New Meanings To Old Words: Love

Well, what do you know….there's a fuckin' part 2 after all….

Still not getting anything here. Read on.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Callie and the crew; Danny, Miles, Ben and Gracie…as well as all those we've lost along the way and those we've yet to meet in the flesh (rotting or otherwise)…but patience is a virtue, isn't it?

The Line Pt 2

Callie's feet couldn't find the purchase she desperately needed to get to Ben, the soft earth below seeming to work like quicksand against her efforts, sucking her down instead of propelling her up. She could see him struggling with the Walker as it pulled him by the strap of the binoculars hanging around his neck and her heart sped to a painful pace up as she slipped forward, her fingers digging deep into the ground to help move her up and forward.

She didn't even register that she was yelling the boy's name at this point, but she must have because he looked back at her. He looked back and in that second she saw the Walker's mouth clamp down hard on to the boy's arm.

She was screaming as she drove towards them, her arms encircling the body of the Walker before it could go back in for another bite. They fell hard to the soft ground, Callie coming up straddling the fucker whose mouth was gleaming with fresh red blood as it snapped at her. The blood was rushing so fast in her head that it was as if the world around her were made up of nothing but white noise. That static revved her up, brought her adrenaline to a level almost pulsating with anger as she reared up. She'd pulled her gun, but knew as she pressed down hard on the Walkers shoulder to keep those gleaming red teeth at bay, that she had no intention of firing it.

Instead she slammed that gun's butt end hard into the head of the son of bitch she was settled on top of. Slammed it, and then slammed it three more times, until the gun was embedded so far into the skull that she had to twist and turn it to get it out. Gore covered her hand up to her wrist, and she stared for a second at the sight of her hand and gun so well covered that she couldn't really tell where she ended and the remains of that Walker's skull began.

She stared as her body lifted and fell with each labored breath.

She stared until that static sound of the world finally started to subside.

It was only a second, probably less if there was any way to tell honestly, but it felt like forever that she was staring down at that Walker and her hand. Felt like it was forever before her mind cleared and she heard Ben crying behind her, and Dale shouting her name.

"Oh god…" Callie scrambled off of the dead man and crawled through the muck to where Ben lay curled in the fetal position along the ground, his bitten arm held to his chest and forehead resting on his knees. "Ben," Callie reached for him tentatively, her eyes skipping up to where Dale had fallen to his knees by the boy's body. "Ben…." Her voice cracked and her head fell on top of his, where she could more clearly hear his ragged hiccuping cries as he rocked slightly. "Oh God. I'm sorry… I'm so…. Oh God. I…."

Her head lifted as she felt Dale's hands settle atop hers at Ben's shoulders and she stared at the hardness in his face. It was a shocking expression to see on his face in that moment and she felt her brow furrow as she stared at him. She watched as his mouth moved, but none of his words were breaking through the sound of Ben's cries echoing through her mind. In the next moment Dale was reaching forward and grasping her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her towards him so that his face was barely an inch from hers. He pulled again and shook her as his mouth continued to work.

"Dammit Callie," Dale said shaking her roughly those words finally breaking through the haze in her head and causing her hands to clench tighter into the fabric of Ben's shirt. "He's not gone yet," Dale said pulling her close again and roughly dislodging her hands from Ben's shirt. Dale winced, his own breathing coming in rapid pants as he pulled at Ben and worked at getting him up. Callie sat frozen on her knees for a moment watching, but then Dale was grabbing her shirt again and pulling her. "There's still time."

Callie's eyes went wide, her mind sliding back through time, to a stark white room of glass lit by harsh overhead florescent bulbs. A man with wire rimmed glasses, turning around in a high spinning desk chair, one leg missing from his body. 'Your brother saved my life.' Wallace's face stared at her in her mind's eye, quick flashes of that screen showing her brother and Jenner talking about Wallace's amputation….

"Callie," Dale's voice broke into her head again and the images crashed down around her. The sounds of the world returned and her wide wild eyes went back to Ben staring up at her with tears streaming down his face. "Callie-"

"Help me," Callie said frantically clawing at Ben, not caring if she was hurting him as she yanked him up and then hefted him up. Her eyes slipped behind her to the house, the distance suddenly seeming so far…too far. Dale helped to adjust Ben, his fingers grazing over the torn flesh of the boy's left arm and his eyes snapping up to Callie's.

"Go," Dale said in a pained tone that had Callie's brow furrowing as she half-turned. Pain laced Dale's features as he took a single step back from her and for a single instant Callie's was conflicted with the decision. "Go. I'm right behind you. Go. Go!"

Callie nodded and turned quickly, her feet slipping slightly as she dug in hard to the soft ground and pushed herself onward. Ben's head was shoved into her chest, his right arms slung over her shoulder as she ran as fast as she could, using the rocky path near the back of the house as traction over the slick grass. She spared a glance down to Ben, as she hefted him up again, her arms already dull with the pulse of the adrenaline coursing through her body. She knew they would probably make it faster if she'd tried to spur the boy into action and run with her, but she couldn't risk it.

