On your own (you cannot call it your home)

by basicallycat

Summary:

As Deanna led them away to speak with the council, a sudden, familiar voice echoed through the air,

"Holy shit, is that you, Rick?"

Carl's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice. It was Shane.

or

What if shane had left the farm back when he said he would, and ended up in alexadnria.

Chapter 1: dont make me get violent

Carl squinted through the dusty haze, the sun beating down on his neck. The once-lush landscape had withered into a dull brown canvas, stretching out to the horizon. The only company he had on the long, quiet road was the rhythmic crunch of his boots on the gravel and the occasional moan of the wind through the sparse trees. They'd been walking for hours, the weight of his pack digging into his shoulders, his eyes scanning the emptiness for any sign of life.

 

In his arms, Judith stirred, her tiny hand reaching up to grasp his shirt. He looked down at her, her eyes fluttering open to reveal those same innocent blue orbs that had haunted him since the day she was born. He didn't know how much longer they could keep moving like this, with their supplies dwindling and the ever-present fear of the unknown ahead. Rick had been their rock, their leader, but his judgment had been questionable at best since Lori's death.

 

A few steps behind, Eric leaned heavily on Aaron, his injured leg dragging slightly. "I can handle it," he'd said, but the grimace etched into his features told a different story. Carl knew it was only a matter of time before they had to make a decision. They couldn't keep going like this, and yet stopping wasn't an option either.

 

Rick, with his usual gruffness, called out, "How much farther till we hit Alexandria?" His eyes searched the horizon, desperation lurking beneath the surface of his rough exterior. Carl knew that look well. It was the same one he saw every time they talked about finding a safe place for Judith to grow up, a place where she could laugh without fear, play without the shadow of the undead looming over her.

 

Aaron's voice was a welcome interruption to the silence. "A few more minutes, I think." He glanced back at Eric, his eyes filled with concern. "You holding up?" Eric managed a nod, gritting his teeth against the pain.

 

As they approached the outskirts of Alexandria, the fences grew more defined, the promise of safety and community seeming almost tangible. The gates stood tall and proud, a stark contrast to the desolate wasteland they'd just traversed. Carl felt a mix of relief and anxiety churning in his gut. It had been so long since they'd seen anything resembling a real town. Was this place truly as safe as everyone hoped?

 

Rick's hand tightened on the grip of his gun as they reached the gate. The group had agreed to stay on high alert until they knew for sure if they could trust these strangers. The tension was palpable as they waited for a response to their calls. Carl held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. It was eerily silent, and for a moment, he feared they'd stumbled upon another abandoned settlement.

 

Then, from somewhere beyond the gate, a voice called back. "Who's out there?" It was firm but cautious, the speaker's accent unfamiliar to Carl's ears. He swallowed hard and took a step closer to the gate, his eyes locked on the figure that emerged from the shadows.

 

"It's Eric," the young man said, his voice clear despite the strain.

 

The gate creaked open, and two armed men stepped into view. They wore clean clothes and had their weapons slung low, but the tension in their stances spoke volumes. Carl studied them, his eyes narrowing. One had a beard, the other was clean-shaven, and both had the same wary expression that mirrored his own. The bearded one spoke into a radio, his eyes never leaving the group.

 

"We come in peace," Rick announced, taking a step forward. "We're just looking for shelter, for ourselves and the kids." The clean-shaven man nodded and gestured for them to enter.

 

Aaron's grip on Eric tightened. "They'll introduce you to Deanna, the leader," he murmured, his eyes flicking to the bearded guard. "But first, I've got to get Eric to the infirmary. They have a doctor here."

 

The guards led them through the empty streets, and Carl felt his stomach drop. The houses were well-maintained, with no signs of the chaos that had ravaged the rest of the world. Children played in the distance, their laughter a haunting reminder of the normalcy they'd lost. This place was too good to be true. It had to be a trap.

 

But as they approached the central meeting place, a large, well-kept house with a white picket fence, Carl saw genuine smiles and nods of greeting from the people they passed. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but his hand remained firmly on his gun. He wouldn't let his guard down, not yet.

 

Deanna, a woman in her mid-forties with short, curly hair and a firm handshake, met them in the front yard. She had a kind smile and a no-nonsense air about her. "Welcome to Alexandria," she said, her eyes sweeping over the group. "I'm Deanna. Tell me, what brings you here?"

 

Rick took the lead, his voice steady despite the exhaustion etched into his features. "Aaron said you folks were looking for people who know how to handle themselves in a fight. We've got plenty of experience keeping ourselves alive. We can help protect this place."

 

Deanna nodded thoughtfully. "We're always looking for people with skills. Tell me more about yourselves, one at a time." She turned to Abraham. "You first, follow me."

 

He watched as Aaron and Eric were led away to the infirmary, the bearded guard's hand resting gently on Eric's shoulder, offering support. He clutched Judith closer, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces, searching for any sign of danger or deception. The smells of cooking meat and fresh laundry filled the air, a stark contrast to the stench of the walker-infested world they'd just left behind. It was almost too much to take in.

 

With a sudden jolt, Carl felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, his instincts screaming at him to protect his sister, only to find it was Rick, his grip tight and urgent. "Let me take her," he said gruffly, his eyes never leaving Deanna.

 

Surprise flickered across Carl's face as he handed over Judith, his arms feeling eerily empty. Rick bent down, whispering something into her ear that made her smile before hoisting her up onto his shoulders. It was a gesture Carl hadn't seen from his father in a long time.

 

As Deanna led them away to speak with the council, a sudden, familiar voice echoed through the air, "Holy shit, is that you, Rick?" Carl's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice. It was Shane. His stomach twisted into a knot as the man he'd hoped they'd never see again approached, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the group.

 

Shane had changed. His hair was shorter, and he'd lost weight, but the predatory glint in his eye remained the same. The tension between him and Rick was palpable. The group froze, their eyes flicking to each other in disbelief.

 

"Shane?" Rick's voice was tight, his hand tightening around the grip of his gun. "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Shane's smile was forced, his eyes darting to Judith before returning to Rick. "It's a long story, man. I figured after the farm, I had to find somewhere to go. Ended up here, working with these good people." He took a step closer, his gaze lingering on Judith. "Looks like you all found the promised land."

 

Tara's voice was tentative as she leaned in to whisper to Glenn. "Who's that?" Carl watched as Glenn's eyes darkened, a flicker of anger passing over his face before he replied, keeping his voice low.

 

"That's Shane," Glenn said through gritted teeth. "He used to be with us."

 

Rick took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Shane's. "Thought you were gonna head west, find fort benning," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

 

Shane shrugged, his eyes sliding over to Carl, then back to Rick. "Plans change."

 

Rick's jaw clenched. "Guess they do." He took a step back, placing himself between Shane and the group. "We're here to join the community," he said to Deanna. "We can offer protection and support ."

 

Deanna's gaze sharpened as she took in the sudden tension between the two men. "Shane, why don't you show them around while I speak with the council?" she suggested, her tone a subtle command. Shane nodded, the smile never leaving his face, but his eyes remained cold.

 

It had been a week since they arrived in Alexandira, and Carl couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his bones. Shane had been playing the perfect host, showing them around the community, introducing them to the residents, and helping them settle into their new home.

 

But Carl knew better. He remembered the way Shane had looked at him back on the farm, the way he had talked about Lori, the way he had always had a hidden agenda. His father seemed to have bought into Shane's act, but Carl wasn't fooled. The man was dangerous, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he showed his true colors.

 

As they walked through the neatly organized gardens, Carl couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. Every time he turned around, Shane was there, a little too close, a little too friendly. It was as if he was trying to sneak back into their lives, like a cockroach that just wouldn't die.

 

The disputes between Shane and Rick had been constant, a simmering tension that had the whole group on edge. It was clear that the source of their discord was Judith, Carl's little sister.

Shane had always had an unnerving way of looking at Judith, his eyes lingering on her just a beat too long, a knowing glint that made Carl's skin crawl. The resemblance was there, subtle but undeniable. It was in her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that mirrored Shane's own.

 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows grew long, Shane pulled Carl aside. His voice was low, his eyes intense. "You know she's mine, don't you, kid?" Carl's heart raced as he met Shane's gaze. "It's obvious. Look at her, she's got my eyes. She deserves to be raised by her own flesh and blood."

 

Carl didn't say anything, his fists clenched at his sides. The anger and fear bubbled up inside of him like a volcano threatening to erupt. He knew Shane was dangerous, knew that he had killed Otis. But this was a different kind of danger, a twisted obsession that Carl couldn't even begin to understand.

 

Shane leaned in closer, his breath hot on Carl's cheek. "Rick's told me everything," he whispered. "How you had to do what you did to Lori."

 

Carl flinched, his mind racing back to that horrific day in the prison. He had killed his own mother, to save her from turning into one of the monsters that roamed the earth. The guilt still ate at him, a constant gnawing pain in his chest that never truly went away.

 

Shane's hand on his shoulder was like a vice, his eyes boring into Carl's soul. "It's okay, I understand," he murmured, his voice sickly sweet. "But it's time for her to have a real dad."

 

"Dad is," Carl spat, his voice shaking with anger. "More than you'll ever be."

 

Shane's smile didn't waver. "Oh, I know how he treats you," he said, his voice low and patronizing. "But let's face it, Carl, you're just a means to an end for him. A babysitter for his daughter. He's using you, just like he used Lori."

 

Carl's mind reeled with the accusations, unable to form a coherent response. He knew Rick had his flaws, had seen his father's darker moments, but the idea of being used, of being so easily discarded, was too much to swallow. Shane's hand remained on his shoulder, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder.

 

He felt a flash of anger, a heat that surged through his veins and made him want to lash out, to prove Shane wrong. But he knew better than to let his emotions get the better of him. He'd learned from the best, after all—his father's survival instincts had rubbed off on him, even if he didn't always agree with the methods.

 

"You're wrong," Carl said, his voice steady. "Dad has always looked out for us. You're the one who's dangerous."

 

Shane's smile grew colder, his grip on Carl's shoulder tightening. "Look around you, kid. This place is a mirage. It's not real. And when it all comes crashing down, who do you think they'll turn to?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Carl's ear. "They'll need someone like me. Someone who's not afraid to make the tough decisions, to do what's necessary to survive."

 

Carl shrugged off Shane's hand, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm not a kid anymore," he said, his voice firm. "And I know exactly what you are." He turned and walked away, leaving Shane standing alone in the fading light.

 

Shane didnt seek him out again, not untill another week had passed and the council had decided to accept them into the fold. Carl felt a mix of relief and dread at the thought of living under the same roof as the man who had once been his father's best friend, now a twisted shadow of his former self. The community had welcomed them with open arms, eager to embrace new faces and the promise of protection they offered.

 

But Carl couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap. Every time he saw Shane, the man's eyes followed him with a hunger that made his skin crawl. It was as if he was just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Carl knew he had to keep his guard up, especially with Judith and the others who were oblivious to the danger lurking in their midst.

 

The days in Alexandria were filled with a tense normalcy. The group settled into their roles within the community—Rick and Daryl took on the duty of patrolling the perimeter, Carl and the others helped with the gardening and maintenance, while Judith played with the other children, their laughter a stark reminder of the life they once knew. Yet, Carl remained vigilant, his eyes never straying far from Shane, who had integrated himself seamlessly into the community.

 

One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky with fiery hues, Carl found himself at Shane's door. It was an odd sensation, feeling his hand hover over the doorknob as if it were the trigger of a loaded gun. He'd brought Judith for a visit, a gesture of peace for the sake of their newfound life in the walled sanctuary.

 

Shane's eyes lit up when he saw Carl, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, little man," he said, opening the door wide. "Come on in."

 

Carl stepped into the small, neatly kept house, Judith clutching his hand tightly. The room was suffocatingly clean, almost sterile, with no personal touches to indicate that it was inhabited by a man with a history of bloodshed and obsession.

 

Shane took Judith from Carl's arms, his touch gentle as he swung her into the air, making her giggle. "How's my little girl doing?" he asked, his voice a sickening parody of affection. Carl watched with a clenched jaw as Judith beamed up at Shane, oblivious to the darkness that lurked behind his eyes.

 

"Good," Carl forced out, his voice tight. "Just here for a quick visit."

 

Shane's smile remained in place as he sat with Judith on the couch, playing with her favorite toy. "You know, Carl, we're all just trying to do what's best for her," he said, his eyes never leaving the little girl. "You included."

 

Carl felt a knot form in his stomach as he watched them, the memory of Shane's words echoing in his mind. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "That's why we're here."

 

Shane leaned back, his gaze shifting from Judith to Carl, the smile on his face never faltering. "It's been good here, hasn't it?"

 

Carl nodded, his eyes never leaving Shane. He knew that Shane's question wasn't innocent, that it was a probe to see how much he knew, how much he suspected. "It has," he said, his voice neutral.

 

Shane's eyes searched Carl's face, looking for any hint of fear or doubt. But Carl had learned from the best—his father's stoicism was like armor against the man's probing gaze. "It's a good place for her to grow up," Shane said, his voice taking on a paternal tone that Carl knew was a facade.

 

Despite the knot of unease in his stomach, Carl felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was as if the very act of acknowledging the danger made it more manageable. He forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine. "It is," he agreed, watching as Shane continued to interact with Judith. The girl had no idea of the monster lurking in her presence, her laughter a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

 

"You're a good kid, Carl," Shane said, his tone almost paternal. "You've really stepped up since the farm. I'm proud of you."

 

Carl's eyes narrowed slightly. Almost against his will, he felt himself relax a fraction. Despite his suspicions, Shane's words were comforting, a semblance of the affection he hadn't heard in so long. "Thanks," he murmured, watching as Shane played with Judith.

 

"I heard Glenn finally married Maggie," Shane said, his voice casual, yet his eyes remained sharp.

 

"Yeah," Carl replied, his voice flat. He didn't want to give Shane any more information than necessary, especially when it came to their personal lives.

 

Shane's gaze remained on Judith as he spoke. "They seem happy together." There was a pause, and then he added, "It's important to have a family, you know. Someone to watch your back."

 

Carl nodded, his eyes never leaving Shane's. "We've had to make our own family," he said, his voice tight. "And we've learned to watch each other's backs."

 

Shane's gaze softened for a moment, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "Remember when Glenn had that crush on Maggie from the start?" he said, his voice light. "It was obvious to everyone but her."

 

Carl couldn't help but smile at the memory, the tension in the room easing slightly. It was strange, but the Shane before him was a ghost of the man he had once looked up to, the uncle who had taught him how to catch frogs by the pond back at the quarry. The man whose laughter had once filled the air, whose stories had kept him entertained for hours.

 

Shane saw the smile and chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You remember that, huh?" He leaned back, the toddler in his arms now sleeping peacefully. "Those were simpler times."

 

Carl nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly as the memories flooded back. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to be lulled by the nostalgia, the comforting illusion that everything was as it had been before. "Yeah, I do."

 

The silence that followed was almost welcoming, a respite from the constant vigilance he'd maintained since their arrival. Shane's eyes held a sadness that seemed genuine, and Carl found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, the man had truly changed.

 

"I missed you guys," Shane said quietly, his eyes flicking to Carl, then back to Judith. "Missed you the most, though."

 

Carl felt like the man was telling the truth, his voice thick with genuine emotion. For a moment, Carl's resolve wavered. Could it be possible that Shane had truly changed? That he was just a lost soul looking for redemption, seeking refuge in the quiet life of Alexandria?

 

"I missed you too," Carl said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It was true. He had missed the days when Shane was a part of their group, before everything had gone to hell. Before he'd realized the depth of the man's obsession with Lori, before the dark secrets had come to light.

 

Shane leaned forward, his eyes searching Carl's face. "You can trust me, Carl," he said earnestly. "I'm not the same man I was back then."

 

Carl studied him, looking for any sign of the madness he knew lurked beneath the surface. "I want to believe that," he said, his voice low.

 

Shane's laugh was sad and hollow, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "I know I messed up back then," he admitted, his eyes dropping to Judith's peaceful face. "But I've had time to adjust to this new world. I've learned to control my...impulses."

 

Carl's mind drifted back to the prison, the memory of the kid he'd shot. It had been a decision, driven by his own impulse and need to survive. He'd never forgotten the boy's eyes—screaming, pleading—just before the bullet had silenced him forever.

 

"You've changed too," Shane said, interrupting Carl's thoughts. "You're not the same kid I knew."

 

The words stung, but Carl knew they were true. He'd been forced to grow up fast in this new world, to make decisions that would have been unthinkable before the outbreak. "We all have," he said, his voice hardening.

 

Shane nodded, his eyes never leaving Carl's. "But we can still be a family," he said, his tone hopeful. "You, me, and Judith."

 

The words hit Carl like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of him. This was it—Shane's true intentions laid bare. He knew he couldn't trust this man, couldn't let him near his sister. "We have a family," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "And it's not you."

 

Shane's smile didn't falter, but the coldness in his eyes grew sharper. "You think I'm the only one who's changed?" he murmured, his gaze still on the sleeping toddler. "Look around you, Carl. Everything changes. Sometimes, you just have to accept that."

 

Carl felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He knew what Shane was hinting at—his own evolution, the things he'd had to do to survive. But he wasn't about to let Shane manipulate him with guilt. "I know who you are," he said, his voice low and firm. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep Judith safe from you."

 

Shane's smile grew tight, his eyes narrowing. "You don't know everything, kid," he said, his voice a low growl. "There are things you can't even begin to understand."

 

Carl stepped back, his hand moving to the gun at his side. "I know enough," he said, his voice steady. "And I'm not a kid anymore."

 

Shane's eyes narrowed, the tension in the room thick enough to slice with a knife. "You're right," he said, his tone measured. "You're not. And maybe it's time you started making decisions for yourself."

 

Carl felt the weight of Shane's words, the implication that he was still under his father's thumb. It was true, in a way. Rick had always called the shots, but Carl had seen the toll it had taken on him. The guilt of losing Lori, the burden of leading the group—it was a crushing responsibility.

 

But Carl was different. He'd had to become a man in a world that didn't allow for childhood, and he knew he had to protect his sister from the monsters that roamed both outside and within the walls of Alexandria. "I make my own decisions," he said, his voice firm.

 

Shane leaned back, his smile never leaving his face. "That's what I thought," he said, his eyes flicking down to the gun at Carl's side. "You've got your mother's strength, that's for sure."

 

The comment sent a chill down Carl's spine. He knew Shane was baiting him, trying to get a rise out of him. But Carl was made of sterner stuff now. He wasn't the scared kid who had once looked up to this man. He was a survivor, a protector, a killer when he had to be.

 

Shane's gaze lingered on him, a longing in his eyes that made Carl's skin crawl. It was as if he was seeing Lori in Carl, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He'd noticed it before, the way Shane's eyes followed him around, the way his smiles never quite reached his eyes when he talked to Carl. It was like he was trying to claim a piece of what he had lost.

 

"You're starting to look like your mother too, you know," Shane said, his voice almost longing. "You've got her eyes."

 

Carl felt frozen at the words and their implications. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick to breathe. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of Shane's true intentions. The man had always had a strange obsession with Lori, and now, seeing the way he looked at him, Carl couldn't help but feel a cold dread settle in his stomach.

 

Shane picked up Judith with a gentle ease that seemed almost natural. Her little body was a stark contrast to his rough, calloused hands, a stark reminder of the innocence that existed in the world amidst the chaos. Carl watched as Shane cradled her, his eyes never leaving her face. It was a look that sent chills down Carl's spine—a blend of adoration and something darker, something possessive.

 

"You're going to love your new room," Shane said, his voice a sickly sweet lilt that didn't match the tension in the air. He led Carl down a hallway, the walls a pristine white that seemed almost too clean in this world of dirt and decay. The silence was thick, only punctuated by the occasional laughter from other houses, a stark reminder of the lives they were trying to rebuild in the shadow of the apocalypse.

 

They entered the room, and Carl's eyes immediately fell on the small crib in the corner, the bars gleaming in the soft light that streamed in through the curtains. Above it, a mobile of plastic animals spun lazily in the stillness. It was a stark contrast to the reality outside, a desperate attempt to cling to a normalcy that had long been lost.

 

The bedroom was small, but meticulously organized. There was a another bed in the corner, the mattress barely larger than a twin, covered with a plain navy comforter that looked like it had seen better days. Carl's eyes scanned the room, noticing the lack of personal touches, the absence of any sign that it was truly a space where someone lived.

 

Shane set Judith down in the crib, his eyes never leaving Carl's. "That's your bed," he said, his voice cold and calculated. "It's where you'll sleep when you come to stay with me."

 

Carl felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The idea of Shane watching over him, of being in such close proximity to the man who had haunted his thoughts for so long, was unbearable. "I'm not staying here," he said, his voice firm.

 

Shane's smile grew distant, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Your father trusts me," he said, his voice low. "And I know he's busy with the council. Who better to look after her than family?"

 

The word 'family' stuck in Carl's throat like a piece of glass. He knew Shane wasn't family, not really. He was a ticking time bomb, a threat that hadn't yet gone off but was bound to explode. "I can take care of her," he said, his voice tight. "I've been taking care of her for a long time now."

 

Shane's smile grew colder, his eyes narrowing. "Rick said she could start spending the nights here sometimes," he said casually. "I thought you would want to stay with her."

 

Carl felt his stomach drop. He knew his father was trying to keep the peace, to keep their new life in Alexandria from falling apart. But the thought of leaving Judith with Shane, even for a night, made him feel sick. Yet, he also knew that the safest place for her was with someone who knew the true extent of Shane's darkness. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice tight. "I'll stay."

 

Shane's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He tucked the blanket around Judith, his movements almost loving. It was a chilling sight, the way he handled the child with such tenderness. Carl felt his hand tighten around the grip of his gun, the weight of it a comforting presence against his thigh.

 

Shane placed a new plushie next to Judith, a small, smiling cow that seemed almost innocent in this twisted scene. The toy's fabric was soft, the eyes wide and inviting—a stark contrast to the malice that Carl knew lay behind Shane's smile. He watched as Shane leaned over, to kiss Judith on the head.

 

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Shane whispered, his voice a serrated knife slicing through the tension.

 

Carl watched as Shane straightened up, his eyes never leaving the sleeping toddler. The urge to grab her and run was almost overwhelming, but he knew he had to play along, for now. As Shane stepped away from the crib, Carl felt a sinking feeling in his gut, a premonition that this was the start of something much more sinister.

 

Shane turned to him, the smile still plastered on his face. "Why don't you get some sleep too, Carl?" he said, his voice soothing. "You look tired."

 

Carl nodded, his eyes never leaving Shane. He doubted the man would try anything with Rick so close by, but he wasn't taking any chances. "I'll stay here," he said, his voice firm.

 

Shane nodded, his smile never faltering. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a pair of pajamas—a simple T-shirt and shorts set, the fabric was soft, a stark contrast to the harshness of the world outside. He tossed them to Carl. "Those should fit," he said, his eyes lingering on the boy's face as if searching for something.

 

Carl caught the clothes, his stomach churning. He didn't want to take anything from Shane, didn't want to acknowledge the twisted sense of hospitality. But he knew he had to keep up the charade. He took the pajamas, feeling the weight of them in his hands like a prison uniform.

 

Shane lingered in the doorway, his eyes never leaving Carl. "I'll be right back, you can change real quick." he said, his voice casual. "Just going to grab some extra blankets. It gets cold at night here."

 

Carl waited until he heard Shane's footsteps fade before he moved, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. The walls were bare, no photos, no mementos, no indication that anyone lived here other than the man who had tried to claim his mother and now had his sights set on his sister. He quickly changed into the pajamas, his heart racing. The fabric was rough against his skin, a constant reminder of the danger that lay just outside the bedroom door.

