Piranha

by ThomE.Gemcity-06

AU/canon-divergences Maggie has a twin brother named Marshall. /"If this were a movie, this would be the part where we tell you to keep this to yourself or I'll push you off the edge of the hayloft and let the piranha keep your silence. I know from experience that it's hard to hear you scream from back at the farmhouse."/WARNINGS:violence/blood&gore/SophiaLives/eventual slash/

3. Chapter 3: Common Sense

a/n: Sorry this chapter has taken so long to post! I got distracted reading a bunch of other peoples' fanfiction instead of writing my own, lol. Also needed to replace my laptop battery. But here it is. I hope it satisfies because the next chapters will probably take just as long. Hopefully, the length of the chapters will be worth the length of the wait.

Song titles listed at end of chapter.

Chapter Summary:

I know I'm not forgiven
but I that I'll be given
some peace
some peace
some peace

Black Lab - This Night

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: some piranha action, some violence, grief, emotional hurt/comfort etc.

---

...The walking DEAD...

Piranha

Chapter 3: Common Sense

"Maggie," Marshall sighed, bare shoulders drooping a little in relief.

She gave him a cross look. "Don't look so relieved about it, Marshall!"

"You can't come in here with that look on your face, and then get upset at me because I'm relieved you didn't just tell me someone died!" he returned.

"Oh." She blinked at him regretfully, but the frown was still there, the dread. "This is still something to freak out about. This is what we've been dreading since these people have shown up!"

"Take a breath." He ordered his twin, focus solely on her until she complied. "Panicking about this won't solve anything. Just think of it this way..." he turned back to the sink, packing up his shaving kit. "We haven't heard any gunshots—yet—so I count that as a win." Her glower was perfectly reflected in the mirror. "Deep breath." He reminded her.

He brushed any stray hairs from his shoulders before slipping his t-shirt back on, adjusting that tags under his shirt. He grabbed hit kit and brushed passed her in the doorway. He headed back to his bedroom with her following after him a step behind.

"What are you gonna do?" Maggie eyed him like she was expecting him to arm up to the teeth. "You're not taking a weapon?"

"I don't see why we can't start with a bit of conversation—before I pull out the literal guns." He clipped his knife to the back of his belt as was typical, his pocket knife in his pocket, but that was the total of it. "As long as nobody starts anything, words can be weapons, too." Marshall popped in a piece of gum and was going to offer her one, but thought better of it at the stare she was giving him. Maggie dogged his steps and hovered over him as he laced his boots at the door. "Athena, stay." He ordered the Belgian Malinois when the dog made to follow the twins out the door; she gave a low whine but complied. "Breathe," he repeated to his sister, but knew it would be no use, not until the situation was over and done with.

Maggie lingered on the porch as Marshall stepped off and started to make his way toward the barn. She immediately began to pace, though she kept her gaze fixed on her brother, and urgency to her clipped and stunted stride as her anxiety riddled her nerves and she chewed on her fingernails. Maggie was glad that Marshall was so calm and collected in the face of this, but there was that small, petty part in her that was pissed that he wasn't as panicked and frantic as she was. While it was a relief to have a steady shoulder to lean on, it otherwise would have been comfort to know that she wasn't the only one who was scared right now.

Marshall could feel the manifestation of her stare prickle at the back of his neck, urging him to pick up the pace. That she wasn't very happy that his stride wasn't matching her own anxiety, but he knew that rushing over to the barn frantically would only exacerbate whatever own urgency and fear that Rick's Group was feeling already with their new discovery.

The barn was filled with piranha... no more than 200 paces from where they slept.

He could hear the raised voices, but couldn't quite make out they words just yet as he closed the distance—where they stood grouped not even 20 feet away from the barn doors—and allowed himself to roll his eyes in annoyance before settling his expression. They should know better, but like his daddy had said: it's a wonder they survived this long.

When Maggie said everyone, she did indeed mean everyone—barring Lori and Carl, of course. They were in a loose grouping, clumped together but giving the two arguing alphas a bit of space. Their attention split between wary looks to Rick and Shane, and the barn.

Daryl's fingertips danced absently against the sheathed hunting knife he kept at his right hip as he chewed on his thumb cuticle of his left hand. Standing in an apex of space that put him exactly at a protective position between Points A, B, C—Carol and Sophia, the barn, Rick and Shane. His narrowed gaze darted between the two points of potential danger before they skittered sideways to movement in his peripheral.

