Chapter Title: No One Can Make it Alone

Rating: T (language)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead. If I did, I would've kept Shane alive and wrote myself as a Milton-esque character that does whatever he wants.

Author's note: From this point onward, chapters might alternate ratings from T to M, but there'll by a warning for each chapter. This might also be a joint fic (meaning another amazing fanfic writer will take the helm every other chapter or so). As always tell me what you thought. What worked for you and what didn't. Regarding the timeline, I went online to see when all this crazy stuff went down (The escape from the farm to the end of the prison arc spans about 8.5 weeks).

Helpful tips: The zombie epidemic starts on Day 0, the attack on the farm begins on day 82, and the day the Governor leaves and the survivors arrive at the Prison is day 323.

Please write a review. Reviews make me super happy and let me know that you enjoyed reading what I wrote. If you have suggestions, do tell. If you have criticism (construct) tell me as well! I've read over some characters from the comics for some ideas, but the majority of the story will come from the imagination. Uh… what else. I don't like Andrea, but I'll be nice to her in this story. I don't' recommend reading this story if you haven't seen the season 3 finale "Welcome to the Tombs" unless you want spoilers. There will be Richonne (Rick+Michonne) romance in this story but that doesn't mean other pairings can't be explored. Also, this story isn't going to center on just Rick, Michonne, or Shane, but other perspectives as well. If anyone is interested: I listened to Chevelle's Envy when writing the second half of Shane's POV.

When he arrived, his feet were sore from blisters and unhealed scabs. His clothes gave off a rancid, sour smell that was a combination of dried walker blood, dirt, and his own sweat. He became immune to the smell soon enough, but he knew that if he were among the living, their noses would wrinkle; their foreheads would crease trying to examine where the odor came from. He forgot how many days on foot he had walked. Was it days or weeks? He remembered the car breaking down, remembered foraging an abandoned shack for anythin' to eat—he had found a single can of sardines. He remembered almost drinking from a stream before noticing that a dead walker's remains were also running along its current. He couldn't remember when he started to walk though.

The Georgian heat was oppressive. He had to trudge along the abandoned road with his hand shielding his eyes as the sun beat against his head and neck. He couldn't sweat anymore. He didn't have the water to. He swallowed involuntarily even though there was nothing to swallow. There was a pang in his throat, and his limbs were no longer aching, but numb. By the time he saw the stone belfry, he thought he was seeing things. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. DIIIIIIIIIING DOOONG

His head was pounding with every ring of the bell, and yet his feet kept marching, one foot after the other. They didn't stop even as walkers began to stir from behind destroyed ramparts and cars that showed signs they were once on fire. They moved towards him and continued past, their objective the same as his: reach the bell tower.

He moved his head to the right, his mouth refusing to close as he tried to breath in the moisture. He saw six…or maybe it was seven tally marks. His vision was getting blurry, and the road was starting to tilt more noticeably, Beside the tally marks was either the initials L.D or I.D next to it. Squinting at the engravings didn't help none, they only made his eyes hurt more.

He heard shouts that seemed to get farther and closer all at once. Blood spattered him and he almost instinctively licked his lips to taste the liquid. His eyes lifted from the asphalt to meet a man's blue ones.

"Rick?" he mumbled between sore, cracked lips.

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a man screaming, "Fuck, we got a breather!"

Day 82-2 months ago

That boy…What was his name again? Randall, yes, Randall kept talking incessantly loud as if the only thing he could disturb were a few birds in the trees. His shoes stepped onto twigs and dried leaves in wanton abandon, causing an audible snap,which made him start grinding his teeth in annoyance. He tuned out Randall from time to time, listening for a moan or two. Nothing. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

"I told myself, 'Man this guy…this guy right here, he'd be perfect for our group…" He watched the boy talk excitedly with his hands turning his head back to offer him a toothy grin. "I'm talkin' about you."

He blinked at him, giving off no expression other than to keep walkin'. Randall didn't get it because he kept blubberin' excitedly.

"Your dumbass leader…the one who calls the shots—"

"He don't call nothin'" he interjected, when he knew darn well he should've kept his mouth shut.

"Whatever...if he would've let me go, I wasn't gonna rat ya'll out. We could've teamed up. We all need to stick together through these hard times."

He felt a slow throbbing just behind the eyes starting to build. He had the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he turned to look over his shoulder instead. He could still see the weather vane, though now it appeared more like a dot against a low horizon. Only a few more hours til' darkness. For someone who just escaped being executed, this boy sure wasn't spoutin' any lines about how grateful he was.

"It seemed like you were doin' a lot of that when your group was rapin' those two girls and making their father watch."