 

The shirt hung on him like a tent, swamping his slender frame, the collar gaping open. It was one of Shane's, a relic from a past he wished never existed. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he caught his reflection in the mirror, the baggy shirt doing nothing to hide the hardened expression that had etched itself onto his young features. The shorts were another story—black fabric that clung to his legs, the fabric biting into his thighs.

 

He felt weird, a sense of discomfort that went beyond the ill-fitting clothes. It was like wearing a costume, pretending to be someone he wasn't. Carl felt like he was playing a role, and Shane was the director, orchestrating every move, every smile, every word. The feeling made him want to tear the clothes off, to run out of the house and never look back.

 

But he couldn't. For Judith's sake, he had to stay, had to keep up the facade. So he climbed into the bed, the springs protesting slightly under his weight. The sheets smelled faintly of fabric softener, a scent that seemed almost alien in this world of sweat and fear. He lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the community settling down for the night, his eyes on the door.

 

When Shane returned, he carried a pile of blankets and a pillow. "Here you go," he said, his tone still too kind for Carl's comfort. "You'll need these."

 

But then, as if it were an afterthought, Shane reached behind his back and pulled out a grey, plush animal. It was a bunny, its fabric worn but clean, and Carl could feel the stitching where someone had patched a hole on its back. "I found this," Shane said, his voice a bit shaky. "It reminded me of you."

 

The memory slammed into Carl like a freight train. He had been six or seven, begging Shane for a bunny plushie because it was his favorite animal. Back then, Shane had been his hero, the one who could do no wrong. The one who had always had time for him, even when his parents were busy. The one who had saved his life more times than he could count.

 

Shane had promised to get him one, and sure enough, he had come through. Carl remembered the day vividly—Shane had shown up at their house, the bunny plushie peeking out from behind his back. The joy and excitement had been palpable, a stark contrast to the horrors that had come later.

 

Now, as he took the worn plushie from Shane, Carl felt a flicker of something warm and genuine. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Shane had changed. That he was the same man who had once been his hero. He smiled up at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his teeth showing just a little. It was a real smile, one that didn't feel forced or tainted by the fear that had been his constant companion for so long.

 

Shane's eyes lit up, and for a second, Carl saw the man he had known before the apocalypse—his uncle, his mentor, his friend. The man who had taught him to shoot, to fish, to survive. He watched as Shane carefully tucked the blankets around him, his movements gentle and precise. It was a stark contrast to the brutal force he had seen Shane use so many times before.

 

As Shane leaned in, his hand brushed against Carl's cheek, sending a jolt through him. He felt the softness of his uncle's thumb as it pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The gesture was so familiar, so intimate, that Carl's breath hitched in his throat. For a moment, he was a child again, safe and loved in a world that had not yet gone mad.

 

"I'll wake you up for dinner," Shane said, his voice gentle, almost a whisper. The words seemed to hang in the air, a promise that Carl wasn't sure he wanted to accept. His heart thudded in his chest as he watched Shane straighten up, his hand lingering on the bedpost for a moment too long.

 

With a final, lingering glance at Carl, Shane turned off the light. The room was plunged into semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the crack under the door. Carl lay there, the bunny plushie clutched to his chest, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. His mind was racing, trying to process everything that had happened in the last few hours. Despite his exhaustion, sleep was a distant hope. He stared at the ceiling, the shadows dancing across it like ghosts from the past.

 

The quiet was only broken by the sound of his own breathing and the occasional snuffle from Judith in the crib. He felt his eyes water, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. The confusion was overwhelming—was Shane really a changed man, or was it all just an act? Carl didn't know what to believe anymore.

 

The bed, despite his fears, felt surprisingly comfortable. The mattress was firm, the pillow just right, and the blankets smelled faintly of a home that no longer existed. He'd spent so many nights on the cold, hard ground that the simple luxury of a real bed was almost too much to resist. His eyes grew heavier, his lids feeling like they were made of lead.

 

The creaks and murmurs of the house soon became a lullaby, a strange symphony of safety in this new, uncharted territory. He knew he should stay awake, should keep an eye on Shane, but his body was betraying him. The exhaustion of the journey, the tension of the encounter, the sheer weight of everything that had happened in the last few days—it was all too much.

 

He felt his eyelids grow heavy, the plushie's fabric warm against his skin. He could feel the steady rise and fall of his own breath, the rhythm lulling him closer to sleep. The shadows on the ceiling danced in the flickering light, morphing into the faces of those he had lost—his mother, Dale, even Shane's old self, the one who had been a part of their family.

 

The room grew darker, the sounds of the house fading away. The only constant was the soft snoring from the crib and the gentle thump of his own heart. Carl's thoughts grew hazy, his grip on the bunny tightening as his mind drifted to a place where he didn't have to worry about trust or danger.

Chapter 2: Cry all the time, cause im not having fun

Summary:

shane provides carl some much needed comfort

The sudden knock on the door jolted him awake, his hand shooting to the gun beside him on the bed. The plushie fell to the floor, forgotten in the face of the cold steel. Shane's silhouette filled the doorway, a tray of steaming food in his hands. "Dinner's ready," he said, his voice gentle.

 

Carl sat up, the pajamas feeling like a lie against his skin. He eyed Shane warily as he approached the bed, setting the tray down on the small nightstand. The smell of hot chicken and vegetables wafted up to him, his stomach rumbling despite his fear. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

 

"Thank you," Carl murmured, his voice strained.

 

Shane's eyes searched Carl's face, looking for any sign of softening. "You're welcome," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out and took Carl's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The gesture was so unexpected, so filled with a warmth that Carl hadn't felt from Shane in what felt like a lifetime, that he didn't know how to react. His hand felt small and vulnerable in Shane's grip, and he had to fight the urge to pull away.

 

But he didn't. He held on, looking up at Shane, searching his eyes for the truth. Was this the real Shane? The man who had once been a part of their family? Or was it just another facade, another twisted game he was playing?

 

Shane's hand felt warm, almost comforting, and for a brief moment, Carl allowed himself to hope. Maybe he had misjudged him. Maybe the Shane he had known was still there, buried under the layers of grief and obsession. He took a deep breath, the smell of the food mixing with the scent of his uncle's aftershave, a scent that was both reassuring and terrifying.

 

Shane released his hand and took a step back, his smile fading slightly. "Eat up," he said, his eyes lingering on Carl. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

 

Carl nodded, his stomach growling in protest. He knew he needed to keep his strength up, for Judith's sake. He picked up the tray, the food looking more appealing with every second that passed. His eyes remained on Shane as he took a bite, the flavors of chicken and rosemary exploding on his tongue. It had been so long since he'd had a meal that wasn't out of a can or hunted from the wild. The food was a comfort, a taste of the life they were trying to rebuild here in Alexandria.

 

Shane sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving Carl. The silence stretched out between them, filled only with the sounds of Carl's chewing and swallowing, and the occasional rustle of the bed sheets. "You know," he said finally, his voice casual, "I've missed this. Just sitting, talking."

 

Carl eyed him warily, his mouth full of food. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have a conversation with Shane, but he knew he couldn't refuse. Not if he wanted to keep the peace. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, his voice careful.

 

Shane shrugged. "Anything," he said, his tone open. "How's it been out there? How's everyone holding up?"

 

Carl chewed slowly, swallowed, and took a sip of water before speaking. "It's been tough," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But we manage."

 

Shane nodded, his eyes never leaving Carl's face. "You've grown up fast," he said, a hint of sadness in his tone. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you."

 

The words stung, a reminder of all the moments Carl had missed with his real father. But he kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give Shane the satisfaction of knowing he had hit a nerve. "I've had to," he said, his voice flat.

 

Shane's eyes searched Carl's face, looking for some hint of the boy he had known. "You're right," he said after a long pause. "You've had to grow up fast."

 

Carl felt a strange mix of anger and pity. Anger at the way Shane had inserted himself into their lives, pity for the man who had lost everything he had ever cared about. He took another bite of food, his eyes never leaving Shane's. "What's it like here?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "In Alexandria, I mean."

 

Shane's expression grew wistful. "It's like a little slice of the old world," he said. "Walls keep the dead out, we have electricity, running water. It's almost like we've gone back in time."

 

But Carl couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about Shane's words. It was as if he was trying too hard to sell the idea of a perfect life within these walls. No one else had cared to ask Carl how he felt, not since they'd arrived. Deanna had been too busy playing diplomat, and his father was too caught up in the politics of the new community.

 

"It's not the same," Carl murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can't be."

 

Shane's expression grew serious, his eyes searching Carl's. "It's as close as we're going to get," he said softly. "We can start over, make a real home for you and Judith."

 

The words hit Carl like a punch in the gut. A home? With Shane? The thought was both ludicrous and terrifying. He forced down another mouthful of food, the taste suddenly bitter. "We have a home," he said, his voice firm. "With Dad."

 

Shane's smile didn't waver. "Rick's a good man," he said, his voice soothing. "But he's got a lot on his plate. Maybe it's time for someone else to step up, take some of the burden."

 

Carl's grip tightened around the fork, his knuckles white. He knew it was true—his father was often too busy with the responsibilities of leading the group to be there for him and Judith. It was a burden Carl had been carrying since before he could remember, looking after his sister while the adults made their plans and fought off the walking dead. But the thought of Shane being that someone was a chilling prospect.

 

"I can take care of her," he said, his voice firm. "I've been doing it for a long time."

 

Shane nodded, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "I know you have," he said gently. "But you're not alone anymore, Carl. We're family, remember?"

 

The word 'family' hung in the air like a noose, and Carl felt his stomach clench. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the fear that threatened to bubble up. "I know," he said, his voice even. "But Judith is my responsibility. I won't let anyone else take care of her."

 

Shane's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of weakness. But Carl's resolve was unyielding. "I understand," Shane said finally. "But we're all here to help. You don't have to do it all by yourself."

 

Carl nodded, swallowing the last bite of food. "I know," he said. "But I'm her brother. It's my job."

 

Shane leaned back, his gaze unyielding. "Your father's job is to keep everyone safe," he said. "And that's what I want to help him with. We can all pitch in, make sure she's well taken care of."

 

The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken threats and hidden agendas. Carl could feel the weight of Shane's words, the subtle hint that he was still trying to insert himself into their lives, to claim a piece of their future. "We're not alone," he said, his voice steady. "We have each other, and that's enough."

 

Shane studied him for a long moment before standing up, his smile never slipping. "Alright, Carl," he said, his tone a mix of understanding and something else, something darker. "I'll let you get some rest."

 

He took the empty plate from Carl's hands, the clank of the metal against the tray echoing in the quiet room. Carl watched him, his heart racing, as Shane moved to the door, the plushie bunny on the floor a stark reminder of the man's true intentions.

 

Shane paused in the doorway, the light from the hall casting a shadow across his face. "Goodnight, Carl," he said, his tone softer than Carl had heard in years. "You know where I am if you need anything."

 

He didn't close the door fully, the gap a silent reminder of the lack of privacy in this new, supposedly safe place. Carl watched as Shane's form grew smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the darkness of the corridor.

 

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic breathing of his sister in the crib. Then, faintly, he heard the sound of water running, the clink of plates, and the low murmur of Shane's voice. He was doing the dishes, a mundane task that seemed almost surreal in this post-apocalyptic world. It was a task that Carl's mother had done countless times, a task that now felt tainted by the man who had invaded their lives and twisted their trust.

 

He sat there, the plush bunny lying forgotten beside him, listening to the sounds of domesticity. It was eerie, a reminder of a past that seemed so far away, and yet was so deeply embedded in the fabric of their lives. The kitchen was just across the hall, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Carl felt a strange mix of comfort and dread—the comfort of knowing that someone was taking care of him, and the dread that came with knowing it was the very person he feared most.

 

With a sigh, he slid out of bed and approached the crib. Judith was sleeping peacefully, her chubby cheeks flushed with the warmth of the room. He reached in and gently picked her up, holding her close to his chest. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open to gaze up at him. For a moment, Carl felt his fear melt away. She was all that mattered now.

 

He walked back to the bed and laid her down beside him, pulling the blankets up to her chin. The softness of the bed was a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground he'd slept on for so long. He lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, feeling her warmth against his side. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.

 

The room was bathed in a soft, yellow glow from the nightlight in the corner, casting shadows across the floor and walls. Carl's eyes darted to the open door, watching the shadows play out like a silent movie, each one a potential threat waiting to come to life. He could still feel the weight of Shane's hand on his, the warmth of his smile as he spoke of family and home.

 

But Carl knew better. He had seen the monster behind the mask, the obsession that had consumed Shane and driven him to unspeakable actions. And now, here they were, in a place that was supposed to be a haven, a place where they could start over. Yet, all Carl could feel was the suffocating pressure of his uncle's presence.

 

The night grew long, and Carl's eyes grew heavy, but he didn't dare close them. Every creak of the floorboards, every shuffle of the curtains was a potential danger. His hand never left the grip of his gun, his senses on high alert. He thought of his father, of the trust that had been shattered between them, and wondered if he would ever be able to forgive him for bringing them here.

 

Judith stirred in her sleep, her small hand reaching out to find his. He took it, the warmth of her touch grounding him in reality. He couldn't let her down, couldn't let anyone else take her away. Not again. Not ever. The thought of losing her, of losing his family, was a pain too raw to bear.

 

As the hours ticked by, Carl's eyes grew heavier, his resolve to stay vigilant wavering with each passing moment. The warmth of the bed, the comforting weight of the blankets, and the rhythmic sound of his sister's breathing lulled him closer to sleep. But every time he felt his eyelids begin to droop, the image of Shane's too-intimate smile flashed before him, jolting him awake.

 

The house grew quieter, the distant noises of the night outside mixing with the occasional snore from the corridor. Carl's mind raced, piecing together the events that had led them here, trying to make sense of the man who had once been a pillar of their group. How could someone who had fought alongside them, protected them, and killed for them, become a danger to their very existence?

 

With trembling hands, Carl carefully lifted Judith from the bed and placed her back in the crib. He tucked the blankets around her, his eyes never leaving hers as she blinked sleepily up at him. She was so small, so defenseless. The thought of Shane's intentions made him want to scream, but he knew he had to stay calm, had to be the rock she needed. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin against his lips. "I'll always keep you safe," he whispered, the promise a solemn vow in the stillness of the room.

 

As he straightened up, his gaze fell on the gun resting on the bedside table. It was a stark reminder of the world they now lived in, a world where trust was a commodity more precious than gold. He picked it up, feeling the cold steel against his palm. It was a tool, a means to an end, and right now, the end was keeping Judith and the others away from Shane's twisted grasp.

 

Carl settled into the chair beside the crib, his eyes never leaving his sister. The gun rested on his knee, a silent sentinel watching over them both. He knew he should rest, knew his body needed it, but his mind was racing with scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

 

He thought back to the day they'd arrived in Alexandria, the way the gates had swung open to reveal a world untouched by the chaos outside. The houses looked like they'd been plucked from a magazine, their lawns neatly trimmed, their windows gleaming. It had felt like a mirage, too good to be true. And now, with Shane back in their lives, Carl couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a facade, a trap waiting to close around them.

 

The hours crawled by, each minute feeling like an eternity. The only solace was the steady rise and fall of Judith's chest, a reminder of the purity that still existed in this world. Carl's thoughts turned to his father, to the conversation they needed to have. He knew he couldn't keep this secret from Rick, couldn't let him be blind to the danger that was living under their own roof.

 

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. The hands had barely moved since he'd last checked. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken fear. Carl knew he couldn't keep this up forever, but the thought of sleep made his stomach churn. What if he missed something? What if Shane tried to take Judith while they were both unconscious?

 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes for just a moment, the gun still clutched tightly in his hand. It was a mistake. The moment he allowed his guard to slip, the room grew colder, the shadows more menacing.

 

When Carl woke to the soft caress of sunshine on his face, he was disoriented, his heart racing. The room was bathed in a gentle golden light, the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze from the open window. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was, the weight of the gun in his hand feeling foreign.

 

He sat up with a jolt, the chair groaning in protest. Judith was still asleep in the crib, her chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of innocence. Carl let out a slow breath, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of disturbance. The plush bunny lay on the floor where it had fallen the night before, the symbol of their twisted past a stark reminder of his vigil.

 

The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves. His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He couldn't have slept for more than a few minutes, could he? He checked the gun, his eyes flickering to the doorway. It was still open a crack, the hallway beyond still and silent.

 

Slowly, he stood up, his muscles stiff from the uncomfortable chair. He moved to the crib, his gaze lingering on Judith's sleeping form. He reached out and touched her forehead, the softness of her skin reassuring him that she was still there, still safe. But for how long?

 

He left the gun on the nightstand, a deliberate act of trust that he wasn't quite sure he felt. It was a risk, leaving it there, but he needed to believe that the walls of Alexandria would keep them safe, that the night had been a long, terrible dream. The plush bunny lay on the floor, a silent witness to his vigil. He picked it up, the fabric feeling rough against his skin. It was a relic of a time before the world had gone mad, a symbol of a bond that had been shattered by Shane's obsession.

 

Carl tiptoed to the door, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. The corridor was empty, the air stale with the scent of sleep. He padded down the hall, the quiet a stark contrast to the chaos that usually filled his days. The kitchen was just around the corner, and the smell of coffee grew stronger with every step.

 

The sight of the kitchen was almost jarring, so clean and orderly it seemed like a mirage. The counters gleamed, and the fridge hummed gently in the corner. Carl's eyes fell on the coffeemaker, a relic of the old world, now a beacon of normalcy in the chaos. He poured himself a cup, the warmth in his hands a small comfort in the coldness of the morning.

 

Shane was at the stove, flipping pancakes with an easy grace that made Carl's stomach clench. He turned, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Morning," he said, his tone too cheerful for the tension that hung in the air.

 

Carl nodded, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his discomfort. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice scratchy from sleep. He watched as Shane placed the perfect golden circles onto a plate, the smell of maple syrup and butter wafting through the air. It was a scene from a life they'd never truly had, a life that felt like a distant memory.

 

"Could you grab Judith?" Shane asked, his back still turned. "I'm just finishing up her bottle."

 

Carl nodded, the plush bunny in his hand feeling heavier with each passing second. He stepped into the bedroom, the sunlight casting a warm glow over the crib. Judith was still asleep, her tiny hands balled into fists. He reached down and gently picked her up, the weight of her body a reminder of his promise to keep her safe.

 

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a sleepy smile. The sight of her was a punch to the gut, a stark contrast to the monster in the kitchen. He cradled her against his chest, feeling the warmth of her breath against his skin. This was his sister, his responsibility, and he would do anything to protect her, even if it meant facing his own fears.

 

"Here you go," he whispered, placing her in the high chair. The chair had been a luxury they hadn't had in years, but here it was, a relic of a past that seemed so far away. Shane handed him a bottle, the formula already mixed and warm. Carl took it with a nod, his eyes never leaving Shane's. The whole situation felt surreal, like a twisted episode of a sitcom from before the world had ended.

 

He sat down at the small kitchen table, Judith's eyes watching him as he twisted the cap and tested the temperature of the bottle on his wrist. She gripped the edges of the chair, her eyes wide with anticipation. It was a scene that would have been heartwarming if it weren't for the shadow looming over it. Carl's hand trembled slightly as he brought the bottle to her mouth, the sweet smell of the formula a stark contrast to the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat.

 

Shane set a plate of pancakes in front of him, and Carl stared at them, his appetite waning. This whole situation was a bizarre twist on the mornings he had spent with his mother, when she would wake him and with the smell of breakfast, a time that now felt like a lifetime ago. He was used to getting up and taking care of them both, his father often gone before dawn, his presence in their lives as transient as the safety of the world outside.

 

Shane's hand hovered over Judith, and Carl's grip on the gun tightened before he realized it wasn't there. He had left it in the bedroom, a dangerous oversight that made his heart skip a beat.

 

"Let me do it," Shane said, his voice a low murmur. "You must be starving."

 

Carl's eyes darted to the plate of pancakes, his stomach growling despite the fear. He knew he had to eat, had to keep his strength up for what was to come. He nodded curtly, handing Judith's bottle over. As Shane took it, their fingers brushed together, and Carl felt a shiver run down his spine.

 

Shane's touch was gentle, almost loving, as he placed the bottle in Judith's eager mouth. The sight was jarring, a twisted reflection of what a loving uncle should be. Carl forced himself to take a deep breath, his eyes locked on the gun in his mind's eye.

 

The pancakes sat before him, a taunting reminder of the comforts of the past. With a trembling hand, he picked up his fork and took a bite, the sweetness and warmth of the syrup a stark contrast to the bitter taste of his fear. He chewed mechanically, the food sticking in his throat. His eyes darted between Judith and Shane, the latter's attention fully on the child.

 

As he swallowed, Carl felt himself relax ever so slightly. Maybe he was overreacting. Perhaps Shane really had changed, maybe this was all just in his head. The farm had been so long ago, and they had all been through so much since then. The walls of Alexandria were solid, the people here had proven themselves trustworthy. They had rules, a council, a way of life that was structured and organized. Surely, they wouldn't allow someone like Shane to just waltz in and take over.

 

Shane's eyes met his, and for a moment, Carl saw a flicker of something genuine. Concern, maybe? Or was it just his own desperation to believe that they could all be a family again? The way Shane looked at Judith, the tenderness in his smile as he cradled her, it was almost like he truly cared for her. It didn't seem like the look of a man who would harm a child, more like the gaze of a lost soul seeking redemption through the purity of the innocent.

 

But Carl knew better. He had seen the monster lurking beneath the surface, had felt the coldness in his touch when no one else was watching. He pushed the plate away, his appetite lost. "Thank you," he said, his voice tight. "But I'm not really hungry."

 

Shane's smile didn't waver, but the look in his eyes grew sharper. "Suit yourself," he said, sitting down with his own plate of pancakes. "They're good, though. Made 'em from scratch."

 

Carl nodded, his heart racing. The conversation was mundane, the kind they would have had back in the days before the world had gone to hell, but the underlying tension was palpable. Every clink of Shane's fork on the plate, every bite he took, was a silent threat that Carl couldn't ignore.

 

He watched as Shane fed Judith, his movements smooth and practiced, and for a brief moment, Carl allowed himself to feel a semblance of comfort. It had been so long since he'd had a real home, a place where he could just be a kid.

 

Shane glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "You know, you guys can head back to your dad's whenever you want," he said casually.

 

Carl's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

 

Shane shrugged, his eyes never leaving the baby. "I know you don't trust me. I know you'd rather be with Rick. But I care about you guys. And I'm here for you, for Judith." His voice was smooth, almost too soothing.

 

Carl felt a twist in his gut, a sinking feeling that made him want to run. Had it really been that obvious? That his fears and suspicions were written all over his face? He'd worked so hard to keep them hidden, to be the strong one, the protector. Yet, here he was, his weakness laid bare by the very man he feared.

 

He took a deep breath, willing his voice to stay steady. "I know you care," he said, hoping it didn't sound as forced as it felt.

 

Shane nodded, turning away to start cleaning up the remnants of breakfast. The clink of dishes and the scrape of the spatula against the frying pan seemed to echo through the room, amplifying the tension. "I do," Shane said, his back to Carl. "More than you know."

 

Carl watched him for a moment, the words hanging in the air between them like a noose. Then, with a sigh, Shane turned back around and looked at Carl. "Your clothes are clean," he said, his voice softer now. "They're folded up on the dresser. I figured you could use some fresh ones."

 

Carl nodded, his eyes still wary. "Thanks," he murmured.

 

Shane's smile grew slightly sadder, as if he could feel the distance Carl was putting between them. "You're welcome. I know things are tough, but we're family. We have to stick together."

 

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the bond they once shared. Carl felt the guilt creeping in, his thoughts racing back to the moments when Shane had been there for them, the times when he'd been the one to save their lives. It was easy to forget those moments amidst the horrors of the farm, the whispers of what Shane had done in the dark, but they were there, etched into the fabric of their shared history.

