Burn: The Walking Dead Clementine x Male Reader

Chapter 8: It's Really Him

After a playful spin, Clifford tossed him gently onto a bean bag, eliciting a surprised grunt from the little superhero.

"Got secret alarms now, huh? What have you been up to while I've been out?" Clifford teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Sienna smiled and gestured towards the stairs, signaling it was time for the next act of their daily routine.

"Y/N, time to wash up for dinner!" she called out. The boy, known as Y/N, scrambled up from the bean bag, his energy undiminished, and headed upstairs.

Ditching his Spider-Man mask in his room, he flicked on the bathroom light and studied his reflection. His eyes, a vivid echo of Sienna's, shimmered, their color shifting with the light. His skin tone and hair blended with his parents' features, presenting a harmonious mix of heritage and youth.

After a brief struggle with the faucet, water finally cascaded down, allowing him to start his washing routine, humming a tuneless melody as he lathered his hands with soap.

Outside their home, a crisis raged. The world was in the throes of an outbreak, turning lives upside down and spawning creatures they only referred to as "monsters." These beings, once human, were now something to fear, especially since a single bite spelled doom.

After washing his hands and drying them with a towel, Y/N headed back downstairs. The table was set in the kitchen, and his plate awaited among the familiar, comforting sights of family dinner.

Dinner was ready, steaming on the table.

"Salmon and rice... Again?" Y/N couldn't hide his disappointment. Sitting busy attacking his meal, Clifford glanced up while Sienna prepared to soothe their son's culinary fatigue.

"It's an odd mix, I admit," Sienna acknowledged, guiding Y/N to his seat, "but it's what we've got right now, honey." Her gentle nudge got him started on his meal.

Being a kid during the outbreak meant Y/N had become less picky about food. With limited choices, he learned to appreciate whatever was on his plate, knowing it was fuel for survival.

Dinner concluded in silence, and soon, Sienna headed out to check on the garden, Clifford to secure the perimeter, leaving Y/N to his own devices indoors.

With a toy airplane in hand, he sent it soaring through the house, its flight occasionally interrupted by furniture and walls. The plane eventually found its way outside, crashing against a propane tank hidden in the cellar, a necessary precaution to avoid attracting unwanted, undead attention.

Curious, Y/N ventured down, his ears picking up a faint hissing sound. "Could it be a snake?" he wondered aloud, his imagination piqued.

Before he could investigate further, Sienna's sharp and urgent voice cut through the air. "Y/N! M/N! L/N! Step away from the cellar now! And come help me in the garden!"

Startled by the full-name call, Y/N dashed back up with a toy plane in hand, showing it to his mother as proof of his innocent intent. "Just fetching my plane, Ma," he explained, dropping the toy on the grass, its adventure cut short as he hurried to assist with the chores.

That snake would have to wait another day or, thankfully, never be encountered.

.

.

.

Back in the present, the roar of the fire and the groans of the undead echo louder in the hallway, mirroring the rise of Y/N's sobs. Memories of his mother's soothing song and his father's encouraging words flicker through his mind, starkly contrasting the horror around him.