Hi!

This is the reboot, replacing the first version of Playing For Keeps I had posted. From reader feedback, I've learned not to switch POVs mid-chapter, plot pacing needed to pick up because readers were getting bored (I'm still embarrassed about that!), and Carl needed to be more front and center of the story. Carl and our OC had originally met around chapter 15, I've changed that so they will meet much sooner - so hopefully you don't find yourself wanting to skip the first couple of chapters.

In addition, I've decided to explore more of how and why the zombie apocalypse began, oh-boy! I'm crossing his fingers that you won't see it coming because it could be really good and you might end up liking the idea as much as I do. Biology is a subject I'm mildly familiar with, and ABO tropes are my guilty pleasures... science in this fic is a bit quack, but let your mind have fun and we'll all have a good time with the craziness.

Some house-keeping before I stop:

~Carl's age has been raised, where I'm from 16 is the age of consent... so... yeah. Around the start of the outbreak, he's like 13-14. TWD timeline won't be exactly followed in this fic, and I won't rehash and repeat scenes constantly from the show because that'll be boring.

[down below is a little snippet of what ABO and Sentinel/Guides are...]

~For this specific story, Alpha Guides can be physically impacted by their bonds with other people. A regular Alpha wouldn't have to deal with these kind of physical impacts of a bond. Alphas are proud and hotheaded... Carl is an odd one because him being a Guide makes him physically weakened by the intense negative emotions.

~Guides are like... emotional companions/stabilizers for Sentinels. This story is in no way a soul-mate fic, but there are strong bonds created between people. Familial bonds and Romantic bonds exist. Some people 'click' together, just as some people are repulsed by the scent of others.

~Betas are like normal humans, but everyone in this fic has a stronger sense of smell, can scent mark people and leave their scent on objects. Touching is a bit taboo.

edit: July 21 2019.

Story is Rated M for reasons. Please don't continue beyond this if you know you shouldn't be reading a Mature story.

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

"You're gonna change." {Rick, season 5 episode 16}

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

1.

"Carl!"

At the hiss of his name, his eyes shot open, and his head jerked from his desk. Too fast - way, way too fast!

The spinning world made him want to hide his face back into the bend of his elbow - too tired. Way too tired.

He was not the heaviest of sleepers, so it wasn't his fault for falling asleep during the day. If only they wouldn't talk so loud in the middle of the night, Carl grumbled to himself.

His eyes shut the world out again, something he found exceptionally easy to do. Without letting himself think on just why he found it so easy to numb his senses, his mouth shuddered open with a full-fledged yawn.

In the next second, his face flattened into the crook of his arm. He could pretend it was nighttime, that he was home and no one was talking. No more shouting, no more slamming doors, and no more fighting.

It made no sense to Carl. They made no sense. Alpha couples had issues, because of course two head strong Alphas had more issues to work through because each had an innate need to be right, and hardly ever backed down because that would be submitting.

If one of them would swallow their pride, Carl mused, it's an 'Alpha thing.' When backed into a corner, Alphas lashed out and fought for their own. He wondered if he would end up bonding to a fellow Alpha, and if he did, would one of them have to submit?

Submitting wasn't fun.

Carl made a face at the thought of baring his neck, of showing that he wasn't a person to watch out for, as if he was a doormat people could walk over. He couldn't imagine submitting to someone other than his parents.

An Omega submitting . . . heat filled Carl's pale cheeks. That was a whole other story, and it had begun around last year.

He and his friends sat around the computer. Carl and the other boys gathered at one of their houses for a night of playing videogames.

"Type: Omegas only. That'll be something good."

"You're into that?" Carl asked, brows raised.

"And you're not? What's not to like? Omegas submitting to each other, that's fucking hot."

"Yeah, I guess so," not that it didn't get his blood pumping, but Carl wondered what it would be like for an Omega to submit to him. It was a new thought that emerged the past few weeks.

His parents were both Alphas, and their close friends were mostly Betas or the rare Alpha.