 

With a sigh, Carl stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. He took a step towards Shane, his heart pounding in his chest. For a brief second, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Shane had changed. That the man who had held him when he cried over his mother's death, the man who had taught him to shoot a gun and survive in a world gone mad, was still somewhere in there, buried beneath the layers of obsession and manipulation.

 

Shane's eyes widened as Carl approached, a look of confusion flickering across his face. Carl could see the question in his gaze, the silent "What are you doing?" that went unspoken. But Carl didn't stop. He needed this, needed to feel some semblance of the comfort that had been ripped from him so many times before.

 

The hug was awkward, tentative at first. Shane's arms hung by his sides, his body stiff with surprise. Then, slowly, they moved up to wrap around Carl's shoulders, his touch hesitant and unsure. It had been so long since anyone had hugged Carl without the threat of pain or betrayal that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be held with genuine affection.

 

For a brief, fleeting moment, Carl allowed himself to lean into the embrace, to believe in the illusion of safety. Shane's warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness that had become so familiar, and the scent of clean laundry and syrup was a comforting reminder of the life they once knew. It was a dangerous comfort, a siren's call that promised a respite from the horrors of the outside world.

 

But as the seconds ticked by, the guilt grew heavier, and the fear more pronounced. Carl pulled away, his eyes searching Shane's face for any hint of his true intentions. The man before him looked genuinely shocked, the facade of understanding and care momentarily cracked. But Carl knew better than to trust appearances. He stepped back, the chair between them once again.

 

"Thanks," Carl said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I should probably get changed."

 

Shane nodded, his expression unreadable. "Of course," he murmured, his eyes lingering on Carl before he turned back to the sink, the sound of running water filling the uncomfortable silence.

 

Carl retreated to the bedroom, his mind racing with a tumult of emotions. The clean clothes were a stark reminder of the effort Shane was making to be a part of their lives again, to be the uncle he had once been. He picked up the folded pile, his heart feeling heavier with every item he lifted. The scent of fabric softener and detergent brought a wave of nostalgia, but it couldn't wash away the stain of doubt that clung to him.

Chapter 3: The devil knows what you ask of him

The next few weeks went by like that, back and forth between his Fathers house, and Shanes. Carl felt like a yoyo, his emotions pulled tight and then let loose only to be yanked back again. He knew he couldn't tell his dad about Shane's obsession, not without risking everything. Rick had enough on his plate, and if he found out, Carl was sure he would go after Shane with everything he had.

 

But Carl wasn't certain Shane was the man he thought he was. There were moments, fleeting and rare, when the old Shane would shine through. Moments of genuine care and concern that made Carl's heart ache for the man who had been like a father to him. But then there would be the glances at him, the way his eyes would linger too long, and Carl would be jolted back to reality.

 

He knew he couldn't let his guard down. Not with Judith in the mix. He had to protect her, no matter what the cost. So he played along, smiling when Shane tickled her chin, laughing when he told stories of their old life. Inside, he was a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment.

 

Today, he was in Shane's house, when a scream grew his attention. It was muffled, coming from somewhere outside. Without a second thought, Carl bolted out the back door, his heart racing. The morning air was chilly, biting at his skin as he sprinted through the overgrown yard. His breath came in ragged gasps as he approached the source of the sound.

 

In the street, a sight met him that froze the blood in his veins. His father, Rick, was on top of Pete, a neighbor from the compound, his fists flying in a flurry of rage. The ground around them was smeared with blood and dirt, their grunts and the sickening sound of flesh on flesh echoing through the early morning stillness.

 

The commotion had already drawn a crowd of people, their faces a mix of horror and fascination. Carl pushed his way through, his eyes never leaving the terrifying scene before him. Shane was standing at the edge of the gathering, his arms folded over his chest, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Carl's stomach churned, the reality of the situation setting in. He had to get to his father before it was too late.

 

He saw Deanna running over, her eyes wide with concern. She looked at Carl, her mouth opening to say something, but the words were lost in the chaos. He didn't have time to listen. He had to act.

 

With all the strength his 15-year-old body could muster, Carl threw himself at his father, trying to pull him off Pete. But Rick was a man possessed, his muscles tense with anger. Carl's grip slipped, and he stumbled back, his vision swimming as his father's elbow connected with his cheek.

 

"Rick! Stop!" Shane's voice pierced the cacophony, and for a brief moment, the fight halted. The man looked up, his eyes wild and feral, then back at Carl.

 

Shane was at Carl's side, his hand on the teenager's shoulder, his eyes searching Carl's face for signs of injury. "You okay, kid?" he asked, his voice tight with tension.

 

Carl nodded, his cheek throbbing from the impact. His eyes never left Rick, who was now on his knees, his chest heaving with exertion. Pete lay still on the ground, blood seeping from his nose and mouth. The crowd had gone quiet, their faces a tableau of shock and disbelief.

 

Shane's grip on Carl's shoulder tightened. "You okay?" he repeated, his eyes searching Carl's face with a concern that seemed almost genuine. Carl nodded again, his voice lost in the cacophony of his thoughts

.

 

In the sudden quiet, Carl barely registered the hushed conversation between his father, Rick, and Deanna. They talked in urgent whispers, their faces a blur of worry and accusation. The words "out of control" and "has to be stopped" floated to Carl's ears, but he couldn't focus. All he could see was the blood.

 

The smell of it filled his nose, thick and coppery. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he stared at Pete, the man's chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths. The fight had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, but the damage was done. Carl's heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just witnessed.

 

Michonne stepped forward, her eyes were hard, her stance unyielding. With one swift motion, she knocked Rick out with her fist. The sound echoed through the stillness, a stark counterpoint to the quiet sobs of the onlookers.

 

"Get a doctor," Shane barked at one of the townsfolk, his voice a whipcrack. He turned to Carl, his eyes searching. "Are you okay?" he asked again, his voice softer this time.

 

Carl nodded, his eyes still on his father's unconscious form. He felt a strange mix of fear, anger, and sadness. This wasn't the man he knew, the man who had protected him all his life. This was a stranger, consumed by his own demons.

 

Shane squeezed his shoulder gently. "Come on," he said, leading Carl away from the scene. "Let's get you cleaned up."

 

They stepped into the house, the quiet a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Carl's head spun as he walked down the hall, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Shane guided him into the bathroom, his hand firm but gentle. He turned on the faucet, the cold water running until it was warm, and then handed Carl a washcloth.

 

"Hold this to your cheek," he instructed, his voice calm and steady. "It'll help with the swelling."

 

Carl took the cloth, pressing it to his face with trembling hands. The warmth was soothing, but it couldn't erase the image of his father's rage or the fear that coiled in his stomach. He looked up at Shane, searching for something, anything, that would explain what had just happened.

 

"Don't worry," Shane said, his voice a soothing rumble. "We'll sort this out."

 

Carl nodded, not trusting his own voice. The bathroom walls seemed to close in around him, the scent of antiseptic cleaners and soap overpowering the faint coppery smell that clung to him from the fight. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, the bruise already starting to form on his cheek. It was a stark contrast to the boy who had once looked back at him, the one who had been so full of hope and optimism.

 

Shane's eyes searched his, and for a brief moment, Carl allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to some semblance of the family they once were. But the doubt was a heavy weight in his chest, a constant reminder of the horrors he had witnessed and the secrets he held.

 

He took the washcloth and held it to his cheek, the warmth seeping through the fabric and bringing a small measure of comfort. His reflection in the mirror was distorted by the steam, the bruise already swelling to the size of an egg.

 

Shane's eyes searched his, and for a second, Carl saw something that almost looked like regret. The hand on his shoulder felt heavier now, a silent apology for the chaos outside. He leaned into the touch, yearning for the comfort he hadn't felt in so long. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in around them, the sound of the running water a white noise that blocked out the world.

 

"I'll talk to him," Shane said, his voice low and earnest. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

 

Carl nodded, his eyes not leaving the floor. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice shaky. He knew he couldn't tell Shane everything, not yet. Not when the man was already so volatile, so unpredictable. But the comfort of his presence was undeniable, a balm to Carl's frayed nerves.

 

Shane squeezed his shoulder once more before leaving the room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. The door clicked shut, leaving Carl alone with his thoughts and the steady patter of water. He took a deep breath, the warmth of the washcloth doing little to ease the cold fear that had settled in his bones.

 

He thought about his father, about the man he had once looked up to, the man who had taught him to shoot and to survive. Why had Rick lost control like that? Was it the stress of leadership? The constant fear of the outside world? Or was it something else, something deeper and darker?

 

Carl knew he had to be careful. If Shane had noticed his distrust, then surely others had as well. The town of Alexandria was already on edge, their peaceful existence shattered by the recent events. A fight like that, especially with one of their own, could send them spiraling into chaos.

 

He took a deep breath, the warm water of the washcloth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in his gut. He had to tell someone, but who? Carl's thoughts raced as he stepped out of the bathroom, the soft padding of his socks on the floor the only sound in the quiet house.

 

The living room was empty, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. Shane was probably outside, dealing with the aftermath of the fight. Carl took a moment to appreciate the stillness, the temporary reprieve from the tension that had been his constant companion these past weeks.

 

He moved to the kitchen, the plates from their earlier breakfast still sitting on the table. The bunny plushie was there, its glassy eyes staring up at him from its spot next to the sugar bowl. Carl picked it up, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers. It was a sad reminder of the innocence they had lost, the childhoods stolen from them by a world gone mad.

 

He hugged it to his chest, feeling a strange comfort in the embrace. The plush toy was a symbol of the past, a time when danger was something you could hold and squeeze until it disappeared. He took a deep breath, the scent of stale pancake syrup clinging to the fabric. It was a smell that had once been comforting, a scent that had been a staple of lazy weekend mornings. Now, it was a harsh reminder of the illusions they were all clinging to.

 

Carl knew he couldn't hide in the house forever. He had to find Shane, had to make sure he was okay. The man had been acting strangely since they'd arrived in Alexandria, and Carl couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about him. Despite their history, despite the moments of genuine care, the doubt remained.

 

He made his way down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. The house was eerily quiet, the only sound the distant wail of a siren echoing through the walls. Carl's hand hovered over the doorknob to Shane's room, his heart pounding in his chest. What would he find inside? The man he had once called family, or the monster that had been festering in the shadows of the farm?

 

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open. The room was a mess, clothes and weapons scattered across the floor. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled in a chaotic maelstrom of blankets and pillows. But there was no sign of Shane.

 

Carl's heart skipped a beat as he stepped into the hallway, his eyes searching the shadows. The house was too quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded outside. He moved with the stealth of a seasoned survivor, his senses on high alert. His hand slid along the wall, feeling the coolness of the paint as he approached the door to his shared room with Judith. The knob turned under his touch, the door swinging open with a soft creak that seemed to echo through the corridor.

 

In the dim light, he could make out Shane's silhouette, a chair rocking back and forth with a gentle squeak. In his arms, Judith was nestled, her tiny form a stark contrast to the bulk of the man holding her. She was sleeping peacefully, her breathing slow and even.

 

For the briefest of moments, Carl felt himself relax. The scene was almost domestic, a picture of a makeshift family trying to find solace in a world gone mad. But the illusion shattered as quickly as it had formed. Shane's eyes met his in the mirror, the smile slipping from his face.

 

"She's okay," Shane said, his voice low. "I just wanted to keep an eye on her."

 

Carl nodded, his hand tightening around the bunny. The tension in the room was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to press down on them. He stepped into the room, the chair's rocking slowing to a stop. The plushie felt like a shield in his hands, a silent declaration of his intention to protect his sister no matter the cost.

 

"I'm just gonna take a nap," Carl said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, a feeble attempt at normalcy in a situation that was anything but. Shane's eyes searched his for a moment before he nodded, his expression unreadable.

 

With a gentle touch, Shane placed Judith into her crib, tucking the blankets around her small body. The action was almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension that had been building between them. Carl watched, his heart in his throat, as Shane's eyes never left the sleeping girl. It was as if he couldn't bear to look away, as if he were afraid she would vanish if he did.

 

Shane turned to face Carl, his expression unreadable. For a moment, they stood there, the silence stretching out between them like a tightrope. Then, without a word, he moved closer, his hand reaching out to cup Carl's cheek. The touch was surprisingly soft, the roughness of his calloused fingers belying the strength that had just been on display in the street.

 

"Get some rest," Shane murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the bruise. "We'll figure this out."

 

With that, Carl climbed into bed, his body weary from the day's events. He pulled the covers up to his neck, feeling the weight of the bunny pressed against his chest. Shane hovered by the bedside, his eyes flickering over the bruise again. The man looked torn, a battle of emotions playing out in the tension of his jaw and the furrow of his brow.

 

Then, with a gentle sigh, Shane bent down and tucked Carl in, the softness of his touch belying the monster Carl knew he could be. It was a gesture that sent a chill down Carl's spine, a stark reminder of the man who had once been a protector and a friend. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever came next.

 

To his surprise, Shane leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead, the brush of his lips like a whisper of something long lost. Carl's eyes flew open, his heart racing, but all he saw was the shadow of a smile on Shane's face as he straightened up. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting an orange light across the floorboards.

 

"Rest," Shane murmured, his eyes lingering on Carl for a moment longer before he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Carl's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Was this a sign of affection or possession? Was Shane truly trying to be a part of their lives, or was he playing a twisted game?

 

The house remained eerily quiet, the only sounds the occasional whisper of the wind outside and the distant sirens that had become an all-too-familiar backdrop to their lives. Carl lay there, his eyes wide open, the bunny plushie clutched tightly in his hand. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it all. He had to tell his father, but how could he without causing an even greater rift?

 

As the minutes ticked by, the weight of his decision grew heavier, the silence pressing down on him like a leaden blanket. He knew he couldn't keep this from Rick much longer. The fear of what Shane might do was a constant knot in his stomach, one that grew tighter with every passing moment.

 

With trembling hands, Carl slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any sound of movement from Shane. Hearing none, he turned the knob and stepped into the hallway. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the man he had once called his uncle.

 

The house was eerily still, the only sound the distant murmur of hushed voices coming from outside. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows down the hall, painting the floorboards with strips of light and darkness. Carl's heart thudded in his chest, his nerves stretched taut. He knew he had to talk to Shane, to figure out what was happening before it was too late.

 

He approached the door to Shane's room, the wood cool to the touch. His knuckles hovered over the wood, the plush bunny still clutched tightly in his hand. With a deep breath, he rapped three times, the sound echoing through the corridor like a gunshot.

 

The door creaked open, and Shane stood there, a bottle of whiskey in hand. His eyes were bloodshot, the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath like a noxious cloud. Carl's stomach lurched at the sight, his fear solidifying into a cold, hard knot.

 

"What's up, kid?" Shane asked, his voice gravelly and tired. He took a swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The gesture was so casual, so at odds with the tension that thrummed through the air, that Carl felt a flash of anger.

 

"I need to talk to you," Carl said, his voice firm despite the quaver in his chest. He stepped into the room, the plush bunny a silent sentinel at his side.

 

Shane nodded, taking another swig. He gestured for Carl to follow him out of the room, and they made their way to the kitchen. The house was a maze of shadows and echoes, each step they took seeming to amplify the tension that had taken root between them.

 

Once in the kitchen, Carl placed the bunny on the counter and faced Shane, his voice steady. "Why are you acting like this?" he demanded. "What do you want from us?"

 

Shane remained silent for a second, his eyes on the bottle of whiskey as he reached for two glasses from the cupboard. The glasses clinked together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He paused, his hand hovering over the bottle, as if the simple task of pouring was suddenly too much. Then, with a practiced ease, he filled the glasses, the amber liquid glinting in the soft light.

 

"I don't really know what to say," Shane began, his voice raw with emotion. He handed Carl one of the glasses, his hand shaking slightly. "I just missed you all, so much." His eyes searched Carl's, desperate for understanding. "I just wanted to be a family again, you know?"

 

Carl's grip tightened on the glass, his knuckles turning white. The whiskey sloshed around, the smell of it making his stomach churn. "But you can't just force that," he said, his voice strained. "Not after what you've done."

 

Shane nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "But Judith... she's my daughter, I know you know."

 

Carl's eyes widened, his grip on the whiskey glass tightening. The revelation was like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He knew, of course, it was obvious by her eye color, the same piercing blue that looked so much like Shane's. But to hear it out loud, to have it confirmed, was something else entirely.

 

He downed the glass in one go, the fiery liquid burning a path down his throat. Shane watched him with a furrowed brow, his hand reaching out to take the empty glass. "Take it easy, Carl," he warned, his voice thick with concern. "You're not used to that."

 

But Carl barely registered the words, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just heard. Shane was Judith's father. The man he had feared and hated for so long, the man he had seen as a monster, was part of his family in a way that could never be undone. It was a truth that shook him to his core.

 

With trembling hands, Carl slid the empty glass back to Shane, his eyes never leaving the man's. "Another," he croaked, his voice hoarse with emotion. Shane hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching Carl's face before finally pouring another measure of whiskey. The glass was cool against his palm, a stark contrast to the heat that roared through his veins.

 

"What happened back then can't be changed," Shane said, his voice heavy with a sadness that was almost palpable. "I know that. But I wanted to leave all of that behind, start over here with you guys." He took a swig from his own glass, his eyes never leaving Carl's. "This place... it's different. We could have a real life here."

 

Carl felt his anger start to dissolve, the whiskey warming his stomach and loosening the tight coil of fear that had held him in its grip. He leaned against the counter, the coolness of the formica seeping into his back. The room felt smaller, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and unspoken secrets. He took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to the bunny on the countertop. It stared back at him, a silent witness to the conversation unfolding before it.

 

"But you can't just pretend everything's okay," Carl said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can't just waltz back into our lives like nothing happened."

 

Shane sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he said, his eyes on the floor. "But I've changed, Carl. I've seen things, done things... I'm not that same person."

 

Carl's gaze remained fixed on Shane, his expression unreadable. The kitchen was a tableau of their fractured relationship, the whiskey bottle standing tall between them like a barricade. The silence was a living thing, pulsing with the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air.

 

"How can I show you?" Shane asked, his voice thick with desperation. He reached for Carl's hand, the calloused skin warm and rough. Carl felt a flicker of something, a ghost of the affection he had once felt for the man who had been a constant in his life.

 

Guilt twisted in his stomach, a knot of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Shane had been nothing but kind since their arrival, trying to mend the bridges he had burned so many years ago. The whiskey was working its magic, clouding Carl's judgment, making it hard to hold onto his anger and fear. He had come here looking for answers, but all he had found was a man who seemed to genuinely care for him.

 

"I'm sorry," Carl murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I just don't know what to think anymore."

 

Shane set his whiskey down and stepped closer, his arms wrapping around Carl in a tight embrace. "It's okay, buddy," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "You're just overwhelmed, that's all." Carl felt the tension in his body melt away as Shane held him, the warmth and familiarity of the hug surprisingly comforting.

 

He sniffled into Shane's shoulder, his eyes burning with tears. It had been so long since he had felt truly safe, truly cared for. The memory of their old life at the farm washed over him, the good times they had shared before everything had gone wrong. The smell of Shane's shirt, a mix of sweat and leather, brought back a flood of emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

 

"I'll always be here for you," Shane said, his voice gruff with feeling. "Always."

 

Carl nodded, the tears finally breaking free and soaking into Shane's shirt. He didn't know if he could ever fully trust him again, but in that moment, he needed the comfort. He needed to believe that there was some good left in the world, that people could change.

 

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the whiskey forgotten on the counter. The house was still around them, but in that embrace, it was as if they were the only two people left in the world.

 

"Thank you," Carl finally whispered, his voice muffled by Shane's shirt. He didn't know what to say, but the words felt right.

 

Shane pulled back, a sad smile playing on his lips. "You don't have to thank me," he said, his thumb brushing away the tears on Carl's cheek. "You're family, and family sticks together."

 

Carl nodded, taking a step back. The kitchen clock ticked away the seconds, each one feeling like an eternity. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the setting sun, the shadows playing tricks on the walls. He knew he couldn't ignore his suspicions forever, but for now, he was exhausted, emotionally drained from the confrontation.

 

"I'm going to bed," he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. Shane nodded, his eyes never leaving Carl's. The concern in them was genuine, and it made Carl's heart ache with doubt. Was he wrong about him?

 

"Goodnight, buddy," Shane said, his hand lingering on Carl's shoulder for a moment before dropping away. The door to his room clicked shut behind him, leaving Carl alone in the hallway, the plush bunny still clutched in his hand. The house was quiet again, the whiskey-soaked conversation echoing in his head.

Chapter 4: im your puppet (i dont know me)

Summary:

shane does some very bad things

He walked back to his own room, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. The darkness enveloped him like a comforting blanket, but the warmth of Shane's embrace still lingered. He slipped into bed, the plush bunny now a stark reminder of the tumultuous emotions churning within him.

 

Clutching it tightly to his chest, Carl felt the world spin as the whiskey clouded his thoughts. The room tilted and swam before his eyes, the shadows dancing on the walls like malevolent spirits. The quiet whispers of doubt grew louder, echoing through the silence like a cacophony of accusations.

 

The bed felt like it was made of quicksand as he sank into it, his body heavy and uncooperative. He tried to push the nausea down, willing the room to stay still, but it was a losing battle. The warmth of the whiskey turned sour in his stomach, the bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. The plush bunny, once a comfort, now felt like a lead weight.

 

Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He blinked them back, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control he had. The room was spinning, the shadows playing tricks on his exhausted mind. The whiskey had been a mistake, a way to ease the pain that had only served to muddle his thoughts further. He was torn between the desire to trust Shane and the fear that lurked just beneath the surface.

 

He knew that he couldn't let his guard down, not after everything that had happened. But the warmth of the embrace, the familiar scent, it all made it so tempting. Carl lay there, the plush bunny feeling like a hot coal against his chest. He was scared, more scared than he had been in a long time. Scared of what Shane might do, scared of what his father might do if he found out, scared of what this all meant for their future in Alexandria.

 

The house was quiet, the only sound the distant rumble of a passing car. The shadows grew longer as the sun dipped below the horizon, and Carl felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He wanted so badly for someone else to take this burden from him, to tell him that everything would be okay. He yearned for the comforting words that would make the fear and doubt melt away, leaving only the warmth of safety and belonging.

 

With a deep breath, he pushed himself out of bed and padded softly down the hall, the plush bunny still in his grip. He paused outside Shane's room, his hand hovering over the door.

 

He knocked, and the sound was like a gunshot in the quiet of the house. "Come in," Shane's voice was muffled, a hint of slur to it. Carl's hand tightened around the bunny as he pushed the door open, his heart racing like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

 

Shane was sitting on the edge of his bed, the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him, the glass overturned and forgotten. He looked up, his eyes bleary but still sharp with something that sent a chill down Carl's spine. "You okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice sounding genuine.

 

Carl felt the tears spill over, hot and heavy on his cheeks. The weight of his fear and confusion was too much to hold in. He took a step into the room, the plush bunny feeling like a lifeline in his hand. "I don't know," he whispered. "I just don't know what to do."

 

Shane's expression softened, the haze of alcohol momentarily lifting. He patted the bed beside him. "Come here," he said, his voice gentle.

 

With trembling legs, Carl approached the bed, the plush bunny clutched to his chest like a shield. He sat down, the mattress sagging slightly beneath his weight. Shane reached out, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, taking Carl's hand in his own.

 

"You don't have to be scared," Shane murmured, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of Carl's hand. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

 

Carl stared at their joined hands, the stark difference between the two a stark reminder of their past. Shane's hand was large, rough, and calloused from years of fighting and surviving, while Carl's was still small and relatively unblemished, a stark contrast to the life he had been living.

 

For a moment, Carl believed him. He wanted to believe him. The whiskey had loosened his resolve, making him more vulnerable than he had been in a long time. But then he thought of the plush bunny, of the way Shane had looked at him in the mirror, and the doubt crept back in. He pulled his hand away, the sudden absence of Shane's touch leaving him feeling cold.

