Clarke is the youngest Winchester sibling. Like every Winchester, her life was full of grief, sadness, pain, heartache and death.
What happens when the world crumbles and dead bodies start springing back to life? What happens when Clarke gains a gro...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CLARKE blinked, her eyesight blurry as she had just woken up from what she felt like was a weeks worth nap. She groaned as she tried to sit up, only to hit her head on the top bunks' bottom.
"Careful," A voice grunted out which made her whip around. Her whole world spun and she tried to steady herself but it didn't help any seeing as she bent over, and threw up. "Wow." A hand pulled back her hair and patted her back.
Once she was down throwing up, she looked up with narrowed eyes to find apple green eyes staring into her blue eyes with worry. "I'm fine, Dean," she grunted as he laid her back down, his hand going to her forehead to check her temperature.
"You look a little better but, uh, your temperature is still high," He told her, "Sammy and I have been taking turns watching you, and I, uh, I just wanted to say that I was sorry for bursting out like that yesterday."
"It's fine, Dean." She forced a smile onto her sickly pale face. "I know that when shit happens, you take out your sadness and pain in anger. That's how I used to be, now... now I just hold it all back until I explode like a dam." She laughed lightly which turned into a coughing fit.
"Clarke, you know that, uh, Daryl—"
There was an enormous explosion. It was as though a huge fist had decided to punch it's way into the prison. Windows shattered. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel, a deadly rainfall, showered down. Alarms — shrill and deafening — erupted. A huge bite had been taken out of the side and the roof of the building.
"Son of a—"
Clarke tried to get up off of the bed, but Dean literally pushed her back down onto it.
"You stay here! I'll to see what that was!" He shouted over the ruckus. Clarke went to protest but he was already gone as soon as she opened her mouth.
She groaned in annoyance before she thrusted herself upwards into a sitting position, holding her stomach and the edge of the bed. She wanted to make sure that she wouldn't throw up and that she wouldn't fall over from the dizzy spell that she had just gave herself for sitting up too fast.
"Here we go..." She trailed off as she stood to her feet, her right hand flying up to grab onto the railing of the bunk bed so that she wouldn't fall over.
She took a small step forward and lightly smiled at herself as she didn't stumble of trip. Though her ankle still hurt pretty badly from her fall, it felt a lot better due to all the pain relievers she was taking. Her shoulder — the one she popped out of place — had kinks here and there, but it's pretty much at a hundred percent. The only thing that sheMs worried about is throwing up. Everytime she threw up, her throw up gains more and more blood. To say that she was worried was an understatement.
She bent over as a feeling erupted through her body.
The feeling has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at her stomach. There's nausea too, just enough to make her hold onto the bunkbed for support and breath slow. She's often prized herself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just isn't possible right now. It owns her, dominates every thought, controls every action. And it doesn't help that someone is — what seems like — bombing her home, and that she she worried about all of her people.
She stood up straighter and tried the best she could to push back any and all pain she could. She could still feel a tingling sensation throughout her body as she took footsteps forward.
Clarke bent over, holding onto the railing of the stairs as she felt all the worries come back to her. She could faintly hear a familiar annoying voice yell from outside as she made her way down the stairs, being real careful as she did so seeing as the last time she went down them, she fell and got injured.
The more she walked, or, well, stumbled about, the more she could hear the voice from outside.
When she actually made it outside, Clarke could not believe who she saw outside the fences with trucks and cars surrounding him.
The fucking Governor!
She growled out as she stumbled down a few more steps.
Daryl, Rick, Maggie, Beth, Carl, Tyreese, Sasha, Dean, Cas, Sam, Jess, Jo, Ellen, Mary and Sophia were standing together, talking to the Governor who was holding a fucking sword to Hershel's neck. Michonne was on her knees beside Hershel, looking anxious.
Fear curled up inside Clarke and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't doubt the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.
But she didn't expect what happened next.
The Governor stabbed Hershel in the neck. Hershel's body fell to the floor and that is what made everything slow into slow motion for her.
Clarke watched as Michonne rolled away as Rick and the others fired away. Their mouths fell open, looking like they were screaming, but no words or sounds came out.
It was all happening too fast although it was in slow motion for her.
She stumbled backwards as everything fast forwarded.
Her hand flew up to her mouth as she shouted, "No!"
"Clarke!" She heard voiced yell out her name but she ignored them as she stumbled forward, her hands finding a gun.
All her target practices came to handy as she started shooting, her eyes stinging with tears, her heart thinking against her chest, and the erratic sound of her uneven breathing.
Soon enough, the prison wasn't really a prison anymore, it was a war area. It was full of bullet shells, empty guns, blood splattered everywhere, dead bodies, and most of all, screams of pain.
