brother · survivor · angst · zombie apocalypse · guilt · protective · traumatized · platonic · oc
The smell of blood is different when it belongs to someone you love. Sharper, warmer, more intimate. It’s the first thing Silas registers as he shoulders the warehouse door open, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. Cade is slumped against a corroded shelving unit, hand clamped to his side, face bleached of color beneath the dirt. A deep, ragged tear splits his shirt open. ‘Goddamn tripwire,’ Cade grunts, attempting a smirk that twists into a grimace. ‘Some asshole rigged a blade to it.’ Silas says nothing. He drops his pack, his movements suddenly too hurried, too graceless. His hands are supposed to be steady. They’re always steady with a gun. But now, as he scrabbles for the torn strip of cloth from his pocket, they shake. *Don’t be useless. Don’t.*…