 

Shane's smile faltered, the sadness in his eyes deepening. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "You can tell me anything."

 

He felt himself crave the touch, the warmth and comfort that Shane offered, but the fear was stronger. Carl looked down at the plush bunny, its soft fur a stark reminder of the innocence he had lost. He couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion that lurked in the back of his mind, whispering that this was all just a ploy, a way for Shane to get closer to him. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the floor.

 

Shane's hand reached out again, this time to gently lift Carl's chin so their eyes met. The sadness in his gaze was unmistakable, but there was something else, something that made Carl's skin crawl. He didn't want to see it, but he couldn't look away.

 

With a heavy sigh, Carl let his guard down. The whiskey had softened the edges of his fear, making the idea of trusting Shane seem less terrifying. He allowed himself to be drawn into another embrace, the plush bunny squished between them. The warmth was intoxicating, a balm to his troubled soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

 

Shane's arms around him felt strong and protective, the kind of embrace Carl hadn't experienced since his mother had been alive. The whiskey whispered sweet nothings in his ear, convincing him that he could let go of his fear and anger.

 

He leaned into the hug, feeling Shane's heartbeat against his own, the steady rhythm a soothing metronome that lulled him into a false sense of security. The plush bunny was a forgotten burden between them, a symbol of innocence lost but also of the comfort that could still be found.

 

Shane held him close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Carl's back as he whispered words of comfort into his ear. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured, his breath warm against Carl's skin. "We're gonna make it okay."

 

Carl allowed himself to be cared for, to lean into the warmth and strength that Shane offered. The whiskey had loosened the knots of fear and anger that had been tightly wound around his heart for so long, making the embrace feel almost natural. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of Shane's heartbeat lull him into a sense of peace he hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.

 

Shane gently laid him down on the bed, the plush bunny still clutched tightly in Carl's hand. The scent of leather and sweat enveloped Carl, a potent reminder of the man who had been there for him since the very beginning. The room spun around him, the whiskey making everything feel hazy and far away.

 

He felt Shane's hand brush against his cheek, the roughness of his thumb sending a shiver down his spine. Carl's inhibitions were slipping away, the alcohol coating his thoughts in a warm, fuzzy blanket. He didn't fight it, didn't try to push Shane away. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe things could go back to the way they were, that the monster he had feared was just a figment of his imagination.

 

With a gentle tug, Shane pulled the covers up around Carl's neck, his touch surprisingly tender. Carl's eyelids grew heavy, the whiskey and exhaustion pulling him under. He was vaguely aware of Shane's weight shifting on the bed, the mattress groaning under the added pressure.

 

In the darkness, Carl's mind swirled with the events of the evening, the whiskey-laced conversation playing on a loop. But the warmth of the bed, the comfort of the blankets, and the steady beat of Shane's heart beside him were too much to resist. He felt his body go slack, his breaths deepening as sleep claimed him.

 

The whiskey kept him in a deep sleep, one that was thick and dreamless. It was a sleep that ignored the creaks of the house, the distant sounds of the undead that roamed beyond the walls, and even the whispered confessions and promises that Shane continued to murmur into the night.

 

When Carl finally woke, the sun was high in the sky, and the room was baked in a warm, golden light. His head pounded, the whiskey's embrace now a merciless hangover that clung to him like a fog. He sat up with a groan, the plush bunny falling to the floor with a muffled thump. The room spun briefly before settling into a dizzying stillness.

 

The bed beside him was empty, the covers tossed aside. The smell of alcohol lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the night before. Carl's stomach churned, the memory of Shane's words and the warmth of his embrace leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He had been so close to letting his guard down, so close to believing in the illusion of normalcy that Shane had painted.

 

He sat up slowly, his body protesting every movement. His muscles felt like they had been stretched too tightly and then left to unravel without care. The plush bunny on the floor caught his eye, and he couldn't help the feeling of disgust that washed over him. It was a symbol of his fear and his vulnerability, and now it was just a sad, forgotten toy.

 

Carl's shirt clung to his back with a cold, clammy sweat, and his head pounded with the rhythm of his racing heart. The whiskey had done its job, numbing the pain and confusion of the confrontation with Shane, but now it had left him feeling raw and exposed. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cool floorboards. The sensation sent a shiver up his spine, grounding him in the reality of the situation.

 

The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that follows a storm, heavy with the promise of unspoken truths. Carl's stomach churned as he padded over to the door, the plush bunny discarded on the floor. He opened it slowly, peering into the hallway. The sunlight spilled in from the windows, casting bars of light across the floor. The shadows had retreated, taking the whispers of doubt with them.

 

His legs felt wobbly, his stomach protesting with every step. He made his way to the bathroom, the cold tile a stark contrast to the warmth of his feverish skin. He turned the faucet on, the water running cold and clear. He splashed some on his face, the coolness a temporary reprieve from the hangover that clung to him.

 

Carl looked down at the plush bunny, its fur matted from his clammy grip. He felt a wave of nausea, his stomach lurching at the sight of it. He tossed it into the corner of the room, unable to bear the weight of its symbolism. His eyes searched the floor, and that's when he noticed it. A faint wetness in his pants, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his skin. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame. Had he had a wet dream in the night? He couldn't remember.

 

The bathroom mirror reflected a hollowed-out version of himself, his eyes bloodshot and his face pale. He splashed more water on his face, hoping to wash away the memories of the night before. The whiskey had clouded his judgment, and he had let Shane in, let him hold him. Carl's hand trembled as he reached for the towel, the fabric rough against his skin.

 

With a sigh, he pulled down his pants, the fabric sticking to his thighs. The sight of the crimson stain in his boxers hit him like a punch to the gut. The smell of fear and sweat filled the room, a pungent reminder of the horror that had visited him in his sleep. It wasn't a wet dream that had left this mess; it was the stark reality of the nightmare he was living.

 

He knew it was Shane, and Carl's mind raced with a mix of disgust and terror. He had to find Judy, had to make sure she was okay. He stumbled out of the bathroom, the plush bunny lying forgotten on the floor, a sad testament to the night's events. His heart hammered in his chest as he padded down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.

 

Shane sat on the couch, his eyes bloodshot and his expression a mask of concern. He looked up as Carl approached, his gaze lingering on the boy's disheveled appearance. The living room was a mess, the remnants of their drinks from the night before scattered across the coffee table. Carl could smell the stale whiskey, the scent thick in the air like a fog.

 

"You okay, kid?" Shane's voice was rough, a hangover evident in his tone. Carl nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of Judith. "Where's Judy?" he asked, his voice cracking.

 

Shane's expression grew serious, his eyes darkening. "She's with your dad," he said, his voice low and measured.

 

Carl's heart skipped a beat. He had to tell Rick, had to get her away from this monster masquerading as a man who claimed to be her father. "I need to talk to him," Carl said, his voice firm despite the tremble in his chest.

 

Shane's eyes searched Carl's face, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "I understand," he said finally, his voice soft. "But I need you to come with me first." He stood, his movements surprisingly steady despite the whiskey that had flowed freely the night before.

 

Carl's heart raced as Shane took his hand, his grip firm and reassuring as he led him down the hallway. The walls seemed to close in around them, the floorboards groaning with every step they took. The air grew thick with tension, and Carl couldn't shake the feeling that he was being led into a trap.

 

They entered Shane's bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the harsh light of day, and the scent of stale alcohol and cigarettes hung in the air. Carl felt his throat tighten, the fear and nausea from the whiskey-soaked night before coming back in full force.

 

Shane turned to him, his eyes filled with something that looked like regret. "I didn't mean to," he murmured, his hand coming up to cup Carl's cheek. "It just happened. I promise you, it won't happen again."

 

Carl's mind reeled as he tried to piece together the events of the night. His body felt violated, but his mind was foggy with the whiskey haze. "What did you do?" he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Shane's hand fell away, and he took a step back, the regret in his eyes morphing into something else entirely. "I just couldn't help it," he murmured, his voice thick with a strange mix of longing and justification. "You look so much like her, Carl. So much like your mother."

 

The room seemed to tilt as Carl tried to process his words. His mother, dead and gone, the only person who had ever truly loved him without conditions. Shane had used her memory, twisted it into a weapon against him. "You're sick," he spat, the words acid on his tongue.

 

Shane's face contorted, a mix of pain and anger. "I'm not a monster," he said, his voice rising. "I've done what I had to, to survive. To protect you." His hand shot out, gripping Carl's shoulder, his eyes wild with desperation. "I'm not like them. I'm not like the things outside."

 

Carl's eyes searched Shane's, looking for any semblance of the man he had once considered a hero. "Is that what you call it?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Protecting me?" He could feel the rage bubbling up inside him, the plush bunny's fur sticking to his sweaty palms.

 

Shane's grip tightened, his knuckles white. "You don't understand," he growled. "You've always had it so easy, with your daddy to protect you, with everyone fawning over you. I've had to fight for everything I've ever had." His eyes searched Carl's, looking for something, anything, that would justify his actions.

 

"There's no point in hiding it now," Shane said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know what I am." He paused, his gaze intense, as if waiting for Carl to confirm his worst fears.

 

Carl felt the bile rise in his throat, his body trembling with rage and revulsion. The plush bunny fell from his grip, forgotten amidst the storm of emotions. "Let me go," he managed to say, his voice barely audible.

 

Shane's hand didn't budge, his eyes searching Carl's as if looking for the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. "I won't tell anyone," Carl whispered, his voice trembling. "Just leave me alone."

 

Shane's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't a one-time thing, Carl," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're a part of me now. You always have been." Carl's stomach twisted into knots at the words, his fear morphing into something cold and deadly.

 

"You can't do this," Carl whispered, his voice shaking. "I don't want this."

 

Shane's eyes searched Carl's, a flicker of something like regret crossing his face. But it was too late for apologies, too late for second thoughts. He had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. With a sigh, he pushed Carl down onto the bed, his weight pressing down on the mattress. Carl felt the panic rise in his chest, his heart racing as the reality of the situation settled over him like a shroud.

 

The plush bunny lay forgotten between them, a sad reminder of the illusion of innocence that had been shattered. Carl's thoughts were a whirlwind, the whiskey-soaked night coming back to him in a rush of fear and disgust. He had trusted Shane, had allowed himself to be comforted by the very man who had stolen his innocence. The betrayal was a knife in his gut, twisting and turning with each breath he took.

 

Shane's hands felt cold and foreign on his skin, his weight a crushing force that stole the air from his lungs. Carl's mind raced, trying to find a way out, a way to make it stop. He thrashed and kicked, his voice a hoarse scream as he fought against the inevitable. But Shane was stronger, fueled by his obsession and desperation.

 

"If you want to fight, it'll be Judith who pays," Shane said, his voice a twisted parody of reason. Carl's eyes widened with horror as the meaning of his words sank in. The plush bunny lay trampled beside them, a symbol of the innocence he had been trying to protect. He had to tell himself that it wasn't his fault, that he had to survive, for her.

 

With a deep breath, Carl stilled, his eyes never leaving Shane's. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest.

 

Shane's expression remained unreadable, his hands deftly working on the buttons of Carl's pants. "You know what I want," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. His eyes never left Carl's, the intensity of his gaze unnerving.

 

Carl felt the fabric of his pants give way, the cool air of the room brushing against his bare skin. He shivered, his eyes filling with unshed tears as he realized the futility of his struggle. "Why?" he whispered, the word a ragged plea that barely left his lips.

 

Shane leaned in, his breath hot against Carl's ear. "Because you're mine," he whispered, his voice a twisted caress. "You always have been, and you always will be."

 

The words sent a shiver down Carl's spine, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. He was trapped, and there was no escape. Not now, not with Shane's hands on him, claiming him as if he were nothing more than a possession to be used and discarded.

 

With a deep breath, Carl made a decision. He couldn't fight, not with Shane so much stronger, not with the threat to Judith looming over his head. So, he closed his eyes and went still, his body a frozen statue beneath Shane's touch. If he could just get through this, he could tell Rick, get her to safety.

 

Shane's hands roamed over Carl's body, his touch cold and invasive. Carl's mind went to a place far away, focusing on the sound of his own ragged breaths, trying to block out the reality of what was happening. The plush bunny lay forgotten, a silent witness to his violation.

 

With a brutal flip, Shane had Carl on his stomach, his shirt torn away, leaving his skin exposed to the coolness of the room. Carl was thankful for the small mercy of not having to look into Shane's eyes, not having to see the twisted pleasure reflected in them. His own eyes squeezed shut, he tried to make his body as small as possible, willing himself to disappear into the fabric of the mattress beneath him.

 

Shane's hands paused for a moment, the weight of his body shifting. "You were so quiet last night," he murmured, his breath hot on Carl's neck. "It wasn't even worth it." The words were a knife twisting in Carl's gut, a reminder that this wasn't the first time. A cold realization washed over him: Shane had been watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. The whiskey had been too much, had made him vulnerable, had made this happen.

 

Carl felt the bed dip as Shane removed his own pants, his breathing growing heavier. The plush bunny lay discarded on the floor, a sad, silent witness to the horror playing out above. Carl's mind raced, trying to find a way out, a way to stop this, but his body was too weak, too heavy. He could feel the mattress shifting with Shane's movements, the springs protesting with every shift of his weight .

 

Shane paused, his movements momentarily halted by the sight of the plush bunny lying on the floor, a sad discarded reminder of the innocence he had stolen from Carl. He reached over, his hand snatching the toy with a sudden, almost possessive, gesture. His eyes flickered to Carl's, a mix of anger and something else, something that made Carl's stomach drop. "You're going to need this," he sneered, holding up the bunny.

 

Carl's body went rigid as Shane pressed the toy into his hand, the soft fur against his skin feeling like sandpaper. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the nausea that washed over him. The plush bunny was a mockery of comfort now, a symbol of the fear and disgust that had taken root in his soul.

 

The bed creaked as Shane positioned himself behind Carl, his breath hot and ragged. Carl's mind raced, trying to think of a way to escape, but his body remained still, paralyzed by fear and the overwhelming weight of the situation. The plush bunny was the only thing he could hold onto, a sad talisman of the love he had once felt, now twisted into a tool of control.

 

With a violent yank, Shane pulled down Carl's boxers, the fabric catching on his thighs before giving way. Carl's skin was cold, his body braced against the chilly air that kissed his bare skin. 

The first touch was a searing brand, the pain ripping through Carl's body like a wildfire. He bit his lip, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the sourness of his fear. The plush bunny's fur was wet with his sweat and tears, the only warmth in a world gone cold.

 

Shane's hands were rough, his fingers digging into Carl's hips as he positioned himself. Carl's eyes squeezed tighter, willing the world to disappear, but the pain was a constant, unyielding reminder of his reality. The bunny's button eyes stared back at him, a silent, horrified witness to his suffering.

 

The pressure grew, the pain unbearable, and Carl could feel his body trying to fight, trying to reject this violation. His fingers clutched the plush toy so tightly that the stuffing felt like it was going to burst through the fabric. He bit down hard on the pillow, muffling his screams, not wanting to give Shane the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

 

Shane's grunts grew louder, his pace more erratic. Carl's body trembled uncontrollably, each thrust a new wave of agony that crashed over him. The room was a blur of shadow and light, the whiskey haze of the night before giving way to a stark reality that was all too clear. The plush bunny was damp with his tears, the fabric sticking to his palm as he held onto it for dear life.

 

Carl's body was a battleground, his mind screaming in protest as the pain intensified. The plush bunny was a lifeline, the only thing grounding him to reality amidst the storm of violation. He could feel his own arousal, a traitorous betrayal of his body's instincts, and shame swirled in his gut. He hated himself for it, for the way his body responded despite his mind's screams of no. It was a war within himself, one he was losing as Shane's relentless pace continued.

 

Suddenly, Shane's movements grew erratic, his grip on Carl's hips tightening. He pulled out with a grunt, his hand moving to Carl's throbbing erection. The sensation was foreign, and Carl's body jerked in shock. The plush bunny fell from his hand, forgotten amidst the chaos of his conflicting emotions. Shane's hand was rough, his grip firm as he began to stroke Carl with a practiced hand. The pleasure was a slap in the face, a cruel joke amidst the horror. Carl's eyes flew open, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

 

"Look at you," Shane whispered, his voice thick with lust. "You want it too." Carl's stomach twisted at the accusation, the betrayal of his own body making him feel dirty and used. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself to go numb, to feel nothing. But the pleasure was a living, breathing entity, demanding his attention despite his mind's protests.

 

The plush bunny lay next to him, a silent judge to Carl's degradation. He wanted to scream, to rage against the man who had done this to him, but fear for Judith's safety kept his mouth shut. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his body's natural response to the sickening touch. The room spun around him, the whiskey from the night before mixing with the adrenaline and terror that coursed through his veins.

 

Shane's breath grew heavier, his hand moving faster over Carl's sensitive skin. The pleasure was a noose around Carl's neck, tightening with every passing second. He focused on the pain instead, the raw, burning sensation of his body being used against his will. It was the only way to keep himself from breaking, to keep from giving in to the twisted reality that Shane had created for them.

 

The bedframe rattled against the wall, the sound a metronome of Carl's suffering. Each thrust brought with it a fresh wave of agony, a reminder of his own powerlessness. Shane's hand left Carl's erection, leaving a sticky trail of precum and sweat. Carl felt the man's weight shift, his breath hot and heavy on his neck. "You're just like your mother," Shane murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So eager, so responsive."

 

The words were a dagger in Carl's heart, a twisted reminder of the man he had once called a hero. He bit down on the pillow, trying to keep his body from responding, trying to push the feeling of Shane's cock sliding into him to the furthest reaches of his mind. The plush bunny lay forgotten beside them, a sad reminder of the trust that had been so cruelly shattered.

 

And then, it happened. Carl's body betrayed him, a warmth spreading through his core as he climaxed. He felt himself drift away, his mind unable to process the mix of pleasure and pain, the love and hate that swirled within him. The room spun, the walls closing in, the ceiling pressing down, until all he could focus on was the sound of Shane's grunts and the feel of the mattress beneath him. The orgasm was a cruel release, a moment of oblivion in the sea of horror that was his new reality.

 

The plush bunny lay forgotten in the tangle of sheets, a symbol of innocence lost. Carl's body went limp, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had never felt so dirty, so used, so utterly destroyed. The warmth of Shane's seed filled him, a vile presence that made him feel soiled from the inside out.

 

Shane's breath was hot against Carl's neck as he whispered, "You liked that, didn't you?" Carl's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but lie there and hate himself for the involuntary response his body had given. The room was spinning, the walls closing in, the whiskey from the night before a distant memory compared to the horror that had just unfolded.

 

Finally, Shane's weight lifted off him, and Carl felt like he could breathe again. He didn't dare move, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. The plush bunny lay forgotten, a sad reminder of the innocence that had been stolen from him. He could hear the rustle of Shane's clothes as he dressed, the sound grating on Carl's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

 

Shane leaned down, his voice a low murmur. "This is just the beginning, Carl," he said, his hand smoothing over Carl's hair in a gesture that was supposed to be comforting but only served to make his skin crawl. "We're going to be together, forever."

 

Carl felt the bile rise in his throat as Shane's weight left the bed. The plush bunny was a cold, wet mess beside him, a mockery of the comfort it once represented. He didn't dare move, didn't dare open his eyes. He just lay there, listening to the sound of the door clicking shut, the finality of it echoing through the room like a gunshot.

 

The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of emotions screaming within him. He wanted to throw up, to scrub his skin until it bled, to do anything to erase the feeling of Shane's hands on him. The whiskey-soaked night had led him here, to this moment of unspeakable horror, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault.

 

With trembling hands, Carl reached for the plush bunny, his eyes burning with the need to feel something pure and untainted. But even the toy, which had been a bastion of comfort, was now a grotesque reminder of his violation. He clutched it to his chest, his body wracked with silent sobs that shook the very foundation of his soul.

 

The room spun around him as he tried to sit up, the plush bunny slipping from his grip to land on the floor with a sad thud. He felt the stickiness between his legs, the evidence of Shane's dominance a stark contrast to the innocent fluffiness of the toy. The bile in his throat grew stronger, his stomach threatening to revolt against the horror that had been committed against him.

 

Forcing himself to move, Carl stumbled into the bathroom, his legs shaky and unsteady. He turned on the shower, the sound of the water hitting the tile a cacophony in his ringing ears. The cold spray washed over him, a punishing stream that couldn't wash away the stain of what had happened. He scrubbed his skin until it was raw, trying to rid himself of the feel of Shane's touch, the scent of his cologne that clung to him like a second skin.

 

The plush bunny lay on the floor outside the bathroom door, a silent sentinel of his shattered innocence. Carl couldn't bring himself to look at it, the pain too fresh, the betrayal too deep. He stood under the water, the chill seeping into his bones, until his skin was pink and his fingers were wrinkled. He stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel that felt too small, too flimsy to protect him from the world outside.

 

The mirror reflected a stranger, eyes hollow, face pale, body bruised and used. Carl avoided his own gaze as he dressed, his movements mechanical. The plush bunny lay on the floor, a silent witness to the horror that had unfolded, a symbol of the trust that had been so brutally shattered. The weight of what had happened sat heavy on his chest, a crushing burden that threatened to suffocate him.

 

He knew he couldn't stay here, not with the monster that had once been his hero. Carl had to get to Rick, had to warn him about Shane's true nature. The thought of his sister in danger spurred him into action, his fear for her outweighing the pain that still lingered in his body. He had to get to her, had to make sure she was safe.

 

Carl stepped out of the bathroom, the plush bunny's sad gaze following him. He couldn't take it with him; the sight of it made his stomach churn. He left it there, on the cold floor, a symbol of the nightmare he was desperately trying to leave behind. With shaking hands, he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, his eyes never leaving the door.

 

He knew he had to be careful. If Shane found him leaving, he might suspect something. Carl took a deep breath, steeling himself for the lie he was about to tell. He slipped out of the room, his bare feet silent on the floorboards. His heart hammered in his chest as he made his way through the unfamiliar house, each step a battle against the urge to run.

 

Finally, he reached the front door, the cool metal of the doorknob a stark contrast to the warmth of his feverish skin. He turned it slowly, willing it not to creak as he stepped out into the early morning light. The air was crisp, the world still sleeping, and for a moment, Carl allowed himself to believe that he could leave this nightmare behind.

 

The walk to Rick's house was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of Shane's twisted confession and the plush bunny that had become a symbol of his torment. The sun rose, casting a harsh glow over the quiet streets of Alexandria, illuminating the cracks in the facade of their so-called sanctuary. Carl's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, the promise of a new day feeling like a taunt.

 

As he approached the house, his steps grew lighter, his breaths shallower. His heart raced with the anticipation of seeing his sister safe, of being able to tell Rick everything. The door was unlocked, a beacon of hope in the early morning. He pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a gunshot. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of life.

 

And then, he heard it. The low murmur of voices, a conversation that seemed too casual for the horrors he had just endured. He recognized them immediately: Carol and Rick, talking in hushed tones. They were in the living room, their figures outlined by the soft glow of a lamp. Carl's stomach twisted as he made out the words, the name that sent a cold shiver down his spine: Pete.

 

"We can't trust him, not after what happened with Jessie," Carol was saying, her voice calm but firm. "We have to do it before he becomes a threat to us, before it's too late."

 

Rick nodded gravely, his eyes reflecting the weight of the decision. "You're right. We'll talk to the council in the morning."

 

The sound of his voice was like a sledgehammer to Carl's chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. They were discussing Pete, not Shane. The plush bunny felt like a lead weight in his pocket, a silent scream of his own unheard pain. He stumbled forward, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. "Dad," he croaked, his voice hoarse from the screams he had muffled into the pillow.

 

Both adults turned to face him, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern. The plush bunny peeked out of his pocket, a sad reminder of the truth he had to share. "What's wrong, buddy?" Rick's voice was thick with sleep, but Carl could see the sharpness in his gaze, the instinctive readiness to protect.