The memory of how fast the infection from the scratch on Jenna's leg had spread due to the running she'd had to do in the woods, had her holding tight and pushing past whatever pain she felt along the edges of her awareness. She pushed past, and kept the house in her sights. Knowing there was still a chance.

Dale fell back a step as he watched Callie making off for the house, her figure moving as fast as she possibly could along the wet ground with the weight of the boy in her still-healing arms. He stepped back again and lifted one shaking hand to wipe away the sweat rolling down the side of his face. That hand landed over his mouth and shook his head as Callie's figure began to blur in his vision. The darkness of the full evening upon them, he could hardly make her out anymore, and mixing with the sudden dizzying spin the world seemed to have taken on he was lucky he could see the house.

One more step and he let his eyes slide over to where the body of the Walker that had attacked Ben lay. Its head nothing more than a smear along the ground now thanks to Callie's beating. Dale stepped towards it and crouched down reaching out and picking up Callie's gun from the ground where she'd left it in her efforts to get to Ben. He looked at it, taking in the gore covering the expanse of it, and then moved to push to his feet.

Pain lanced harsh and strong through his body, his left arm and chest feeling as though they were clenched tight in a vice as he staggered up and backwards. His vision blurred again as his head spun with the dizzying effect of whatever was going on. Shaking his head, Dale clenched his hand tight around Callie's gun and took in a few painful, yet steadying breaths.

His body felt heavy as he bobbed his head, knowing that he needed to move. Knowing that he needed to get back. The pain in his chest increased slightly as he turned around, his eyes sliding to where he left his rifle when he gave Ben his watch. It sat there in a small pocket of light provided by the moon as it finally burst through the heavy cloud cover above, right there at the edge of the path leading into the grass.

A path soaked in blood.

Dale furrowed his brow as he worked his way slowly towards his weapon, and it wasn't until he again painfully bent down to retrieve it that he remembered. Wasn't until that odd scuffling noise, followed by a deep and painfully familiar moaning broke through the haze of his mind. Wasn't until he lifted his eyes up and saw the shirtless Walker staring down at him with that crazed hungry look that they seem to have had about them that Dale remembered why he and Callie had started off towards Ben. It hadn't been about the Walker in the woods, but the one -or more maybe-that they'd heard in that field of high grass behind them.

"Jesus," Dale seethed as he painfully shifted around to face the Walker. Whatever was wrong with him zapped his strength and he was unable to push all the way up to his feet so instead he lifted Callie's gore covered gun and sighted down the barrel. His vision blurred to the point that he couldn't even make out the features, just simply saw the dull gray skin of the lifeless bastard descending on him bathed in the shaft of light provided by the small flashlight Ben had dropped back by the trees. Dale blinked a few times, the perpetual sweat that seemed to have slicked his skin in the past few hours dripping down his face and into his eyes, and fired.

The bullet tore into the shoulder of the Walker, causing it to spin slightly, its right arm continuing its reaching swing with the momentum of the spin. Dale toppled backwards as the Walker, stuck by the glue like mud below it, slumped down onto its knees and lunged for him. As Dale's body hit the soft, wet mud below he lost his grip on Callie's gun, and rather than frantically search for the smaller weapon, he instead reached for his rifle.

Just as he lifted the rifle, the Walker pulled itself atop him. He tried to move his rifle into a position where he'd be able to either shoot the son of a bitch or ram the butt end into its face, but the mild heart attack-because somewhere in the back of his mind it dawned on him that that's what was causing that harsh pain stabbing into his chest and arm- left him weaker than he should have been.

Weaker than he needed to be.

Dale began to call out. He didn't know why, just knew that he didn't have the strength to fight off the Walker for long. Knew that his arms were giving out slowly, as he pushed the rifle length-wise along the upper chest, fending off the snapping jaw of the bastard as it tried to take a bite out of him.

His mind went to Ben in that moment, that small boy, so wonderful and wise beyond his years. He thought about how scared he was in this moment, and how terrified Ben must have been only moments ago. That thought had him pushing harder even as his body began to shut down, the last of his strength used to push up even as he felt the hands of the Walker pulling at the fabric of his shirt, and scraping along his stomach.

He felt the skin tear, and knew in that moment that he was already dead, but that didn't stop him from fighting. Because he'd be damned if he went out without a fight.

The scratching and scraping became more and more insistent and finally, as Dale held those snapping jaws off from his face and throat, he felt his muscles tear. Felt the hot sensation of his own blood spilling out over his body, up his chest and down over his legs. Felt the cold, mud below him heat with that flow of his own heated blood as it slipped behind him and pooled along the ground.

