"whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
➳ Please note I do not at all take credit away from Syfy for the creation of this series, I only take credit for the main character and her involvement with the plot :)
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➳Listening to Homer's death over the radio was excruciating, more so her empathy for the poor boy who felt at fault. Even now, days later, she had noticed him being withdrawn and quiet - not in his observant, usual way, but that of anger and bitterness at a world that forgave none and killed many.
It was terrible.
"I already killed my father," the boy cried, near tears and in agony "i don't want to kill you too!" (y/n) could see in her mind's eye exactly what was going on, picturing it clearly. It killed her, knowing that there was nothing she could do to take this kind of pain away from him.
"You don't make it easy," the man had said, before Tommy began screaming. (y/n) assumed he'd killed himself, and Tommy delivered mercy as was his duty. They waited for him for a few minutes, and soon enough his lean form came into view - stomping down the path.
"Here he comes," Doc said quietly, almost as if preparing himself.
Cassandra had opened the gate for him, letting him onto their side so he could be consoled. When she'd tried to hand him his bag, however, he pushed her help aside and kept striding away, his body trying to find a way to dispel such powerful emotion.
"Hey, kid, wait up!" Doc called, chasing after him.
"Homer saved us," (y/n) cooed gently, while he stood, tears in his eyes and hands behind his head.
"That's right! He saved the whole town." Doc added, trying to lessen Tommy's burden.
"It's not that," the boy lashed out, yelling in a way that had (y/n) flinching backward. "I couldn't save him!"
"I know, I know, we heard." Cassandra tried being kind, but he was unresponsible to their words.
"You did everything you could," Doc reminded him "you gave him mercy."
But it wasn't enough; of course it wasn't enough. In the short time he'd known Homer, he'd become almost like another father. The first few hours, after the entire ordeal, he spoke to absolutely no one.
They group had begun to make their way West, into Wyoming and had camped out - the night after Homer died - in a small abandoned motel. Outside, everyone sat around a fire while 10k sat on the roof, rifle in his hand at all times - sniping any zombie that came even close.
It felt nice, on one hand, to know they were safe. But, it was another to think he was taking it out on the monsters, in an unhealthy way that wouldn't leave him feeling better.
"You think he'll be okay?" Warren asked, sitting down next to the girl on the blanket. (y/n) hadn't realize she'd been staring.
"I don't know," she sighed "it's hard to tell with him." The older woman nodded.