Marshall's approaching figure.

With a sweep of his hidden gaze, Daryl analyzed the potential threat. Marshall's stride was paced, almost casual. His expression wasn't wan with fear, his green gaze steady. This was the soldier, the Army Ranger in approach. That was ultimately more threatening than if Marshall was rushing toward them frantically, panicked at their discovery of his family's dark secret, waving a gun around.

Daryl's shoulders tensed incrementally, ignored the twinge of pain in his injured side as his abdominal muscles tightened, his stance automatically shifting to compensate for the encroaching threat, even if the man didn't appear to be carrying a firearm. Daryl dropped his hand from his mouth to hang freely at his side, the fingers of his other hand stopped their nervous dancing and settled faux casually near the hilt of his knife. The little bitch fight going on between the two cops seemed distracting enough that no one else seemed to clock the daddy's boy, though blue and green seemed to meet briefly.

"Listen, man. Fort Benning." Shane was saying. "We've been talking about it for a while—I say it's time to go."

"No, we can't." Rick denied, shaking his head.

"Why not? Sophia's been found, Daryl and T-Dog stitched up. Carl's gonna be back on his feet soon..."

"Food, water, protection." Rick listed. "We're safe here!"

"Are you kidding me, man?!" Shane threw his arm out behind him toward the barn in frustration. "Safe?!"

"It is! It's safe—here and now. That-that can be taken care of." He waved a dismissive hand at the barn. "Fort Benning... that's just a great big mystery that'll end in death. We don't even know if it's still standing. No. We need to stay here." Rick insisted. The thick chain holding the barn doors secure rattled like a little ominous punctuation.

Glenn gulped nervously. "Uh, guys? M-maybe we shouldn't be doing this so close to the barn?"

"Well, at least one of you has grasped hold of an ounce of common sense." Marshall announced his presence—everyone started in one form or another except Daryl. The spatial awareness of this group was astounding.

Shane instantly rounded on him with a scoff. "Common sense? Where the hell is the common sense in this?"

"It's not common sense." Marshall countered equably. "It's grief and hope and denial. We know the name of every piranha doing the shuffle in there. I was wondering in the common sense of having a screaming match right in front the barn full of piranha..." Marshall really could have laughed at the Ah grimaces exchanged, but he wasn't feeling particularly humoured right now. "There are bears in the woods. Same concept. You're not gonna go out there and poke one with a stick, are you?" He cocked his head, sly gaze sliding to meet Sophia's. "Would you poke a bear with a stick, butterfly?" Sophia was silent in her mother's arms, but she rapidly shook her head, her strawberry blond bob flying around her face. "Well, it's nice to have proof that the youth really are our future." Green-eyes regarded the blue-eyed leader, voice low enough to be heard by the surrounding group but not carry to the barn, "When you leave-"

"We're not leaving." There was a desperate edge in his eyes that made Marshall frown a little.

"Well, that's not up to me. I'm just the muscle around here. It's daddy you're gonna have to sway." Marshall informed the father, "It'll be at least 7 days until I'm comfortable releasing Carl back into the wild, as it were, so I guess you've got your time table." He sighed. "In the meantime. The barn is secure. Has been for weeks. They're docile and quiet, and they'll stay that way unless you keep chumming the waters like right now. I suggest you go back to whatever it was you were all doing before someone decided he should break my sister's trust." He gave the younger man a pointed stare and Glenn glanced away guiltily. No one moved, no one took his suggestion.

Shane scowled. "You just expect us to walk away like none of this is happening?"

"Hm. Just a bit of common courtesy at the end of the world. You know..." Marshall replied affably:

if you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise
if you go down in the woods, you'd better go in disguise
for every bear that ever there was
will gather there for certain because
today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic

every teddy bear who's been good is sure of a treat today
there's lots of marvellous things to eat and wonderful games to play
beneath there trees where nobody sees
they'll hide and seek as long as they please
that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic

Looks were exchanged like he'd lost his mind.

"This dude singing?" T-Dog muttered aside to Andrea next him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Shane questioned.

"Just a little nursery rhyme. Some friendly advice." He hummed:

picnic time for teddy bears
the little teddy bears are having a lovely time today
watch them, catch them unawares
and see them picnic on their holiday

see them gally, gad about
they love to play and shout
they never have any cares
at six o'clock their mommies and daddies
will take them home to bed
'cause they're tired little teddy bears

"You've got one big screw loose, buddy." Shane looked him up and down, reassessing him.