Dale stared up at the face of the shirtless Walker atop him. Stared hard into its undead eyes as it began to get more and more excited at the prospect of its meal. He didn't know what he expected to see there in those milky depths, but was horrified to find nothing but his own reflection as the once man's hissing and snapping mouth got closer and closer.

Its breath fanned over his face, and Dale closed his eyes.

Daryl's hand clenched tight around the hilt of his knife. Tighter and tighter until he felt the worn skin of his palm and his scabbed over knuckles break open and bleed. He did that over and over as his mind raced around at what he figured had to be too fast a fuckin' pace, 'cause his body had gotten caught up in the spin and no matter how quick he paced around he couldn't seem to get himself to settle down.

The moaning of the boy strung back up in the shed with him, sittin' there on a little stool in the darkened corner, started his blood boilin' again. The way he was shiftin' himself back and forth, the way his head was turnin' as he tried to see past the blindfold that Daryl'd been sure to keep on when he'd brought him back. All that shit had Daryl's mind spinnin' out of control and his heart racin' as he yet again clenched his now bleedin' hand tight around his knife.

After another few seconds of agitated pacin' he found himself lungin' towards Randall, his footfalls loud enough that he was sure that kid knew someone was still in there with him-knew someone was comin' for him. Blindfold and gag left him sweatin' it out though.

Daryl stalked up to that kid and shifted his knife so that it was settled just under the little bitch's throat and he pressed. Pressed just enough that a tiny bead of blood welled at the tip of his knife. And like all the times before-fuckin' four now- Daryl pulled back and stalked his ass right back to the other side of the fuckin' shed. And then he just started fuckin' pacin' again.

The image of Rick's face; hard and mean as he stared down the barrel of his gun and readied himself to do what had been deemed 'the only way' by the group, once again came back full force into Daryl's mind. The image of that man, the man that had not so long ago spouted off such idiotic notions as 'we don't kill the living', finally lookin' to earn his fuckin' stripes in this fucked up world.

Stripes Daryl himself hadn't yet earned…

That little bit of respect that had started to take up residence in Daryl's mind had grown at that point. Respect earned by the fact that Rick was proving he wasn't a man just layin' down the grunt work for the rest of them, but a man takin' it in his own hands. Takin' the brunt of it.

And that's when Daryl had stared at Rick's face and found himself feelin' ashamed for lettin' that man take that weight on himself. That talk with Dale on the porch had solidified somewhere deep in Daryl's gut as they'd stood in the barn just waitin' for Rick to put that bullet in Randall's skull. Knowing that Rick felt responsible for each and every death that had been dealt out to their group, every injury, every misstep… it settled somewhere deep in Daryl's gut and had him shifting uncomfortably as he watched Rick's completely steady hand as it held his weapon against Randall's forehead.

Memories of weeks gone by, of his own words to the Rick as they waited in the fuckin' lobby of that old folks home in Atlanta, waitin' to go out after Callie. Memories of how Rick had looked back at him as he said them, looked back and accepted the weight that Daryl had so easily put on the other man.

'That's on you too.'

Daryl snarled at the memory and kicked his foot out hard against the bucket near the door sending it clattering off towards the wall where Randall was sitting causin' the boy to jump and then frantically renew his efforts to get free. Again, Daryl's eyes skipped to Randall and he felt his blood boil. Fucker shoulda been dead. Needed to be dead. If they had any hope of livin' this little bitch needed to die.

And as much as Daryl wanted to be pissed at Rick for not pullin' that trigger, he couldn't. Because the way Carl's voice echoed in that barn when he walked in on them. The words comin' so clean and forceful out of that boy's mouth, words that no boy of that age should be able to say with such certainty and conviction, had sent a shiver up Daryl's spine just as it musta done to Rick. He wanted to be mad, but couldn't because somehow he understood where the man was comin' from.

And as Rick led Carl off towards the house givn' Daryl a hard glare over his shoulder that told Daryl wordlessly to put Randall back, Daryl'd had no qualms about doin' right by Rick in that moment. No qualms about following that unsaid order to a fuckin' T.

No qualms.

No. Those came after he'd made it back. After he'd passed by the RV, where he'd expected to see Callie lookin' down on him as he walked, but instead found T-Dog and Miles starin' at him in wonder. After he'd locked eyes with Danny on the porch, watchin' as the man turned his back and limped his ass inside. After he'd made it back to that shed, and tied that fucker back up, checked his bindings, his blindfolds, his gag and stood there starin' at him for a minute.

Stood there and thought about the world they lived in. Thought about how much weight Callie carried on her shoulders for her group, for all of them. How much Rick carried. Thought about how everyone seemed so quick to pass the buck off to them, and how Rick and Callie never even blinked before takin' it up.

He'd thought that's what Rick had been doin' when he asked Daryl to question Randall earlier. Thought fuckin' Deputy Do-Right just didn't have it in him to get his hands dirty. But then, when he stood there watchin' Rick with that gun pressed to Randall's head he realized that wasn't it.

