trapper's Guestbook

Jr. sat perfectly still.

 

The fire popped softly between them.

For once, he didn't immediately reach for a joke.

Didn't deflect.

Didn't change the subject.

Because every excuse he'd spent years building had just been quietly dismantled by the man sitting across from him.

His father hadn't argued with him.

Hadn't told him to toughen up.

Hadn't given him some neat little speech about positive thinking.

He'd simply... seen him.

And somehow that felt worse.

And better.

At the same time.

Jr. swallowed hard.

His eyes stayed on the flames.

"You make it sound so simple."

The words came out rougher than he'd intended.

Trapper Sr. didn't answer.

Just waited.

Jr. let out a shaky breath.

"Because I don't even know what the weight is anymore."

That was the first truly honest thing he'd said all night.

His hands tightened together.

"I know I'm tired."

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"I know I'm angry half the time."

Another pause.

"And I know I spend every day feeling like I'm one bad moment away from becoming somebody I don't want to be."

The confession hung there.

Raw.

Unpolished.

His father remained silent.

Giving him room.

Jr. stared into the fire.

"I wake up already exhausted."

His voice had gone quieter.

"People need things. Work needs things. Family needs things."

His jaw tightened.

"And every time I think about asking for help, all I hear is this voice telling me I should be able to handle it myself."

His throat worked.

"That everybody else seems to."

The last sentence almost disappeared into the night.

Trapper Sr. lowered his gaze briefly.

Because he recognized that voice too.

Jr. laughed once.

Humorless.

"And the stupid part?"

He shook his head.

"I know it's not true."

His eyes glistened in the firelight.

"I know other people struggle."

A breath.

"I know nobody has their life together as much as they pretend."

Another breath.

"But somehow the rules are different for me."

That finally made Trapper Sr. close his eyes briefly.

Not because he disagreed.

Because he understood exactly how painful that belief could become.

Jr. rubbed a hand across his face.

"I spend so much energy trying not to be a burden that I end up making everything harder for everybody anyway."

His voice cracked slightly.

The sound surprised him.

Embarrassed him.

But he kept going.

"I pull away."

A pause.

"I stop answering calls."

Another.

"I tell people I'm fine."

His eyes dropped.

"And then I get mad that nobody notices I'm drowning."

The silence that followed felt enormous.

Jr. stared at the ground.

Waiting for judgment.

Waiting for correction.

Waiting for someone to tell him how ridiculous he sounded.

Instead—

A quiet chuckle came from across the fire.

Jr. looked up.

Trapper Sr. was shaking his head.

Not mocking.

Recognizing.

"Yeah," the older man said softly.

"That's a nasty one."

Jr. blinked.

"What?"

A small smile touched Sr.'s face.

"Expecting people to read a map you never handed them."

Jr. stared at him for a second.

Then, despite himself—

A short laugh escaped.

Real this time.

The first one all evening.

The tension in his shoulders loosened a fraction.

Just a fraction.

But enough.

His father smiled too.

"There he is."

Jr. rolled his eyes immediately.

"Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That dad thing."

"The dad thing?"

"The wise old mountain-man thing."

Trapper Sr. barked out a laugh.

"I'll have you know I'm extremely handsome for a wise old mountain man."

That earned an actual snort from Jr.

The sound surprised both of them.

For a moment, the heaviness lifted.

Not gone.

Just lighter.

Manageable.

Then Jr.'s smile slowly faded.

Not from sadness.

From sincerity.

He looked at his father across the fire.

The man who had spent years making mistakes.

Surviving them.

Learning from them.

The man who had somehow found his way through the darkness Jr. was currently lost inside.

And quietly, almost too quietly to hear, Jr. said:

"...I'm scared."

The words stopped everything.

No jokes.

No defenses.

No masks.

Just truth.

His eyes remained fixed on the flames.

"I'm scared this is who I am now."

The admission trembled in the air.

"That maybe this tired version is the permanent one."

His father's expression softened.

Deeply.

Jr. swallowed.

"And I'm scared that one day people are gonna get tired of waiting for me to be okay."

Silence.

Then Trapper Sr. stood.

Walked around the fire.

And without a word, settled into the chair beside his son.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Just close enough.

The same way he'd done when Jr. was a little boy and thunderstorms had seemed too big to survive.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Trapper Sr. rested a hand briefly against the back of Jr.'s neck.

