Carl Grimes Oneshots

Our final Meal

|⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️|
|⚠️SUICIDE⚠️|
|read at your own discretion.|

Female Y/N, she/her pronouns will be used.

|Carls POV|

We gave a lot of thought to this choice, it wasn't an easy one, but it had to be made. After the collapse of Alexandria, being separated from our group, and suffering bites that couldn't be fixed, we'd came to our conclusion.

Even in our weakness, our delirium, we kept each other close as we sought refuge in an abandon house near a river. With the doors and windows boarded, writing on the front stating "THE DEAD WITHIN, LEAVE OR END UP AS WE DID
-Carl and Y/N" and moving everything around inside to make ourselves comfortable, we used the canned food inside to make our final meal together.

I stood over an old propane camping stove and pushed beans around a pot, listening to Y/N hum Claire De Lune quietly beside me as she cut up canned potatoes. Her skin had started to become pale and beads of sweat rolled down her neck and forehead. Her eyes were beginning to skink in and her veins were becoming more and more pronounced. Her hands were weak as she pushed the knife down through the potatoes, shaking and struggling with every one.

I'd begun to follow suit, we both knew we only had a few more hours left, we wanted to spend it as best we could. A simple candlelit dinner of boiled potatoes, baked beans, and canned ravioli, as well as an old, unopened bottle of red wine.

After having enough of watching her struggle I turned off the camping stove, took the knife from her and began cutting the potatoes myself. I'd been bitten a little after her so my strength wasn't as depleted as hers. She didn't argue, only stepped back to let me have the space, wrapping her arms around my chest. She snuggled into my back as each click of the knife on the cutting board filled the silence of the kitchen.

I didn't need to ask her to know what she was thinking, she'd always been grateful for my help, even when she didn't need it. Her thank you to me was the hug, cuddling into me and the sleeves of my flannel she was wearing fell over her hands.

I placed the potatoes into a separate pot of water and turned the camping stove back on. After placing a lid on the pot I turned around and lent down, wrapping my arms around Y/N's waist. I nuzzled into her neck and held her, letting time flow past us in our depressing state.

A little later, after the potatoes had been boiled, and the ravioli was heated up, we placed everything on the small kitchen table and made ourselves comfortable.

We ate our meal with quiet banter, sips of the awful wine and the avoidance of acknowledgment of the two loaded pistols on the chair between us. She never looked at them, only at me, her plate, and her glass, and I knew why.

Y/N never wanted to die. She'd told me once that it was the only thing she was truly afraid of. Not the walkers, not murderers, not guns or heights, death.

The moments leading up to it were what she feared most of all. She'd always said that she never wanted to know that she was going to die, she wanted it to happen without her knowledge, that way she'd never be afraid.

By time we'd finished our food and glasses of wine, her strength was nearly entirely gone, even holding a fork was becoming harder and harder for her, myself as well. So, I cleaned everything for us, giving her a kiss on the forehead each time I walk past her.

Once I finished, I picked her up and brought her onto my lap, sitting in my chair at the table, stroking her hair and holding her tight. She cried then, into my chest, heavy defeated sobs and begs for life. I cried with her, I wanted to be strong for her but that wasn't an option. We both needed to grieve our deaths, we didn't want someone to sit silently and tell us everything was alright. We needed our pain, our sadness together, knowing that we'd loved each other in the time we'd shared.

When she'd fallen silent and began playing with my hair, twirling it between her fingers, I knew she was ready.

"Now, my love?" She asked as I sighed.

"Yes, otherwise we won't be able to hold the guns." I replied quietly.

She hummed a response and I lent forward, grabbing both pistols and handing one to her. She looked it over, observing the metal barrel and wooden handle.

She looked up at me, her eyes blood shoot and wet from crying. I pushed a small piece of hair behind her ear and smiled reassuringly, she smiled back sadly.

"I'm ready." She lied, neither of us were ready, that I knew.

I turned off the safety of my pistol and she did the same, sighing again. As I lifted my pistol and held the barrel facing my head, she watched, her sadness growing more in her eyes. She copied me without moving her gaze from me, a tear falling from her eye.

I pulled her closer to me, placing my forehead to hers in a tight embrace.

"I love you Carl." She said with a trembling voice.

"I love you Y/N." my own voice shook and forced itself from my throat.

We'd decide we would count down from three when the time came, so I took a deep breathe and kissed her sweetly one last time.

"3"

"2"

"1"

‼️BANG‼️

A/N: my heart hurts for this one. I'm about a to revoke my writing privileges rn for this.
toodles. 😚
-cassy