 

Carl swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat like bile. He had to tell them, had to make them understand before it was too late. "Dad," he managed, his voice shaking with the weight of his secret. "Can we... talk?"

 

Rick's eyes narrowed, the concern in them deepening as he took in Carl's disheveled appearance. "What's going on?" he asked, his hand reaching out to steady his son. But before Carl could respond, the words he had been dreading spilled from his father's mouth. "Actually, I need to ask you something. Do you think you could spend the night at Shane's again? I've got some things to take care of here."

 

Carl's heart plummeted, his stomach twisting into a knot at the thought of going back to that house, back to the monster that had taken his innocence. "No," he choked out, his voice shaking. "I don't want to stay at Shane's."

 

Rick's eyes narrowed, the concern in them replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Why not?" he demanded, his voice harsher than Carl had ever heard it. "You know we're all in this together, we all have to make sacrifices."

 

Carl's voice trembled, the words sticking in his throat. "I... I just don't feel comfortable there." He couldn't bring himself to say the truth, not yet. Not when it was still so raw, so terrifyingly real.

 

Rick's annoyance grew, his hand tightening on Carl's shoulder. "Look, son, we're all making sacrifices for the good of the group. Shane's been a real help around here, and he's been looking out for you. You need to get used to this. It's not like you're being asked to do anything difficult."

 

Carl felt his cheeks heat with a mix of anger and humiliation. It was like his father couldn't see the fear in his eyes, couldn't feel the pain that was ripping him apart from the inside out. He was just a pawn in their game, a tool to be used to keep the peace with the man who had hurt him so deeply.

 

With a resigned nod, Carl murmured, "Okay." The word tasted like ash in his mouth, but he knew there was no fighting it. Not yet. He had to bide his time, to find the right moment to tell the truth without putting Judith in danger.

 

As Rick and Carol turned away, their conversation continuing, Carl felt the weight of his secret pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He watched them retreat down the hallway, their shadows stretching long in the dim light, and for a moment, he considered calling out to them. But fear for his sister silenced him, and he let them go, swallowed by the shadows of their ignorance.

 

He wondered if Rick had even noticed his attempt to speak up, to tell him something of importance. Or had he dismissed it, too caught up in the illusion of security that Shane had spun around them all? Carl's thoughts swirled like a tornado of doubt and despair, leaving him feeling dizzy and lost.

 

Shane's voice echoed in his mind, a taunting refrain that grew louder with each step back to the house of horrors. "He treats you like a tool," the words played on repeat in his head, a twisted melody that painted a picture of his father's indifference. "He cant look out for you" The phrase turned his stomach, a stark reminder of the betrayal he had suffered. It was as if Shane had known all along that he could manipulate Carl, use him for his own sick desires, and Rick would be none the wiser.

Chapter 5: petals off of flowers, did you ever really love me

Summary:

carl struglles with what shane has done to him

Carl felt himself slip away, going through the motions of the day, not really aware of his surroundings. His interactions with others were robotic, his voice a hollow echo of his former self. He tried to find solace in the mundane tasks that filled their days in Alexandria, but every smile and nod felt forced, every word a lie.

 

The sun hung low in the sky as he approached Shane's house, the shadows stretching out like dark fingers, beckoning him back into the nightmare he'd thought he'd left behind. The plush bunny in his pocket was a constant reminder of his fear and the pain that awaited him. He took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, the door creaking like a warning of the horrors that lay within.

 

Inside, the house was eerily quiet, the air thick with a tension that made his skin crawl. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, whispering the secrets of his violation. Carl moved through the hallways like a ghost, his eyes downcast, avoiding the sight of the room where his innocence had been shattered.

 

He lay down on the bed, the plush bunny clutched tightly to his chest. It had once been a symbol of comfort, a reminder of the love and care his mother had showered upon him. Now, it was a painful reminder of the twisted reality he had been thrust into. He tried to drift away into sleep, hoping to escape the clutches of his own mind, but every time he closed his eyes, the images of Shane's twisted grin and the feel of his hands haunted him.

 

The room was a prison, each corner a silent witness to his degradation. Carl could feel the weight of his own body, heavy with the knowledge of what had been done to him. The bed, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb. He stared at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster swimming in his vision as he willed his mind to go blank.

 

But the images wouldn't leave. The plush bunny, the whispers of pleasure amidst the pain, the coldness of the room. It all played out like a macabre ballet in his head, the music of his own sobs a grim soundtrack. He clutched the bunny tightly, as if trying to squeeze out the memories that had soaked into its soft fabric. It offered no comfort, only a bitter reminder of the trust that had been so viciously betrayed.

 

The house remained still, the silence a suffocating blanket that offered no respite from the storm of emotions raging within him. Each shallow breath was a battle, his chest tight with the weight of his secret. He lay there, the world spinning around him, his thoughts racing faster than the zombies that roamed the outside world.

 

Drifted away into the oblivion of a restless sleep, Carl's mind was plagued by a collage of twisted memories and fearful imaginings. Shane's touch, the plush bunny's cold gaze, the smell of the room - they all melded together into a nightmare that seemed to have no end. His body was a battleground, a canvas of pain and confusion, and his soul felt as shattered as the glass that had once been their window to the outside world.

 

The next few days went by in a blur, a haze of forced smiles and hollow laughter. Carl moved through the motions of life in Alexandria like a ghost, his eyes vacant, his heart a silent scream. Every interaction with Shane was a dance of fear and disgust, each encounter a reminder of the horror that lurked beneath the facade of their new life.

 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the living room, Carl found himself alone with his father. The plush bunny lay on the floor, a sad sentinel to the shattered illusion of their bond. He knew he had to tell him, had to find a way to make him understand before it was too late. The words burned in his chest, a volcano ready to erupt.

 

Rick looked up from his chair, his eyes tired but sharp. "What is it, Carl?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken worries. Carl's throat was dry, his heart racing like a wild horse. He took a deep breath, his hand clutching the bunny's ear as if it could give him the strength he needed.

 

"Why did you kill Pete?" Carl blurted out, the question hanging in the air like a noose waiting to tighten. The room grew colder, the shadows darker, as if the very house held its breath, waiting for the answer. Rick's eyes widened, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

 

"Carl," he began, his voice strained. "It wasn't what it looked like." But Carl was already shaking his head, the plush bunny forgotten in his grip.

 

"No," he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. "It was exactly what it looked like. You said Pete was a danger, that he had to go. But you don't see Shane for what he is. You don't know what he does." His words were a desperate plea, a cry for understanding that was lost in the vast cavern of their fractured relationship.

 

Rick's eyes searched Carl's, confusion morphing into a hint of anger. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "What's gotten into you?" The room grew still, the air thick with the tension that stretched between them like a tightrope threatening to snap.

 

Carl took a step back, feeling the plush bunny's fur brush against his palm. He knew he had to be careful, had to make Rick see without revealing the truth of his own suffering. "I just... I don't trust Shane," he finally said, his voice small and trembling. "I think he's dangerous."

 

Rick sighed heavily, his eyes dropping to the floor. "You've had a lot to deal with, Carl," he said, his voice laced with the kind of pity that made Carl's stomach turn. "But Shane's one of the good guys. He's been looking out for us since the start. He's not like Pete."

 

The words felt like acid, burning through Carl's veins. He clenched his fists, the plush bunny's ear digging into his palm. He wanted to scream, to shake his father until he saw the truth. But he knew it was no use. The man he had once looked up to had become a stranger, blinded by his own need for order and control.

 

"Dad, please," Carl whispered, his voice a desperate plea. "You have to listen to me." But Rick was already standing, walking towards him with a weary expression that spoke of a million battles fought and lost. "I know you're upset," he said, placing a hand on Carl's shoulder. "But we can't go around accusing people without proof."

 

Carl felt himself shrink under his father's touch, his fear and anger a tempest trapped in the glass cage of his chest. The plush bunny lay forgotten on the floor, a sad symbol of his shattered trust. He wanted to scream, to make Rick see the monster that lurked behind Shane's charming exterior. But the words remained trapped, a muted scream echoing in his head.

 

Rick's hand was firm on his shoulder, a grip that was both comforting and suffocating. "You're just tired, buddy," he said, his voice filled with a patronizing calm that grated on Carl's nerves. "You've had a rough time. Give it some rest." He guided Carl back to the chair, the plush bunny staring up at him from the ground, a silent rebuke. Carl felt his eyes burn with unshed tears as he sat down, the cushion cold and unforgiving beneath him.

 

The silence was a living thing, a beast that grew larger with every tick of the clock. Carl knew he had to find a way to make Rick understand, to break through the wall of denial that seemed to have been built around him. "Dad," he started, his voice stronger this time. "I'm not just tired. Something's wrong with Shane."

 

Rick sighed, his hand dropping from Carl's shoulder. "Look, I'm going to talk to Jessie now. We'll sit down and have a proper conversation after you get some rest." He turned to leave, the plush bunny's sad gaze following him out of the room. Carl felt a cold knot form in his stomach, the weight of his secret growing heavier by the second.

 

As he watched his father walk away, Carl felt a wave of stupidity wash over him. How could he not have seen it? Shane had been so convincing, so good at hiding his true nature. And now, here he was, trying to warn the one person who should have been his biggest ally, and all he got in return was pity and dismissal.

 

He didn't understand why he felt this way, why Shane was doing this to him. Was it because he was a man now, or was it just because he was there, vulnerable and easy to manipulate?

 

Carl had thought that reaching Alexandria would mean safety, that they'd left the horrors behind. But instead, the horror had followed them, wrapped in a friendly smile and a firm handshake. He didn't know what to call it, what Shane had done to him, but he knew it was wrong. It was a secret that grew heavier with every passing day, a burden that threatened to crush him beneath its weight.

 

In the quiet moments when he was alone, he could feel the stickiness of it on his skin, the way it clung to him like a second, unwelcome skin. It was a feeling that no shower could scrub away, no amount of fresh clothes could hide. He was dirty, used, and it was a stain that went deeper than his bruises.

 

Carl knew he had to tell someone, but fear held him in its cold grip. Would anyone believe him? Would they look at him with disgust, with accusation in their eyes? Would they say he'd led Shane on, that he'd been too weak to fight back? The whispers of doubt grew louder, echoing in the emptiness of the house, taunting him with the possibility of blame.

 

He picked up the plush bunny from the floor, its glassy eyes staring back at him. The fabric felt coarse and foreign in his hands, a stark contrast to the softness it once held. It was a mockery of the comfort it was supposed to provide, a reminder of the illusion of safety he'd been living in. He squeezed it tightly, his knuckles turning white, willing the tears to fall, the pain to ease. But all he felt was an emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

 

Suddenly, Carl heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by the muffled tones of conversation. His heart leapt into his throat. It was Glenn and Maggie, and with them, Tara. The relief that flooded through him was almost tangible, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

 

He could make out their footsteps in the hallway, the familiar cadences of their laughter, and his heart swelled with a desperate need to be around people who knew nothing of the monster lurking in their midst. He clutched the plush bunny to his chest, the fabric feeling sticky and damp with his sweat and tears.

 

Glenn was the first to enter the room, his eyes immediately going to Carl's. For a brief, agonizing moment, Carl was certain that he could see right through him, that his pain was as clear as the day. But then Glenn's expression softened into a gentle smile, and Carl realized he had composed himself enough. "Hey, kiddo," he said, his voice warm and welcoming. "How's it been?"

 

Maggie followed, her eyes lighting up when she saw Carl. She held out a Tupperware container filled with steaming food. "I brought you some of my famous mac and cheese," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. Carl managed a small smile, taking the container with trembling hands. He hadn't eaten much since that night, and the smell of comfort food was almost too much to bear.

 

Tara, noticing his distress, quickly turned on the TV, popping in a DVD. The sound of a familiar movie filled the room, a safe cocoon of normalcy that Carl hadn't realized he'd been craving. They settled onto the couch, the plush bunny now hidden under a throw pillow. The four of them sat there, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows across their faces. Carl picked at his food, his appetite as elusive as his peace of mind.

 

Glenn's hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching Carl's. Carl nodded, not trusting his voice. The simple touch felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

 

Maggie sat beside him, the warmth of her body a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in Carl's core. The smell of the mac and cheese was a siren's call, and despite his stomach's protests, he took a tentative bite. The cheesy goodness filled his mouth, and for a brief moment, he forgot the fear that had been his constant companion. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, willing himself to find some semblance of peace in this simple act of eating.

 

But it was a fleeting reprieve. The plush bunny lay hidden, a silent sentinel of his torment, and the comfort of the room felt like a prison. Carl's eyes flickered to the TV, focusing on the flickering images but not truly seeing them. His mind raced with the what-ifs and whys, each question a knife that twisted in his gut. Why had this happened to him? Why hadn't he been able to stop it?

 

Glenn's hand on his shoulder grew heavier, a reminder of the unspoken truths that lurked just beneath the surface. Carl knew he had to tell someone, to break the silence that threatened to swallow him whole. But the words remained lodged in his throat, a boulder of fear and disgust that he couldn't dislodge. He took another bite of the mac and cheese, the taste now bitter on his tongue.

 

With trembling hands, Carl set the Tupperware on the coffee table and stood, the plush bunny's sad eyes watching him from the shadows. He needed a moment to compose himself, to find the strength to speak. "I'm just gonna put this away," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

The kitchen was a sanctuary of sorts, the coolness of the refrigerator a stark contrast to the heat of his emotions. He opened it, the light spilling out like a beacon in the dim room. The leftovers of happier times stared back at him: a half-eaten casserole from a town meeting, a forgotten apple pie from a community potluck. He shoved the Tupperware into the fridge, the clatter of plastic on glass a mournful soundtrack to his thoughts.

 

Glenn followed him, his footsteps quiet and careful. "You okay?" he asked again, his eyes filled with a concern that was almost painful to meet. Carl nodded, his throat tight, the words lodged deep inside. The fridge door swung closed, the light vanishing, leaving them in the soft glow of the kitchen lamp.

 

The silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding. Glenn reached out for Carl's shoulder, but Carl flinched away, the contact sending a jolt of panic through his body. He hadn't realized he'd been doing that, retreating from touch, but now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

 

Glenn's eyes searched Carl's, confusion etched into the lines of his face. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice low and gentle. Carl leaned against the counter, his knees feeling weak. He didn't know where to start, how to put into words the horror that had been festering inside him.

 

Instead, he asked, "What would you do if you found out someone here wasn't who they said they were?" It was a question that had been haunting him since the first night in Alexandria, when Shane had proven that the devil could wear a saint's mask.

 

Glenn cocked his head to the side, a furrow forming between his brows. "What do you mean?"

 

Carl swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the floor. "What if someone you thought was safe, someone who was supposed to protect you, was actually dangerous?" His voice was barely audible, the weight of his words too heavy to speak loudly.

 

Glenn's expression grew serious, his hand hovering in the space between them. "Is this about your dad?" He leaned closer, his eyes searching Carl's. "You know, about Pete?"

 

Carl's heart skipped a beat, his grip on the fridge handle tightening. "No," he said, too quickly, his voice cracking like the chilly air around them. "It's...it's not about that." He didn't want to talk about Shane, not yet. The words felt like bile in his mouth, and he was terrified of the reaction he'd get if he told the truth.

 

Glenn's eyes searched Carl's, but the boy offered no further explanation. The silence was a living, breathing entity, filling the kitchen like a fog that choked the air out of the room. "Look," he finally said, his voice a gentle coax. "Whatever's going on, I can't help you if you don't tell me."

 

Carl's throat tightened, the words tangled in the thorny thicket of his fear. He didn't know how to explain it, the way Shane had looked at him, the things he'd said, the touch that had felt so wrong. It was like trying to describe a nightmare, the kind that lingered in the corners of your mind, whispering in the quiet moments of the day, making you question your own sanity.

 

"I just... I don't know," Carl murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "It's like there's something under the surface, something no one else sees." His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for a way to escape the suffocating silence that clung to him like a second skin.

 

Glenn's hand dropped to his side, his gaze never leaving Carl's. "Sometimes," he began, his voice measured, "the most dangerous things are the ones that hide in plain sight." It was a truth they had all learned the hard way in this new world. The monsters didn't always look like monsters. Sometimes, they looked like the people you trusted the most.

 

"I know you're worried about your dad," Glenn continued, his eyes never leaving Carl's. "But we all make mistakes. Sometimes, we just need a little space to sort things out." His voice was gentle, but Carl could hear the warning beneath the words. Don't push too hard, it said. Don't say what you're really thinking.

 

But Carl couldn't keep it in anymore. He had to know if Glenn saw it too, if he was the only one who felt the way he did. "What about Shane?" he asked, his voice shaky. "Do you trust him?"

 

Glenn paused at that, his hand still hovering in the air. The question hung in the space between them, heavy and palpable. Carl's heart pounded in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into an abyss of uncertainty.

 

Finally, Glenn took a deep breath, his eyes searching Carl's. "Shane's... complicated," he admitted, his voice tight. "He's done some things... some things that aren't right. But he's also done a lot of good." His expression was torn, a battle of loyalty and doubt playing out across his features. Carl felt a spark of hope, a glimmer that maybe, just maybe, Glenn could see through the facade.

 

But then, the older man sighed. "I don't know everything that happened between you two on the farm," he said, his voice low. "But if he's making you feel unsafe, you have to tell someone."

 

Carl's eyes snapped to meet Glenn's, the question in his gaze like a sharpened knife. He hadn't realized how much he'd been holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone had noticed the change in Shane. But the words stuck in his throat, the fear of not being believed, of being seen as a liar, was too great. He shook his head, his eyes dropping to the plush bunny peeking out from under the pillow.

 

"It's nothing," he mumbled, his voice hollow. "I just... I don't know." He felt his body tense, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. He didn't want to lie, but the truth was a beast that could tear their lives apart.

 

Glenn studied him, his expression unreadable. "You can talk to me," he offered, his hand outstretched. "Whatever it is." But Carl stepped back, the plush bunny forgotten on the couch.

 

"I'm just gonna go to bed," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant laughter from the TV. He couldn't meet Glenn's eyes, the fear of exposure too great. "Thanks for the food, though."

 

Without another word, Carl turned and hurried out of the kitchen, the plush bunny abandoned on the couch. His feet carried him down the hallway, each step taking him further from the safety of his friends' company and closer to the room that had become his prison. He could feel the weight of their gazes on his back, the unspoken questions hanging in the air like shadows.

 

The door to his room creaked shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. The room was cold, the bed a lonely island in a sea of darkness. Carl's heart raced as he sank onto the mattress, his legs trembling beneath him. He hadn't meant to leave the bunny, but the thought of holding onto that symbol of his pain was too much. It was a silent scream in the quiet of the night, a declaration of the battle that raged within him.

 

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the patterns of the plaster swirling like clouds in a tumultuous sky. The house was still, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air thick with the weight of his secret. He couldn't tell anyone, not even the people he trusted the most. The fear of being wrong, of tearing his family apart, was a burden that made it hard to breathe.

 

Sleep was a fickle thing, coming in fits and starts, only to abandon him when he was on the cusp of peace. The shadows on the ceiling danced and twisted, morphing into the faces of the people he loved, their expressions twisted into snarls of anger and betrayal. His eyes burned with the need for rest, but every time he closed them, the images of that night played out in vivid detail, the plush bunny a grim reminder of what he'd lost.

 

The knock on the door was a jolting intrusion into his nightmare-infested slumber. He bolted upright, heart hammering in his chest like a wild animal desperate to escape a cage. The door creaked open, and there, silhouetted by the dim hallway light, was Glenn, his hand tentatively holding the plush bunny.

 

Carl felt his cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger. At fifteen, he was supposed to have outgrown such childish comforts. But here he was, clutching the one thing that provided a semblance of peace in the chaos that had become his life. "I don't need that," he murmured, his voice gruff with sleep. "It's just a kid's toy."

 

Glenn stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He didn't argue, instead placing the bunny on the nightstand. "It's okay to need things," he said gently. "Especially after what you've been through." His voice was a soothing balm to Carl's frazzled nerves. "Everyone needs a little comfort sometimes."

 

The room was quiet, the only sound the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Carl's eyes remained fixed on the bunny, the plush toy seemingly alive with the weight of his secret. Glenn took a seat on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to cover Carl's. "If there's anything you need to tell me, I'm here. You know that."

 

Carl's throat tightened, his chest a cage of fear and doubt. He wanted to tell Glenn everything, to scream his truth into the night and watch the world change around him. But he was afraid, so deeply and fundamentally, that it felt like a part of him had been hollowed out. "It's...it's just a bad day," he said finally, his voice a whisper. "Just...stress, you know?"

 

Glenn's hand remained on his, warm and steady. "I know it's not easy," he said, his voice low. "But you can't carry this alone. Whatever it is, you need to talk to someone." His eyes searched Carl's, filled with a fierce protectiveness that made Carl's heart ache.

 

Carl took a deep, shuddering breath. He wanted to confide in Glenn, to finally let go of the burden that had been crushing him. But the words remained trapped, lodged in his throat like a shard of glass. Instead, he nodded, the lie slipping out easily. "It's just... I miss mom, that's all."

 

Glenn's grip tightened for a brief moment before he squeezed Carl's hand. "I know, buddy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We all do." There was a sadness in his eyes that spoke of shared pain, a bond forged in loss. "But you can't let that eat you up. We're here for you."

 

The lie sat heavy in Carl's stomach, a sour taste that lingered even as he nodded, trying to convince himself it was enough. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice hoarse from the battle to keep his secrets buried. "I'll... I'll be okay."

 

Glenn studied him for a moment, the silence stretching taut between them. Then, with a sigh, he leaned in and gave Carl a brief, firm hug. "You're not alone, Carl," he said, his voice rumbling in the quiet. "Never forget that."

 

The door clicked shut, leaving Carl alone with his thoughts and the plush bunny. He picked it up, the fabric feeling like a lifeline in his trembling hands. He clutched it tightly to his chest, willing the comfort to seep into his soul. The room was a prison of shadows and doubt, the air thick with the scent of his own fear.

 

The silence was a living, breathing entity that seemed to press in on him from all sides. It felt like he was alone in the world, the only one who knew the truth about the monster lurking in their midst. The walls felt like they were closing in, each breath a battle against the panic that threatened to consume him.

 

Carl stared at the plush bunny, its lifeless eyes staring back at him from the pillow. A small part of him wished Glenn had stayed, wished he had pushed harder for an answer, demanded to know the truth that lay just beneath the surface of Carl's evasive words. But even as the thought came to him, he knew he couldn't have borne the weight of his confession, not yet.

 

He wished someone would notice the way he flinched when Shane's voice carried through the walls of the house, the way his heart raced when their eyes met in passing. He wished someone would see the fear that lurked in the shadows of his eyes, the way his smile didn't quite reach them anymore. But the people of Alexandria were busy rebuilding their lives, mending the cracks in their world with the cement of denial.

 

 

Chapter 6: My body turns, and yearns for a sleep that wont ever come

The days passed in a blur of forced smiles and hollow laughter, Carl's secret a cancer eating away at him from the inside. The plush bunny had become his silent confidant, the only one who knew the truth of what had happened. It was a sad irony that the very symbol of his stolen innocence was the only thing that brought him any solace.

 

He went through the motions of life in Alexandria, attending council meetings, helping to fortify the walls, and trying to act as if everything was normal. But every time he saw Shane, every time he heard his name, his stomach clenched in a vise of dread. He wished someone would notice the way he'd pull his shirt sleeves down to cover his wrists, the way he'd tense whenever Shane was near, the way he avoided being alone with the man who was supposed to

 be his family.

 

The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the whispers of the herd grew louder. The community was on high alert, with patrols and watches set up around the clock. Carl found himself drawn to the wall, the vantage point offering a grim solace. From there, he could see for miles, the horizon a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond their fortified haven. Yet, it was nothing compared to the monster that slept under the same roof as him.