He didn't react in anger or snap in offence like they all probably expected. Instead, his gaze filtered around the group as he continued before it settled on the hunter:

if you go down in the woods today, you better not go alone
it's lovely down in the woods today, but safer to stay at home
for every bear that ever there was
will gather there for certain because
today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic

"The hunter gets it."

Daryl shifted his weight as everyone's gazes turned to focus squarely on him.

"What's he talking about?" Andrea questioned him.

"Daryl?" Rick prompted as Daryl remained quiet, sending a short glower at the soldier before they flitted away to the barn.

"'S a warnin'." He mumbled roughly.

"A polite one." Marshall promised. He ignored Shane's derisive scoff and so did Rick.

"How exactly did you expect us to react to the knowledge that you're keeping a bunch of walkers in your barn like damn livestock?" Rick questioned.

"I don't mean to be an arrogant prick here, Rick..." Marshall started conversationally. "But Jesus Christ!" The hissed exclaim made more than a few jolt in surprise. But even still in his frustration, the viper strike of anger didn't rise in volume. "You people are here by the pure kindness of our goddamn hearts, Rick. Food, shelter, medical care—safety!" He made sure his gaze graced each and every one of them. "We've given you everything and have gotten or asked for nothing in return." Uncomfortable gazes shifted away at the truth. Marshall's jaw tightened for a moment before he forced himself to calm back down.

"Your man shot Carl!" Shane pointed out, poking a bear he was warned against.

"You do not want to go there," Marshall said, voice deadly low. "My family is the only one that has suffered here. My uncle in dead." Shane shifted uncomfortably at that before he squared-up. "My mom and brother are in that barn. Our neighbours. The people we went to Church with. Our classmates!" Marshall didn't back down either, but instead of his voice raising, it went lower. "So, yes. Go back to your breakfast. Go back to ignoring and avoiding the barn like you were doing half-an-hour ago. There's nothing for you to do here, it's none of your business—as much as I'm sure that sticks in your craw, deputy."

There was a beat before: "Everyone just needs to take a breather. Go on." Rick ordered.

Nobody moved for a second, before Carol took Sophia's hand with a quiet 'come on, honey' and one last wary glance towards the barn before heading back toward the safety of camp. Dale followed, who guided Glenn along with him with a hand on his shoulder, T-Dog trailing after them. Andrea's gaze went to Shane, and she only moved after he jerked his chin. Daryl swept them all up in his squinted gaze, gave the barn one last security sweep, lingered on Marshall's tense form in his stare-off with Shane, before trailing after the others.

"Shane." Rick warned his friend.

"Unbelievable. Bullshit, man." With one last derisive scoff Shane broke away, muttering under his breath, very clearly not happy. Marshall pivoted on his heel to follow the man's progress, the soldier in his knowing better than to turn his back to the very real threat of the man. Shane got to the fence and turned, arms crossed aggressively over his chest and watched them.

Marshall blew out a breath and did roll his eyes this time. He turned sideways to take in the last remaining figure. Of course it wasn't over. What kind of Leader would Rick be if he also left with the other sheep.

With his back to the barn, Rick had his gaze fixed firmly on the other man. Observing. Contemplating how he wanted to address this. He knew getting up in Marshall's face like Shane had was the wrong move, not that Rick honestly had the urge to do that. A part of him really did just want to do as Marshall said—forget about it, ignore it, pretend the last half-hour never happened. A part of him was a little annoyed that Glenn had spoken up about the 'barn is full of walkers', because now he was forced to face it. He didn't have a choice, not now that Lori- And with Carl-

"Dale said he talked Hershel..." Rick finally spoke up. "Said your father still thinks of them like people."

"Rick..." Marshall sighed heavily. Had sleep-deprived-him really considered this a good scenario to go down?

"I'm just trying to understand, Marshall."

"You're poking the damn bear, Rick! Daddy's already adamant that your group leave. After that shit Andrea pulled-" Marshall shook his head. "As harsh as it is—Carl being bedridden is your only saving grace right now."

But Rick pushed. He wouldn't let Marshall change the subject. "I know you're intelligent enough not to believe that there's a cure once they're turned." Rick murmured. "I know you know how dangerous they are, so can you in good conscious keep a barn full of walkers with your family right next door?" How did something like this even happen?

