Sage ? Carl Grimes

34 ? afraid

And when the nameless boy didn't follow such seethed instructions, Carl came over to him, grabbing barrel of his gun and malfunctioning his aim. The boy pulled the trigger out of instinct, but luckily, Carl had managed his gun off towards the gates, so the bullet didn't hit anyone or anything but dead air.

Carl snatched the gun from his hands, clenching his fists and throwing a full punch towards the boy's chin and jawline.

This sent the vulnerable boy straight to the ground, falling on his ass. He grabbed his jaw in pain, looking up at my boyfriend with much loathing layering his dulled eyes.

The boy grabbed his legs when he was in a vulnerable moment, causing Carl to slip on the rainy, slippery courtyard and fall flat on his back. The boy attempted to reach for his gun, that had got sent to the ground, but I put a stop to their horseplay right away.

The gun I so foolishly had lowered to my side, had now risen, and straight for the blonde boy's head. I witnessed as the boy's dull eyes widened in horror to feel the cool metal of my gun against his temple, my finger going around the trigger. And although I held no intention on pulling it and killing the young man, I kept my grip steady on it; to tame, to threat, to control.

"Hand me your gun," I said. My voice was flat and unamused, but gentleness strung along it.

Carl, who had been dragged to the ground by this stranger, staggered to his feet, retrieving his gun again and holding it up to his head as well. We both as a couple threatened this young man with our bullets, and the horror that flickered across his features confirmed to me that he did not belong in the world we lived in.

He finally did as he was told, handing me his gun in a restless defeat. I snatched it from his hands and tucked it into my belt, keeping the gun pressed against his head.

"How many walkers have you killed?" I asked.

Carl gave me a slight nod from behind the boy's back. These were his questions, passed through the family that I was ever so slowly beginning to meet.

"N-None," the boy stammered.

I looked up at my boyfriend, who was already glaring my way. We both exchanged a disapproving look. How in the hell was this young, weak boy to survive all this time, without a single walker kill?

"How many people have you killed?"

"None."

"Why?" Carl barked.

The boy laughed, cold in our faces. As afraid as he was of us, he figured he had nothing more to lose than this. "Why haven't I killed anyone? I'm sorry, I forgot that was such a fucking crime—"

"Shut up," Carl dismissed him, not wanting to hear bullshit. He held the gun up to the boy's head again, not afraid to pull the trigger.

"You asked me a question, asshole."

He tried so hard to sound tough and worthy, but the tears pooling from his eyes said otherwise. Carl looked sick of this boy, on the verge of sending a bullet between his eyes.

"What happened to your leg?" I asked next.

The nameless boy glanced down at his wounded leg, that he was already gripping in pain. "I-I just got scratched by one of them. Twenty minutes ago, maybe. I was hiding out in an alley, but that herd had chased me all the way here. I don't know how to kill them, so I just ran, and here I am."