A simple gesture.

Steady.

Certain.

And in a voice rough with emotion, he said:

"Son..."

Jr. looked over.

"...I've been wrong about a lot of things in my life."

A small smile.

"But I know this one."

His eyes held his son's.

"You are not the storm."

The fire crackled softly.

"You're the man trying to survive it."

And for the first time in a very long while—

Jr. let himself believe there might actually be a difference.

Kellye sat beside Trapper and listened to everything he had to say. And when he paused for a few minutes to take a bite of his sandwich, she began to speak to him softly and sweetly. "Well, anyone who could pull off a surgery like that deserves to be pampered a little bit," she told him. "Besides, all the hours that you have been putting in it, I just figured you might be hungry and a tad bit thirsty," she said with a smile on her face as she went on to reply to him saying that if she kept spoiling him like this that he would start requesting her for all his post-op recoveries. The smile on her face grew bigger as she felt another blush coming over her. She then went on to speak on thoughts. "I wouldn't mind working with you more," she told him before going back to her original thoughts. "And I'm sorry this is powered milk," she told him. "The army hasn't invented a way to keep fresh milk cold during a war," she said with smile on her face, trying to lighten the mood. "Yea I heard and I'm glad that he pulled through," she told him as she gently and carefully climbed behind him on his cot. And as Kellye began to massage the soreness out of Trapper's shoulders, she couldn't help but speak again, this time using a tone that made her sound more than a soldier or even a nurse. The tone made her sound more like a woman than anything else. "I kind of had a feeling that you could use a woman's touch, especially after not only that long surgery, but after all the hours you have been putting in lately," she told him.

Kellye took her time as she carefully worked on Trapper's shoulders. She could really feel the tension in his shoulders, which meant his entire body was tensed and stressed. After hearing him thank her not only for the food, but for just coming by she couldn't help but smile as she replied to him. "You are welcome," she told him as she continued to work on the knots in his shoulders. "Besides, I haven't seen you all day because of you being in surgery," she told him honestly. "So, I kind of wanted to check up on you and make sure you are doing okay," she told him and then she let out a sigh, knowing that she needed something else to help get his stress knots out his shoulders and back. "Listen, my sweet Dr. Man," she told him playfully as she was slowly getting off the cot. "I'm going to need you to take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach," she told him as she was now sounding more like a doctor than anything else. Then Kellye cleared her throat as she looked around for a few minutes, as if she was looking for something. She didn't really say much as she was looking around, and then finally, she turned and looked back at Trapper. "I need to run back to my tent and get something to help with all those knots in your shoulders and back," she told him. "This will give you time to get your shirt off and yourself laying comfortably on your stomach until I get back," she told him with a huge smile on her face. "Think you can try not to miss me too much while I'm gone?" she asked him with a playful tone, knowing that he would. "I won't be more than 5 minutes, maybe 10 minutes at the most," she added.

Trapper Jr. didn't answer immediately.

 

Not because he didn't want to.

Because the words hit somewhere too deep for a fast response.

He stared into the fire instead, jaw tight—not fighting emotion exactly, just trying to hold it steady long enough to understand what he was feeling.

The flames crackled low between them.

For a second, he looked younger than he usually let himself.

Not childish.

Just tired.

His hands clasped together loosely, thumbs rubbing once against each other before he finally spoke.

"...I don't know how to stop acting like I'm supposed to handle it alone."

The admission came rough and quiet.

Honest in a way that almost sounded unfamiliar to him.

His eyes stayed on the fire.

"I know people say that all the time—ask for help, talk to somebody, whatever—but every time things get bad, my first instinct is still to disappear until I can get myself under control again."

A humorless breath slipped out of him.

"Like if anybody sees it happening, then suddenly I'm somebody they gotta worry about."

He swallowed.

"And I hate that feeling."

The last part came smaller.

Not weak.

Just real.

Trapper Sr. stayed quiet, letting him get there on his own.

Jr. rubbed a hand across the back of his neck before continuing.

"Sometimes I think..." He hesitated. "I think maybe I'm angry all the time because I'm exhausted."

That earned the faintest shift from his father—not surprise. Recognition.

Jr. noticed it.

And somehow that made it easier to keep talking.