Marshall wanted to scream, but he knew that would only exacerbate the issue, not resolve it. Deep breath. "It's a case of conflict as old as man, Rick." He tapped his temple and then his heart, "The Head versus The Heart." He squeezed his eyes shut, tired and pained, for a moment before he began, Rick actually deserved some kind of answer. He ended up with the truth, "Annette. She got bit while at the Market Square. Back in the beginning, when no one knew what the fuck was going on." He shook his head. "It looked pretty gruesome, but it wasn't fatal—it wasn't supposed to be fatal! It was more horrifying that some person did that. But we had antibiotics here, we could knock out any infection that might've been brewing. But a fever quickly caught and grew and grew." Rick watched him with sympathy and understanding. "She was hallucinating and couldn't keep any food or water down. And by the time it was decided that she needed to be taken to a real hospital... there was no way we'd be able to get into the city. You don't need an imagination to guess what happened next."

"She died." Rick whispered.

"Total organ failure. Her body shut down. I guess it could be labelled a quiet death, all things considered." His chin tried to quiver, triggered by grief and he quickly squared his jaw. "Shawny was with her when she didn't stay dead. He was only 20 years old and his own mama tore out his throat. And I- I couldn't-" Marshall choked. "She was e-eating him. And I couldn't- I couldn't even k-k-" He was ashamed and angry and guilty and weak. "I was supposed to p-protect them-"

While he wasn't expecting arms to draw him in, Marshall clung as he felt the chest press against his. How did he go from a cool, authoritative warning to a snivelling boy clinging to a stranger for comfort? A stranger that sought to give comfort, even right now as they were at odds, instead of using it to gain the upper hand. Marshall forced himself to catch his breath, deep even breaths encouraged by the steady beat of Rick's heart felt through his chest.

No more needed to be said, Rick thought. He completely understood. "A decade on the job and I'd never had to shoot anybody," Rick murmured wryly. "And then on that last day... I killed two men before I was shot down. Our group was halfway to the C.D.C., one of our people got bit during the walker ambush on our camp. We thought if any place would be safe, if any place might have a way to fight this—it was that place. Half-a-day away... Jim, he-he finally gave-up. He'd only been humouring us, really. It felt wrong to kill him and cruel to make him suffer. He just wanted to be with his wife and kids again. Wanted to go out on his own terms, out under the sun. We left him alone on the side of the road." And though that was what Jim had wanted, Rick still felt shame for leaving him.

"Jesus Christ!" Marshall mumbled into his shoulder. "You really are a good man, Rick Grimes."

Rick was taken aback by that. It was the last thing he expected to hear. He finally disengaged from the extended embrace that had actually been comforting instead of awkward. He gave his head a little shake, this man honestly flabbergasted him.

"I'm serious, Rick." Marshall informed him. "Not to change the subject or anything, but... Beth told me what you did when she told you about that insensitive joke she made. Anyone else would have tore right back into her—but not you, Rick Grimes. So, thank you."

Rick promised, "She didn't actually mean anything by it, even I know that." He'd been a bit floored when she'd asked him aside during a water break while they were shooting at her brother's makeshift range and made her confession.

"You certainly reacted better than I did." Marshall muttered self-deprecatingly. "Anyway—back to the barn." And wasn't that something Marshall never thought he'd voluntarily say? "It's secure and it'll stay secure as long as your people don't fuck about around it or shoot each other on the property."

Rick groaned internally at that last pointed remark. "Daryl's already forgiven Andrea about that."

Marshall shrugged. "What can I say? I have a thing against incompetence and friendly fire."

"That's reasonable." Rick couldn't exactly disagree.

"The world was dark and dangerous—even before the shit show it is today." Marshall reasoned with the man, getting back on point. "A raccoon can rip your face off. A horse can cave your skull in or shatter your ribs. A cute little kitten will eat your corpse if you wait long enough. Piranha are just another predator eating its way through the food chain—don't go poking it through the fence."

"I'll see what I can do."

"I'm serious, Rick. You want a chance in hell of staying here—don't poke the bear." He added, "It's also not like we'd send you away without supplies." The last thing Marshall wanted was a damn riot on his hands.

"I'll talk with them." That was all Rick could promise.

Crisis averted—for now.