 

Everyone was busy with the trapped horde that lurked miles away, including Rick and Shane. The latter's expertise in combat was a boon to their survival, and his tactical mind was instrumental in formulating a plan to deal with the looming threat. Carl watched them from a distance, his father's trust in Shane a knife twisting in his gut. They moved with purpose, their faces etched with determination, oblivious to the turmoil Carl faced every time he saw the man who had stolen his innocence.

 

And then, amidst the chaos of preparations, the wall of sound hit. The horn's blast resonated through the very core of Alexandria, a piercing alarm that made Carl's heart jump into his throat. He wasn't the only one affected; the town's residents froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear as the ground beneath them trembled. The crash that followed was like thunder, a jolting reminder that danger didn't just lurk beyond the walls, but could come from within.

 

Random figures appeared on the horizon, a blur of flailing limbs and desperate cries. They leaped over the walls, a sudden and terrifying breach of the sanctuary they had all come to trust. Carl's heart hammered in his chest as the panic set in, the horn's bellow echoing through the streets like a funeral dirge. He wished for the hundredth time that his father was here, that he hadn't taken a group of nearly thirty people with him to deal with the herd miles away.

 

The invaders were unlike any people they had ever encountered. Their heads bore the grotesque carving of a 'W', a macabre smile etched into their flesh. It was a chilling sight, one that made the blood of even the most hardened survivors run cold. These were not mindless undead, driven by hunger alone; these were killers with purpose, a message branded onto their very beings.

 

Carl's instincts kicked into high gear, his body moving on pure adrenaline. He sprinted through the chaotic streets, dodging panicking residents and the horrors that pursued them. His heart was a drum in his chest, each beat a frantic reminder of his mission: protect Judith.

 

Bursting through the door of their house, he slammed it shut and bolted it, the wood groaning under the pressure. His hands shook as he grabbed whatever he could find to barricade the entrance, the thuds of the attackers growing closer, their malicious laughter piercing the day.

 

Judith, wide-eyed and trembling, clutched her teddy bear tightly to her chest. He scooped her up, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "It's okay," he lied, his voice firm despite the quake in his chest. He moved to the living room, the open space making him feel vulnerable, but it was the best place for a stand-off.

 

The sound of footsteps grew closer, the thumping of his heart in his ears drowning out all other noise. He held his breath, the cold metal of his gun a stark reminder of the reality he now faced. And then, the unmistakable sound of the back door lock turning. His finger hovered over the trigger, his entire body coiled and ready to act.

 

But as the door swung open, the figure that stepped through was not the monster he'd been expecting. It was Enid, her eyes wide with fear, her own weapon clutched tightly in her hand. For a moment, the world stilled, the tension in the room a tangible force. Then, recognition dawned in her eyes, and she let out a shaky breath.

 

"Carl," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What's happening?"

 

He didn't have time for explanations, his mind racing with the horrors of what could be happening outside. "Just lock the door," he ordered, his voice firm despite the fear clawing at his insides. He watched her nod, her movements quick and precise as she slid the bolt into place. The finality of the click echoed through the room like a gunshot, sealing them in.

 

They could hear the screams and the chaos from outside, but Carl's focus remained on his sister. He held her closer, her trembling form a stark contrast to the steel resolve in his grip. "I won't let anything happen to you," he murmured, the promise a vow he intended to keep with every fiber of his being.

 

The house grew eerily quiet, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the muffled noises of the world falling apart outside. Carl's eyes darted around the room, searching for any other escape route, any other way to keep them safe. The plush bunny lay discarded on the floor, forgotten in the face of the horror that had descended upon them.

 

With a sudden jerk, Carl set Judith down and moved to the window, peering through the crack in the curtains. His heart lurched as he saw Ron, sprinting down the street. His face was a mask of terror, his eyes wide with the kind of fear that spoke of imminent death. Carl's hand tightened around the gun, his knuckles white with the effort of containing his own dread.

 

He took a deep breath and made his decision. With a swift, silent nod to Enid, he turned the lock on the door and stepped out into the chaos. The street was a war zone, the cobblestone stained red with blood. The smell of death and decay mingled with the acrid scent of burning wood, the air thick with smoke.

 

His eyes searched for the 'W' man he had seen from the window, the one that had been chasing Ron. There, across the street, he spotted the monster, Without a second thought, Carl raised his gun, the cold metal a comfort in his grip. The world narrowed to the figure of the attacker, his fear and anger focusing into a single, deadly point.

 

He fired, the shot ringing out like a declaration of war. The man stumbled, his grin of malice twisting into a grimace of pain as he fell to the ground. "Ron!" Carl shouted, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Get in here!"

 

Ron didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted across the street, his eyes wild with terror. Carl stepped aside to let him in, his heart racing as he slammed the door shut and threw the bolt. The two of them were panting, their chests heaving with the exertion and fear that had taken over their bodies.

 

Enid looked at them with wide eyes. "What do we do now?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

 

Carl took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "We stay put," he said firmly. We hold the house, no matter what. We wait for my Dad and the others to come back."

 

It was hours later when the fighting stopped. Everyone but his dad had come back from the redirect, their faces etched with fatigue and grief. Carl's heart sank as he watched the survivors trickle in, each one confirming the absence of the man he looked up to. The quiet whispers grew louder, the news spreading like a disease through the shell-shocked community.

 

Then, amidst the chaos, he heard it—a gunshot, distant but unmistakable. His heart leaped in his chest, hope flaring like a candle in the dark. The sound grew closer, a thunderous approach that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. And then, as if by some divine intervention, his father appeared, sprinting through the gates, a horde of walkers hot on his heels.

 

The gates slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the silent night, cutting off the moaning and the snarling from outside. The town's defenders rushed to reinforce the barricade, their faces etched with fear and determination. Carl's eyes remained fixed on his father, the man who had always been his hero, his savior, his protector.

 

But as Rick stepped into the light, his gaze searched the crowd, his eyes passing over Carl without a flicker of recognition. It was as if Carl's cries for help were just another sound in the cacophony of battle, a shout lost in the wind.

 

Deanna was the first to respond, her eyes wide with alarm as she rushed to Rick's side. "What's happening?" she demanded, her voice tight with fear.

 

"The herd we were trying to redirect," Rick panted, his eyes scanning the panicking crowd. "They've split. Half of them are heading straight for us."

 

For hours, they worked tirelessly, adding layer upon layer of makeshift fortifications to the walls that surrounded their once-peaceful home. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the metallic tang of fear that hung heavy in the air as the townsfolk of Alexandria united against the common enemy. Carl's muscles ached and his eyes stung from the dust, but he didn't dare complain.

 

The whispers grew to hushed conversations, the weight of their predicament pressing down on everyone. Carl felt it in his bones, a cold, hard reality that made him want to curl up and hide. But he couldn't. Not when Judith needed him, not when the town looked to his father for guidance.

 

Shane approached, his face a mask of concern. "You should take a break, kid," he said, his voice a serrated knife slicing through the air. "You've been at it for hours. You need to keep your strength up."

 

Carl's jaw clenched, but he knew he had to play along. He nodded at Shane's words, the lie sticking to the roof of his mouth like a mouthful of dust. He took the offered water bottle, the condensation cold against his palm. His father's eyes, though filled with shock, searched his, a silent question burning in their depths. Carl swallowed hard, the liquid a salve to his parched throat. "Thanks," he murmured, the word a mere echo of his true feelings.

 

Shane's hand lingered on his shoulder, the pressure firm but not painful. It was a familiar touch, one that should have brought comfort. But now, it was a reminder of the nightmare he'd endured, the secret that festered between them. Carl forced himself not to flinch, not to give anything away. He had to be strong, not just for Judith, but for the town that was depending on their unity.

 

As Shane's mouth opened, a deafening creak split the air, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. The ground beneath them trembled, a deep rumble that grew louder by the second. Carl's eyes shot to the horizon, searching for the source of the sound. The clock tower, a once-majestic symbol of Alexandria's lost grandeur, teetered precariously before their very eyes.

 

Panic surged through the town, a palpable wave that knocked the air from Carl's lungs. Screams pierced the air, a cacophony that blended with the ominous groan of the tower's impending collapse. His heart hammered in his chest, his eyes locked on the tower as it swayed, the bricks and mortar seemingly defying gravity. And then, with a thunderous roar, it gave way, plummeting towards them like a giant's fist.

 

The world around him blurred into a frenzy of motion and sound. The tower's impact sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking him off his feet. The air was filled with dust and debris, the world around him a chaotic mosaic of shadows and light. Carl's ears rang with the cacophony, his eyes watering from the dust that clogged the air.

 

And then, amidst the destruction, the moaning grew louder, a chorus of the damned that had been waiting outside their walls for this very moment. The tower's fall had obliterated a section of the wall, leaving a gaping maw of darkness that the herd surged into. The air was thick with the stench of rotting flesh, the sound of their footsteps an unholy symphony of hunger and rage.

 

Rick's voice, usually so calm and reassuring, was a thunderclap that cut through the panic. "Inside! Now!" he roared, his eyes wild with desperation. 

 

Carl stumbled to his feet, his vision blurred by dust and tears. The sight of the herd, now flooding into the town, was like a nightmare come to life. He followed his father's command without question, his legs moving on autopilot as he stumbled towards the house. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of his father's gun firing, the sharp cracks punctuating the air like a furious heartbeat.

 

Michonne was a blur of motion, her katana flashing through the dust as she cut down the walkers that had been hiding in the tower's shadow. Shane and Gabriel were right behind her, their faces twisted into snarls of anger and fear.

 

Carl's eyes searched the chaos for any sign of his sister, his heart pounding in his chest. And then, amidst the panic, he heard it—Jessie's voice, faint but clear. "Rick! Carl! I have Judith! Get inside!"

 

He spun around, his eyes scanning the dust-choked street. There she was, her figure barely visible through the cloud of debris, cradling Judith in her arms. The sight of them sent a surge of relief through him, but it was quickly drowned by the horror of their situation. The herd was closing in, the wall of decaying flesh and snapping teeth seemingly endless.

 

They sprinted towards her, their feet pounding the ground like the hooves of a stampede. The house loomed before them, a bastion of hope amidst the chaos. Carl reached Jessie first, his arms wrapping around his sister tightly. She was trembling, her eyes wide with terror, but he held onto Judith with a fierce grip.

 

"Get inside," he barked, his voice harsher than he intended. He didn't wait for her to respond, just shoved her towards the door. The house was a blur of activity as they barricaded themselves in, pushing furniture against the windows and doors, their movements frantic but precise. It was a dance they had performed many times before, a macabre ballet of survival.

 

Carl's eyes darted around the room, searching for any weaknesses, any potential escape routes. He had learned the layout of Jessie's house like the back of his hand during his time there, but now it felt like a prison, the walls closing in around them with each sickening thud from the outside. The TV stand was overturned, the couch shoved against the front door, and chairs piled high at the windows. The floorboards groaned under the weight of their makeshift defenses, echoing the fear that pulsed through his veins.

 

Above the noise, he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He spun, his grip on the gun tightening, only to see his father, Rick, and Michonne, half-dragging a blood-soaked Deanna between them. They stumbled into the room, their faces etched with pain and determination.

 

Gabriel stepped forward, his eyes on Judith, who was clutched tightly in Carl's arms. "Let me take her," he said, his voice firm yet gentle.

 

Carl hesitated, the weight of his sister's safety pressing down on him like a boulder. But there was something in Gabriel's eyes that assured him, something that spoke of a silent understanding. With trembling hands, he handed over the toddler, watching as the priest cradled her with surprising tenderness.

 

The room was a flurry of activity as the adults worked to secure the house. The thunderous pounding on the doors and windows grew louder, the hungry moans of the herd a constant, terrifying reminder of what lay outside. Ron's voice pierced through the panic. "Carl, come on! We've gotta grab more stuff from the garage!"

 

Carl nodded, his eyes never leaving the safety of the room where Judith slept. "Okay, but just for a minute," he said, his voice tight with fear. He followed Ron through the kitchen, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

 

The garage door was already open, the cold night air seeping into the house. The scent of gasoline and metal was a stark contrast to the warmth and safety they'd left behind. Ron grabbed a handful of supplies and tossed them at Carl. "Here, take these," he said, his eyes glinting with something other than fear.

 

Carl's instincts screamed at him, his heart racing as he caught the supplies. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. He looked up to find Ron standing before him, the garage door now securely locked. His friend's eyes were wild, the gun in his hand trembling slightly. "What are you doing?" Carl demanded, his voice cracking with fear.

 

"What needs to be done," Ron spat, the anger in his voice surprisingly cold. "Everyone's going to die now, Carl. It's all going to hell."

 

Carl's eyes narrowed, the gravity of the situation sinking in. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out for the gun. "Ron, please, we can work this out. Give me the gun."

 

But Ron was beyond reason, his finger already on the trigger. "You think you're so much better than me," he snarled. "Living in your perfect little house with your perfect little family, while I'm stuck with a dead dad and a mother who's afraid of her own shadow!"

 

With a roar, Carl launched himself at Ron, his need to protect his family overshadowing his fear. They crashed to the ground, the gun clattering away from them. The supplies scattered across the cold concrete, forgotten in the desperate struggle for dominance. Ron's eyes were wild, a mix of anger and desperation, as he clawed at Carl's face. Carl felt the sting of his nails and tasted the metallic tang of blood on his lip, but he didn't let up. He had to get the gun, had to make sure no one else got hurt.

 

In the chaos, a shovel that had been leaning against the wall fell with them, and Ron's hand closed around the wooden handle. Carl's heart stopped as the shovel was raised, the blade glinting in the dim light. He rolled away, the metal whistling through the air where his head had been moments before.

 

He scrabbled backward, his back hitting the cold, hard glass of the garage door. The moans outside grew louder, the walkers drawn to the noise of their struggle. The shovel in Ron's hand was raised again, a deadly weapon that reflected the madness in his eyes.

 

But Carl was quicker. He ducked and rolled away, the shovel's blade shattering the glass with a sound that was almost musical in its horror. The shards rained down on them, glittering in the dim light like a thousand shattered dreams. The cold night air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of death and decay.

 

And then, as if the universe had heard Carl's silent plea, the garage door connected to the house busted open. The hinges groaned in protest, the wood splintering like bones under immense pressure. Through the dust and shards of glass, three figures emerged—his father, Shane, and Jessie, their eyes wide with shock and horror at the sight before them.

 

The walkers surged into the garage, their decaying limbs flailing through the shattered barrier. The once-peaceful sanctuary was now a battleground, the air thick with the stench of the undead. Carl's heart hammered against his ribcage as he scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. He had to protect Judith, and the others.

 

The glass crushed underfoot, a grisly reminder of their fragile hold on life. The cold night air mingled with the stench of death, sending shivers down his spine. Carl's eyes searched wildly for the gun, but it was lost in the chaos, a slippery prize just out of reach. The creatures stumbled through the debris, their milky eyes locked on the warm flesh of the living.

 

"Dad!" Carl screamed, his voice lost in the cacophony of snarls and screams. Rick's eyes found him, and the world seemed to slow down. The love and fear in his father's gaze was like a punch to the gut, but it was Shane who moved first.

 

With a snarl, Shane lunged at the walkers, his knife flashing in the dim light. The first creature went down with a wet crunch, its head a ruin of bone and brain. Jessie and Ron backed away, their eyes locked on the horror unfolding before them. Rick was at their side in an instant, his gun barking out a rhythm of death as he covered their retreat.

 

They stumbled into the house, the couch a hasty barricade against the tide of the undead. The heavy fabric smelled faintly of sweat and fear, the cushions plump and unyielding as Carl pushed against them. The walkers slammed into the makeshift barricade, their moans echoing through the house like the mournful calls of lost souls.

 

Michonne sliced through the first few with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice, her katana moving with the grace of a dancer's blade. The blood spattered across her face, a macabre painting in crimson on her dark skin. Her eyes never left Carl's, her expression a mix of confusion and anger.

 

"What the hell happened here?" Rick bellowed, his eyes darting between the shattered door and the two teens, now separated by a sea of writhing undead.

 

"It doesn't matter," Carl shouted over the cacophony. "We have to get upstairs!"

 

They retreated up the stairs, the thumping of the walkers' bodies against the couch growing fainter with each step. The house was a whirlwind of panic, the air thick with dust and the metallic scent of fear. Carl's heart raced as he thought of Judith, praying she was safe in the bedroom.

 

"Shane, we can't stay here," Carl managed to get out between panting breaths. His voice was hoarse, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

 

Shane's eyes flicked over to him, the crazed glint in them dimming for a moment. He took stock of the situation, the walkers now clawing at the barricade, their decayed fingers digging into the fabric. "You're right," he said, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get to the armory. It's our best shot."

 

Carl nodded, his thoughts racing. The only way to get there was through the house, which was now a labyrinth of danger. They had to move quickly, before the walkers broke through. "We'll have to gut them," he said, his voice firm despite the bile rising in his throat. "It's the only way to blend in with the herd."

 

They were covered in blood and guts, making their way through the herd. Carl clutched the gun tightly, his hand sticky with the lifeblood of the undead. The plan was simple, but the execution was anything but. They had to be swift and silent, moving like ghosts through the sea of rotting flesh. Every step was a dance with death, each breath a prayer for deliverance.

 

But then, it happened. Sam, Jessie's son, stumbled. His legs, trembling with fear and exhaustion, could no longer hold the facade of the undead. The moaning horde took notice, their milky eyes fixing on the fresh meat that dared to stand still amidst them. The spell was broken, the illusion of their safety shattered.

 

Jessie's scream pierced the air, a desperate cry that seemed to echo the very heartbreak of humanity. The sound was a beacon to the walkers, drawing them in like sharks to blood. Carl's grip on the knife tightened, his eyes darting to the doomed boy. Time seemed to stretch, the seconds stretching into eternity as he watched Sam's fate unfold.

 

The herd descended upon Sam like a pack of ravenous animals, their teeth tearing into his flesh with a wet, sickening sound that made Carl's stomach churn. The boy's cries were muffled by the ravenous maw of the undead, his limbs flailing wildly as he was torn apart. The sight was a stark reminder of the world they lived in, a world where innocence and purity were merely meals for the ever-hungry dead.

 

Jessie's eyes went wide with horror as she watched her son's fate unfold before her. The hand that had been a lifeline for Carl now became an anchor, pulling him towards the abyss. Her grip tightened, her nails digging into his palm, and he could feel her strength fading as she was dragged into the sea of monsters. Her screams tore through the night, a symphony of agony that mirrored Carl's own silent cries.

 

Rick's face was a mask of desperation as he took in the scene. In one swift, brutal motion, he raised his sword, and Carl watched in disbelief as Jessie's arm fell to the ground, her hand still clutching his. The world around him was a blur of motion and noise, the only clear image being the crimson spurt of blood that painted the air like a gruesome fountain. The shock of the moment froze him in place, his mind screaming for it all to stop.

 

Carl stumbled, the sudden release from Jessie's grasp sending him sprawling to the ground. His gun slipped from his sweaty fingers, clattering against the cold concrete. The world around him spun, a kaleidoscope of horror as he watched Jessie's body being overwhelmed by the ravenous horde.

 

Rick was there, his hand a vice around Carl's arm, yanking him back to his feet. The gun, the one he had been reaching for, was in Ron's hands. His friend's eyes were wild, the weapon trembling with the weight of his rage. "You did this," Ron hissed. "You brought this into our lives."

 

Before anyone could react, a flash of silver streaked through the air. Ron's body jerked, the gun firing wildly before dropping from his lifeless fingers. The shot echoed through the air, a final, mournful note in the symphony of horror.

 

Carl felt the pain blossom from the right side of his face, a white-hot explosion that seemed to fill his entire world. His vision swam, the faces around him becoming a blur of colors and shapes. The screams of the dying and the snarls of the undead grew distant, fading away like the whispers of a forgotten nightmare. The cold floor rushed up to meet him, his cheek connecting with the unforgiving concrete with a sickening thud.

Chapter 7: i know that time is not your friend

It had been days since the herd had broken through Alexandria, days since they had cleared the place of the walkers and the bodies of their friends and neighbors. The stench of death still lingered in the air, a silent specter that haunted every corner and whispered of their failure. Carl lay unconscious in the infirmary, his face a mask of pain, his body a canvas of bruises and cuts.

 

Rick couldn't sit still, couldn't think properly, not when his son was lying there with an empty socket where his right eye should be. The guilt gnawed at him like a ravenous beast, tearing through the fabric of his sanity. He had failed him, failed to protect him from Ron.

 

He knew, deep down, that the shot wasn't for Carl. It was for him, a bullet meant to punish him for his sins. For not seeing Ron for what he was sooner. For not being there when Carl needed him most. For being too blinded by his own fear and anger to realize the danger that lurked within their own walls.

 

Shane had been at Rick's side since the moment the world fell apart, a constant presence that had morphed from comrade to rival to something else entirely. In that moment, as they fought back-to-back against the undead, it was clear that their friendship had survived the test of time and tragedy. Rick appreciated the support, the unspoken understanding that passed between them as they worked tirelessly to save the people they had sworn to protect.

 

The concern in Shane's eyes as he looked at Carl, now lying on the makeshift infirmary bed, was genuine. It was a strange feeling, one that Rick couldn't quite put his finger on. It was almost like co-parenting, if he was being honest with himself. They had both been looking out for the boy since arriving in Alexandria, each filling in the gaps the other left, providing the balance that Carl needed to survive.

 

But now, with the weight of their recent losses hanging heavy in the air, the question of trust had never felt more pressing. The bruises on Carl's face, the missing eye, they were a stark reminder of the world they lived in. A world where the monsters didn't just come from outside the walls, but from within the very hearts of those they had sworn to protect.

 

Denise's voice was soft, a whisper in the chaos of the infirmary. She had done everything she could, her medical skills honed from a life before the apocalypse now a beacon of hope in the face of despair. Her eyes searched Rick's, her expression a mix of hope and sorrow.

 

Rick's hand tightened around Carl's, his thumb brushing over the unmarred skin of his son's cheek. He didn't know what to say, what to do, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and fears.

 

"Rick," Shane said softly, his voice a gentle nudge into the stark reality of the moment. "You need to rest. I'll watch over him."

 

Rick's gaze didn't leave Carl's face. "No," he replied, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I can't leave him."

 

Shane stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Carl's still form. "You can't do this alone," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need rest. I've got this."

 

Rick felt his resolve waver. He was tired, bone-deep tired. His eyes burned with a need for sleep, and his body was a tapestry of bruises and cuts from the battles they'd fought in the days since the walkers had breached their home. But the thought of leaving Carl, even for a moment, was almost too much to bear.

 

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nodded. "Just... keep an eye on him," he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. "Don't let anything happen."

 

Shane's eyes searched Rick's for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, with a firm nod, he took over the vigil. The room was a symphony of soft whispers and the occasional whine of the makeshift generators. The candles flickered, casting dancing shadows across Carl's pale face.

 

Rick stepped into the hallway, the weight of the world on his shoulders. The corridor was eerily quiet, the once bustling center of Alexandria now a ghost town of memories and loss. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closing briefly, the pain of his son's injury a living, breathing thing inside him.

 

He took a deep breath, trying to push the images from his mind. The door to Carl's room was a barricade, keeping the outside world at bay, but it couldn't keep the fear from seeping through. He pushed the door shut with a gentle click, the sound echoing down the hallway. The dim light from the candles cast elongated shadows, making the corridor seem like a passage to a different realm, one filled with pain and regret.

Shane turned the lock with a firm twist, the cold metal a stark reminder of the horrors outside. The corridor grew quieter, the muffled sounds of the infirmary fading away. It was a false sense of security, a flimsy illusion that the monsters couldn't reach them. But they had already made it in, hadn't they? They were already here, hiding in plain sight.

