Triggerfinger || S.W
A.N : Shane and the reader are siblings, not a romantic imagine this time lol.
The tall grass rustled as the wind blew across it, creating a scenic view. You stood there, gazing across the horizon, taking in the boundaries of the farm. You felt out of place without your rifle, you missed the feeling of your finger brushing against the trigger.
Your brother always gave you a hard time about your love for guns. That's why you enlisted when you were 17, and joined right after you turned 18. It was a challenge, but you did what you loved. The adrenaline was what you really missed, the feeling of being on edge.
Hershel had asked for your group to not carry while on his premises, and you had reluctantly obliged. You didn't like the feeling of being so bare. You kept a hunting knife on you though, and you found yourself rubbing your fingers over it quite often.
The rustling of the grass became more intense behind you and you turned, grabbing your knife out of its sheath. To your annoyance, it was just Shane.
"Can I help you?" You asked, putting your knife away, frustrated by the interruption.
Shane stood in front of you, scrunching his nose in anger, clicking his tongue as he scanned the horizon.
"Hershel's got walkers in the barn," he growled, his accent thickening with the darkness spreading in his eyes. He whipped off his tattered ball cap and rubbed his palm across the back of his head, shuffling his weight from side to side.
"You're gonna get a bald spot if you keep doin' that," you said nonchalantly, side eyeing him with your brow raised.
"Did ya not hear me girl, Hershel has got WALKERS in the barn."
"Oh I heard ya, I'm just choosing to ignore your stupidity," you smirked.
His jaw twitched as he looked at you, contemplating what to say.
"This ain't a joke, he's putting us all at risk."
You laughed, "By us I'm sure you mean Lori, you couldn't give a flyin' fuck 'bout the rest of us."
He shook his head, muttering, "Y'all gonna see, see that I was right 'bout this place. Shoulda gone to Fort Bennet. Shoulda gone!"
He paced for a moment, spitting on the ground, mixing it with the toe of his steel-toe boot, before wrenching his cap back on his head and storming off.
Later
You stepped onto the porch of Hershel's farm, taking a step onto the stoop, sitting down. The heat felt sticky and sent a heavy heat down your body. You rubbed the back of your neck, trying to get rid of the sweat, when you heard a commotion by the barn. You quickly stood up, brushing your pants off before sprinting in the direction of the barn.
"Could a living, breathing person, could they walk away from this?!"
Two gunshots rang out as you rounded the corner and you saw Shane pointing a gun at a walker, the rest of the group surrounding him. You swiftly grabbed a gun off the ground, and raised it towards him, yelling.
"What the hell are you doin'?"
You held it steady, the familiar feeling of metal against your fingertips. It felt good, it felt right.
"I told you there were walkers in tha barn, an' you didn't listen." He shouted, almost psychotically. His eyes were wide, and he had a look on his face that you hadn't seen in ages. The craze of anger.
"Put your gun down, Shane," you said slowly, firmly, "I don't wanna hurt you."
You could see the muscles in his jaw working as he lowered his gun. He tapped his finger against the side in a steady rhythm, gripping it so hard his knuckles were a pasty white. You eyed the bodies laying around him, gagging at the rotten smell wafting into your nose.
"What are you gonna do, huh," he started, keeping his voice low, "You gonna shoot me you bitch? How many of your friends did you have to shoot again?"
You tensed, "Excuse me?"
"Over on your tour, your escape from reality, how many was it again?" He grinned, the corners of his lips pulling into a sinister smile, "You and your little triggerfinger, shooting them all. One. Two-"
He couldn't finish before you fired two rounds into his shoulder. All you could see was red in that moment, anger pulsing through your veins, making your hearing buzz. You could barely hear his body hitting the ground, or his grunts of pain, you just heard the blood rushing through you, pumping adrenaline through you.
In a few swift steps you were on top of him, straddling him as you let your fists fly. You felt the crunch of his nose beneath your fist, followed by the warm rush of blood, but that didn't stop you. You wanted him to feel your pain, your anger, every bit of what you went through. You wanted him to feel it all. As the buzzing in your ears faded, you started to hear the group shouting behind you, begging you to stop.
And then there was silence.
You paused, looking up to see one last Walker staggering out of the barn. You started to slowly rise, gripping your gun, Shane's moans matching the walker's. Her eyes drifted lazily, eyeing her next meal, and her tongue lolled around her open mouth. Her head twitched to the side as she stumbled over her worn sneakers. You could hear Carol's mournful cries behind you as she saw her daughter stumbling around, lifeless but alive in her own way. You knew what you had to do.
Maybe Shane was right, maybe you couldn't control your anger. As you raised your gun to Sophia's forehead, you felt calm rush over you.
Bang.
Her lifeless body dropped to the ground, and you felt peaceful. You had been itching for a kill. You were satisfied, and so was your triggerfinger.