Carl happened to be the only Alpha in his grade, and his friends were all Betas. 'Omegas submitting to each other . . . Huh. Maybe Betas didn't see Omegas the same way?'

"Holy fuck," one of the boys wheezed. He had clicked on a link while Carl was lost in his thoughts. At his friends voice, he also looked at the screen.

Lace. Frilly lace. Carl blinked. Legs spread wide, the small Omega whined, arms reaching out for someone who must be off screen. Brown eyes shined with tears. "Please . . . I need - please!"

Carl jerked in his chair, sitting at attention. The pleading, the whining, all that lace covering the important bits of skin. The omega sounded and looked incredible.

"She's in heat," Carl felt hazy.

"Turn over and present yourself," a voice echoed from the computer's speakers. The commanding voice left no room for questioning.

Carl's friends curled their shoulders inward on instinct, he himself was the only one to straighten his back. The speaker off screen was an Alpha.

The Omega rolled onto their slightly pudgy stomach and whined again, pushing their face into a pillow. Frilly lace framed firm, round hips. In a smooth movement the Omega's ass lifted off the bed.

"So that's what presenting is."

"Carl . . . "

That voice brought him out of his daydream. A brief thought of smothering his face into his pillow entered Carl's mind. But he was not home, so that thought was ultimately unhelpful. Though, his wooden desk looked more appealing the longer he was forced to sit there.

After a moment, Carl scuffed his feet along the carpeted floor, tempted to peel his shoes off.

He had no pillow, but his elbow was good enough - maybe . . . maybe I can finally-

"Psst! - Caaarl!"

No, he groaned low at the hissing voice, let me sleep. He didn't notice the small growls he made, but everyone in the classroom did.

Their teacher tilted his head at the young alpha growling at another student. Growling was instinctual, a warning to others. And instincts were just that, instinctual. It was nearly impossible to notice and stop your own growls, everyone knew that.

"Caarrrl!"

Carl couldn't sleep, not with his name sounding like that. Whining and pleading, in a way an Omega believed was cute. Maybe it was. Ugh, why did I think that?

The voice was close enough that Carl knew for a fact it belonged to his desk partner.

"Urgh," he mumbled into his elbow. He nestled his deeper face into the pit of darkness that was offered there . . . until his nose registered the sweaty slick of his skin. The light coating of hair on his arm wilted from the heat.

The humidity in the room had made everything sticky.

He shifted in his seat.

No, he breathed out silently. To his growing horror, every bit of his clothes clung to his skin. In all the wrong places.

And when he finally crawled out of his elbow, he didn't want to face his desk partner - elbow buddies - was how the other boy described them.

He hissed his name again in the drawn out way that had his hand ready to plug his ears.

Carl held his breath.

Even though the new kid only just started school yesterday he already claimed Carl as his best friend. That was another issue, because to claim someone wasn't a joke.

At least he hadn't tried to hug him. Yet.

He better not, Carl growled under his breath. His parents would get a whiff of an Omega on his skin, and then he would be forced into another 'talk' again. And then they'd ask to meet his Omega. As if anyone chooses their mate in middle school! The thought of his elbow buddy being his . . . his Omega.

Oh god, no, never!

Thanks mom, he rolled his lips together in an effort to not gnash his teeth at the boy occupying his thoughts. His mom had asked, ahem, told him to sign-up for his school's Welcome Committee.

Carl coughed when air caught in his throat. In a prepared ritual, he curled slightly into himself while a gag rolled throughout his chest.

But unlike all the other times before, it was too late to cover his nose with his hand because the newest gulp of air forced the scent into his lungs.

There was something utterly wrong with the boy's scent.

It wasn't mean of Carl to think that, and it wasn't a lie . . . that's what he told himself. Because while he threatened to cough out his lungs, everyone else threw pitying glances at him with their hands over their noses.

The substitute teacher scanned the room before his eyes fell back to the computer screen on the desk in front of him.

Carl plucked the front of his drenched t-shirt, breathing shallow intakes of air, and felt more lightheaded as the seconds passed.

