↳ it's who we are now...
oc x carl grimes
season 4-7
TW: Mentions of death, gory depictions, suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, language, smoking, violence, depression, and other mature topics.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own or claim to own any of The Walk...
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The blistering sun beat down on everyone's heads as the cars were gradually loaded up, something that took great effort from everyone as they attempted to get themselves as organized as possible. Even though each person there worked diligently to pack up their supplies, not bothering to waste even a second doing anything else, a sort of gloom still managed to hang over their heads, beckoning for them to feel as if they were a misty, gray haze themselves. Cole tried to usher his children along, making sure they were packing their things so they'd soon be prepared to leave without managing to push them to their breaking points.
They just lost their mother. The last thing they needed was to feel rushed along from a place they had stayed at so long that it had become a makeshift home.
Emilia had tried to help. She had tried to help all morning when her father declared that they would be taking the tent down and packing it into the back of their car where it would remain until further use. As he had been speaking to her, however, Emmie had been preoccupied with his features of sadness and despair, even though he was doing his very best not to let those things be made clear to the world. Emmie, herself, seemed numb to the pain she had just endured from the night before. Her eyes were still a dark red against her pale skin that made her feel hollowed out like a ghost, but no more tears were flooding from them. It was as if they were all dried up. That almost worried Cole more, if he had to admit it.
After their blankets and clothes were shoved haphazardly into an assortment of bags, Emilia helped her father load them into the family car. The thing was, it wasn't much of a family car anymore since the whole family wouldn't be riding in it. Cole thought as much as he took one of the last bags, Hilary's duffle bag with floral embroidery that held all of her clothes and processions, into the trunk. The rest of the bags were bulging, unable to stay zipped closed in some cases since nothing had been neatly packed like it had been when they first were forced to depart from their home. Cole figured it wasn't just because of the terms of chaos they were leaving in, but also because Hilary had helped pack most of their belongings the first time where she happened to make everything fit perfectly in each bag.
Milo sat on a log close to where the cars had circled up. He was too little to help, even if he wanted to. Even so, Cole didn't take his eyes off of his son the entire time he worked. For once, Milo made that task easy by staying put, something he typically wasn't very skilled at. In his arms, he cradled his teddy bear, stroking its soft, fuzzy ears with his fingertips. To Cole, it was odd to see him grieve because he was too little to know the degree of what had happened last night, but also old enough to feel the fear pulsing through everyone's bodies and watch the life leave his own mother's.