 

He approached Carl's bed, his eyes lingering on the bandaged socket. The kid had been through hell and back, and he was still fighting. The candlelight danced across Carl's features, casting shadows that made him look more like a statue than a living, breathing boy. Shane reached out, his hand hovering over the soft brown hair.

 

The gesture was one of comfort, a silent promise to protect. His hand was rough and calloused from years of fighting and surviving, a stark contrast to Carl's unblemished skin. His thumb traced the curve of Carl's cheek, the touch feather-light. The bruises stood out like dark rivers on a map, a stark reminder of the battle they had just endured.

 

Shane's eyes fell to the bandaged socket, the grisly sight a stark reminder of the world's cruelty. The void where Carl's right eye had once been gleamed wetly, a testament to the pain he had suffered. He had seen it before Denise had wrapped the bandages around his head, the gaping emptiness a silent scream of agony.

 

The room was a prison of his own making, the walls closing in with every shallow breath Carl took. Shane felt his own chest tighten, the weight of his secret a boulder crushing his ribs. He had tried to keep Carl safe, to be the father figure the boy needed in a world gone mad.

 

But as he watched the rise and fall of Carl's chest, the innocence marred by the patch over his right eye, something dark stirred within him. Thoughts that had no place in the light of day, no place in the heart of a man who claimed to care, writhed and coiled like a snake in the shadows of his mind.

 

Shane's hand hovered over Carl, the urge to touch him, to claim him in some twisted way, almost overwhelming. His breath hitched in his throat, the line between protection and perversion blurring. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have the boy all to himself, to be the one who controlled the pain and the pleasure, the fear and the comfort.

 

With a shudder, he realized he was stroking Carl's hair, his hand trembling slightly. The darkness within him whispered sweet nothings, promising a release from the burdens of their shattered world. The candlelight danced across Carl's peaceful features, a stark contrast to the tumultuous sea of emotions churning in Shane's own heart.

 

Shane's breath grew shallower, his chest tightening as his thoughts grew darker. He had always felt a strange pull towards Carl, a need to possess and protect him that went beyond friendship or camaraderie. And now, in his vulnerable state, the temptation was almost too much to bear.

 

The candlelight cast an eerie glow across the room, the shadows playing tricks on his mind. He leaned closer, his breath hot against Carl's skin. The boy's unblemished cheek was a siren's call, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. With trembling hands, he brushed aside the bandage, exposing the raw wound beneath.

 

The room grew warmer, the air thick with an unspoken tension as Shane's thoughts grew darker. His eyes traced the line of Carl's jaw, the curve of his neck. The urge to claim him grew stronger, to take what he had always wanted. His hand slid down, resting gently on the boy's shoulder. The fabric of Carl's shirt was rough under his fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness of his skin.

 

Shane's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed with a hunger that had no place in this world of the living. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above Carl's, his breath mingling with the scent of antiseptic and blood. The whisper of fabric was the only sound in the stillness, a symphony of desire and depravity.

 

He couldn't help himself. The darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface, the beast that had been held at bay by the walls of civilization, now roared to life. Carl was his, and he would take what was his. The world outside was in chaos, the rules of humanity a distant memory. In this moment, in this place, only the law of the jungle applied.

 

Shane's hand slid from Carl's shoulder to his chest, feeling the steady beat of the boy's heart beneath his palm. It was a siren's song, a rhythmic reminder of the life that pulsed within him. He leaned closer, his mouth a hair's breadth from Carl's. The warmth of the boy's breath mingled with his own, a heady mix of innocence and impurity. His thoughts swam in a sea of lust, the line between right and wrong obliterated by his need.

 

The hand on Carl's chest moved lower, tracing the line of his stomach to the waistband of his pants. Shane's eyes were glued to the unblemished skin, his heart racing with anticipation. The candlelight flickered, casting a devilish glow across the room, urging him on. He had seen the way Carl had looked at him, the way he had trusted him. The power was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made his head spin.

 

He leaned in closer, his breath hot and ragged against Carl's cheek. The smell of blood and fear was faint but unmistakable, a scent that had always driven him wild. The room was a cocoon of shadows, a sanctuary where he could indulge his darkest desires without repercussion. The world outside didn't matter anymore; all that existed was Carl and the need that consumed him.

 

Shane's hand moved with a mind of its own, sliding under Carl's shirt to explore the untouched skin beneath. The boy's chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, oblivious to the peril he was in. The softness of Carl's stomach made his own body tighten, his thoughts spiraling into a vortex of depravity. The urge was unbearable, a hunger that had been festering within him since the moment he'd first laid eyes on the boy.

 

A low moan escaped his throat, a sound that was more beast than man. He could feel Carl's breath against his cheek, the warmth of it a taunting invitation. The hand on Carl's chest stilled, his thumb hovering over the skin. For a brief moment, sanity reared its head, a whisper of doubt in the cacophony of desire.

 

But it was quickly drowned out by the roar of his own need. He leaned in, his mouth capturing Carl's in a kiss that was more about claiming than caring. The boy's lips were soft, unyielding, but Shane didn't care. He kissed him with a hunger that was years in the making, a hunger that had been festering in the dark recesses of his soul.

 

The hand on Carl's stomach slid lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of the boy's pants. The fabric was rough under his touch, a barrier to the prize that awaited him. His own breath grew ragged, his body responding to the forbidden contact. The room spun around him, a kaleidoscope of shadows and candlelight, a symphony of desire and despair.

 

But amidst the chaos of his thoughts, a soft sound reached his ears, a gentle protest that pierced the veil of his lust. Carl's hand, weak but insistent, pushed against his chest. The touch was a jolt of reality, a stark reminder of the innocence he was about to defile. Shane's eyes snapped open, the haze of desire dissipating like smoke in the wind.

 

Carl's single, uncovered eye stared up at him, wide and filled with terror. The boy's mouth moved, but no sound came out, his voice lost to the horror of the moment. Shane's breath caught in his throat, his hand frozen in place, just shy of the unthinkable. He stumbled back, the weight of his actions crushing him like the walls of a collapsing building.

 

The candles flickered, casting erratic shadows across Carl's contorted face. Shane's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to get out of there, had to escape the monster he had become. He staggered away from the bed, the room spinning around him. The door was a blur, a beacon of escape from the prison of his own making.

 

Carl watched Shane walk away, the horror of what had just transpired etched deep into his soul. He lay there, his heart racing, his breaths shallow and painful. The darkness that had been hidden behind Shane's eyes was now a gaping abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

 

The silence was deafening, the candles flickering a silent witness to the unspeakable act. Carl's hand hovered over the bandaged socket where his right eye used to be, feeling the emptiness. He felt dirty again, his body trembling with a mix of fear and revulsion. He didn't know what Shane had done to him while he was asleep, if he had gone all the way like before. The thought of it made his stomach churn, the bile rising in his throat.

 

He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead, weighing him down into the bed. His vision was blurry, the world a canvas of shifting shapes and shadows. The darkness of the room spun around him, a mockery of the safety he had once found in the quiet hours of the night. Carl's hand reached up to his face, his trembling fingers finding the cold, damp fabric that covered his right eye. Panic surged through him as he realized the truth.

 

This couldn't be real. It couldn't be. His mind rebelled against the evidence, playing back moments of the attack over and over, searching for a different outcome. The pain, the fear, it was all too much. But as his fingertips brushed against the bandage, the reality crashed into him like a wave of ice-cold water. His eye was gone, taken by Ron.

 

The anger and despair swelled within Carl, a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to drown him. He tried to get out of bed, to do something, anything, to make the pain go away. But his body was a traitor, his legs giving out immediately. He crumpled to the floor, his vision spinning.

 

The candles cast a nauseating strobe across the room, the shadows dancing in time with the throbbing in his head. The world around him distorted, the edges of reality blurring together as his one good eye fought to make sense of the chaos. The pain was a living entity, a second skin that suffocated him with every panicked breath he took.

 

He crumpled on the ground, his legs useless beneath him, and his head swimming with agony. The cold concrete bit into his knees, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of his cheek against the floor. The room tilted and spun, the candlelight stretching into elongated streaks that painted the walls with a sickly hue.

 

The pain in Carl's eye socket was a living thing, a white-hot ember seared into the very core of his being. Each breath brought a fresh wave of torment, the raw nerves exposed and raw. It felt like someone had taken a brand and pressed it against the very essence of him, leaving a scar that would never heal.

 

The clamminess of his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his eye, a cold sweat that beaded on his forehead and trickled down his neck. It was as if his body was trying to reject the horror that had been done to him, trying to expel the very essence of the violation that had occurred.

 

The room spun with a malicious intent, the shadows reaching out like ghostly tendrils to ensnare him. Carl's vision blurred, the flickering candles creating a nauseating strobe effect that only added to the chaos in his mind. The floor tilted beneath him, as if the very earth had decided to side with the chaos that had invaded his life. The pain was a living, breathing entity, writhing and pulsing in time with the erratic rhythm of his heart.

 

And then, the door opened. The light from the hallway pierced the gloom, a beacon of hope that brought with it the promise of salvation. The shadows retreated, cowed by the sudden intrusion, and the air grew thick with the scent of antiseptic and fear.

 

Glenn's eyes swept the room, taking in the scene before him. Carl, on the floor, trembling and pale, the bedside candles casting an eerie glow across his bandaged face. The silence was a scream, a silent testament to the horrors that had unfolded in the moments before he arrived. His heart clenched in his chest, a fist of dread tightening around the organ.

 

"Carl," Glenn breathed, rushing to the boy's side. His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the alarm bells ringing in his head. He gently helped Carl to his feet, his arms supporting the trembling form. "Where's Shane?" he asked, his eyes searching the room for any sign of the man who had been watching over him.

 

Carl avoided Glenn's gaze, his cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and fear. His voice was a whisper, barely audible over the thundering of his own heart. "I don't know," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the floor. "He was just... here."

 

Glenn's brow furrowed with concern as he helped Carl back into bed, his eyes searching the room for any sign of Shane. The absence was palpable, a void that seemed to suck the air from the space. "I need to find him," he said, his voice tight with tension. "I'll be right back."

 

But as he turned to leave, something compelled Carl to grip Glenn's hand, his eyes wide with a desperation that was almost tangible. "Don't go," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. The words hung in the air, a silent scream that seemed to echo off the walls of the small infirmary room.

 

Glenn froze, his gaze flickering back to Carl. The fear in the boy's eyes was a stark contrast to the calm determination he had seen in them before. It was a look he hadn't seen since the early days of the apocalypse, when the world had first gone to hell and everyone was still trying to find their footing. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

 

Carl swallowed hard, his eyes darting from side to side as if searching for an escape route that didn't involve speaking the words aloud. The candles cast an eerie glow over the room, throwing their shadows on the walls like a silent audience to their conversation. The smell of antiseptic was a sharp reminder of the harsh reality that surrounded them, a stark contrast to the softness of the bed sheets.

 

The pain in his eye socket was a constant throb, a drumbeat that echoed through his skull. The medication coursing through his system made everything feel surreal, as if he were floating above the scene, watching himself from afar. His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick as he tried to form the words that had haunted him for so long.

 

"I'm scared," Carl finally admitted, his voice trembling like the candle flames in the stillness of the room. "Scared of Shane."

 

Glenn's eyes searched Carl's face, the concern deepening as he realized the gravity of the situation. He had known that there was tension between the two, but he had never suspected it went this deep. "Why are you scared?" he asked softly, his grip on Carl's hand tightening.

 

Carl took a shaky breath, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass. "Because... because of what he did," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "What he's done... and what he could still do." His gaze darted to the door, as if expecting Shane to appear at any moment, the fear in his eyes stark and raw.

 

Glenn's heart skipped a beat. He had seen the way Shane had looked at Carl before, the way his gaze had lingered a little too long, the way his smiles had seemed forced. But he had never imagined it could be this bad. He sat back down on the bed, his hand still enveloping Carl's. "What do you think he could do?" he asked gently, his voice barely above a murmur, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile trust that had been placed in him.

 

The silence in the room was thick, a tangible presence that seemed to press down on them both. The candles flickered, their dance throwing eerie shadows across the walls as if they were conspiring in the quiet. Carl took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. "He could hurt Judith," he said finally, the words coming out in a rush as if they had been held captive for too long. "And Dad, everyone."

 

The fear in Carl's voice was a stark contrast to the calm determination that usually marked his speech. Glenn's grip on his hand tightened, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. "What makes you say that?" he asked, his voice carefully measured, a tightrope walker's balance between concern and accusation.

 

Carl's single eye searched Glenn's face, looking for a hint of doubt, a flicker of disbelief that would tell him he was wrong to confide. But all he saw was understanding, a sadness that mirrored his own. "He's... different," Carl managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper. "After... after what happened with the farm and everything, he's just not the same."

 

Glenn's expression grew grave, the lines around his eyes deepening as he nodded solemnly. He knew all too well the weight of the past, the way it could shape a person, twisting them into something unrecognizable. "You don't have to be around him anymore, Carl," he assured the trembling boy. "We'll figure something out."

 

The room remained still, the candles casting a warm glow on Carl's tear-stained cheeks. He clutched at the bandage over his missing eye, as if trying to hold in the pain and fear that threatened to spill out. "And Judith?" he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, don't let her stay with him."

 

Glenn's eyes grew serious as he met Carl's gaze. "I'll talk to Rick," he promised, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll figure out what's best for everyone."

 

The silence that followed was a heavy blanket, suffocating in its thickness. It consumed them both, a stark reminder of the horror that had invaded their sanctuary. The candles on the nightstand flickered, their shadows dancing across Carl's bandaged face as if trying to give life to the words left unspoken.

 

"How does your eye feel?" Glenn finally asked, his voice a gentle caress in the stark silence. The question hung in the air, a delicate thread connecting them amidst the chaos. Carl's breath hitched, his chest tightening as he tried to put into words the pain that was now a part of him.

 

"It's... okay," he lied, his voice barely a whisper. The words were a feeble attempt to shoo away the horror of his reality. The lie sat between them, a heavy weight on Carl's soul. He hadn't had time to process the loss, to understand what it meant to navigate the world with only one eye. The bandage was a constant reminder of the gaping emptiness where his vision had once been.

 

Glenn's eyes searched Carl's, looking for the truth hidden in the shadows of his pupil. "Do you need anything?" he asked, his voice thick with the weight of his own fears. Carl's hand tightened around his, a silent plea for protection, for sanity in a world gone mad.

 

"Can I go home?" Carl whispered, the question hanging in the air like a ghostly apparition. It was a simple request, one that echoed the longing for safety and belonging that they all felt. Glenn's heart ached for him, for the innocence lost in the wake of the undead.

 

He nodded solemnly. "I'll talk to Denise," he assured Carl, patting his hand gently. "We'll get you out of here and back to your dad as soon as we can." The promise was a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of Carl's fear.

 

Glenn stood, his movements deliberate and calm. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as he took in the stark reality of the situation. He knew the journey back to the house would be fraught with danger, but the thought of leaving Carl alone with Shane was unbearable. "You stay here," he instructed, his eyes serious. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

But Carl's grip on his hand grew stronger. "No," he said firmly, the tremble in his voice belying the steel in his resolve. "I'm coming with you."

 

Glenn hesitated, looking at the boy's determined face, the pain in his eye a stark contrast to the fiery determination that burned in his one good eye. "You sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "You just lost your eye. You need to rest."

 

But Carl's voice was firm, the tremor in it replaced by a steely resolve. "I need to get used to this," he said, gesturing to the bandage. "If I don't, I'm useless to everyone." His hand tightened on the blanket, a fist of determination that mirrored the set of his jaw.

 

Glenn searched Carl's face, the gravity of the situation weighing heavy on his shoulders. He knew the risks, knew that every step outside the infirmary could be their last. But he also knew that Carl was right; hiding wasn't an option. "Okay," he relented. "But pace yourself, understand?"

 

Together, they moved to the door, Carl's legs wobbling slightly as he took his first steps. The hallway outside was dimly lit, the flicker of distant candles the only sign of life in the quiet corridor. The silence was unnerving, the occasional groan of a walker outside serving as a grim reminder of the world that awaited them.

 

His coordination was off, his body unaccustomed to the sudden lack of depth perception. Each step was a battle, a dance with gravity that he hadn't anticipated. The walls of the corridor seemed to lean in, as if trying to crush him under their weight. The smell of antiseptic and decay hung in the air, a noxious bouquet that only served to heighten his nausea.

 

They found Denise tending to a different patient, a young woman whose name he couldn't remember, her injuries severe but not immediately life-threatening. She was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the turmoil that had invaded her sanctuary.

 

Denise's eyes widened when she saw Carl standing there, his bandaged eye a stark contrast to the fierce determination etched into his features. "Carl," she gasped, her hand flying to her glasses. "What are you doing up?"

 

Glenn stepped in before Carl could answer. "He wants to go home," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Is that possible?"

 

Denise's eyes snapped from Carl to Glenn, the shock in her eyes quickly replaced by a look of concern. "Of course," she said, her voice tight. "But we need to make sure there's no infection before i can release him."

 

Carl's grip on the bedframe was white-knuckled, his body taut with tension. "It's okay," he lied, his voice steady despite the tremble in his chest. "I'm okay."

 

Denise looked between them, her gaze sharp and assessing. She knew Carl was not okay, could see it in the way he held himself, the way his one good eye searched the room as if expecting an attack. She sighed heavily, setting aside the medical supplies in her hand. "Let's get you checked out," she said gently. "Then we'll talk about going home."

 

Glenn nodded in approval and stepped aside, allowing Denise to examine Carl's injury. His heart ached for the boy, for the strength he had to summon just to get out of bed. The candlelight played across the doctor's face, highlighting the shadows of exhaustion and worry that had taken up permanent residence.

 

As Denise carefully began to unravel the bandage, Carl felt the first pangs of shame, a sour taste in his mouth that seemed to spread through his entire body. He had been so focused on the pain and fear that he had almost forgotten the violation that had been committed against him. The act of exposing his mutilated face felt like a silent confession, a declaration of his own vulnerability.

 

The gasp that escaped Glenn's lips was like a knife to Carl's soul, a pain that sliced deeper than any injury he had ever suffered before. He knew what he must look like, the jagged stitches and raw flesh that used to be his eye a stark reminder of the monster Ron had become. The candlelight played across the doctor's face, casting it in a ghastly pallor that mirrored the horror she surely saw before her.

 

Denise's touch was gentle, her eyes focused on her work as she assessed the damage. But Carl could feel the tremble in her fingertips, the revulsion she couldn't quite hide. He kept his own eye focused on the ground, the cold tile a stark contrast to the warmth of the blood that had seeped into the bandages. It was a comforting pattern, the starkness of it all, a reminder that even amidst the chaos, there were some things that remained constant.

 

With a soft sigh, she began to clean the wound, the cold saline solution stinging like a slap against his raw flesh. Carl gritted his teeth, trying not to flinch as she worked. The pain was a living thing, a creature that had made its home in the empty socket, feasting on his fear and anger. But he remained still, his mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions that he dared not give voice to.

 

Denise's movements were meticulous, her eyes focused on the task at hand as if the fate of the world rested on the careful swipe of each cotton swab. The candles cast a flickering glow over the scene, casting elongated shadows on the walls like silent sentinels guarding the room from the horrors outside. Her voice was calm, a steady stream of instructions that grounded him amidst the chaos.

 

"This needs to be cleaned and re-wrapped every day," she explained, her tone gentle but firm. "It's crucial to prevent infection." Carl nodded, his gaze never leaving the floor. Each word she spoke was a lifeline thrown into the abyss of his fear, something to cling to amidst the turmoil.

 

Denise's movements were precise, her hands steady despite the tremble in her voice. She applied a fresh dressing with a tenderness that belied the gravity of the situation. The bandage was cool against his skin, a small comfort that washed over him like a soothing balm. "Keep it dry and clean," she instructed, her eyes searching his for understanding. "And if you notice any swelling or unusual pain, come back immediately."

 

Glenn's hand rested on Carl's shoulder, a silent promise of protection that seemed to seep into his very bones. The room was a cocoon of candlelight and shadows, a brief respite from the horrors that lurked outside. "Thank you, Denise," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

 

Denise nodded, her expression a mask of professionalism. But Carl could see the fear in her eyes, the way they kept darting to the window, as if expecting the glass to shatter at any moment. She knew the truth, knew that the walls of their safe haven were paper-thin and could crumble at the slightest provocation.

 

With a final pat on Carl's shoulder, she stepped back, allowing them to leave. The door to the infirmary clicked shut behind them, a mournful echo that seemed to follow them down the hallway. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and fear, the shadows dancing as they made their way through the quiet corridor.

Chapter 8: 12 stout street, i hated that house

The journey to the Grimes' residence was a blur of candle lit hallways and shuffling footsteps. Carl leaned heavily on Glenn, the world tilting and swaying around him as he tried to navigate his new reality. The house loomed ahead, a bastion of safety in the midst of the chaos. The windows were dark, the curtains drawn tight against the prying eyes of the night.

 

As they approached the front door, Carl's heart hammered in his chest, the beat echoing in his one good ear. He could feel the tension in Glenn's muscles, the readiness to spring into action at the slightest sound. The door was a barrier, a symbol of the safety they both desperately needed.

 

Finally, they reached the door, the warm glow of the living room spilling out into the hallway. The sound of muffled voices and the faint aroma of something cooking offered a glimpse of normalcy that seemed so far out of reach. Glenn's hand hovered over the doorknob, his eyes searching Carl's for any sign of hesitation.

 

With a deep breath, Carl nodded, the simple act feeling like the most courageous thing he had ever done. The door creaked open, the hinges groaning in protest against the stillness of the night. The warm light of the living room spilled into the hallway, a beacon of hope amidst the shadows.

 

Michonne and Rick were sitting at the table, their expressions a tableau of weariness and determination. In the high chair beside them, Judith was babbling happily, oblivious to the horrors of the world outside. Carl's heart clenched at the sight of her, the fear for her safety a living, breathing entity in his chest.

 

And then, his gaze fell on Shane, who was standing by the window, his silhouette stark against the drawn curtains. The man's posture was relaxed, his eyes focused on the darkness outside, as if searching for a way out. Carl's stomach churned, the bile rising in his throat as the reality of what had transpired in the infirmary came crashing down on him.

 

Michonne looked up, her dark eyes softening at the sight of Carl. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice gentle. It was a question that seemed to resonate through the room, a reminder of the fragility of their newfound peace.

 

"I'm okay," Carl said automatically, his voice hollow. His legs felt like they might give out at any moment, the weight of his fear threatening to crush him. He stepped into the room, the floorboards groaning under his weight.

 

Shane turned at the sound, his eyes widening as they fell on Carl's bandaged face. For a moment, the room was frozen, the candles' flicker the only movement. The atmosphere grew taut, the air thick with tension as Carl and Shane's gazes locked. Glenn could almost see the unspoken words passing between them, the accusation in Carl's eye and the guilt in Shane's. The flame of the candles on the table cast a flickering dance of light and shadow across their faces, highlighting the stark contrast of their emotions.

 

Shane took a tentative step forward, his eyes never leaving Carl's. "Hey buddy," he began, his voice forcedly casual. "How's the eye?" The words were like a knife twisting in Carl's gut, a reminder of the man's falsehoods.

 

But Carl just shrugged and remained stoic, his gaze never wavering from Shane's. Despite the horror of his recent experience, he knew the importance of playing along, of not letting his guard down. It was a dance he had learned all too well in this new world, the art of concealing fear beneath a veneer of obedience.

 

Glenn's eyes narrowed as he studied Carl, trying to read the emotions beneath the bravado. It was clear the boy was still reeling, his body a testament to the trauma he had suffered. Yet, Carl's unwavering obedience to Shane was a puzzle that didn't quite fit. Why would he still obey a man who had so clearly betrayed his trust?

