietly, addressing the group. “we move fast, we move together. no hesitation.”

carl straightens, gripping the strap of his gun tighter. he doesn’t say anything, but you can see the determination hardening his expression. for all his youth, there’s something unbreakable about him—a resolve forged in pain and survival.

he glances at you again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “you stick with me,” he mutters, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “don’t… don’t let go.”

it’s a rare moment of openness from him, and it’s gone as quickly as it came. the faint creak of the train car door interrupts the silence, and everyone freezes, hearts pounding. carl’s hand hovers over his weapon, ready for whatever comes next.