TWD: Awakened As Rick

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Sometimes Carl dreamed of a world that didn't have walls.

A world where he could ride his bike past the school, pick up a snack from the corner store, and walk home without a gun on his hip. No walkers. No patrols. No curfews.

He used to live in that world. He remembered flashes of it—Saturday cartoons, pancakes in the morning, his dad in a sheriff's uniform telling him bedtime stories with a tired but kind smile.

That world was gone.

Now, Carl lived in The Right Arm—a place his father had built, one wall, one order, one sacrifice at a time.

And Carl?

He was trying to find his place in it.

The sun rose just past the southern watchtower when Carl slipped out of the barracks. His boots crunched lightly on the gravel as he made his way toward the range. The guards nodded at him—people didn't treat him like a kid here. Not anymore.

He had a schedule: training in the morning, scavenging prep in the afternoon, and then patrol rotation twice a week. His dad said structure was important. "Keeps your mind sharp," Rick told him. "Sharp minds stay alive."

Carl didn't argue. But sometimes he wondered… What's the point of being sharp if you never get to be soft?

He arrived at the range, drew his revolver—his dad had finally let him keep one full-time—and took aim at the dummy targets.

One by one, he squeezed the trigger.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

All headshots.

Guillermo, who was running drills nearby, gave him a look of approval. "You're better than half the recruits already."

Carl didn't smile. He just reloaded.

Later that day, he joined Sophia, Amy, and Glenn to check over the growing garden behind the cabins. The adults wanted to teach the younger group practical skills—farming, sewing, tool repair. Carl understood it was important.

But it wasn't what he wanted to do.

He wasn't planting vegetables because he loved carrots.

He was planting because, one day, someone might need him to teach them how to survive.

And that idea… that responsibility… it clung to him like shadow.

During lunch, Carl sat beside his dad near the fire. Rick didn't say much. He was reading through reports from the scouting teams and occasionally nodded to Shane or Morgan, who passed by with their own updates.

Carl watched him. Always working. Always thinking.

His dad had changed. A lot.

The Rick Grimes Carl remembered used to laugh more. Used to carry him on his shoulders after work. Now, he carried a pistol on his hip and the weight of 200 people on his back.

Sometimes Carl didn't know whether to admire him—or be afraid of him.

"You finish your drills?" Rick asked without looking up.

"Yeah," Carl said. "Three for three."

Rick finally looked at him, eyes sharp. "Good. Keep working on your reload time. You need to be faster in the field."

Carl nodded. "When can I go on a real mission?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "You're already doing real work."

"No, I mean a patrol. Outside the walls. I'm ready."

Rick stared at him for a moment, then returned to his reports. "We'll talk about it. When I think you're ready."

Carl clenched his fists under the table.

When you think I'm ready.

It was always his call.

Carl got up and left without another word.

That evening, he climbed the scaffolding above the smokehouse to sit and watch the sunset. Sophia eventually joined him, carrying two pieces of jerky. She handed him one without asking and sat beside him with a sigh.

"You mad at your dad again?" she asked.

"I'm not mad," Carl muttered. "He just… never sees me for what I am."

Sophia chewed her jerky and stared out across the horizon.

"He sees everything," she said. "That's the problem. He sees how bad it can get."

Carl was quiet.

He didn't want to argue. Not with Sophia. She was one of the few people who treated him like a person, not a soldier-in-training or Rick's kid.

"I just want to help," he said after a while. "I can help. But he keeps holding me back like I'm gonna break."

"You ever think maybe he's scared?" she asked. "Scared he'll lose you like he almost did."

Carl didn't answer. He remembered that day clearly. 

But fear didn't change reality.

People died. Every day. And if Carl couldn't fight with the others—real fights—then how was he supposed to protect the people he cared about?

That night, he sat by the fire alone, watching the flames crackle. The smell of smoke clung to his jacket. In the distance, he heard Daryl joking with Glenn, Merle cursing about a busted generator, and Carol telling Amy to get some sleep.

Carl looked at them.

They were family now. Not perfect—but real.

He couldn't let them down.

He wouldn't.

His dad walked by on his way to the command tent and paused when he saw him.

"You okay?" Rick asked.

Carl nodded. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

Carl hesitated. Then looked his dad straight in the eye.

"I want to be more than someone you protect, Dad. I want to be someone you can count on."

Rick didn't reply right away. He crouched beside Carl and looked into the fire with him.

"You remind me of me," Rick said. "But this world doesn't care if you're brave. It only cares if you're prepared."

"I am prepared," Carl said.

Rick looked at him again, this time not as a child, but as something else.

"Then show me," he said. "Next week, we've got a supply run going to Riverbend. You'll go with Daryl and Shane. As a spotter. Under their command."

Carl's heart raced, but he kept his face still.

"I won't let you down."

Rick nodded. "I know."

And just like that, the fire between them wasn't just survival anymore.

It was trust.

That night, as Carl lay on his bunk, he stared at the ceiling and whispered a quiet promise to himself.

One day, I'll lead like him.

One day, I'll protect like him.

But I'll do it my way.

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If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for early access, exclusive chapters, and more:

10+ Chapters

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