The Walking Dead Imagines and One Shots

Hershel Greene- Carl (c)

Blood soaked you up to your elbows, red splatters across your once white shirt and likely splattered up onto your face. You were pretty sure that you weren't going to be able to get the blood out of everything and the images of the poor boy being operated on would be engrained in your mind forever.

You weren't a medical professional, you had only ever helped out your dad with minor medical things around the farm, but you'd never needed to do anything on a human, nor anything that intensive. The boy was only young and had a terrible gun shot wound in his abdomen. It didn't look good when his father carried him up to the farmhouse, none of you knew what you could do for him but the tears in his father's eyes and the pleading of Otis meant that you needed to try. Maggie left to find the boy's mother whilst Otis took one of the men to find supplies, leaving Patricia and Beth to take care of the father and you and your father to work on the boy.

Luckily the man returned in time (granted without Otis) to safe the boy's life and after the surgery it looked promising but only time could tell.

"Lord I hope that boy lives," you whispered, removing your gloves before scrubbing your hands under the tap, hoping to get the blood off of your arms.

"It's in God's hands now," you father stated, throwing out the tings that were used that the two of you weren't going to be able to clean or salvage for use again.

"There's enough damage in this world with the sickness spreading. Carl is only a boy, he cannot lose to an accident that may have been solved simply if a hospital was still running," you frowned.

Your father, Hershel, turned to you, giving you a stern look. "We have done what we can, for now we can only keep an eye on him and take care of his parents, they need all the help they can get."

You nodded your head. The two of you worked to clean up everything, including yourselves before you went to go and put some tea on, knowing that both of Carl's parents were going to need at the very least a hot drink to get through such a hard time. Before you picked up the two mugs, you put your hands together, said a short prayer to yourself and hoped the poor child would make it through the night so all could be well.

~*~

Written by Charlotte.