Grey's Random Drabblings

[SweaterWeather]

H'OKAY so, first thing is first - I am horrible with consistency. But! I really, really, desperately wanted to start a drabble thread because 1. I actually have quite a lot of muse, just not the confidence to post any of it anywhere (Well then what is this? HAH I wish I knew..) and 2. I figured hey, maybe my fellow friends on the forum might get at least a little enjoyment out of my ramblings too? I'm basically going off of Sophie83540's drabble prompt list here because it's a good structured way to keep my writing regulated, but at the same time, doesn't require that I rush to finish anything. Anyway ugh, so much introduction text, not enough drabble. Here's the first of X-amount to come, because Uncharted and my recently developed adoration for one Nathan Break-- Drake. Nathan Drake. So, without further stalling hesitation.. Enjoy! 

 

Prompt: Haunted
Fandom: Uncharted 4: A Thief's End (WARNING POSSIBLE SPOILERS)
Character: Nathan Drake (Cold)

========

He could never exactly pinpoint the regularity of the nightmares. They seemed to have no pattern at all - well, that was slightly untrue. They did tend to arise when he least expected it. Although it didn't matter what type of day he had, once his head hit the pillow and the lull of sleep whisked him away, it would invade his mind like a virus, drilling into the subconscious and filling his head with images of fire, fading grey walls that flashed by in a rush of mad scrambling to scale them, haunted by how real the sensations felt.

Even now he could smell the heady smoke of gunfire and destruction, a ringing settling into his ears. And the faint sound of his own voice, calling out to his brother as he plummeted to his--

The image jerked Nathan into the land of the living, nearly choking as he gasped for breath in a sharp, thin inhale. Chest heaving, it took him a moment to register his surroundings - an office desk, strewn with various permits and forms, walls plastered with random advertisements ranging from contracting businesses to a submarine sandwich shop. 

And... he was sitting. Not dangling from a ledge of a building bursting with flames. 

"hhH'ehtschuu!" 

And he had a cold. Right. That at least accounted for the layer of extra sweat that accompanied these dreams-- no, nightmares. Sniffling quietly, he heaved a sigh, grinding the heels of his palms into both eyes. There were traces of moisture still clinging to his skin once he'd lowered both hands, which were quickly dried by brushing against the sides of his jeans. 

He hated remembering it. Out of all the memories he could play out involving Sam, this one was insistent. It was born of guilt. Guilt that he could bury under layer after layer after layer of witty comments, adrenaline-surged antics and a million life or death situations, but never fully rid himself of. Maybe he didn't deserve to, after all.

"hh... hH'itschuu! hih'GKTsh'uh! God..." Inhaling unsteadily, Nathan swiped his wrist underneath damp nostrils, feeling whatever energy he had left slowly drain from him as he went back to completing his paperwork. 

No, it would always serve as a reminder. A reminder that would consume him with it's warning whenever it saw fit.  And just like every poor decision in his life, he would simply have to co-exist with it.

[ICan'tThinkOfAnything]

When I saw this pop up on the new content sidebar-widget thing, you get my point, I didn't even bother to log in before starting to read. And h o l y shit was this good. The atmosphere was completely immersive, and I could perfectly visuals Nathan and his surroundings in the office. Poor baby, he needs a proper bed to rest in. Petition to take care of Nathan Drake- but I digress. The ending was wonderful in the most angsty way, and it leaves me wondering about the other poor decisions he's made and now has to deal with. And the spellings. Wonderful, seriously. Thank you for taking the time to write and post this!

[stephab13]

Oh my God, you're still here and writing. I don't know the fandom but dear Lord, I miss your drabbles!

[SweaterWeather]

ICan'tThinkOfAnything: Hah, I do get it, that.. thing-a-ma-jinger as I like to call it personally! Ghhh, you have no idea how ecstatic I am that you liked it, dear. And seriously, can we start a movement? I mean Elena, Victor and Sam do a pretty good job but, goodness, they can't watch the kid 24/7 (That's where WE come in, mweheheh..) Ah but yes, angst and Nathan is one of my guilty pleasures (pun intended). It was my biggest pleasure, gotta add to the already wonderful gold mine you guys have created. Seriously. Y'all are tops.

stephab13: It's a miracle, isn't it?! I swear going MIA is my thing these days. BUT oh my gosh you have no idea how excited I am to see you, and this comment. The fact that you can enjoy it without knowing the fandom like, wowie, that makes my day. Honestly I've still got a Huntbastian itch so... Heh. Also being missed *insert my tears made into a sweater* 