The boy stopped. His shoulders squared ever so slightly but it was enough for Shane to tense one hand, fingers curling into a lazy fist. The boy relaxed again and kept walking, continuing to trek noisily over the foliage. He couldn't tell if Randall was smiling since his eyes met the boy's back, but he felt like he was. He swallowed an invisible lump in his throat.

"You make mistakes…we all have. This world, it changes us, yano."

He knew.

"Anyways, we're alive, aren't we. That counts for somethin'! I can tell by just lookin' at you that you'll fit in perfectly. We need people ta take charge, not just talk outta their asses. When you commit, you commit."

He told him to take a left here, just passed another countless birch tree, as he rushed him. The boy gave a shout that died as soon as his hands seized his windpipe. Shhh, he whispered harshly into Randall's ear, his eyes drifting to the boy's heaving chest as he started to hyperventilate. He slammed the boy against the trunk of the tree, his right hand closed around his throat, firm enough to have him struggle to breathe, but not enough for him to pass out.

He smiled…for the first time since arriving at Hershel's farm. Lips stretching to reveal teeth.

"Yano what I find amusing about you Yankees?" He chuckled to himself. "Ya never stop blatherin'. Always talkin' away as if the world gives two shits about what ya'll think. Yano what also amuses me?" He stared into the boy's brown eyes, watched as they got wider as a bead of sweat ran along the side of his face. "Hmm?" Randall shook his head.

"Back in the barn, you told us you didn' do nothin' when your lil' group tortured that family….yano what I thought to myself?" As if on cue, Randall shook his head again, his inhales becoming harsher. "I thought…. 'Man, if he was innocent, he woulda said, 'I couldn't do anything!' Which is true, ain't it!" His voice got louder as his buildin' headache started to subside. "I mean…there's six of them, and just one of you! You probably were the youngest one there, and already scared, while they've probably done things like this before." He nodded this time, so he continued. "They had guns, we know that…so why waste your life tryin' to help strangers when your efforts would've failed anyway!" His mouth was starting to hurt from smiling for so long. He breathed in deeply, his shoulders relaxing.

"I don't blame ya. But..why did you lie to us? We would've understood." They wouldn't.

He kept shaking his head back and forth, even when Shane applied more pressure. He still wouldn't budge.

The boy's feet began to slide out from under him as he became weaker and Shane let him go, let him sink to his knees to fall to the ground. He adjusted himself to sit on his ass, raking in gulps of air in between shouting curses.

"Fuck….man….I," He leaned his head against the base of the tree, his hair clinging to his forehead thanks to a combination of his sweat and the humidity.""ain't…no….liar."

Shane offered him his hand, pulling him up so that his back rested against bark. "No, because the truest words you've said is that we gotta do what we have to to survive in this world." Randall started to stand again, brushing off a combination of leaves and mud off the front of his pants. He twisted his upper body to look at the back of his pants, but that was all the time Shane needed.

He wrapped his arm around Randall's neck, causing the boy's body to involuntarily arch backwards into him. Shane pulled as tightly as he could, dropping both him and Randall to the floor. As they fell he heard an audible craaack. He looked at the boy's chest as it rose up and down, knowing that in a few minutes it'd stop.

The movies could never get a decent neck-snap maneuver right; no, what was needed was a lot of force. Said force made him pant though. He wiped beads of sweat with the back of his hand as he watched Randall's feet kick and his fingers twitch. He stood up, one hand supporting his weight against the side of the tree. All the rage he had been feeling til now: from that ridiculous meeting they had to discuss the dearly departed Randall to Lori lying to him telling him she didn't love him -that they were a mistake- forced him to scream. That scream caused a few sparrows to take flight from nearby branches. Without thinking, he hit his head against the bark so hard his feet started to stagger. When he pressed his fingers to his temple and pulled them away, he saw a smear of blood on his hands. The smile tried to force its way back, but he suppressed it.

He looked down at Randall's chest as it began to slow to a standstill. Finally no more talkin'

Once again his brown eyes scanned the area for any walkers, but once again, there were none. He looked back towards where Hershel's farm should be, and thought about goin' back. Rick was too far up his own ass with power to listen to reason, but maybe he could convince Lori and Carl to come with him…He exhaled through his nose, no. That wasn't likely. He looked ahead of him, a new path presented itself.

"This world, what it is now, this is where you belong. And I may not have what it takes to last for long, but that's okay. 'Cause at least I can say when the world goes to shit, I didn't let it take me down with it".

Dale was right. He wasn't meant to survive long. He was weak, and he was idealistic, and those two never meshed well when the world truly did go to shit. It was survival of the fittest now, and here was his chance to thrive. Breathing never felt so good.

He took a step forward, and another, blood cascading down the side of his face as the sun went down. He never looked back to see Randall's fingers twitch again, and his feet kick.

