million dollar man | twd

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀᴀʀᴏɴ

[ this is aaron ]
꧁꧂

"Let's keep moving!" Rick shouted over the rumble of thunder, urgency in his voice. The group pushed forward, the rain drumming heavily around them.

"There's a barn!" Daryl shouted back, pointing through the downpour.

"Where?" Rick asked, squinting against the rain.

Daryl led the group to a small, weathered barn that he'd found during a solo scouting trip. They approached cautiously, the sound of the rain and thunder masking their footsteps. A few of them entered the barn first to check it for walkers or other dangers.

Maggie, leading the sweep, quickly located the only walker inside: a young girl struggling weakly on the floor. With a swift motion, she ended its suffering with her knife.

Once the barn was deemed clear, everyone settled in, their spirits lifting slightly as they took shelter from the relentless storm. They built a small fire in the corner of the barn, the flickering flames providing a much-needed warmth and light. Rick glanced at Carl and Judith, both fast asleep, their faces peaceful despite the chaos outside.

Rick's gaze lingered on his children, his heart heavy with a mix of hope and despair. "I used to feel sorry for kids who had to grow up in this," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "But I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for them."

"This isn't the world," Michonne interjected, her voice firm yet soft. "This isn't it."

"It might be," Glen said from his spot by the fire, his tone contemplative. "It might."

Michonne's eyes narrowed, a look of resolve crossing her face. "That's giving up."

"It's reality," Glen countered, his voice steady but weary.

"When I was a kid," Rick began, his voice low and reflective, "I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. Said that was grown-up stuff. So... so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. He got real quiet. Said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every day he woke up and told himself, 'Rest in peace, now get up and go to war.' And then after a few years of pretending he was dead... he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves... that we are the walking dead."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, each person absorbing Rick's words in their own way. The weight of the narrative seemed to seep into the barn's walls, adding a layer of somber reflection to their already heavy hearts.

Daryl broke the silence, his voice rough with emotion. "We ain't them," he said firmly, his gaze intense. He stood up abruptly, the bench scraping against the floor as he walked to the far side of the barn, away from the firelight.