"Everything feels loud lately." He frowned slightly, trying to explain it right. "People talking. Crowds. Noise. Even stupid stuff."

His gaze drifted upward toward the dark trees surrounding them.

"And then somebody asks if I'm okay, and suddenly I'm irritated at them for noticing."

A weak, crooked smile touched his mouth.

"Which probably isn't fair."

The fire popped sharply.

Jr. leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees now, mirroring his father without realizing it.

"I just..." He exhaled slowly. "I keep waiting to feel normal again."

There it was.

The real thing.

Not frustration.

Not anger.

Grief.

For the version of himself he thought he'd still be by now.

His voice lowered.

"And every time I think I'm getting close, something small knocks me sideways again and I feel stupid for believing I was doing better."

Silence settled after that.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Then Jr. glanced over at his father finally.

Really looked at him.

At the exhaustion Trapper Sr. no longer bothered hiding. The hard-earned steadiness underneath it. The understanding that didn't require explanation.

And some of the tension in Jr.'s shoulders loosened for the first time all evening.

"...How'd you do it?" he asked quietly.

Not "how'd you survive."

Not "how'd you fix it."

Something harder.

How did you keep living with it and still become someone capable of sitting here like this?

Jr. didn't answer right away.
He stayed where he was, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, eyes fixed on the same stretch of fire his father had been watching. The words settled into him slow—like embers finding dry wood, catching somewhere deeper than he expected.
His jaw worked once, subtle, like he was testing whether to speak or let it pass.
A quiet breath slipped out of him, not quite steady.
"...Yeah," he murmured, though it wasn't really an answer.
Another pause stretched, but it wasn't empty. It felt... shared now.
He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging down to rest at his collar, then dropped his hand again. "I used to think," he started, voice low, almost thoughtful, "that if I could just keep moving... keep doing something—anything—" He gave a faint, humorless huff. "—it wouldn't catch up."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Trapper Sr., then back to the fire.
"Turns out it's got better stamina than I do."
There was the smallest hint of a smile there, but it didn't last.
Jr. shifted, boots pressing into the dirt much like his father had earlier, mirroring without realizing it. "It's not even the big stuff half the time," he admitted. "Not the things you'd expect." His brow furrowed slightly. "It's... little things. Sounds. Smells. The way someone says something just wrong enough to knock something loose."
He swallowed, gaze tightening just a fraction.
"And then it's like I'm right back there before I even know what 'there' is."
Silence followed that, but this one felt heavier—closer to the bone.
After a moment, he let out a slow breath and leaned back slightly, hands bracing behind him. His shoulders lifted, then dropped.
"...I don't like how easy it is to lose my footing," he said, more quietly now. "One second I'm fine. Next..." He shook his head once. "Feels like I'm playing catch-up with myself."
Another small pause.
Then, softer—almost reluctant—
"I thought maybe I was just... handling it wrong."
He didn't look over this time when he said it. But there was something in his voice that didn't hide—something that hadn't been said out loud before.
The fire cracked again, and Jr. finally glanced back at his father, not guarded now—just... open.
"...Does it ever get easier?"

Jr. didn't answer right away either.

 

The words didn't land like a blow so much as they settled—slow, unavoidable—like dust drifting into the seams of everything he'd been trying to keep tight.

His eyes stayed on the fire for a moment longer than necessary, watching the way it bent and folded in on itself. Like it understood something he didn't want to name yet.

When he finally spoke, his voice came quieter than before.

"...Yeah."

A small pause. Not agreement exactly. More like acknowledgment of something he'd been circling for a long time without wanting to step into it fully.

He shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets, shoulders tightening like he was trying to hold himself together out of habit rather than need.

"I know what you mean," he said at last. Then, after a beat—honest, a little rough around the edges—"That's the part I don't like admitting."

His jaw worked once, then he let out a slow breath through his nose.

"It's not that I don't sleep," he added, echoing his father's words in a quieter tone. "It's just... when I do, it's like my head finally gets a chance to catch up."

A glance flicked sideways—brief, but real.

"And it doesn't always do me favors with what it brings back."

He went quiet after that, letting the space sit between them without rushing to fill it. The camp noises rolled on around them, distant and indifferent, like the world didn't care what they were unpacking here.

Then, softer—almost reluctantly—

"...I didn't think you still had nights like that," he admitted.