Marshall watched Rick walk back toward his friend waiting by the fence. He didn't even need to hear what was being said, it was easy to see that neither man was exactly happy at this point in time. Marshall spared a glance toward the barn—it looked like things had calmed back down in the dark depths—and popped a fresh piece of gum into his dry mouth as he headed back toward the house were his twin was poised in waiting.

Maggie hopped from the porch and met him a little ways down the path, granted distance from both the house and camp. Her intense green stare left him no room for delay. Another offer of gum was not appreciated.

"It's peaceable—for now." Marshall concluded. "Rick's desperate to stay."

Maggie scoffed. "No surprise there."

Marshall cocked his head slightly in curiosity but didn't question what she seemed privy to that he didn't. He thought Carl was reason enough for Rick to want to stay barring the food and shelter at the ready bits. "Yeah. It's Shane I think we need to be wary about. He's confrontational and ambivalent. He wants to leave, thinks they should try for Fort Benning when Carl's up and ready."

"Why would they want to leave?" Maggie shook her head. "This farm is paradise in the apocalypse."

"I know. None of them seemed to agree with Shane anyhow." Marshall sighed. "From the bits I gathered from Sophia, Shane was basically the leader of the group, then Rick showed up and they all fell in line behind him pretty quick. So, we may have a power struggle on our hands and it could get pretty volatile."

Maggie groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to mitigate her climbing frustration at the situation. "Rick seems to have that shepherd aura, while Shane..." she trailed off.

"He was probably the bad-cop to Rick's good-cop during their Deputy Days." Marshall finished her thought. "Yeah. Normally, there's a lot I wouldn't even think about doing... but times aren't normal, Mags. Survival is a base instinct. You and Sunny... I would do—will do—anything and everything under the sun. The End Times makes desperate people out of us all." He hedged, "They have people they want and have to protect, too."

"You really think-?" Maggie shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

Marshall shrugged helplessly. "You said it yourself: this farm is paradise in the apocalypse. They've got 2 kids with them and daddy still wants to send them on their way." Maggie chewed her lip. "I'd say that's reason enough for them to be desperate. I'm not saying they will... but they do outnumber us, Maggie, that simple fact is enough to make me nervous. I mean, they get the jump on me—that's pretty much it..."

Maggie stared at her twin. "That's the scariest fucking thing you've admitted to me in a long time, Marshall." She whispered. Her shoulders wanted to hunch up around her ears as her nerves ratcheted up and her green gaze darted around instinctively for encroaching danger.

"I don't want to scare you... but after me, you're the next line of defence-"

"Shut up." Maggie instantly barked at him. "You can't say shit like that!"

"Worse case scenario." Marshall held his hands up briefly in surrender. "We should probably have a little Greene Family Meeting before Rick makes his way to the house. C'mon." He put an arm around her tense shoulder and led her back to the house. "Auntie?"

"Dinning room!" Patricia called back. She looked up from shirt she was currently mending at the twins' arrival, a pile of clothes at her elbow awaiting the same treatment. "Everything alright?"

"At the moment," Marshall promised. "Where's everyone else?"

"Hershel's in his office and Beth and Jimmy should be upstairs."

"Alright. Family Meeting." Marshall informed her. "I'll grab the kids." He disappeared up the stairs two-at-a-time before she could pose any more questions, leaving that to Maggie on their short walk down the hall.

Beth's bedroom door was closed. He gave the thin wood two short raps and opened the door without wait—to reveal exactly what he expected to see. Jimmy jumping off his sister's bed and his sister, like they were on fire, both teens dishevelled and flushed from their little make out session. Marshall rolled his eyes in a bit of exasperation, there was an apocalypse on, of course he still had to worry about his teenage little sister and boys. He didn't even wait to humour their poor excuses before he spoke, "You know the rules, Beth. No boys in your room with the door closed." Beth groaned loudly at him in response where she was sat up on her bed. "Come on. Fix you hair, straighten your clothes, splash some cold water on your faces. Family Meeting. You have 3 minutes before I drag you down and daddy can deal with you." That got the two teens scrambling into movement. Marshall chuckled to himself as he left, that was also another reason why he never brought anybody home—no privacy. They were dogging his heels down the stairs fast enough.

"What's going on?" Beth questioned her brother, but Marshall didn't bother answering. Other than not being in the mood to deal with this conversation multiple times, Lori and Carl were still in the house and he didn't want them to overhear.

