I sit in the backseat of the car where the boy was lying, and also bleeding out.

"I'm not your damn charity case," he says rudely.

"Yeah, but you're bleeding out, and you're not dying if I have anything to say about it," I remember back to when everyone at my cousin's camp died, and there was nothing I could do. Maybe I'm using this guy as my second chance. It's petty of me to think that way.

I toss the keys up to Michonne and she drives back to the prison.

I take off my plaid shirt and tie it tightly above the wound on his thigh. That's about the extent of my medical knowledge. I'm wearing a tank top underneath the plaid shirt. I look at all the blood, it doesn't look like a lot, only because it hasn't all soaked up in the jeans. based on the wound, I think he received it a day ago, enough for an infection to settle if it wasn't thoroughly cleaned.

All I can do if try to stop the bleeding for now, until we get this boy to Hershel.

He stops talking, and I knew he had passed out.

"What are you thinking?" Michonne nearly hisses at me. "That was reckless, and who knows how Rick and the others will react."

I look at the road, we're only a block away from the prison fields.

I pull down the skull mask of the boy. he has a stubble, he hasn't shaven for a few days. I bet Rick and Daryl would kill for a shaving now.

Since he's from Woodbury, he probably had the resources when he was there.

Carl and Rick were back. It seems they returned just before we did, because they were still outside hanging out by the fence.

Carl runs up to the fence, and opens it for us. We drive hastily through and Carl closes it behind us.

I open the car door before we even park. I jump out of the car.

"I need some help over here!" I drag the boy out of the car and hoist him over me. Rick runs over to me.

"Who is this?" he demands from me.

"I don't know- he was shot and bleeding, and he came from Woodbury," I say, handing Rick some of the boy's weight.

We run inside with the bleeding kid.

"Hershel!" Rick yells, "Get ready for surgery!"

Everyone who was inside is confused and then moving around to create space. Hershel comes behind us when we get inside. Carol had grabbed some medical equipment, or at least, what could pass as medical equipment.

Rick and I place him on a bed inside one of the cells. Glenn brought in a chair for Hershel and Daryl was carrying a table in. Carol dropped the equipment on the table, and Hershel got to work.

"Who is he?"

"Why is he shot?"

"Where'd he come from?"

"Why's he here?"

I tried to explain the situation. We had just met, and he told us he was from Woodbury. All of these questions coming from everyone except for Hershel, who was busy tearing the jeans so he could see the wound. He untied the shirt and looked at me.

"This kept a lot of blood from being lost," Hershel says, nearly calm, "That was pretty smart of you."

"It's all I could think of," I say, leaning against the wall. I was tapping my foot on the ground impatiently.

Hershel, Rick and I were inside the cell, with everyone else outside the door, looking in.

Rick shifts on his feet.

"We don't know if we can trust him," He says.

I don't know why I was sticking up for this guy, I didn't even know him, but I did.

"You didn't know if you could trust me," I point out, "I'm a freaking wolf. He's normal," (most likely anyway) "You were in the same position when you took me in. An injured kid, with no one to turn to. The only difference is; he's older than I was. You had more reason to decline me from your group than him!"

I'm raising my voice, and I need to calm down. The people outside had left, not even Carl was in the doorway now.

"You're right," Rick says, "We'll let him stay if he wants, but we need to ask him a few questions first."

"He also could be a valuable asset," Hershel says, doing Hershel things, "You said he was from Woodbury, he might know a thing or two about the layout, or anything else that might be helpful."

I nod, agreeing with Hershel. The was an uncomfortable silence. Hershel was cleaning out with wound with peroxide, and the boy seemed to flinch. He shifted, but was still passed out. He was breathing, he wasn't dead, so there's no way he's turning.

"We don't know his blood type," Hershel says, matter-of-factly. "Does anyone here have type O blood?"

"Yeah," I say, "I do."

In both types, wolf form and human form, I have the universal donor blood type. For Humans it's type O.

Carol comes back into the room the machine used to transfusions, I don't know where they got it, maybe it was from the farm.

Carol hooks it up into my arm, and a weird feeling overcomes me when I see my blood being taken out of the tube and being put into the boy. I couldn't believe I just met this guy.

"You're going to need to hold him down while I take the bullet out," Hershel says. Rick grabs his legs and pins them down.

Hershel takes the tweezers to the boy's leg and carefully picks at his wound, and the boy's eyes open immediately.

"Fuuuuck," he moans. He doesn't move, but there was a long pained sigh after he spoke. He looks down at the leg Hershel is working on.

"Hold still," Hershel says without looking at him.

The boy looks at his arm and then follows the cord to me. He almost scowls when he sees me.

"I thought I said I'm not your-," Hershel's tweezers hit or grab at something apparently. "Fuck man!"

He looks at Hershel acccusingly, but Hershel still doesn't look at him.

"Charity case," He glares at Hershl, then at me.

"And I thought I said I wasn't letting you die," I retort. My vision starts to spin, and Rick notices.

"Are you okay, Destiny?" Rick asks me. I wave his concern off, and look at the grey floor for a moment.

"Destiny?" the boy says, slightly sarcastic, "God, what's your last name, Smith?"

"Bane," I'm getting annoyed with him. I'm almost regretting saving him.