Whatever happened to 'kids are our future,' - and all that other cheesy stuff adults would say? We at least deserve air-conditioned classrooms, being stuffed in here for hours.

A fan to blow his scent away from me would be a blessing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him staring with raised brows.

Instead of engaging, Carl lowered his head, facing forward so that his scent was no longer in front of his nose.

The hairs on his arms started to raise - he was still watching Carl.

Carl's face resolved. He knew he had to face him, he had to confront him because that's what Alphas did. Alphas solve problems, that's what his parents told him.

He was an Omega, maybe . . . maybe the other boy just wanted attention from an Alpha. As an Alpha I liked to know who the Omegas were because it wasn't that uncommon to choose mates in high school . . . and because usually their scent was sweeter than all the Betas. But this omega -

What could he want?

'You okay?' the Omega mouthed silently. Carl couldn't help but notice he looked a little pale, in spite of his question startling him out of his bad mood. Am I okay?

Well, yeah, I can't complain outside of his parents fighting at 3am, being forced to sit next to a smelly Omega, and fighting against the urge to hide under his desk and sleep on the nice, flat floor. Other than that, everything's peachy.

Carl nodded back, feeling slightly sorry for thinking awful things about him, even if he did smell like . . . like something - wrong.

"Gentlemen, eyes on your own test."

Carl groaned aloud at that and slouched further in his chair. The sound must've been louder than he believed, judging from the cold glare from the substitute teacher.

At least he didn't call him out for sleeping earlier.

"Unless you want to slide off your chair and onto the floor, I suggest you sit up straight. You won't find the answers on the underside of your desk."

Urgh.

He swept his eyes to the sheet of paper on his desk.

Scribbles filled the margins from where he had previously mindlessly let his pencil drag.

He slowly crept his eyes to the first question on the page:

1. How many solutions does this equation have: 0 = (61a - 5b) + -7a

Quickly scanning the following questions, he flipped the paper to look at the other side, his fingers stuck easily to the paper.

Double-sided test, he winced, gawking as the symbols on the paper starts to blur.

24! Carl almost groaned aloud. The paper shook in his hand the more he studied the list of numbers.

25 questions on the test and he only answered the first one.

A quick glance at the clocks hands told him there were ten minutes before the last bell rang.

I'm so screwed...

He winced again, imagining the disappointment on his parents faces and scents when they looked at his failing grade.

F for falling asleep in class.

F for failure.

He frowned, tapping his pencil along his desk's tabletop. A tremor wrecked his spine, spreading down to his fingertips, and the paper in his hand vibrated even more.

I can't fail. This was his best subject, this was his ticket to skipping 8th grade math, this was not happening.

I can do this. Only ten minutes, only 24 questions, and then it's an easy A, and then I can -

"Are you all right?"

Honeyed concern, purely dripping in worry filled his nose. The substitute teacher crouched down beside his seat to speak low.

"Yeah."

He raised his brows.

He mom would kill him for his bad manners.

"Yes, sir."

Though a Beta, his scent was much more calming and bearable after getting a mouthful of his Omega elbow buddy's scent.

He gripped his pencil, easily ridding thoughts of the Omega sitting beside him.

I can do this, I have to do this. I will finish the test -

The hairs on his arms prickled.

He's still watching me.

He reminded himself to take short breaths because something was definitely wrong if his scent made him want to vomit.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

2.

"Mom, I'm home!" he hollered, kicking off his shoes at the front door. He tossed his backpack on the cushioned bench his mom liked to keep in the main hallway.

"In the kitchen!"

After latching the lock of the door, he walked toward her voice.

He pat his growling stomach along the way. As he turned into the doorway of the kitchen he asked, "Mom, when's dinner?"

She leaned against the stove, a little hunched over as she stirred a large pot, "Hmm?" a light goes off in her eyes when he repeated his question. Carl stood beside her. "I don't want this to burn. I'm taking most of this down to the station. Our dinner is what's left over."