Marshall let them into the office first and closed the door silently behind him. Hershel's study was a bit cramped with the 6 of them, but they managed. When all was settled, Beth, Maggie, and Patricia all perched at the reading chair in the corner, Hershel at his desk, Jimmy hovering by the window, and Marshall on his feet.

"What this about, Marshall?" Hershel questioned his son.

Marshall jumped into it. "Dale already approached you about knowing about the barn—so it shouldn't surprise you now that the rest of Rick's Group also now know."

"What?!" Beth voiced loudly as Jimmy stiffened and Patricia frowned in worry.

"Don't panic," Marshall told them calmly, but firmly. "I just came from talking with them. They were all down at the barn but I managed to convince them to withdraw for the moment. They're understandably freaked out about it, but I made it clear that it was none of their business and that the barn was secure as long as they didn't go poking around it. I'm not sure how long that will last, but Rick's obviously going to want to talk to you, daddy."

Hershel didn't look very pleased about the news either. It was silent for a long moment before he answered. "Either way it doesn't matter in the end. Rick knows he and his people are not staying."

"Daddy, despite how desperate I know you are to send them on their merry way, I know you're not gonna make them go before Carl's ready. He's still bedridden, he hasn't even had a bowel movement yet. He still has his stitches!"

"Three of their group have stitches." Hershel stated reasonably, "If they already don't know how to remove them, you can easily teach them before they leave."

Though his father had a point about giving the group a few lessons before they left. Carol and Lori, being mothers, no doubt dealt with minor injuries. Rick and Shane being on the police force, they had to of had some first-aid training. But there was no doubt in Marshall's mind that Daryl was the King of Self-Treatment. The state of the scars that painted the hunter's skin, there was no way that those had seen official treatment in a hospital. Hershel Greene was the most stubborn man Marshall had ever known in his entire life. Granted, he was only 25 but he spent 7 of those in the Army and those are some of the most bull-headed bastards in the world.

"Daddy..." Marshall sighed. He stared silently at his father as he tried to find a way to say what he wanted to say, but what even was it that he did want to say? His gaze briefly met his twin's, her green gaze reflecting what he was feeling. Frustration, continued wariness, exhaustion. It just antagonized Marshall that Hershel didn't seem to see the potential danger that was haunting their family right now. That Hershel seemed to think that because he decided, because he insisted that these people were to leave, that they would, that there wouldn't be any pushback? "Fine." Marshall caved in his own frustration. He rubbed his forehead, obscuring view of his face to take a second to just take a deep breath. "If that's how you want to play it, daddy, even if I don't agree. Rick is still gonna want to discuss it with you."

"And I'll tell him the same thing I've already been saying." Hershel responded with conviction. "I won't be changing my mind, Marshall."

Marshall could only turn his attention from his father in response and addressed the rest of the family on the opposite side of the office. "Until this blows over or these people are gone... you two," he addressed Beth and Jimmy, "Best to stick close to the house, right? No wandering off. Auntie—no more trips to barn. Everybody just needs to steer clear. Maggie..."

"Don't worry," Maggie stood, hands slapping her thighs with decision. "Silent treatment all the way." Despite the situation, amusement couldn't help but shine in Beth and Marshall's eyes at their sister's declaration.

"We'll see how long that actually lasts." Beth muttered but Maggie heard and kicked her little sister's foot.

"Shut up, Beth. Why don't you go back to making-out with your boyfriend?" Maggie threw her under the tractor as she left.

"What?" Hershel's tone was sharp as he turned his attention to his youngest daughter and the teenage boy under his care. "Beth-Anne? James?" both teens stiffened at the use of their proper names as he rose from his chair.

Patricia put a hand on Marshall's upper arm in silent instruction, wry amusement in her quiet expression and they left the two teens to their fate. "Ah, to be a teenager again."

"Yeah, right." Marshall snorted quietly. "No, thanks."

Patricia returned to her sewing and Marshall poured himself a glass of milk from the pitcher in the fridge. "What are you up to now, then?" she wondered as he came back into the dinning room.

"Chores, chores, and chores. You know. The world doesn't stop turning just because the apocalypse is on, not even chores become irrelevant." He peered over her shoulder at the familiar article of clothing as he sipped his milk. It was the long-sleeved shirt that Daryl had ripped while climbing him like a jungle gym. "You don't have to do that, Auntie. I would have gotten to it sooner or later."