"Well nice to meet you, Destiny Bane," He says, sarcasm dripping in his voice, "I'm Sam, sorry my name doesn't compare to yours on The Badass Scale of Names."

"Shut up before I knock you out," I glower at him. I can't believe he lost so much blood and seems unaffected, it probably has something to do with him having fuller meals and a healthier body after living in Woodbury.

He doesn't shut up though, "You're hair is white, how the hell do you keep it like that in the apocalypse? What's your natural color hair?"

I don't like the effect he has on me, he's making the violent side of me come out. The anger in me, mixed with me losing blood to give to this asshole is making me dizzy.

Because I don't trust this guy, I elect not to tell him about my abilities, who knows how he'd react.

Honestly, probably with sarcasm…

"I'm an albino, I don't dye my hair, idiot," I cross my arms, careful not to tug at the transfusion cord in my arm.

"Sam," Rick is no longer holding him down, "You said you were at Woodbury?"

Sam nods, "Until recently, yeah."

He might've been there when we were there.

"Why'd you leave?" Rick asks seriously.

"The Governor's ways of doing things isn't right. The fighting matches there were, and a lot more," Sam looks down at his hands. "Beside's I was always treated like a kid, even though I'm seventeen."

"Where are your-," Hershel is wrapping up his wound in gauze when he speaks.

"My parents?" Sam laughs humorlessly, "Dead. They were dead before I went to Woodbury."

There was silence. Carol disconnected the cord from me, and I stood up. I was seriously lightheaded.

"She gave two pints of blood, she'll need some rest," Hershel says.

"Is she okay?" I heard Sam ask behind me.

"She was giving you blood you ingrate," Carol spits out. She takes my arm and helps me to my room. Carl appears next to me at some point and takes my hand.

"You got her?" Carol asks Carl. I didn't hear a response, but Carol was eventually gone and Carl was holding my hand taking me to my room. We turn into my familiar cell, and I plop myself onto the bottom bunk, which made my head swirl more because of the abrupt movement change.

"I'm going to take a short nap," I admit. Carl lingers in the doorway before leaving.

I can't fall asleep, though. I'm not sure why. I close my eyes, trying to stop my vision from swirling, but it just makes me want to puke.

I hear footsteps from come near my cell, and I act like I'm sleeping and close my eyes. Something is placed on the ground, and the footsteps retreat out of my room. I open my eyes, and see a juice box on the ground, unopened.

I bet Carl brought it in for me. I reach over and grab the juice box without getting out of the bed.

Talk about lazy.

Stabbing the straw through the box, I savor the lukewarm orange juice. It's a luxury in this world. I didn't know we had such a thing in the pantry.

Before I knew it, the juice was gone, and I was sucking out air from the juice box.

Maybe it was ten minutes, maybe it was an hour later, but I felt better after resting. I was sitting up in my bed, when Sam walked in the doorway.

He head sweat lining his forehead, and he looked like he had a fever.

He was leaning against the wall and the cell door. His one pant leg was torn up from where Hershel bandaged him up. He looked down at me sitting down, so I stood up and decreased the amount he was looking down at me.

"I was being an ass earlier…" he says to me slowly. "I don't like being in debt to people, so I told your people everything they wanted to know about Woodbury. I convinced myself it was making us even."

I could care less for his pride and wanting to pay us back. A sane person would save Sam when he was shot. Not many people would do that in this world anymore. No one can be trusted, in all honesty.

"Are you going to stay with us?" I ask him.

Sam shifts on his feet, but leans on the wall, "I don't think I'm the one who can decide that."

I don't really want to see this guy gone. He'll probably die on his own.

"I can put in a good word, maybe I'll say you need time to recover from your injury," I place a hand on his forehead, "and to get over your fever."

He swipes my head away, "Maybe I'll just leave tonight to get out of your people's way."

Sighing, I close my eyes. This guy just hates hospitality. It frustrates me, because I'm just trying to help him.

"Fine, do whatever you want."

I turn around, letting him face my back. I don't know where to go, because I'm cornered in my own room. I wait for him to leave, but he doesn't. I hear a hand slap on the concrete wall, and some grunting. I pivot back to look at Sam, and he's kneeling on the ground, holding his head.

"What the fuck is this?" He grunts and grinds his teeth together. I grab his forearm and lift him up. I look to both sides, Carl's room is next to mine, so I won't use his room. I guide Sam to a cell and lie him down on a bunk. I place a hand on his head again.

He's still burning up.

Do people get headaches like this when they have a fever?

I yell out for Hershel. He comes in on crutches, alone.

"He's got a fever?" I ask him. I knew he had a fever, but what do we do about it? Does he have medicine for it? Or should he just rest?

Hershel's thick greying eyebrows furrow in confusion, "He didn't have one ten minutes ago when he insisted on seeing you. He shouldn't be walking on that leg at all right now."

I had to ignore the part when Hershel said Sam insisted on seeing me. Not important right now.

"Then what does that mean?" I ask Hershel.

"I don't know."


A.N.: So, the new OC isn't mine, it's ALLTIMEAOT's character. ALLTIMEAOT asked me over a year ago to put Sam in, and (shame on me) I've only gotten around to it now. What do you think of him so far? COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!