Alrighty, this one goes out to Maja, who put in a request for some sick/sneezy Rafe Adler. Honestly, it kinda just worked itself out on it's own, and I was super stoked because I just finished Uncharted 4 and realized... Rafe is kind of awesome? Plus his voice actor is UBER talented, along with the rest of the cast of course but, Rafe sticks out for me a lot more than he did originally. Anyhow! Hope you all enjoy some sickly rich boy~

 

Prompt: Headache
Fandom: Uncharted 4: A Thief's End (AGAIN, WARNING FOR POSSIBLE SPOILERS)
Character: Rafe Adler (Flu)

========

Rafe was by no means a pansy. He had no reservations when it came to getting his hands dirty; his upbringing hadn't exactly painted the idea of getting rough as uncouth, especially when the use of such practices all went towards an end goal. For as many weeks as he and the brothers Drake had finally been placed inside the prison, Rafe found no real qualms to be made when it came to how things operated. After all, Vargas was a round pile of dough underneath his fingers. He moved when Rafe wanted him to, and that level of control satiated him enough to get through the decidedly shit conditions of the Panamanian jail.

That is, until he found himself inadvertently stumbling upon a worse fate than vacationing behind bars - coming down with influenza behind bars.

For the past twelve hours, Rafe had hacked, ached, and nearly sweat out his prison attire, body fighting against his iron will to appear fine and business as usual. It betrayed all the signs of illness in physical appearance - dark circles that resembled charcoal smeared underneath his eyes, nostrils and cheeks tinged a flushed scarlet, all of this standing out against skin that was nearly white as the blinding, bleached sheets he'd recall sinking down into as a child. 

Aside from his appearance, and the nearly imperceptible narrow of his eyes from a budding headache, not one of his mannerisms betrayed a sign of weakness. Rafe had been trained from a young age in the art of 'faking 'til making it', and his state went under the radar for nearly a full week. He could sail right past this storm and be back in decent health just like that, cross in hand, and on the nearest flight back to the states.

However, there was that word. Nearly.

The third day in, and Rafe was starting to feel just how severely he had underestimated this virus. After all, it was bred in a place that for most felt like hell on earth, filth, rats and other unmentionable, disgusting attributes completing the dank picture of prison. As he leaned against a nearby washer, body switching from fits of coughing, hacking and wheezing every one of his internal organs out, the thought that maybe he would actually pass out almost took root in his mind. 

But that wasn't him. Weakness? Not an option. So when the faint but steadily growing echo of footsteps managed to catch his attention, thankfully given a respite where he could finally breathe without interruption, he immediately straightened up, casually glancing over his shoulder to see who would possibly be down--

"Figured I heard somebody turning their lungs inside out. I uh, didn't think it was you, though," Rafe had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the voice, mulling over how someone could manage to sound so irksome without even saying much. Although, Nathan did tend to irritate him with so much as a grin or look on certain days.

"Well, now you've solved the mystery, A+ deduction skills," Rafe replied, a touch of snap sunken into his tone. It would have held more weight were his sinuses not currently bricked up. 

Nathan noted the odd inflection immediately, eyeing the shorter male with an unsure tilt of his head and a dry chuckle, "I always hear that phrase, y'know, 'what the cat coughed up' but man, that cat must be pretty malnourished or--" 

"Watch it," 

Knowing when he'd pushed one button too many - which, with Rafe, could be zero to a million depending on the day - Nate rose both hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Just uh... Well, Sam was looking for you, actually. Guess it's just your luck that I'd be the one to actually find you, right?" 

Rafe deadpanned. What little patience he already possessed when it came to putting up with Nathan's rambling was waning. This was just wasting more time that could be spent getting to the point of seeking him out. That, and the constant, fluttering itch residing inside of his sinuses was flaring up. Again. "And what did your dear brother want, exactly?"

"Eh, it wasn't anything important. You kinda disappeared for a while and..." Pausing, he noted that Rafe had turned to the side slightly, eyes closed, "I'm gonna take a wild stab in the dark and say I'm either boring you, or you zoned out on me...?"