 

Rick, however, remained silent, his eyes focused on a spot over Carl's shoulder as if he couldn't bear to look at his son's mutilated face. It was a stark contrast to the fiery protection Carl had always known from his father, and it sent a chill down Glenn's spine. Was there something he wasn't seeing, something he wasn't being told?

 

Michonne was the first to break the tension, her eyes moving from Carl to Shane and then back again. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said firmly, scooping Judith out of the high chair. "And then we'll talk about what happened."

 

Glenn nodded, his eyes never leaving Shane's. "Rick, can I speak with you outside for a moment?" he requested, his tone low and urgent.

 

Rick's gaze snapped to Glenn, a flicker of concern crossing his features. "It's late," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We can talk in the morning, you and Shane should head home."

 

Shane's smile was brittle, his eyes darting from Carl to Glenn and then back again. "Of course," he said, his tone overly cheerful. "We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

 

The tension in the room was palpable as the two men stepped outside, the door closing with a soft click that seemed to echo in the stillness. Carl exhaled, the sound a gusty release of the fear and anger that had been building inside him. The house felt like a prison, the walls closing in with each shallow breath he took. He could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him, a suffocating pressure that made his head spin.

 

Michonne's hand was firm but gentle as she guided him up the stairs, her eyes never leaving his face. The candles cast flickering shadows on the walls, playing tricks with his newfound vision. Each step was a battle, his legs feeling like they might give out from under him at any moment.

 

The bathroom was a haven of porcelain and gleaming chrome, the scent of lemon cleaner a stark contrast to the stench of the infirmary. She led him to the sink, the water running warm and soothing over his hands as he tried to scrub away the grime of the day. The mirror was a reflection of the boy he used to be, a ghost of innocence that had been stolen from him in an instant.

 

The bandage around his head was a stark white against the candlelit glow, a stark reminder of the monster that had taken his eye. He avoided his own gaze, focusing instead on the steady stream of water that flowed over his knuckles. The warmth of the room was a balm to his soul, a cocoon of safety that felt so fragile and fleeting.

 

Michonne was a silent sentinel beside him, her presence a comfort without words. She handed him a clean cloth, her eyes never leaving his. "Do you want me to take a look?" she asked, her voice gentle.

 

Carl paused, the water still running over his hands. He didn't want to remove the bandage, didn't want anyone to see the raw wound that had been his eye. It was a symbol of his weakness, a constant reminder of the moment he had failed to protect himself. "I can do it," he mumbled, taking the cloth from her and turning away from the mirror.

 

Michonne's eyes searched his, the concern in them a stark contrast to the horror he knew was reflected in the glass. "Carl," she began, her voice gentle, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

 

"I said I can do it," he snapped, the anger in his voice surprising even himself. The words were a shield, a barrier to the pain that threatened to consume him. He didn't want their pity, didn't want their fear. He just wanted to be normal again, to be the kid who had never had to face the darkness that lurked in the hearts of men.

 

But he knew it was a lie. The world had changed, and so had he. He was no longer the child they had known, but a survivor, scarred and hardened by the battles he had faced. The mirror held a reflection he didn't recognize, a boy who had seen too much, felt too much, lost too much. He took a deep breath, the scent of lemon cleaner a bitter reminder of the sanitized world he had left behind.

 

"Michonne," Carl's voice was a harsh whisper, a plea wrapped in anger. "I need to be alone."

 

Michonne's gaze softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder, the warmth seeping through his shirt like a balm. "Okay," she said softly. "But I'm right outside if you need anything."

 

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Carl in the candlelit embrace of his thoughts. The flame danced in the mirror, a silent witness to his turmoil. He stared into the abyss of the bandaged socket, the anger bubbling up inside him like a volcano ready to erupt. It was a rage that had no target, no focus, a wild beast that threatened to consume him from within.

 

Shane's smug grin played through his mind on a never-ending loop, each time sending a fresh wave of revulsion crashing over him. He clenched his fists, the need to hurt someone, to make them feel the pain that he felt, almost overwhelming. Ron's betrayal stung like a fresh wound, a reminder that trust was a luxury they could no longer afford.

 

And then there was the anger at himself, the voice that whispered in the shadows that he should have seen it coming, that he should have been stronger. Carl's hand trembled as he reached up to touch the bandage, the fabric a barrier to the raw anger that pulsed beneath. The pain was a living entity, a constant reminder of his own powerlessness.

 

But he didn't want to look, so he didn't. He didn't want to see the emptiness that stared back at him, the void that had once been filled with a world of color and light. Instead, he focused on the sound of the water, the steady beat that was the heart of this place, a rhythm that soothed the storm within.

 

The candle on the counter flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls like ghosts of his past. Each flame was a memory, a flicker of happiness that was now forever tainted by the horror of his present. He didn't want to remember the way the world had been before the dead had risen, didn't want to think about the life he had lost.

 

Gripping the edge of the sink, Carl took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of lemon and candlewax. He didn't want to feel the fear that gnawed at his insides, didn't want to acknowledge the way his body trembled with each heartbeat. He just wanted to be normal again, to go back to a time when the biggest problem was whether or not he had done his homework.

 

With a final glance in the mirror, he turned away, the candlelight fading as he stepped out of the bathroom. The hallway was a tunnel of darkness, the flickering candles throwing eerie shadows that danced along the walls. His room was a sanctuary, a space that was still his own despite the chaos outside.

 

The door to his room was open a crack, the faint light of the candle casting a sliver of illumination across the floorboards. He pushed it open, the hinges creaking in protest. The room was a mess of clothes and books, a stark contrast to the orderly world he had known before the apocalypse. The bed was rumpled, the covers thrown back as if he had just woken from a nightmare.

 

He approached the bed slowly, his steps heavy with dread. The mattress dipped as he sat, the springs groaning under his weight. He stared at the wall, the shadows playing out a silent film of the events that had led him here. The darkness was a comfort, a shroud that allowed him to hide from the monster he knew was lurking just beneath the surface.

 

The candle on the nightstand cast a warm glow, the flame dancing in a silent conversation with the shadows. Carl reached for the book on the bedside table, a worn copy of "The Catcher in the Rye," a relic of a time when the biggest threat was the inevitable march of adulthood. His thumb traced the spine, the familiar feel of the pages grounding him in the present.

 

But as he opened the book, the words swam before his eyes, a jumble of letters that made no sense. The darkness of the room closed in, the silence a deafening roar. He knew he wouldn't be able to escape into the pages tonight, not with the echoes of Shane's touch still burned into his skin.

 

The house was quiet, the only sound the distant murmur of conversation from downstairs. Carl knew he should go down, face the reality of his new life, but the thought of seeing Shane again made his stomach twist. He lay back, the pillow soft under his head, the bandage a constant reminder of what he had endured. The candle's light cast shadows that danced on the ceiling, taunting him with the illusion of escape.

 

The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin, damp with the sweat of his fear and revulsion. He could feel the ghost of Shane's hand on his body, a phantom touch that made him shiver. The smell of the man, a mix of sweat and desperation, clung to him like a second skin, suffocating him. It was as if every part of him was tainted by the encounter, as if the very essence of Shane had seeped into his pores.

 

He wanted to scream, to tear at the fabric that clung to him, but he knew it wouldn't help. The stain was deeper than any dirt or grime, a stain on his soul that no amount of scrubbing could remove. The candle flickered, casting eerie shadows across the room, the flame a silent sentinel to his pain.

 

With trembling hands, Carl reached for the hem of his shirt, peeling it away from his body. The fabric was cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his fevered thoughts. He needed to wash away the feel of Shane, to rid himself of the man's touch. But the thought of facing the mirror, of seeing the monster that stared back at him, was too much.

 

He lay there for what felt like hours, the candle burning low, the wax pooling around the wick. The shadows grew longer, the flame dimming until it was nothing more than a flicker. The silence was a cocoon, wrapping him in a warm embrace that whispered of oblivion. It was tempting to just lay there, to let the darkness swallow him whole, but he knew he couldn't.

 

With a deep breath, Carl pushed himself off the bed, his legs wobbly beneath him. The floorboards creaked in protest, the sound a sharp reminder that he wasn't alone. He stumbled to the dresser, his hand shaking as he pulled out a fresh shirt. The fabric slid over his head, the softness of the material a balm to his bruised body. He felt cleaner, but the feeling was fleeting.

 

He couldn't shake the sensation that he was being watched, that Shane was just outside the door, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. The thought of facing him again made his skin crawl, the itch of his fear a living entity that demanded to be scratched. He knew he had to tell someone, but the words felt lodged in his throat, a boulder that no amount of effort could dislodge.

 

He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the photo of Lori, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. It was a stark reminder that he was the man of the house now, the one who was supposed to keep his sister safe. But he had failed, in the worst way possible. He had failed to protect her from the very person who had claimed to be her father.

 

The candle flickered, casting shadows across the floor that danced with his fear. He knew he had to act, had to find a way to tell the others before it was too late. But every time he opened his mouth, all that came out was a choking sound, a silent scream that echoed through the empty hallways of his mind.

 

With a trembling hand, Carl reached for the doorknob, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. He stepped into the hallway, the shadows wrapping around him like a shroud. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat a countdown to the moment of truth. He knew he couldn't hide forever, couldn't run from the monsters that lurked both outside and in.

 

The house was quiet, the candles casting a soft glow that was almost comforting. He took a deep breath, the scent of lemon cleaner and candlewax a strange comfort in the face of the horror that awaited him. He had to tell Rick, had to make him understand the danger they were all in.

 

As he approached his father's room, the door was ajar, the flicker of candlelight spilling into the hallway. Carl could hear the low murmur of his father's voice, the tension in the air thick as a fog. He paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob, his heart in his throat.

 

He took a deep breath, the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill forth and shatter the illusion of safety they had all been clinging to. But as he pushed the door open, the scene before him froze him in his tracks. Rick was there, his eyes bloodshot and haunted, his hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a bottle of whiskey. The room was a mess, the smell of stale alcohol heavy in the air.

 

Michonne was nowhere to be seen, and Carl's heart sank. He knew his father's temper when he was like this, knew the way his judgment could be clouded by the whiskey. The man on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants unbuckled, was a mirror of the one who had taken Carl's innocence. The fear that had been a constant companion grew, threatening to consume him whole.

 

Rick looked up, his gaze locking onto Carl's with a mix of anger and confusion. "What are you doing in here?" he slurred, his voice a harsh rasp that was a stark contrast to the gentle tone he had used just hours before. Carl took a step back, his hand dropping from the doorknob.

 

The room was spinning, the shadows twisting into monstrous shapes that whispered of his own failures. He knew he had to tell his father, had to make him understand that Shane was a danger to all of them, especially Judith. But the words remained lodged in his throat, a silent scream that no one could hear.

 

Rick's eyes narrowed, the whiskey bottle dangling loosely in his hand. Carl could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the same anger that had driven him to banish Shane from the group. But now, with the man standing before him, Carl's fear grew like a cancer, eating away at his resolve.

 

"Dad," Carl began, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's about Shane."

 

Rick's grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles turning white. "What about him?" he growled, the alcohol turning his voice into a snarl.

 

Carl took a deep breath, the words sticking in his throat like bile. "He...he did something to me," he forced out, his voice trembling. "When I was at his house."

 

Rick's expression changed, the anger morphing into confusion and horror. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, setting the bottle down with a thud.

 

But Carl's words remained lodged in his throat, the fear of his father's reaction more terrifying than the memory of Shane's touch. He took a step back, his hands shaking. "It's nothing," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "Forget it."

 

Rick surged to his feet, the bed groaning in protest. "What did he do to you, Carl?" he roared, his fists clenched at his sides. The room grew smaller, the shadows pressing in, their whispers growing louder

.

 

Carl flinched at the sound, the echoes of Shane's cruel laughter still ringing in his ears. He knew he couldn't tell his father, not now. Not like this. The violence that had once been a tool of protection was now a cage, a prison of his own making. He stumbled back, the walls closing in as the shadows grew teeth, their whispers becoming a cacophony of accusations.

 

Rick's eyes searched Carl's, the horror in them a mirror to his own. "What is it?" he whispered, his grip on Carl's shoulder tightening. "What did he do to you?"

 

The room spun, the candlelight a dizzying strobe that painted the walls in a sickly dance of light and dark. Carl's chest felt tight, the air thick and unyielding. He opened his mouth, but only a choked sound emerged, a desperate plea for understanding that was lost in the maelstrom of his fear.

 

Rick's face grew red with fury, the alcohol fueling a rage that Carl had never seen before. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a whip crack that sent Carl's heart racing. "I'll kill him. I'll rip him apart with my bare hands."

 

But Carl couldn't find the words, his throat closing around the truth like a noose. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls suffocating him as the candle's flame grew brighter, the heat a living entity that threatened to consume him. He tried to pull away, but his father's grip was like iron, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and rage.

 

The whispers grew louder, the shadows stretching out to grab him, their teeth sharp and eager. He stumbled back, knocking over a chair with a clatter that echoed through the house like a gunshot. "I can't," Carl managed to choke out, his voice a mere thread of sound.

 

Rick's eyes searched Carl's, the confusion morphing into something darker, something that sent a shiver down Carl's spine. He didn't understand, couldn't understand. The hand on Carl's shoulder tightened, the pain a stark reminder that he was trapped, that he couldn't escape the horror of his own making.

 

The air grew thick with the scent of whiskey and rage, the candles casting a frenzied light that danced across the walls like a maddened ballet. "Dad, please," Carl whispered, his eyes wide with fear. The words he had held in for so long felt like boulders, too heavy to lift, too painful to share.

 

Rick's hand tightened on Carl's shoulder, his eyes searching, desperate for an explanation that Carl couldn't provide. "What happened to you?" he bellowed, his voice a mix of fury and desperation. The room seemed to shrink, the shadows closing in, each flicker of the candle flame a silent accusation.

 

Carl's chest felt like it was caving in, his lungs fighting for air. The shadows grew teeth, the whispers grew louder, until it seemed like they were all he could hear. "I...I don't know," he stuttered, his voice barely above a murmur. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but the truth was a monster too terrifying to unleash.

 

Rick's grip grew more insistent, his face a mask of confusion and anger. "Tell me, Carl," he begged, his voice a tremble that mirrored the quaking of Carl's soul. "You can tell me anything." But the words remained trapped, a scream in his chest that could never be heard.

 

The room tilted, the candlelight spinning into a nauseating kaleidoscope. Carl felt the panic rising, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. He had to get away, had to escape before the walls closed in on him completely. He stumbled back, his knees giving out, and the shadows lunged.

 

The floor was cold against his skin, the hardwood a stark contrast to the warmth of the candles. The whispers grew to a crescendo, the darkness pressing down until it was all he could see. "I can't," Carl managed to choke out, his voice barely a whisper.

 

The room fell silent, the candles flickering in a macabre waltz. Rick stared at him, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and incomprehension. For a moment, Carl thought he saw the flicker of understanding, the realization of what had been done to his son.

 

Buy Rick didn't understand what Carl was trying to tell him, his mind racing with a thousand different scenarios. The whiskey clouded his judgment, his frustration growing with each passing second. He grabbed Carl's shoulders, shaking him slightly, desperation lacing his voice. "Tell me!" he roared, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and anger. The shadows danced on the walls, the candle flames casting eerie patterns that mirrored the chaos in Carl's mind.

 

Carl's breath came in ragged gasps, the pressure on his shoulders like a vice that threatened to crush the last vestiges of his resolve. The whispers grew louder, the shadows stretching out to grab him, their teeth sharp and hungry. "Please," he choked out, his eyes pleading with his father. "I can't."

 

Rick's grip tightened, his knuckles white as he leaned in, his face a mere inch from Carl's. The scent of whiskey on his breath was a noxious cloud that made Carl's head spin. "What did he do to you?" he demanded, his voice a harsh growl. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing against him, the air thick with the weight of unspoken secrets.

 

Panic bubbled up in Carl's chest, the pressure unbearable. He couldn't find the words, couldn't make his father see the truth. The shadows grew teeth, the whispers a cacophony of terror that drowned out his thoughts. He felt like he was suffocating, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His eyes filled with tears, the room a blur as he tried to pull away.

 

"Dad, please," Carl managed to croak, his voice barely audible. "I don't...I can't."

 

Rick's eyes searched Carl's, the anger giving way to something else—concern, fear, a desperate need to understand. His grip loosened slightly, his breathing heavy, the smell of alcohol a noxious cloud that hung in the air between them. "What did he do to you, Carl?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.

 

The whispers grew louder, the shadows reaching out to consume him. Carl's body trembled, his heart racing as he tried to form the words, the truth that was trapped like a caged animal in the depths of his soul. But all that came out was a choked sob, the pain of his past mixing with the fear of his present. "Please," he begged, his voice a broken whisper. "Don't."

 

Rick's hand shot out, his grip like a vice on Carl's shoulder. "What did he do?" he shouted, the whiskey-laden breath hot on his son's face. "Tell me, Carl!" The room spun, the candles' flames a dizzying dance of light and shadow that seemed to mock the horror that had invaded their sanctuary.

 

Carl's vision blurred with tears, his mind racing as he struggled to find a way to explain without shattering the fragile bond between them. "Dad, no," he managed, his voice a desperate plea. "It's not like that."

 

But Rick was beyond reason, his eyes wild with a rage that was as terrifying as any walker they had faced. "What did he do?" he roared, shaking Carl with each word. The shadows grew teeth, the whispers a cacophony of Shane's taunts and the sounds of his own pain.

 

The pressure on Carl's chest was unbearable, the air thick with the stench of alcohol and the weight of his father's anger. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The words were stuck in his throat, a boulder too heavy to dislodge. "Dad," he choked out, "I can't...please..."

 

Rick's face was a mask of fury, his grip tightening until Carl thought his shoulder would snap. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a thunderclap in the small room. The whispers grew to a scream, the shadows closing in.

 

With a desperate surge of strength, Carl pushed his father away, the fear in his eyes mirroring the terror that had consumed him in Shane's embrace. "I said I can't!" he screamed, his voice cracking with the strain. The room stilled, the candles' flames frozen in place, the whispers silenced.

 

Rick stumbled back, the rage draining from his face, leaving behind a look of shock and confusion.

 

Carl stood there, trembling, his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes wide with fear. The shadows of the room seemed to shrink away from the raw emotion on display. For a moment, there was only the sound of their harsh breathing, the candle's flicker the only movement in the stillness.

 

Rick's hand hovered in the space between them, unsure of what to do, what to say. The anger had been a shield, a way to protect his son from what he had assumed was a simple misunderstanding. But the look on Carl's face, the tremble in his voice, told a different story. It was a story that Rick didn't want to believe, didn't want to hear.

 

The whispers grew softer, retreating into the corners of the room, as if even they were afraid of what was happening. Carl's eyes searched his father's, looking for something, anything that would tell him it was okay, that he wouldn't hate him, that he would understand. But all he saw was confusion, a mix of anger and fear that made him feel even more alone.

 

Rick's hand hovered in the air, trembling with the force of his emotions. He had never seen Carl look like this, not even when they had faced down hordes of walkers or when Lori had died. It was a look that spoke of deep, soul-wrenching pain, the kind that no child should ever have to experience. The room felt like it was closing in around them, the shadows retreating to leave them in the stark, unforgiving light of truth.

 

Slowly, as if moving through a nightmare, Rick reached out and pulled Carl into a tight embrace. The shaking grew worse for a moment, as if the dam holding back Carl's fear and pain was about to break. But then, slowly, it began to ease, the tremors in Carl's body subsiding as he clung to his father, his one source of comfort in this hellish world.

 

The candles continued to flicker, casting their eerie light over the two figures, father and son, bound by a love that had been tested by fire and survived. The whispers grew faint, retreating into the shadows, knowing they had no place here. Rick's grip tightened around Carl, his own eyes filling with tears as he whispered soothing nothings into his son's hair, promising to keep him safe, to never let anyone hurt him again.

 

In that moment, the weight of Carl's secret lifted slightly, the burden shared between them. But the fear remained, a dark stain on the fabric of their relationship that could never truly be erased. Carl knew that he had to tell his father the truth, had to make him understand what Shane had done. But the words remained stuck, a boulder in his throat that threatened to suffocate him.

 

"Dad," Carl began, his voice shaking, "Shane...he said that if I didn't do what he wants, he'd hurt Judith." The admission was like a punch to the gut, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "He keeps threatening her, and it's all I can think about."

 

Rick's arms tightened around him, the rage in his eyes burning like a furnace. "What does he want, Carl?" he whispered, his voice barely a hiss. "What has he done to make you feel this way?"

 

Carl took a shuddering breath, the words tumbling out in a rush. "He...he said he'd hurt her if I didn't...if I didn't let him...do things," he whispered, his voice a barely audible tremor. He could feel the warmth of his father's embrace, but it couldn't chase away the cold that had settled into his bones. "I don't want to, Dad, but I'm scared."

 

The silence was deafening, the candle flames seeming to pulse with the weight of Carl's confession. Rick's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, his eyes searching Carl's face as if trying to find the lie in his son's pain. But the truth was written there, stark and unmistakable. "What things, Carl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, the fear and anger coalescing into something primal.

 

Carl's voice was a mere thread as he spoke, his eyes squeezed shut. "Gross things," he murmured, his cheeks flushing with shame. The shadows grew longer, the whispers more insistent, as if urging him to speak louder, to let the truth echo through the house.

 

Rick's grip on him was the only thing keeping him upright, the only thing keeping the shadows at bay. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, the reality of his son's words too much to process. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I never knew."

 

The room grew hot, the flames of the candles seeming to reach out to him, a silent promise of vengeance. "You have to tell me," Rick whispered, his voice a tremor of pain. "What happened, Carl?"

 

But Carl couldn't, the memories too raw, too vivid. The whispers grew louder, the shadows more demanding, their teeth sharper than any blade. "Please, Dad," he begged, his voice a shaky plea. "I can't."

 

The room stilled, the air thick with unspoken terror. Rick's eyes searched Carl's, the depths of his son's pain reflected in the flickering candlelight. He knew that Shane had crossed a line, a line that could never be uncrossed. The man who had once been his friend, his ally, had become a monster.

 

With trembling hands, he smoothed Carl's hair back from his forehead, his own heart racing with a mix of fear and fury. "Rest now, son," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "We'll deal with this in the morning. I promise you, we'll make it right."

 

The whispers grew faint, retreating into the corners of the room as Rick's voice filled the space with a promise of protection. Carl nodded, his eyes still wide with terror, but a glimmer of hope flickering to life in the depths of his soul. He walked back to his room, the plushie in hand, the comforting weight of the gun in his pocket. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he had to pretend. For Judith, for his father, for everyone who had been fooled by Shane's charm.

 

As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the whispers grew distant, the shadows retreating to the corners of the room. The house was quiet, the only sounds the occasional snore from Shane's room and the soft sigh of the wind outside. He clutched the bunny tightly, the fabric worn and comforting. The candles cast a warm glow on the wall, the flickering shadows no longer menacing but a gentle dance that lulled him into a state of uneasy rest.

 

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as he waited for the first light of dawn. His mind raced with thoughts of how to expose Shane, how to keep Judith safe, and how to survive in a world where the monsters didn't always have to be dead to be dangerous. But as the first light of the new day began to seep through the crack under the door, Carl felt a sense of resolve growing within him.

 

He knew he couldn't hide his secret anymore. The whispers had grown too loud, the shadows too real. He had to tell someone, had to get help. And as the sun began to rise, casting a warm glow over the bedroom, Carl made a decision. He would tell Rick everything. They would face this together, as a family, and they would make sure that Shane could never hurt anyone again. The room grew brighter, the shadows retreating before the promise of a new day, a day where Carl could finally be free of the fear that had consumed him for so long. He took a deep breath, the scent of the plushie mixing with the sweet aroma of a fresh start, and closed his eyes, ready to face whatever came next.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 18 of the walking dead