No. Simple truth of it was, Rick needed Daryl to do it because Rick was 'bout ready to break. He could see it plain as day. Because it was a look that was so familiar. A look that had settled on Callie's face after she woke from that faintin' spell she had when she first saw Randall.

Rick was 'bout to break and he needed someone to pick up some of the load. Needed someone else to start pickin' up the load. Needed to make sure that no more was settled at Callie's shoulders, because he'd break before he broke her.

Rick needed him to question Randall. Needed him to come along for the execution. Needed him….

Needed him to handle things.

No questions. No fuss. No orders. Just needed him to do it, because it needed to be done.

Daryl's head snapped back up to watch Randall still shifting on his stool, almost ready to knock himself over with how hard he was thrashin' about. Daryl's hand tightened around his knife and he snarled. Maybe Shane had been right earlier.

No one would judge Daryl for doin' it. No one would say a damn thing against him for takin' matters in hand, for defending his woman's honor. Not Rick. Not Danny. Not even Dale in the long run. No one… except Callie. Daryl growled under his breath and tightened his hand again on the knife.

He didn't understand where she was comin' from with this want to let this bastard live. Didn't get it. And fuckin' Danny wasn't any damn help in figurin' this shit out either. How was it those two could be on such opposite sides of the fuckin' fence, but completely understand one another?

He growled as his mind finally came to a halt, his brain finally stoppin' as he figured it out. Figured out how. How Danny could be so understanding. How Rick could…. Because they knew. They'd asked the questions of her that he'd been too much of a chicken-shit to.

Daryl let out a long harsh sigh that had his entire body deflating, his hand finally unclenching from the hilt of his knife as he worked it back into his sheath. After a few more seconds of glarin' Daryl propelled himself towards the door. He reached out, yanked it open and practically threw his ass out of that shed.

Threw himself out and lifted his gaze right up to Rick's.

The two of 'em stared at each other for a good long minute, workin' to read what they could of one another in the pale light finally breakin' through that heavy cloud cover overhead. Stared until finally Rick's eyes slipped to the door to the shed and then back to Daryl.

"He ain't dead," Daryl snapped back, his eyes flyin' over his shoulder. He spit out the saliva that had collected in his mouth and glared up at Rick as he settled his hands at his hips. "Ain't got my gun," Daryl said, tossin' his shoulders back and puffin' his chest a bit, watchin' Rick's head bob idly as he stared down at the ground.

"Here," Rick said slippin' his Python from the holster at his hip and holdin' it out. "Be my guest. You want to, I know you do. I do too. I do," Rick said raisin' his brows and takin' a step towards Daryl. "For her. I want to…for her. But she ain't mine," Rick said in a hushed harsh tone, his body comin' to a stop with that gun of his held out between the two of them. "Carl, he's mine. He's mine and I couldn't…" Rick looked towards the ground and shook his head. "So maybe it shouldn't be me at all. Maybe I'm not that man that I've been boastin' to be. I want to, but I can't… Why is that?"

"Fuck if I know," Daryl ground out between his teeth as he glared at Rick's hand holdin' that gun out to him. Rick's eyes snapped up from the ground then and held Daryl's with such conviction that Daryl couldn't look away.

"Why didn't you?" Rick asked his hand steady as it held his gun out towards Daryl.

"Same as you," Daryl said shruggin' and liftin' his thumb to scrape along his bottom lip. His eyes held tight to Rick's as he bit at the skin around his thumb nail for a second before letting it drop to his side. "Carl bein' there, that ain't what made you stop. You coulda pulled that fuckin' trigger enough times to empty your gun into that little bastard before Carl showed up. No, Carl ain't what stopped you, maybe in that moment it was, but that's not what kept you from doin' it the minute we put that fuck on his knees. What stopped you is the same thing that stopped me." Daryl scoffed out a harsh laugh and glared off towards the house in the distance. "And that's the shit that ain' never gonna make sense to me. How the fuck that woman do that? How the fuck she get so wrapped up in inside ya that she can pull that shit?"

"They do that," Rick said letting out a harsh breath as he slipped his gun back into his holster. Rick turned his head away, his gaze slippin' over his shoulder and towards the farm house and then off towards Daryl's camp. "Miles said she went up to your camp…" Rick said shifting his eyes back to Daryl. Daryl furrowed his brow and once began chewing the inside of his bottom lip as his eyes skipped towards his little camp not far off. "I know the two of you have some talkin' to do," Rick said quietly, his head dipping low as he settled his hands along his hips. "But I want to be the one to tell her-"

A shot rang out cutting off the rest of Rick's statement and causing both of them to turn wild eyes towards the field behind the shed.