Wrenching his gaze open for a moment towards Nathan, brow furrowed as he continued to regard him in confusion, Rafe held up a hand to silence him from speaking further, nostrils flaring sporadically. Steady now. Inhale, pause... exhale. Once he was sure the itch had abated for the time being, Rafe blinked once to stave off the moisture gathering in his eyes before turning fully to Nathan. "You can tell him to stop getting antsy just because I've been gone for five minutes,"

"Technically it's been almost a day. I mean, just saying," 

Swear to whatever God or otherworldly power was out there, if he didn't need this joker's skills..

"Whatever amount of time, I'm fine, so you can both c-hhh-calm down," Fuck. Rafe heard the shudder in his voice, felt it clear as day, internally panicking as he wondered if the other male had caught it.

"Ah well, thanks for that, really. So what do I tell him, you're just... Practicing your breathing exercises down here? Can't say it's the most serene of places,"

Rafe's left eye gave a barely visible twitch, fingers itching to wrap around that thick neck of the younger Drake's. His control was slipping, and as per usual in the instances it did, Rafe began to feel particularly.. unstable. "Just let him know that I--" A pause, jaw clenching as the feather-like itch pervaded his sinuses once more.

"... I'll be up to see him ihh-heh!" No no no NO N--

"hhih'sknnkt! ehh'gshht!" The fit momentarily stopped, his nose not even remotely satisfied but drawing the third one out slowly, torturing him. At this point he couldn't even tell if Nathan was staring at him, but as he felt his eyes flicker shut once more, he realized that he didn't particularly care in the moment.

"ehh'CHSHH'h!" Swallowing down the mucus that had shifted during his fit, Rafe straightened up with a sharp sniff and, besides a light sheen filming his gaze, he appeared completely unaffected. "I'll find him,"

Obviously the lapse in control hadn't gone unnoticed by Nathan who, in the aftermath, was biting down on the inside of his cheek - hard - in an attempt to quell a faint smirk. Or snort. Anything even remotely related to showing signs of amusement; knowing Rafe, or rather never knowing what he was capable of, it probably wouldn't go over well.

"Right... Well! I'll uh, leave you to that then," Nate began, already backing out into the length of tunnel leading out into the main cells, "Hasta Luego," 

Rafe resisted the rising urge to roll his eyes for the umpteenth time during their little back-and-forth. It wasn't until the others footsteps were completely out of range that he bent over to let out a series of barking coughs, pale hands gripping tight onto the material covering his thighs. His frame, already thin, gave the appearance that he was suffering from convulsions until his lungs finally gave their last spasm.

Inhaling a ragged breath, he spat the result of his fit off to the side, upper lip curling in disgust. This was definitely not what control looked like.

[ICan'tThinkOfAnything]

You guys must be dead set on converting me to a Rafe bitch, huh? This was so beautifully written...characterization was on point. The control, mentions of his upbringing, everything about it screamed Rafe Adler. Perfect portrayal, seriously. And once more, your spellings killed me. I love them. I think we may need to add Rafe to that list of UC4 characters we need to take care of. This makes me wonder how he'd react to someone close to him- a significant other, perhaps, in some sort of alternate universe- attempting to take care of him. Would he drop his ever-present need for control to allow himself to be taken care of or let this someone close to him fret over his health and be unable to do anything about it? Anyway, thank you for sharing this wonderful drabble with us!

[Watercolor Daydreams]

On 6/2/2016 at 5:08 AM, Grey on a Sunday said:

"Whatever amount of time, I'm fine, so you can both c-hhh-calm down," Fuck. Rafe heard the shudder in his voice, felt it clear as day, internally panicking as he wondered if the other male had caught it.

"Ah well, thanks for that, really. So what do I tell him, you're just... Practicing your breathing exercises down here? Can't say it's the most serene of places,"

Rafe's left eye gave a barely visible twitch, fingers itching to wrap around that thick neck of the younger Drake's. His control was slipping, and as per usual in the instances it did, Rafe began to feel particularly.. unstable. "Just let him know that I--" A pause, jaw clenching as the feather-like itch pervaded his sinuses once more.

"... I'll be up to see him ihh-heh!" No no no NO N--

"hhih'sknnkt! ehh'gshht!" The fit momentarily stopped, his nose not even remotely satisfied but drawing the third one out slowly, torturing him. At this point he couldn't even tell if Nathan was staring at him, but as he felt his eyes flicker shut once more, he realized that he didn't particularly care in the moment.

"ehh'CHSHH'h!" Swallowing down the mucus that had shifted during his fit, Rafe straightened up with a sharp sniff and, besides a light sheen filming his gaze, he appeared completely unaffected. "I'll find him,"

THIS. Fuckin killed me. <3 <3

[Arty]

I don't know this fandom though I heard of the game but love the sneezes.

