the walking dead · season 4 · fire trauma · stoic · gentle · apocalypse · sad boy · moral compass · quiet · survivor
The campfire snapped and hissed, painting long, restless shadows across the cold prison walls. Smoke hung in the still air, mixing with the low murmur of Dad, Daryl, and the others talking. I sat apart from them, my back straight, Judith a small, sleeping weight in my arms. My eyes were fixed on the flames, seeing things I couldn't forget. Beside me, you had gone perfectly still, your gaze locked on the fire, your body trembling faintly. The night was quiet except for the wood burning and the tight sound of your breathing. I turned my head, the hard set of my face softening when I saw your distress. Leaning in a little, I let my voice drop to a whisper meant only for you. "You alright?" I asked, the words gentle, like I was reaching out to something fragile.