Usually parties were at the diner because his mom hated cooking. "Is it someone's birthday?" he imagined a giant cake and stuffing his face with a huge piece. Hopefully chocolate flavored.

She laughed, putting down her spoon to stop stirring whatever was in the pot.

He lifted his chin slightly, inhaling a long breath. Chicken noodle soup. "Is someone else . . . sick?"

Bringing homemade soup to his dad's work was a first and his mom had never cooked so much food at one time.

She pulled him into a hug. Then there was pressure on top of his head. She kissed the top of his head, leaving her cheek to rest there.

His mom was scenting him with her cheek moving along his hair.

He let her do whatever she liked and returned her hug because this already felt much better than falling asleep at a school desk. Even if she and dad kept him up nearly all night, he couldn't stop himself from falling into her familiar hold.

He rubbed his face into her shoulder, letting his own scent seep into her clothing.

She pulled back, her hands now on his shoulders. She smiled, "You're getting so tall now, I'm a little sad. Now, I know you're too big for me to pick up."

"Mom," he tried to slip away from her, scowling, "I'm thirteen."

She let go of his shoulders to hold his hands, keeping him from trying to get away from her.

She looked straight into his eyes. "You'll always be my baby."

Urgh.

"Why do you have to say stuff like that, mom?" he gave her a look of disgust.

I'm not a baby.

She laughed and squeezed his hands. "You're adorable."

"No - I'm not!"

Puppies are adorable.

Omegas are adorable.

"I'm the opposite of adorable!"

One of her hands moved to grasp his wrist where the skin was marked with indents and colored a warm, reddish brown.

She traced the marks with her thumb.

"Mom?" he furrowed his brows, shuffling closer to her. It was a far cry from his efforts to get out of her hands before.

She released his hands. Then turned to face the stove to pick up the spoon and stir the pot once more. "There's nothing to worry about, baby. I'm sure it's nothing."

He rolled his lips together, a little confused now. She continued stirring the pot. It was almost like she was ignoring him. "Is something going on with . . . you and dad?"

"Agh, damn!"

She shot a look at her son while fishing the spoon out of the soup. "Can't hide anything from you Guides," she mumbled beneath her breath.

Well, she's not wrong about that, but . . . "I heard you and dad last night, me being a Guide has nothing to do with sensing something's wrong with you guys."

At that, she huffed a laugh. "I'm sorry, baby. But that saying has some truth! I really can't hide anything from you," she said with a fond smile.

Clearing her throat, she spoke firmer now, "Your daddy and I are going through a rough patch, I won't lie, and every bonded pair has their hardships . . . Anyway, while I'm gone, d'you have plans with friends tonight?"

He recalled the few times his friends came to his house - and it was only a handful of occasions. Who wanted to go to a cop's house?

"Uhhh . . . No, no plans. Just doing the usual tonight."

The scent of crystal clear relief carried itself from his mom. She really didn't want to tell Carl he had to stay home. All that stuff on the news was alarming, but she knew it would blow over soon.

She turned a dial of the stovetop and just like that, the redness of the burners faded to black.

"I can visit dad's work with you," he offered more quietly, carefully watching her.

"Baby," she started to coo.

He groaned aloud.

Choosing to escape, he almost out the kitchen doorway before she wrangled him into a hug. Her scent clouded over his senses and his skin tingled where she touched.

"You're such a sweet Alpha Guide," she smiled fully with dimples now. He blushed deeply, ducking his head. "You're going to make one lucky Omega really happy."

"Mom, please - stop."

"Alright, I'm stopping," she gave up, her arms up in the air in surrender.

Carl waited a moment longer at the doorway, still unsure if he really should stay home while she went to see his dad.

He hadn't seen him since yesterday evening.

"Oh, how did your math test go?" she had her back turned to him as she emerged from a cabinet with a giant plastic container.

"I think I did good, only 25 questions. With a new teacher everyday, I don't know when I'll know how I did."