"The fuck…." Daryl grumbled, his eyes slipping back towards Rick standing at his side. They shared a single look before they made off towards the field, both propelling themselves up and over the small bit of remaining fence near the shed and heading off at breakneck speed towards God knew what.

Daryl spared a glance to Rick beside him his hand smacking out and pulling Rick with him to where he could see the grass had been pressed down by someone's feet not too long ago. Rick picked up his pace, his hand instantly pulling his gun from his holster as they slipped and skidded along the wet mud below their feet. The sound of Dale's voice calling out for help had both of them going faster, if that was at all possible, a chill coursing through their veins.

"Dale!" Rick called out, and Daryl inwardly cringed at the horrified and desperate sound of the man's voice. "Where …..?"

"There!" Daryl called out, his more nimble feet propelling him further ahead and towards where he could see two figures wrestling along the ground. Without a second thought Daryl dove at the Walker atop Dale's prone figure leaving Rick to head to Dale.

They fell in a heap to the wet ground, turning over twice before Daryl was able to get the upper hand in the muck and dig himself in well enough to propel his body over the undead bastard. His knife was pulled without a second thought and he lifted the shirtless prick by its hair and slammed the blade deep into the side of that fucker's head ending its snappin' and hissin' in a second.

Daryl dropped the Walker and wiped the back of his hand under his nose, his gaze instantly slipping to where Rick was settled on the ground near Dale's still prone body. Daryl pushed himself up, his feet slipping in the mud sending him half-crawling, half-lunging across the distance, Rick's pained echoin' of 'Oh God' shooting straight into his chest.

"Oh God," Rick pulled back from his kneeling position and fell onto his backside in the muck, both of his hands raking hard into his head. His hands reached out again as Daryl finally came up and caught sight of the state of Dale. Eyes wide, he met Rick's stare and propelled to his feet as Rick moved in again to put his hands to Dale's split open stomach.

"Help! Over here!" Daryl jumped up and waved his arms wildly towards the approaching figures making their way towards them. "C'mon. Over here!"

"You're gonna be okay," Rick said quietly, his hands hovering over Dale's spilled insides. He pulled them back again and looked towards Daryl who looked back in horrified disbelief as Dale lay looking mutely up at both of them.

Blood pooled around Dale's body, his innards splayed out around him as if the Walker had just been sifting through them looking for a prize, and Daryl couldn't help but look away as Dale's eyes hit his. Couldn't help but step back as Rick scrambled to his feet, his hands reaching out towards Patricia and Shane as they finally came upon them. Couldn't help but stare at Lori as she dragged Carl away, pulling his head into her midsection as they both caught sight of it.

Rick pulled at Shane and shifted his gaze towards Patricia who came to an abrupt horrified stop at the sight of Dale. She put her hand to her mouth as Rick pulled on her arm and Daryl watched her as she shook away what she could of the horror and steeled herself as she moved to the ground with Rick.

"Help him!" Rick said pushing Patricia at Dale, one hand sliding into his hair while his other clenched tight around his gun. "C'mon. Help-"

"Rick…."

"Oh God!" Andrea's voice echoed behind him cutting off Patricia and Rick watched the blond woman bypass Shane's reaching hands and scramble along the mud to Dale's side. Her hands went to the sides of Dale's face and she pulled the older man's gaze towards her. Her lips trembled as she worked to say something, and her fingers slid over the sides of his face in a tender motion that had Daryl yet again lookin' away.

Glenn fell jerkily to his knees on the ground next to Daryl and reached out a hand towards Dale's body. His fingers landed on the old man's pant leg, his head falling to his chest as a ragged breath rattled out of his chest. Daryl stared down at the top of Glenn's head for a moment not knowing what he should do, or what he could do.

"Help me get him to the house," Rick said, his hands shifting towards Dale's shoulders.

"Rick," Patricia said putting a hand to Rick's shoulder. A hand that was promptly shaken off as Rick dug his fingers deep into the fabric of Dale's shirt.

"No," Rick said shaking his head. Daryl watched Rick, watched him try to shake off the truth. Shake it away even as Patricia said it in his ear.

"There's nothing…." Patricia pulled her hand away and shifted her gaze around the assembled group landing finally on Andrea still settled near Dale. "I'm so sorry."

Dale's head turned away from Andrea in that moment and moved to Rick, who had once again fallen on his backside next to Dale. His gun was pressed hard into his forehead as he stared down into Dale's eyes, his lips firmed against whatever he saw there. Dale's hand was reaching out towards Rick. Fingers scraping into the mud near him almost as if he were searching for something. Rick must have realized it, because he reached out then, his fingers catching Dale's.

"I'm sorry," Rick said quietly to Dale as he leaned in closer. The sounds of the grief stricken group behind him and Andrea crying across from him faded slowly as he blinked back the wetness that had filmed over his eyes. "I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry."