Present-Day 323

Carl wasn't speaking to him. Every time he began a march towards his son, the boy would walk off in the opposite direction. He exhaled slowly. He was never good with words and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when he didn't have to start a conversation. Lori would've went after him.

He replayed Carl's words in his head dozens of times as he sat with every Woodbury survivor-most of them women. He had to get to know their weaknesses and their strengths. Unfortunately, the majority of them were on the weaker side. As he talked to each one, his hand slid into his right pocket to grasp the sheriff badge that Carl had dropped. He'd want it back.. he told himself.

"Why can't we just stay at Woodbury?" an old woman asked. What was her name? Miss Williams. This was the ninth time he's been asked today.

The other Woodbury survivors sat at other long tables within the mess hall, some with their own people and others mixed in with his group. Daryl was sitting alongside Carol, allowing her to do all the talking with Tyrese and Sascha. Hershel was holding one woman's wrist, moving his fingers deftly over hers, between the joints. Rick watched as he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. He said something, but he was too far and Miss William's question was asked too loudly for him to hear what the older man said. He guessed—had hoped-Carl was off helping Beth with Judith.

"Like I said earlier, the defenses are better at the prison."

"We could fortify it," a man named Stinson leaned towards him. He didn't get it.

"Woodbury might've been great against walkers, but we easily got into your little safe haven. Just the three of us…What do you think's gonna happen when the Governor comes back? You think it'll take a man who founded that town any time to find some secret entrance he probably built? Anyone who goes back will be treated like the others on the road back there."His blue eyes moved from Stinson to the speaker.

Michonne. She didn't sugarcoat anything, and a Woodbury citizen like Stinson wasn't used to that. The lean man chewed on the inside of his cheek, but didn't press the topic anymore.

"If any of ya'll wanted to stay at Woodbury. Why'd you come? We aren't like the Governor. We're not gonna tell ya what's safe for you if you adhere to our rules and what will endanger you if you don't. Go, if ya want. You're takin' up the little hot water we had anyway." She sat on the edge of his table top, holding her katana on her lap, staring at her own reflection mirrored upon the silver.

His lips twitched, almost forming a mockery of a smile. She had a point…even if it wasn't tactful. Half seemed offended and the other half, scared. He should reassure them. He stood up from the bench.

"We've all lost loved ones during the outbreak. Maybe the Governor is gone for good. Maybe we have nothin' to worry about by returnin'. But do you want to take that chance? Ya'll heard what he did to the rest of your men and women, who wanted to leave peaceful lives. He massacred them in cold blood! My friend—" he breathed, "Our friend, Andrea, only wanted to protect us, to save us all. She took her own life after the governor turned your scientist…" he paused, trying to remember his name out of all the names he had to now learn, "Milton into a pawn. The Governor tortured Andrea for days, wanted me to give up one of my own members…" He turned to look down at Michonne, but during his speech she must've walked off. He continued, "Simply because she wanted to expose him for the man that he was. By going back, you'll have to live with all the horrors that your leader did, knowing that he did it for himself, not for your safety. If you can live with that, then by all means, leave. There's always someone worse. And Woodbury with all its semblance of what life used to be before Day 0, will attract those with the worst intentions."

He saw Hershel smile up at him. Carol nodded up at him, Daryl made a silent-if not teasing- clap. Carl locked eyes with his, but left before he could call out his name.

Glenn and Maggie came back with their riot gear covered in walker remains, successful at clearing out another cell block. "Did we miss anything?" Glenn asked,wiping guts from his helmet with the back of his gloved hand. Rick shook his head no in amusement.

For the next three hours he walked around, plastering a smile upon his lips as the newcomers past him. He mouthed his courtesies as best as he could until he could be alone with his thoughts.

He found her in the kitchen, leaning against a windowsill, looking through the barred windows.

"You could've been nicer." He said.

"Yeah…well. Niceness isn't going to save anyone" she didn't say anything other than that. It seemed she wasn't good with words either.

He nodded. He wondered what she was looking at and he moved towards her, only to stop.

"I'm sorry about Andrea, Michonne."

"She was your friend too."

He nodded. "It don't make me being sorry any less true."

She turned towards him, her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. As he made a footstep towards her, he saw them harden.

He instinctively ran his hand through his right pocket, pulling at the five-pointed star inside. Her eyes focused on the golden point of one side before turning back to look outside the barred window.

"He'll want it back, Rick. Just…give him time." She sighed. Her hands slid off the windowsill as she moved past him.

In his mind, his hand grasped her own in thanks, in support as she walked by. But it only stayed glued to the badge.

He finally was alone with his thoughts, but now he didn't want to be.

To be Continued…