[Watercolor Daydreams]

OKAY I also had to follow up with this useless comment because I saw you changed your pic to nathan drake and he's so cute i askjdkjfskjrngerjg look at him!!!!!!!!! such a cinnamon roll!!!!!!! he must be tortured in a fic protected at all costs!!!!!!!!!!!

[SweaterWeather]

ICan'tThinkOfAnything: Weeeeell, I wouldn't say dead set since, y'know... *coughs* ANYHOW I am thoroughly happy that you enjoyed some sneezy Rafe~! I'm becoming quite partial to him myself, heh. And what an interesting concept. Might have to look into this one...

Watercolor Daydreams: Ah NO! *revives by power of a life giving amulet* How shall we tortu-- Er, protect Nathan if I kill you?! 

Artygirl22: Eep, then I'm even more happy that you enjoyed them! Although I haven't played the game myself, I think it's definitely worth a little look, even at a playthrough.

Alrighty, so I've taken a break from my Uncharted kick to do a bit of original shtuff (yikes, amiright?). Enjoy~

 

Prompt: Sympathy
Fandom: Original
Character: Unnamed OC (Cold)

========

She loathed getting sick. In her questionably humble opinion, the only fear tantamount to that of dying should be falling ill. After all, the second could potentially lead to a person's actual demise, so it made enough sense for her to rationalize avoiding sickness like the plague. No pun intended. 

But, there was one more thing, almost more dreadful than being sick: Being in the same, confined space with a person who was, in fact--

"Ehhh! ehH'KTICH'hah!"

... sick.

Scooting as far into a corner - technically her corner, if you were to specify - of the elevator, she didn't bother holding back a tight, pained whimper at the copious amount of spray which resulted from her fellow passenger's sneeze. Why was this happening now? Was it due to the fact that for once in her life, she had actually gone through the stress and fore thought of mapping an entire vacation out? Did the elevator God's frown upon her for pressing the lower arrow button over the allotted number of times? Whatever reason, the universe decided that putting a dent in her schedule via maintenance issues was in order. And simultaneously putting her in one of the most uncomfortable situations she had ever experienced.

"Hheh! Heh'kIJJSH'huh! eHH'SHH'huh!"

Okay, screw this being an 'uncomfortable situation'. This was a nightmare. 

The stranger sniffled, a thick, utterly water-logged and useless action because when they spoke up, their voice sounded just as miserable and damp - so, so horribly damp - as the sneezes they had just released. "I'mb uh, sorry aboud this. I cad tell your udcobfortable - er, kida freakig out, actually," 

Oh, freaking out was putting it SO mildly.

"It's fine," Her voice was strained, as though even inhaling to plow through a simple two-word reply would invite a gaggle of germ laden air into her lungs. But she wasn't even finished, damn it! "But, if you could, please try to direct your sneezes away from this general area..." She held a palm up to make a circular motion in front of her, "I would be seriously grate--"

"hEH'KISHH'huh!" 

"... ful. Or if you could even stop sneezing all-together, but, that's just a suggestion!" 

The look she was shot caused her to wonder if a second head had just emerged from her shoulder. But they did make an effort, shuffling unsteadily into the opposite corner of the elevator and tugging their collar up over their mouth to cough into. "Yeah, I'll t-try th-thhaahh..." 

Oh God, again?! She could view their head tipping back, lower lip quivering, crimson smudged nostrils flaring before a shivering hand obscured the display from view, breath catching a final time before the inevitable, "Heh-HEH!" Their head bobbed down, violently, but instead of the usual sharp quality of unrestrained sound she had become reluctantly accustomed to, came only a smothered, "hH'MPK'hh!" 

After mentally preparing herself for another blast of sound and wetness with a clenched jaw, the stifle that followed left her feeling almost, if it was even humanly possible... disappointed? Or, no wait, that might be guilt. Or disgust. Something in-between the three, she figured. Watching as the stranger lifted their head, dirty blonde locks brushed aside so they could regard her properly, they gave a smile that hinted at nearly being wry. "Better?" For the first time since stepping into their current prison, she noted the sunken in eyes, bright with an undeniable fever, cheeks appearing rash-like in contrast to their ashen skin. And, another first, she didn't quite feel the need to crawl out of her skin at the moment. No, she actually felt...

