"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

sixteen, balconies and tattoos

CARL GRIMES HAD WRAPPED an arm around her own, with Carol on the other side of her - the two of them guiding her to the infirmary step by step. She wasn't majorly injured, but her ears were caked in blood and ringing like hell. It was so strange, but so good, to feel his hands, his arms, his breath near her face. It reminded her that he was real, that this was all real, and that was something she just couldn't believe.

"Easy," he was saying to her, as they moved slowly up the path, passing white house after picket fence.

"Carl, I looked for you," she was saying, "I dreamed of you," she took a breath, "all the time."

"I know, I know. Me too, I promise. We just need to get you safe, and looked after, okay? I think you have a concussion." He said so casually as if she hadn't broken him into a million little pieces when she left.

"Okay," she swallowed.

"Everything's okay now," he leaned down to press his somber lips to her forehead, "you're with me now."

Placing a hand on her hip, he lifted her body upwards, helping her up the steps to the front door. This was when Carol let go, and Carl stopped, turning to look at the girl's mother.

"What are you doing?"

"You've got it, Carl. I'll be back in a half hour," she said, smiling slightly at him. He didn't quite have the time to protest, as Jane was extremely fatigued, and was ready to collapse from under him at any moment. That was when Rick had jogged up to them, and substituted Carol's arm for his own.

"Rick.." she said slowly, looking at the man faithfully.

"Yeah, kid, it's me. We're all here now."

When the three of them came crashing through the door, Daryl now trailing behind them - Denise looked shocked as ever. She'd never seen the girl before, and she'd made her entrance bloodied and bruised.

"Oh shit," the woman said, anxious already.

"Not the time Denise," Rick scolded, and at his words she nodded and guided them through to a room with a bed. The boys wasted no hesitation in placing her down on it, and tucking her in so that she was warm enough.

"All right, everyone out the room," Denise ordered.

"But-" Carl started to protest, eager to spend every minute by her side, but was cut off by the doctor.

"Do you want me to help her or not? I need you three out. You can wait outside the door, I won't be long."

"Alright." He says in defeat, taking one last look at her before slumping against the wall behind the door frame, putting his head in his hands and groaning. He hears the gut wrenching ring of the door clicking shut, and all he can think about is her on the other side. How lucky he is, that only a wall separates them now. A wall. Not a nation, not a country, not even death. Some wood panels and some paint. Lucky.

"She'll be alright, Carl," his dad said, sitting down beside him, putting a hand on his son's shoulder.

"How do you know, dad? A million things could've happened to her." He sighs, throwing a stressed hand through his hair as he places his hat down on the floor with the other: he's all tense, in his face, his legs, his chest. He's locked up, truly anxious, and Rick knows.