ARROWHEAD || in which 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 finds his place in the end of the world, fighting for survival and for his family day in day out as if he were bred for battle.
[maggie greene x male oc]
[the walking dead; season 1 - ??]
[on-going; s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE RATE OF ABSORPTION IN children is significantly higher than that of an adult. At the littlest age, the human mind is learning and like that of a sponge, small brains soak in every detail of their surroundings and more often than not, they mimic it. A child shouting expletives has to have heard it elsewhere, a rotten seed planted in a growing brain. It's a negligible example, such a tiny travesty in the grand scheme of things. As a little boy, Colton learned to be unfathomably angry. To him, it seemed to be the most accepted and routine feeling amongst the household. If you weren't angry, you were doing something wrong because his father was always so damn furious and grown ups are always right, that is what the sponge of Colton's little mind absorbed. As a product of such rage, Colton copied and so his little fists lashed out on schoolyards and curses spit from his small tongue at wide-eyed teachers because that is what Colton's daddy did.
Still, whenever Daryl shared the conditions of the rooftop that their brother had been lost from, Colton knew really that he should feel something different. Something grievous. He only clenched his jaw however, and his fist ached where it balled on his thigh as he grunted something unintelligible to Daryl's mumble. Silence followed and Colton has yet to break it as he revels in the wrath that bubbles beneath his ribs instead of the whisperings of voices that aren't his own but rather the murmurs of his past and even the group of survivors that muttered whenever they didn't think he was listening. All of them seem to think that he should feel something else. It only angered him further, bubbling the hot beneath his ribs until it scalded and Colton grits his teeth as he tries to focus on anything but as they slow to a halt on a desolate highway.
Idly, Colton is slumped comfortably in the passenger seat. He perches his ankles to a grimy dashboard and his arms are looped loosely around his abdomen whilst he lifts his chin to watch from squinted eyes, narrowed against the blistering rays. All voices are muffled but Colton watches the survivors lips pronounce syllables, and the way that Lori's muscles coil with dread—her arm draping protectively across Carl's curious shoulder whilst her uneasy glance is spared around the highway. It's what lures Colton to shift his stare. There isn't a reasonable argument to disprove that it isn't a graveyard, cluttered with the bones of cars and in some are the rotting corpses of the unbitten dead. Belongings, some more personal than others, litter the chipped asphalt and the silence is eerie. Colton finally drops his hand to the door in a shove of it open on squealing hinges which lulls the group from their grim stupor with a solemn, understanding glance shared amongst them before they scatter.
It isn't difficult to depict that they were searching the graves.
A shuffle of his beaten sneakers and Colton's hand reaches into the bed of the rusty pickup the Dixon's claimed to loop calloused fingers around the loose handle of his machete. The same one from the original campgrounds, miles away from here. An indignant sniff and he hears the pitter patter of smaller footfalls hurrying behind him, at his heels as Colton nods curtly toward the mother's and he drops a rough hand between Carl's shoulders to nudge the boy into step alongside Sophia—in his direct eye line. He doesn't offer much, silent in his supervising watch and despite the begrudging look carved on Colton's face that should infer his distaste, the children aren't deterred by Colton's natural glare. A happy noise slips from Sophia's mouth, her little body disappearing into the backseat of an SUV ahead as her male counterpart ushers forward. Once he reaches them, Sophia's smile is infectious as the little girl brandishes a battered game of Uno! with unusually bright eyes. It even has Carl smiling, a tooth gapped grin as he ogles the game that likely wouldn't have meant all that much to them before outbreak day.
