The Walking Dead Imagines (Requests OPEN)

[Carl Grimes] That Bastard

PROMPT:
Ron shoots you instead of Carl.

We can pretend all we want, that bad things don't happen. We can pretend that as long as we've got a big wall around us that we'll be fine. That as long as we're surrounded by people our own age and houses like our old life- that we can live.
We pretend that it's all possible. A life...but anyone whose ever fooled themselves with that lie ended up where you were: lying in a bed, wrapped up in bandages bleached by your own blood.

They say your whole life flashes before you when you die- that you go through a plethora of ethereal feelings and memories so fast that before you can blink, you've relived your whole life. They say things like that so when you lay yourself down to die you feel peaceful. So that when you lay yourself down to die you feel something, anything- anything other than fear.

If fear overrides us during our last moments, we enter a state of shock.
Almost catatonic.

If you feel a fear so riveting that it shakes your whole entire body violently- chances are, death will feel like you're being dragged through the gates of hell against shards of broken glass and pits of fire.

But nobody really knows, do they? Oh, all except those who survive death. Those who glaze the surface of death and come back up for air. Those who are lucky enough to survive.

You.

Your eyes fluttered open and the tinted yellow lights caught your eyes.
"Y/n?"
Before you could recognise that you were awake, someone else had.
You turned your head, letting out a cry of pain as a thick ache went through your head.
"Easy. Doc said you shouldn't move your head."
You reached your hand up to your face, instantly gracing your fingers against cotton bandage- followed by the feeling of touching a fresh bruise.
"Ah." You cried out, dropping your hand by your side.
The room spun around you as your head began to throb.
"Y/n? Y/n?! You okay?"

Everything went black.
Again. Obscure. Bleeding.

"ARGH!" You woke up once more, fire exploding through your head. Pain shook your body, making you arch up into a bridge position.
"AH!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, feeling someone hold you down.
"Keep her still. It's not over."
Suddenly, your head began to feel cold. Numb. Almost as if it weren't even attached to your body at all. Like somebody had disconnected your conscious from your body.
"There. It's clean."
You laid on the bed, limp against the bedsheets. Blood spotted the white pillows and the bedsheets.
"She's going to need to rest."

And with only those few fragments of memories, you slipped back into darkness, feeling as light as a feather.

The darkness became a void of nothingness- and all you could hear in your own head was the sound of yourself breathing.
"Y/n?" A small voice echoed through the darkness. "I know you can't hear me. I know it's worth nothing...but I had to talk to you. Even if it means nothing...I had to."
Carl. His voice sent bliss through the darkness.
"W-when Ron shot you...I...I should have been there. It should have been me. It should be me here. Why? Why did you have to protect me?"
You wanted to scream out. To wake up. You wanted to wake up and tell him you were okay. That everything was fine.
But you couldn't. You were trapped in the darkness.
"I could strangle him to death. I could kill Ron with my own bare hands. Dad knows that. That's why he stopped me. He won't let me see Ron, you know? Because he thinks I'll kill him. I'm just so angry. I want you to wake up and talk to me!"
"I miss your voice. I...I just don't think it's real. When Denise told me you might not wake up...it felt so fake. I never thought you'd die. I always pictured you old. Like Hershel. That's what you deserved. Wake
up?"