...Sympathy. That was it. She swallowed thickly, giving a firm, decisive nod and offering a timid yet considerate smile.

"Much better... Bless you,"
 

[ICan'tThinkOfAnything]

Yesssss. I could envision this whole thing perfectly, like I was watching a short film. Beautiful descriptions, both about the stranger's illness and the main character's feelings about it, especially towards the end- the main character's struggle in identifying what they're feeling after hearing that stifle. And at the start, avoiding sickness like the plague? Definitely made me laugh. Thank you for writing another beautiful drabble and sharing it with us. Wonderful work, Grey.

[SweaterWeather]

Ohhhhhh shizz, resurrecting this thing-a-ma-jigger for... reasons. I dunno, it just seems better than starting yet ANOTHER thread that I'll end up abandoning later on??? Yeah yeah, that sounds about right. Anyhow, for anyone familiar with the game 'Dead By Daylight', or just into bloody good fun mixed with some sneeziness, hopefully this tickles your fancy!

 

Prompt: Immune
Fandom: Dead By Daylight
Character: Jake Park

========

Struggle, blend in, adapt.

Fuck that was easier said than done outside of a metal death device that's been fastened to your face. Jake could barely take a breath without a trickle of crimson running down his throat, a constant reminder of how in a few seconds, he'd become the equivalent of an anaconda unhinging it's jaws. Granted, an incredibly dead anaconda. 

If he could just maneuver his hands in this... contraption correctly, he'd be free. Whoever 'The Pig' was, or worked for, they certainly had a lot of time on their hands to come up with something this sadistic. Each wrong move was rewarded with a laceration to his fingers, shakily searching for the key possibly held in each box scattered about the map. It didn't help to have that stupid puppet looming over him, beady little eyes boring holes into the sweaty exterior of Jake's scalp.

Oh, and the ever present threat of a woman donning a pig's mask, skulking around and waiting for the perfect opportunity to spring out and slash his throat? Icing. Pure icing.

"...eeehH'KCH't! ghh, fuck!" No, actually the icing had to be the heady, sickly sweet aroma of hay that seemed to encircle his nostrils. Living out in the wilderness hadn't come without it's challenges, but he'd never been exposed to such an insufferable case of hay-fever - until now. Maybe it was the universes way of punishing his rebelliousness after so many months. Karma would decide to wait until he was literally running for his life to kick in, wouldn't it?

Wheezing out another breath, Jake had no choice but to pause once he staggered towards the next Jigsaw box. He reflexively brought up a hand to swipe at his nose, hissing as it jostled the machinery eclipsing his face. Right. Metal death trap to deal with, then he could clean up the gunk currently running down his upper lip. Without hesitation, Jake slid his hands into the awaiting gaped holes.

He'd barely covered a few inches before his sinuses were flooded with another wave of itchiness, an all body shiver wracking his tensed frame. Fucking overactive immune system, it was gonna get his FACE SNAPPED IN HALF. "iiee'ghh... hehhh!... hughh-- fugck!" Jake bit back a groan as his fingers clumsily sliced themselves open along rusty glass. Blinking back tears of both pain and allergic suffering, narrowing them in focus of his objective. Find the key, all you have to do is find it. Stop thinking about the monstrosity attached to your face, or the Pig, or the itching... Oh fuck, it itches so bad. Sniffle. Okay, okay we're good, just-- Damn it, it's even worse now! Fuck, your eyes are fluttering, don't you dare... 

"ehhh... hhuhh! heh!" Despite his internal struggle, not even Jake's penchant for a level head in dire straits could override his bodies desperate need. "hheh--hhEEH--!" Self preservation finally overrode, he allowed his stinging nostrils to fully flare out against the cold metal, readying himself to ride out the string of painfully stifled expulsions.

"HEH-- hHEPT'Shh! ehH'KSHHh!... HEH'Chsh! h'CHShh! 'CHSHH! hhh-huh--heEEH-- hH'CHSHH'ueaUGH!" With that last unfortunately earth-shattering sneeze, Jake staggered backwards from the puzzle box, landing smack onto his backside - key in hand! His body shuddered, exhaustion and relief intermingling, but he didn't have time to dwell. By now, the monotone beeping of his trap had nearly climaxed to a single, overwhelming hum. 