Dale's hand continued to scrape along the ground below Rick's pulling it slightly, and his head tipped backwards slightly, his eyes rolling slightly towards the tree line behind them. Rick squeezed his hand around Dale's and shakily got to his feet, his hand tightening around his gun as he lifted it.

"Andrea," Shane's oddly soft voice called out and he pulled her slightly back away from Dale, his arms circling around her frame to keep her from struggling as he moved her.

Rick took in a deep breath and held it, his focusing slipping in and out as he stared into Dale's eyes. The older man's head was still shifted back hand, still scraping along the ground, eyes rolled back hard towards those trees. Rick's eyes closed as he focused on the sight of his gun, trying to use whatever means he could to take away the image of Dale's eyes looking up at him now. His finger shifted on the trigger and he took in another breath in and ….

Daryl's hand landed on top of Rick's, a light pressure pushing it down as he easily maneuvered the weapon out of Rick's grasp. Rick looked up at Daryl, catching the man's gaze briefly before Daryl shifted himself between Rick and Dale's prone body. Rick stepped back, his hand lifting to his mouth and his eyes staring a hole into the back of Daryl's squared shoulders. Daryl bounced from foot to foot once, his hand steady as he lifted Rick's gun back towards Dale's head. Rick turned away as Daryl shifted and bent to a knee, lowering the gun to Dale's head.

So that he wouldn't miss. So that it'd be quick.

Rick looked away then, his eyes sliding out around them and over the small path. His hand cupped over his mouth and he closed his eyes briefly, trying hard to drown out the sounds of everyone crying and screeching out against this world. He opened them again looked at the top of Dale's head, illuminated so brightly by the light of the small flashlight settled in the muck near the tree line.

Rick's brow furrowed and then he saw it. Saw the gun barely visible but for that small bit of light from the flashlight touching along its barrel. Saw Dale's hand still twitching near it. Saw it and felt his heart begin to race.

Because he knew that gun. He'd put it in his holster and settled it at her hip. Rick's eyes slipped up to the people that had made it down to them, and he felt another chill race along his frazzled nerves when he didn't see her there.

"Sorry, brother," Daryl's voice echoed out and then he fired, causing Rick's eyes to snap back to where Dale's now lifeless body lay.

Daryl's chin fell to his chest and his arm fell to his side as he stared down at Dale. Rick stepped up his mouth opening to speak just as Miles and T-Dog's frantic cries echoed out.

"Rick! Daryl!"

Callie's entire body was thrumming with adrenaline, the pain in her arms and in her legs as she pressed on towards the house far in the back of her mind. Her entire being was focused only on getting to the house. Getting Ben inside. Getting Hershel.

'There's still time.'

It was not focused on the fact that Ben wasn't moving in her arms anymore. Not focused on the fact that he wasn't burrowing his head against her chest, or clinging to her shoulders with his good hand. Or that he wasn't shuddering with each breath he took, or whimpering, or crying, or calling her name like he had been when they first started off. She tried to tell herself that she was just too juiced up on adrenaline to feel it those things anymore, too focused on where she needed to go. Tried to tell herself that it wasn't because the boy was…

She shook her hair from her face and clung to Dale's words repeating on a loop in her head

'There's still time.'

"There's still time," Callie breathed out as she raced forward. She rounded the side of the house and up the four stairs onto the side of the porch without a moment's hesitation; without a look around her. Breathing hard she adjusted Ben in her arms and reached out with her right arm practically wrenching the screen door off of its hinges as she opened it, and barreling inside and towards the voices in the kitchen.

"Hershel!" Callie called out in a broken and ragged tone as she dragged in a deep painful breath. She shook the blood, sweat and rain from her face and skidded along the floor into the brightly lit kitchen. Maggie, Beth and Miles turned instantly from their place at the large kitchen island and Callie stared at them wide-eyed before bounding forward and placing Ben as gently as she could on the counter as they all stepped back to let her.

"Ben!" Miles screeched, his hand letting go of the mug he'd been holding and leaving it to crash to the floor at his feet. He slid around behind Maggie and rushed to where Callie was. He looked at her briefly, her hand settled on Ben's forehead as her eyes began to search around her and then moved in to take her place by the boy's side as she stepped back.

"Oh God!" Beth's voice echoed low around them as Maggie's screamed out loud and long for her father.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Maggie screamed as she ran towards the hallway that Callie knew lead towards his office. "Come quick!"

"What happened?" Miles was asking as he watched Callie slip further away from the island to snatch the towel from the hook near the sink. She stared at Miles as she handed him the towel and shook it when he didn't take it. "Son of a-" Miles took the towel and pressed it hard into Ben's wounded arm and just looked down into the crying boy's eyes as Callie moved around again. Beth moved up beside him her eyes wide and panicked as her hand hovered near Miles' shoulder as he continued to quietly mumbled what he felt to be useless words to the distraught boy on the table. Miles lifted his eyes to Beth and watched her head tip slightly to the side as she no doubt recalled his horrifying tale about what had happened to his younger brother. Her hand fell to lightly on to his shoulder as his chin fell to his chest and eyes closed to the horror splayed out on that counter.

