Author shenanigans: Hi guys! So I probably should update my other stories, but I really wanted to write something for The Walking Dead because I love it so much. This is a VERY short oneshot about Shane and Carl. Personally, I like the character of Shane, and I feel bad for him. He's just not a bad guy. Not a very good guy but not that bad. This is a little scene I imagined from the first episode of the second season when Rick goes into the church to pray, and Shane and Carl are outside, sitting on the steps. I wondered since Shane wasn't speaking to Carl what they would talk about for all that time.

This is what I came up with.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

The air was thick with Georgia heat. The green of the trees was almost radiating. Shane could feel the sweat on his neck sliding down into the collar of his shirt. If there was ever a modern convenience he missed, it was air conditioning.

He and Carl sat on the steps in front of the church. He could faintly hear Rick inside the doors, talking, perhaps praying, or maybe just having a minute to himself. Shane certainly understood that, but he felt restless in Carl's presence and wished Rick would hurry it up. What was he supposed to talk to the boy about now? Lori had told him to stay away, so he did not discuss the fastidious art of capturing frogs. Yet, he was also reprimanded for keeping his distance, for not responding to Carl's requests. Shane was a simple man, and he despised this walking on eggshells. He was just amazed that even after the dead rose, people still managed to be full of shit.

"Hey, Shane? Can I see your gun?"

His rifle rested loosely against his shoulder, butt on the ground. The question seemed innocent enough, but Shane considered it carefully, squinting at the boy in the sun. He almost laughed at himself as he thought, WhatwouldLorido?It was pathetic how much influence that woman had over him; he really hated it. But, it seemed the best mechanism to draw the lines between being friendly and being…what? Fatherly? Shane certainly was not the boy's father. If he gave him the gun, Lori would say he was an irresponsible lunatic for giving a child a dangerous firearm. However, if he said no, he was the asshole denying a small joy to a kid living in a world of the walking dead.

Shane chose the route he'd been following: that of putting obvious space in their relationship.

"I don't think so, bud. I better hold onto it."

Shane tried to ignore the way Carl's face fell; the look actually made his chest hurt. He could feel the apology burning on his tongue, but he kept his lips tight and thin, locking away the truth. They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of cicadas in the trees.

Finally, Carl asked, "Shane, do you not like me anymore?"

Shane turned his head and eyed Carl, brow furrowed. "Now, why would you think that?"

"Well," Carl muttered, eyes downcast as they filled with tears. The sound of his voice cracking from the strain broke Shane's heart. "You always seem mad at me. You never want to show me stuff like you used to. Or play. You just…yell at me. And…and…and I'm sorry if I made you mad. I…I didn't mean to. I'll be better. I promise! I'll-"

"Hey, hey, shh…shh…shh…" As Carl began to cry, Shane wrapped a strong arm around his small body, pulling his head into his chest, cooing softly to him. He could feel the sweat and tears seeping into his shirt. The little boy shook, the stress and exhaustion and hurt racking his core. Shane was calm and steady. "Look now," he said, "you have done absolutely nothin' wrong by me. Nothin'." He paused as Carl let out a small sob; Shane rubbed his back soothingly. "I'm just…I can be a real jerk when I don't get my sleep, and these last few days have been really rough on my beauty rest. Can't you tell?"

Carl took a breath and glanced up to see the goofy, monster grin on Shane's face as he stuck out his lower jaw like a bulldog, crossing his eyes. Carl laughed, and Shane followed suit. He pulled him in for a tight, one-armed embrace, resting his cheek on his head.

"Carl, I care a lot about you, you know that?" he asked. The pain inside his chest was simply growing stronger the more he talked. "And I will always be your friend."

No, Shane wasn't the boy's father. He wasn't Lori's husband. He was not their family, and he never would be.

But, God, it really felt that way sometimes. And, that was precisely why he had to leave them. He wasn't the better man; he was the odd man out.

Shane let the thought go and tousled Carl's hair, giving him a smile. He brushed the tears from under his eyes. "Buck up, kid," he teased. "You don't want your dad to see you cryin'."

At that moment, the sheriff himself walked out from behind the red doors, a sorrowful but determined expression on his face. He stepped past them down the steps.

Shane and Carl looked to him. "Did you get what you needed?"

Rick sighed. "I guess we'll find out."

The pair stood up, and then the three took off on foot towards the woods.

Review my pretties!