Chapter Text
Old blood crackles, falling to the floor like dust, giving way to the pale skin beneath, purple with cold. Carl’s body thrums dully with pain, the hard concrete floor beneath him numbing the left side of his body. He can’t open his eyes. Well, he can. It’s only that when he does, Carl will be met with the sight of unfamiliar men, not his mother, or his father, no T-Dog, no Hershel, he hopes no Beth or Maggie, for their sake.
Carl knows that the small group of men, who’d invaded their temporary camp, holding guns to their heads and leering at the women, shouting and pointing as they claimed one each—he’d been pointed at too—had only bad intentions. Carl’s not sure what happened after his Father had shot one man in the shoulder and Daryl had bludgeoned another. The big balding man, that’d claimed and grabbed the young boy, had smashed his face violently into a wall—blooming pain, then nothing.
There’s a warmth under his head, a thin, bare thigh, even in the desolate winter. It’s a woman’s, her soft humming wills Carl to believe everything is alright, that he’ll wake to be laying in his mother’s lap—but Carl’s not a baby anymore, he’s smarter than that. Still, he raises a bruised hand and places it gingerly on the woman’s knee.
The humming stops, so do the fingers trailing mesmerising patterns into his hair, for a second Carl thinks that he’s made a fatal mistake, one movement ending his life with a bullet between the eyes.
“You can open your eyes sweetheart, they aren’t here right now,” Her voice is soft, a gentle whisper, but there’s an underlying rasp.
Carl opens his eyes to a squint, dried blood matted into his eyelashes, early morning light streaming through the crusted garage windows. He’s in a mechanic’s shop of sorts, two cars parked against a wall and one left suspended in the air.
Her hands go back to combing through Carl’s hair, they sit in silence for a moment, both wary, unsure. “Do-“ She huffs, unsure, “Are your parents still-, Do you have a group, people?”
Her voice has dropped in volume, barely a whisper. He can feel her upper body move with the back of his head against her stomach, she’s flitting back and forth, watching each corner of the room.
“Yes,” Carl surprises himself with the certainty in his voice, “Yes, I do. They’ll come after me.” —Because they have to right?
He looks up, the muscles in his neck sore and uncomfortable, and is met with soft blue eyes staring down at him. Her soft pink lips are pursed into a smile, it doesn’t meet her eyes.
The woman’s skin is nearing the white of the early winter snow outside, only with a soft undertone of pink. Her nose and the tips of her ears are a harsh red. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, deep purple bags sunken underneath her eyes, giving her a gaunt, dead look.
Carl thinks she’s pretty, if she warmed up and had a shower, if the yellow and purple bruise blooming on her cheek healed, she might resemble Andrea, only with hair so light her eyebrows seem to disappear into her skin. Her knotted hair is in a ponytail with two uneven strands spilling forward to almost tickle Carl’s cheek.
“What’s your name?” She asks timidly, as if she might have reason to be scared of him.
“Carl.” He answers sharply. He has to be smart about this, about what he gives away, he has to act like his dad might. Daryl would be good at this.
“I’m Mandy.” Her smile widens slightly, seeming a bit more real.
Mandy leans to the side and lets out a small groan of pain as she grabs a bag with the tips of her fingers, dragging it towards them. She digs through it, producing a bottle of water and two packets of cheese and crackers, taking only one.
Settling against the wall, Mandy unscrews the cap, raising the bottle to Carl’s lip, feeling his apprehension she stops. “It’s safe, I promise, I saw one of the guys drink from it. I swear.”
There’s no reason not to trust her, and the sudden thirst that’s clawing it’s way from the core of Carl’s body up his throat is overwhelming, so he takes a small sip, then another, and then he’s gulping down the bottle. He’s so thirsty, in a way he’s never felt, not even before the farm. Carl chases the bottle with his lips as Mandy pulls away, “I’m sorry,” He meets her eyes once more, “If they notice-“ Her eyes flick up and zero in on the garage door.
Placing the bottle back in the ratty backpack, she shoves it back to where it was, instead opening the pack of cheese and crackers. Mandy hands it to Carl, maybe he should offer her some but he’s been so hungry since the farm was swarmed that he eats it all, not even making an effort to actually place the cheese on the crackers.