"Where the hell is it…" Callie was muttering her hands raking into her hair and then pulling slightly as she searched around. "I saw it. I know I saw it."

"Dad!" Maggie yelled again this time diving forward to grab hold of the man as he was about to enter the kitchen. "Hurry!"

"Maggie," Hershel's worried voice echoed out as Callie continued to search frantically around the kitchen muttering 'where is it'. "What-"

"Jesus, Ben!" Danny's voice filled the room and Callie stopped her searching and turned on a dime to face him as he followed Hershel into the kitchen.

Ben was squirming on the kitchen island now his feet hanging off the end while his head tossed back and forth as tears streamed down his face. Danny hesitated, and Callie stared at him for a second but then both of them were moving again. Danny practically fell over towards the island, his hands settling on Ben's face, and then roving down to the boy's bleeding arm hovering over the wound. He caught Miles' eyes and then took over applying pressure from the stark white teenager staring back at him. Miles shifted backwards and stared at his blood covered hands.

"Is this…." Danny looked up to see Callie finally apparently finding what she needed as she turned back to him wide eyed with the small hand ax that T-Dog had returned earlier clenched in her hand. "What the hell happened?"

"No time," Callie said shaking her head and wiping the hair from her face with the back of her forearm. "No time. We have to cut it off. Now."

"What?" Maggie's voice cracked on the word and she stumbled back a step. Hershel stepped forward and moved the stoic Beth and Miles towards Maggie.

"We have to cut it off," Callie said, her eyes settling hard on Danny's. Danny held her gaze for a moment and then nodded, his hands slipping to hold Ben down.

"Callie-" Ben's voice screeched out as he looked to the ax in her hand and his head began to frantically shake back and forth, his body convulsing against Danny's hold violently.

"You can't be -" Maggie said as she stepped towards them, only to be knocked back a step by the power in Callie's hardened gaze.

"Miles," Hershel's ever calming voice echoed out and Callie shifted her eyes to him briefly before looking back to the ax in her hand and the boy on the kitchen island before her. "Miles. Son," Hershel said again finally getting the boy to look at him with wide unblinking eyes. "Go find Rick. Now," Hershel said clamping a hand down hard on to the boy's shoulder and pushing him towards the door. "Go," Hershel demanded when Miles merely stared at him. "Go." He then turned his attention to the shaking form of Beth encircled by Maggie's arms. "Beth, is Carol still upstairs with Gracie?" Beth stared for a second and then nodded. "Keep them up there. Go on." He looked to Maggie who stared back in utter shock and confusion. "I may need you," Hershel said in a quiet voice, that had Maggie's eyes widening briefly before she jerked her head in a quick nod.

Ben was still crying and thrashing about as Hershel made his way calmly towards Danny and Callie at the kitchen counter. His eyes slipped over both of them, landing on the small boy bleeding from a tear in his forearm. The blood pouring out and pooling on the floor at Callie's feet as she placed a soothing hand to her adoptive son's head, her hand shaking uncontrollably as she lifted the ax up slightly.

"You are going to be fine," Callie said in as calm a voice as she could muster, her eyes holding Ben's as he continued to cry. "You hear me. You are going to be fine."

"I want my daddy," Ben said in a hiccuping tone of such despair that Hershel saw it pierce right into Callie's chest. She put her forehead to Ben's as the boy repeated his desperate plea for his dead father and Hershel settled himself at Callie's side.

"Callie," Hershel's voice was calm, soothing. The type of voice you used when you knew that the person you were talking to was a second away from snapping. "Callie. Just hold on a minute," Hershel put a hand to her arm and she pulled away. She pulled away and then reared back fast, her hand lifting from Ben's head and clenching tight into Hershel's shirt as she pulled him close.

"Hershel," Callie said in a surprisingly calm voice as she stared hard into Hershel's eyes. "Look at me. I know you have questioned the way I've dealt with this sickness before. I know you don't understand. But now is not the time to argue. We don't have time." She pulled him close and firmed her lips as her eyes slipped back to Ben being held and soothed by Maggie and Danny. "I need you to help me. I need you to trust me. Please. Just trust me. Please."

Hershel stared at Callie for a moment, his eyes searching hers watching the tears stream down her dirt and blood covered face. He felt the shaking in her hand that was clenched into his shirt, and saw the shaking of the one holding tight to the small hand ax. Her breathing was ragged, coming in spurts that looked painful, and her eyes were blinking rapidly as she worked to try to stop the tears falling from her eyes.

After another second Callie pulled roughly away, and turned back towards the still crying Ben. She moved two steps before Hershel's large hand encircled her arm staying her. She looked back at him and he frowned before moving his hand towards his belt.