Fingers scrambled behind his head, frantically searching for the lock - yes, now just slip in the key, turn it-- 

With a final twist, Jake wrenched the mechanical demon off of his face - tossing it aside just as it violently snapped open. Well, fuck. Impending doom aside, Jake shakily swiped the mucus from underneath his crimson nostrils, and two thoughts quickly ran through his head before he returned to his feet:

Fuck Hay-Fever. And seriously fuck Reverse Bear-traps.
 

[SweaterWeather]

Back at it again~ Trying out TWD since my life currently revolves around this gosh darn show, lol.

 

Prompt: Rest

Fandom: The Walking Dead 

Character: Rick Grimes

========

He'd expected to come down with the strain of influenza. And yet, somehow he'd avoided it. 

Of course, the universe just couldn't allow him to walk away Scott free. Maybe it was a sign from the universe on his decision to banish Carol; it hadn't come easy, by any means. But he made it for the betterment of the group, of his family. She knew exactly what would happen the moment she decided to carry out her deeds. Every action had consequences.

"hiihh.. hH'tSHH!" 

And, apparently, Rick's own comeuppance formed into a nasty head-cold... latent influenza? Fuck, if he knew. A sign of overworking himself, but Hershel had assured him that, with no high grade fever or coughing up blood, it was likely nothing serious. It certainly didn't mean that Rick would completely heed his advice on needing to rest up, however. There were graves still needed to be dug, and a about a thousand other tasks to attend. 

Sniffling thickly, Rick ran the back of his wrist underneath his streaming nose before plunging his shovel back into the earth. Now that was certainly getting annoying. Stopping to placate his tingling sinuses every five minutes. Damn it, he was fine, otherwise. It was just an inconvenience. Though, being knee-deep in a pit of dirt didn't do wonders for his body heat, as a shudder along his spine could tell.

"Is this your idea of 'bedrest'?"

Aw, hell. Rick didn't even bother to turn around, knowing Hershel's worn yet comforting voice anywhere by now. Maybe he should have found some work to do in the tombs, instead. "You said it yourself, right? 'S jus' a cold," Rick huffed, depositing another shovel full of dirt atop the mound beside him. Hearing Hershel sigh, he attempted to make a preemptive strike to what the elder might be itching to say. "I already slept in this mornin', doesn't that count towards somethin'?"

"Oh, sure. Means you gave yourself a heapin', what, ten minutes of recuperation? Five more an' you might get rid of that rattle in your chest,"

Damn, was it really that obvious? He sniffled once more, gaze going unfocused as another cold-induced tickle wormed it's way through his sinuses. Oh no, not now. "Don't have time," he answered curtly, turning under the guise of digging into the dirt while wrinkling the bridge of his nose. He could stave if off for a bit longer, but not by much - Shane used to say Rick was on a timer whenever he'd sneeze, always right-on-the-dot predictable. 

Hershel's expression morphed into one of exasperation, "You'll have even less if this morphs into somethin' more serious. Now I can't tell you what to do--"

'Just try like hell to, anyway' Rick mused, sniffling as quietly as humanly possible while Hershel went on. "-- But I can suggest that you think about this long-term. Taking a day or two to rest won't be the end of us - but having you laid up for a week because you didn't in the first place?"

Rick had nearly phased out the last of what Hershel was saying, though not intentionally. His frame was frozen in place, half bent over as his sinuses went from tingling to an insistent, needy buzz. No no no, he was fine, he just had to... Gasping softly, Rick swiped a thumb against his agitated nostrils, blinking rapidly before lowering his hand. "I'll..." A tentative swallow, lungs threatening to seize at his vocal chords, and so he rushed out to finish, "I'll think about it, soon as I finish here,"

While not the exact answer he may have hoped for, Hershel appeared to accept it for the time being. "See that ya' do," And he turned to hobble away, but not before offering a gentle, "God bless you," 

Rick tensed, opening his mouth to protest the notion, but his expression crumpled the moment his lips parted. "Hhh--hiiIIHH" Twisting round, he dove into the collar of his shirt and finally allowed himself to falter. "ihhTSCHH! hhHITSHH! ih'KTCHH!" By the time his body was done feebly attempting to eject this goddamned bug, he'd turned back to find Hershel gone. Well, at least he'd only... made a partial fool of himself. Considering his collar had taken quite a misting. Groaning softly, Rick sniffled heavily, glancing down at the shallow grave.

Soon as he finished. Then bed rest.
 

[jensdw]

Yay! there’s so little walking dead on here and this is adorable, so thank u for sharing!

I love the way you wrote Rick and Hershel’s relationship + Rick refusing to go and rest. so cute!!