She smooths down his bangs, shushing softly. “Poor baby,” Mandy says in a sultry voice that seems nearly teasing, like he’s weak—which he’s not by the way. Carl knows how to use a gun, how to scavenge, how to kill a walker, he’s pretty gosh darn strong. Maybe it’s not so bad though, just letting this lady feed and care for him, just for a moment, because when his Dad arrives he’ll be saving her.
Carl’s still not really sure what’s going on though, where he is, who those men are, what this Mandy lady is doing here, why she hasn’t run, they aren’t here right now, she said. “Do you have a group, people?” Carl parrots, if Mandy knows about him he deserves to know about her.
“Just my two daughters. One is about your age, Tilly,” Mandy reminisces, “And Maria, she’s only a few months, born right before everything went to shit,” Her voice is more worried unsure.
“We have a little camp deep into the woods, they were- are I hope, there when I went out hunting. Those men found me before I found any game.” The words spill out from between her lips like she can’t stop them, a waterfall filled with all her worries, “Tilly is good, she’ll keep her sister safe, protect her until I find them, I will.”
Mandy’s fingers thread into Carl’s greasy hair, scratching her nails too roughly into his scalp. “I- My Mom, she’s pregnant, I hope she’s okay.” Her movements stop and then Mandy resumes the soft petting of his forehead. Carl hears the exhale of air as she begins to speak, but she’s interrupted with the crunch of feet on gravel.
Mandy places a single finger on his lips be quiet. “Don’t open your eyes, or move, light breaths.”
There’s a deep grunt and then Carl listens as the garage door is liften with a metallic shriek.
Heavy footsteps stroll towards them and then stop, a rustle of fabric as the man kneels in front of them.
“Good girl, you didn’t run,” Carl feels Mandy’s stomach muscles tense behind his head. “Dan’s boy awake yet?”
“Fucks’it look like? he’s practically dead.” She snaps back. Silence and then the thump of a fist colliding with her face.
“Stupid bitch! I asked a fuckin’ question, not for no sass!” Mandy doubles over herself, gasping a few breaths before sitting back up.
Carl’s fingers twitch and he trails them unnoticeably slow over to his hip, creeping up to his holster, but the heavy weight and cold metal of is gun is missing, so Carl slips back to complete stillness.
“Don’t bother us.” The man orders and then Mandy’s thigh is pulled from beneath his head—Carl doesn’t flinch though, he just lets his face hit concrete.
Carl hears Mandy stumble over him and then the drag of feet as she’s pulled away. “She don’ even fight no more, you know thats how I picked the right lady.” He laughs to his friends, Carl’s not sure how many more.
“Cmon Joe share ‘er”
“Ya’ can’t keep a bitch like that all to ya’ self man. Just cause Dan’s happy diddling little boys don’ mean we are.”
“Fuck off, I aint touched a hair on his head. ‘ts weird when they’re still and cold like a dead body, I like the fight.”
They’re talking about him right? The ‘little boy’. This Dan guys going to beat him real good when he wakes up, Probably some asshole that can’t fight guys his own age so he picks on kids.
Carl fights to stay still, he should be a man, save Mandy, get back to his family, kill these guys, because they’re assholes, yea, they’re fucking assholes. He can’t, because he’s got no gun and the moment he moves he’s going to be shot or hurt real bad.
Then the pleading from the next room over starts, Mandy’s voice shrill, “Please, please, please,” She begs, he can hear the way her throat is clogged with tears. Theres the sound of a belt buckle, “I’m sorry, I didn’t do nothing, please don’t”. There’s a slap of skin on skin—he must be beating her bad, but Carl can’t do anything. He can’t save her, he’s all alone, Carl can’t even plug his ears and drown out the sound.
It goes on like that for a few minutes before the man, Joe, groans. The other men talk idly about irrelevant things, Carl only focuses on the thump of boots as Mandy is dragged back to him.
Gentle bony fingers graze his face and Carl is scooped back into her arms. “Good,” She whispers, “Keep doing that.”