"Danny, tourniquet," Hershel whipping his belt off and tossing it to Danny who instantly moved to place it at Ben's upper arm. "Maggie, we'll need supplies. Towels, bandages, sutures, IV's whatever we have left, get it together and get it in the back bedroom. Get the bed ready we'll move him after…."Maggie nodded and dashed out of the room. Hershel looked back to Callie who was standing beside Ben, her hand yet again settled on his brow as he settled into a wretched heart-breaking sob that left him short of breath, his little head still moving side to side as if he could just un-think what was about to happen to him.

Danny finished the tourniquet and looked back to Callie, his hand landing hard on her shoulder and causing her to look up at him.

"We have to," Callie said quietly, her eyes searching Danny's for some kind of affirmation of what they were about to do. "We have to." Danny nodded and looked down at Ben, his eyes closed tears streaming off of his pale face, and the stark red of his blood so harsh and horrifying in the odd hues of the incandescent bulbs overhead. Callie put her fingers to Ben's left hand holding the limb flat to the table and stared at the bite on his forearm. His arm was so small, and the bite just looked too big. She shook her head and blinked past the film over her eyes, her hand lifting the ax up and testing her grip. "Where…?"

"Give it to me," Hershel said in a calm yet forceful tone. Callie looked to him and stared until he put his fingers over hers. "You asked for my help. You're shaking too much. You'll do more damage than good. Give it to me." Callie's fingers slipped from the ax and Hershel clenched his hand hard around it. "Danny, hold his legs. Callie, shoulders. Keep him still, or we'll kill him for sure." Hershel stepped up and looked down into Ben's red rimmed blood-shot eyes and put a hand to his forehead before slipping aside to let Callie step in closer. "The joint at the elbow is probably the best bet. Quickest." Hershel took a deep breath and slipped his eyes to Danny and then to Callie. "Hold him."

Danny laid his body over what he could of Ben's lower half, his eyes riveted to the boy's shoes unable to look as Hershel lifted the ax. Callie turned Ben's head and stretched herself over his upper half, pushing down hard against his motions as he desperately tried to get away. She put her face to the side of his, her eyes wide as she stared at Ben's arm held tight and flat by her own hand at the upper part and Hershel's at the point of the bite at his wrist. Hershel's eyes met hers for a single second and she watched him inhale a sharp breath through his nose.

His arm lifted and the ax fell with a whoosh of air that sent a fine spray of blood at her face, stinging her eyes.

Ben's screams had hit the point of no return. His voice cracking and wobbling as he screamed and tried to kick out against the pain…the torture they were putting him through. Ben was sucking in breaths fast, as if there wasn't enough air in the room for him, he was hyperventilating and Callie continued to hold him down staring hard at the point where Hershel drove that ax down.

His screams continued, blaring loud in Callie's ear as she began to whisper that he was going to be okay, that she was sorry.

Hershel's arm shook slightly as he lifted the ax for the second time, his eyes blinking rapidly as he let it fall with a determined force. The resounding clang as the metal finally hit the hard ceramic of the island top causing the elder man's body to deflate in relief, knowing he wouldn't have to do it again.

Ben let out one final scream at that final slice, a scream so long and so powerful that it lifted his body up and stiffened it before going limp under Callie's hold. Callie slowly lifted her head, watching through that haze of white noise in her head, as Danny pressed up from his position at Ben's legs and held himself up on shaking arms. She lifted her head and stared down at the blood pooling out of Ben's now dismembered arm. She moved back as Hershel's hand settled gently at her arm and pulled her out of his way. She stared as Hershel easily lifted the un-moving form of Ben into his arms and carried him towards the hallway where Maggie was standing in shock.

She stared as the lower half of Ben's left arm slowly slid off of the counter and fell to the ground at her feet.

You put your head between your hands and understand nothing it has,

I feel the answers keep you scared, I've put the harm inside myself,

I am the line, I hold you near

There is no burden left to bear, I can see clear,

I am perfected, I know no void,

I have no conscience to keep clear, I understand there's nothing more,

You try to kid yourself with questions, pleading in time for some correction

~The Line/ BRMC

AN: Yay….kinda…. *runs and hides*

So yeah… amputation. Believe it or not, this was actually plotted out well before Season 3 cut off dear old Hershel's leg, and really…. I figured the group needed to have some kind of basis for the idea of the kit….

A lot of shit happened here…and well, there's still a lot to come. The time span is gonna be expanded a bit, and we'll slow back down for a few scenes…but well… things will be picking up again sooner than you'd probably like.

Then again, maybe you're ready to move on.

Much love to all of you, let's have ourselves a big-ass prayer circle for all of our babies as we head on into the Season 4 finale. Find me over on tumblr (simplywickedramblings) if you want to talk about show or fic, or life in general.

See ya next chapter!