Otis died a hero.
You're a fucking liar, and you know it.
No, he had a meaningful death. Saved us all.
You shot him in his goddamned leg. The only meaning you gave it was malice.
He saved me.
Boy, no one can save you.
"Shane."
The man abruptly started at his name, looking up to find the face of the voice that'd shaken him. Rick, his blue eyes soft, his voice gentle. He had a damp washcloth in hand, standing across from him.
"Here," he murmured, along with a string of other words that Shane could only ignore, as he was deep inside his own mind.
Shane felt the coolness of the cloth on the back of his neck, the side of his face, bridge of his nose. He couldn't feel anything beyond it. He slowly sank into the cold, the dark. He could hear the snarling walkers in his ear, he could feel them closing in on him. Them.
You were a dead man.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back from his mind, steadying him when he didn't know he was swaying. "Shane, you haven't sat down since you got here. You could use a rest." Shane shook his head, vacillating between looking at Rick and the ground. Rick was the one it hurt the most to look at, for Shane had committed an act of treason he knew not even Rick would forgive him for.
Why is it Rick's forgiveness you need? He's too good for this world anymore, he's too damn good.
However, this was a difficulty. Rick was also the only person he could allow himself to make eye contact with right now. He didn't want to talk to anyone else, or hear anyone else. He didn't want to feel anything else except Rick's presence. It isn't as though Rick automatically made it okay, but it felt like something like that.
Shane was panicking for reasons that he didn't want to be general knowledge- he left someone for dead. Might as well have shot him in the head. He did, however, want Rick to know what kind of state of mind he was in, so he bumped Rick's hand from his shoulder and moved it over to his heart. He was sure Rick felt the lightning fast thud- thud, thud- thud- he thought it shook the whole house at first, but then realized it was he himself who was shaking.
Rick glanced at him, and without a moments notice, dragged him to the bed so he could sit down, not bothering with the chair. The moment he touched the mattress, he let out a shaky sigh, trying to say something, anything- he just couldn't make his vocal chords work.
Rick seemed to get that, shushing him, sitting down next to him. It was not until he felt Rick's arm around him that he realized the blood trickling down his cheek- he hurriedly scrubbed his hand across his face, worried Otis had left evidence, but no. It took Shane a moment to register that it was not blood that was dripping down his face, they were tears. He couldn't make them stop- didn't know why they kept coming. He didn't feel like crying, but he couldn't stop. The only thing he could do was lean to the right, and let himself be weak for only a moment.
That's right, do what you always do. Go to Rick. Leech off him, lean on him, whatever. He'll fix everything for you. Not like he doesn't have his own damn problems.
After moments of Rick's breath and quiet comfort, he slipped his shoulder out from under Shane's head, took Shane's face in his hands, thumbs just in front of his ears and fingertips resting on the nape of his neck. Shane replied in the same way- it was all he could do- shuddering with all the work he was doing trying to find his voice instead of relying on all this touching, this holding, and the quiet.
It's almost too intimate to bear. You don't deserve this from Rick. You don't deserve anything but what you have- guilt.
But, even so, Shane didn't deny that these things brought him comfort. Maybe not having to express your thoughts in words was a good thing sometimes- in fact, he was actually partial to this, with Rick, his soft, reassuring voice telling him little lies that he knew were lies, indeed.
"It's all gonna be okay."
It's all gonna go to hell, boy, you know that.
Right here, right now, what Rick says goes.
"I need you, Shane."
He doesn't need you. He never has. No one ever listens to you.
What Rick says goes.
Shane's mind was almost on autopilot. What Rick says goes- trust him above any other.
Trust him with anything, you name it: Your life? You could surely count on him to do everything in his power to keep you safe, as long as you did the same for him. Trust Rick with your love? Or your trust? Shane had pretty much blindly thrust these things at Rick and merely asked him, "I scratch your back, you scratch mine?"
Shane was pulled back from his thoughts, again, by Rick's touch. Rick gently pulled their foreheads together, softly murmuring about nothing in particular. Shane felt Rick's breath warm his face. Shane hadn't known his own eyes were closed until he felt them fluttering open- Rick's soft blue eyes piercing his own deep browns.
Rick's hands travelled down, down, until they reached his shoulders, leaving them there for a moment. Rick then leaned back so he could examine Shane again, hands moving back up, fingertips on Shane's temples, tilting his head the slightest bit to and fro. By the looks of it, Rick is checking him for some kind of head injury.
So he thinks your out of it? Rightly so. You've never been in it.
Shane didn't know where to look, didn't know why he felt his face heating up. This was not the time.
His eyes fluttered once again, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Rick's hand grasped at his chin briefly, just to raise Shane to eye level- again, just checking. He complied, and Rick was so much closer all of a sudden, face a bit contorted with worry and concern. He was always so fucking concerned. Rick was so close to him that Shane could've sworn he felt his best friend's breath on his face again. It smelled like sweet grass, and a little salty.
Shane didn't try to stop himself, nothing jarred him, and nothing made him think twice about following instinct. He leaned in quickly, pressing his lips to Rick's, and just as quickly rocking himself backwards, ashamed. Ashamed that he thought Rick might comply, that he thought of going forward- ashamed that he got goose bumps. After all the years of pining, why now? Shane shouldn't be this vulnerable. He thought he'd learned to turn that switch off.
These thoughts increased his self-loathing more than he could bear.
Now look what you did, faggot. You done fucked up.
Before Rick could say anything, Shane stuttered for half a second, and then blurted, "I-I didn't mean to." But he wasn't going to apologize. He wasn't sorry. Rick looked at him. Just looked. His expression turned from unreadable to understanding, "Okay." Shane could feel the heat crawl up his neck and spread over his cheeks.
Shame on you.
Rick's expression turned into something that was slightly sympathetic, scooting over so that his knee was resting against Shane's. Rick didn't know what to do, what to think. His friend was hurting, but then again they all were. For all Rick knew, he could have been Dale and Shane would've leaned.
Shane, like a wounded animal, got up looking down at the floor, and made his hasty exit.