She nodded, standing straight now as she placed the container onto an empty countertop. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Math wasn't my strong suit, Lord knows where you got that mind from. It's not from your daddy, either . . . "

"Maybe it skips a generation," he pushed off of the doorway and held onto the large pot when it was in his reach. He tipped it over while she held the plastic container.

Together, we worked to get all of the chunks of chicken and shredded carrots out of the pot.

"Hey, mom?" he prompted, watching her spoon out the remains of the soup into the plastic container.

"Yeah, baby?"

"There's a new kid in school."

She lifted a brow in interest, eyes glowing brighter, "An Omega?"

He left the empty pot on the counter, rolling his eyes. Knowing her, she was already planning his wedding.

He silently watched her snap a secure lid onto to the plastic container, but the scent of savory chicken broth and wheat noodles still coated the air.

"Yeah," He told her shortly. "The weird thing is that his scent is - off."

He shook his head, still confused at how everyone in the school stayed away from him. Himself included.

Her eyes narrowed, and her hands went to her hips, "Carl Grimes, are you bullying someone because of their scent? An Omega?"

His jaw dropped, and he hurried to speak, "No! Everyone can smell him, it's not just me thinking it. It's not like . . . sweat or dirty clothes. It's like there's something . . . wro - "

Her eyes started to tighten and the marks on one of his wrists start to burn.

" - wrong with him."

"And what did Mrs. White have to say about him?" her voice started to echo in the kitchen as she spoke louder and louder with each new word, "Did she let y'all keep on bullying him? I'll be having a talking to with her tomorrow!"

Carl's class had a substitute teacher for the past three weeks. Just as he was about to speak, the marks on his wrist burned hotter, "Ouch!"

Immediately the overprotective Alpha crowded around her son, "Ooh - I'm sorry, baby," she massaged his throbbing wrist where she had left her mark. It was where parents claimed their children.

"It's just . . . Carl, you know how I feel about bullying."

"Yeah, don't do it, or else."

He shook his wrist at her as emphasis.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she continued to rub his wrist raw, her voice saddened. "You know, I'd never wish for you to be different, but I'd change this one thing if I could. When you were born, we never dreamed of having a Guide. We only expected an Alpha, it's almost a family legacy at this point."

"Seriously, it's not a big deal. I've had thirteen years to get used to you or dad getting mad at me."

She peered down at me, "How's your wrist now?"

He twisted his wrist so the soft underside was in his view. The redness was still there, as always. The indented teeth marks are still there from when she first left her scent when He was a newborn.

The burning heat was gone. "Doesn't hurt," He inform her lowly.

She smiled, soft and familiar and that made up for the pain.

3.

Slow down. Slow down, slow down, damn it!

He turned a sharp corner, ducking under the reaching hands.

BANG!

BANG!

"Gotcha!" he shouted in victory, watching the body as it fell flat on its back before fading into nothing.

He beamed at the bold red words flashing on and off the screen: Level 50 Complete!

"Hey, kiddo," a hand slid onto his shoulder.

He yelped, letting go of the game controller. It thumped onto the sofa. "Dad! You scared me!"

If he was being honest, Carl was more annoyed at himself for not paying attention to the point of not scenting or hearing his dad.

Rick ran a hand through his hair before collapsing onto the couch cushion beside him.

The warmth of his dad's side pressed against his arm was a welcome sensation.

Rick's arm hooked over the back of the couch while his other hand pulled his son further into him.

His chest rumbled with laughter, "Well, I'd say I'm sorry, but your reaction was priceless."

He poked between Carl's ribs in a quick, jabbing move, and the boy couldn't stop the tickling sensation from spreading. He burst burst into laughter, Rick's deeper tone joining the younger Alpha's.

Rick sighed, heart swollen from contentment, "It's good to be home."

Disclaimer: I don't own TWD, no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by me writing this fan-fiction story. I do, however, own the opinion that Harry Styles is a fantastic singer.

I'll admit right now... I love feedback. Don't be shy! I gladly accept constructive criticism, but flaming or hateful comments - will be met a reply in-kind. Don't like the content or subject, don't read it. Simple really.