"I don't mind. It's something to keep my hands busy."

"Alright. Thank you." He pressed a kiss to her bun-bound hair. He rinsed his glass in the sink after draining the rest of his milk, whistled for Athena and headed out through the backdoor. His twin fussing about the shed distracted him from his initial task. He'd delivered a bucket of milk to the group the other day, but with 10 people to serve, he knew they'd need more. "Hey." Marshall drew his twin's attention. "Take the wagon. Us, them, an' the horses."

Maggie groaned. "Really? Even with everything?"

"Especially with everything. Hey, it's just logic. Food everyday keeps the riots at bay."

She gave a derisive snort. "God, I'm already tired of this shit-show." But she did as he said and started stacking the baskets inside the wagon. It had off-road tread, high wooden slate siding, the handle also had a locking mechanism so you could push and pull it. There were also makeshift planks to slide between the siding to make a second level so nothing would get squashed stacking the filled baskets on top of each other.

"Want company?" Marshall asked. Once all the baskets were filled, it was definitely going to be a workout to pull the wagon back.

"No." Maggie informed him bluntly. "I'm taking this as my allotted 'alone-time'."

"Alright." Marshall backed off. "Make sure you take water with you. And don't forget-"

"My knife and bat." Maggie interrupted. "Yes, I know, Marshall." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Now, go away."

Marshall mimed dusting his hands off of the situation, backing away from her. "Love you, too." He called Athena's attention, who had been sniffing around but sticking close.

Maggie watched him go. She was on her own. If a walker did make it passed the fencing and into the garden, no one would come in swinging at the last second to save her. No one would even hear her scream. She wouldn't have the luxury of being scared senseless. She was testing herself, a controlled test. If something did happen... she couldn't freeze up.

...

Marshall was far from impressed right now.

Irritated was more like it, enough that it manifested itself physically in his teeth grinding. It hadn't even been a handful of hours since the little powwow about the barn with the group—and there Shane was, 'standing guard'. The man wasn't even being subtle about it. He didn't park himself at a distance and keep 'watch', he was pacing agitatedly, kept approaching the main barn doors and 'checking the security'. Tugging on the chain and fiddling with the padlocks, making a general fuss and Marshall knew riling up the passive piranha inside—Shane's jump-scare reactions were a testament to that.

Marshall was baffled and frustrated. Okay, forget that the group had already gone against the Greenes' wishes in this regard. Was this man not a police officer Once Upon A Time? Did all of Shane's training go down the toilet when society did? Or rather, his common sense? Had he never been on a stakeout before? Even civilians who'd only ever watched it in crime shows knew how it operated. Shane wanted to 'keep watch' for 'the safety of the group'? Fine! Least he could do was go about it the proper way. Did Marshall need to post signage up like this was the zoo and the barn was a bear exhibit? 'Don't climb into the enclosure'. 'Don't feed the animals'. 'Don't throw things at the animals'. What a Goddamn simpleton. He was nothing but bluster.

Marshall forced himself to look away. Breathe. The last thing he wanted was to unconsciously be rough with the cow's utter as he milked, hurting and pissing off the large animal enough for her to react violently. He hadn't been able to finish the task the day before, and he was a little disappointed about it now. He'd promised Sophia he'd teach her how to milk a cow, but since the confrontation with the group he didn't think Carol would be comfortable letting her daughter alone with him, not that he blamed her. He wondered if the butterfly would come to him for Athena's brushing or if that was restricted now, too.

Either way, he unclenched his jaw and hummed under his breath to calm himself down. He was typically a patient man and able to calm himself down when he did become agitated enough to blow-up and strike venomously, but Shane was seriously pushing on his last nerve.

The cow shifted on its hooves, drawing his attention back to the task at hand. Marshall leaned back on the milking stool and hummed, face turned from the barn and toward the clear, bright sky overhead. He continued like that until the tension in his shoulders no longer transmitted through his fingers. He leaned forward again, slightly shifting the bucket in the dirt, and reached for the udder again to resume milking. He continued to hum, lost himself in the repetitiveness of the familiar motion.

Leaned close, he could feel the heat radiating off the cow's body, every breath and shift. The tail swatting at any stray flies, the barn out of mind. When the teats started to spit was when he emptied the bucket into the awaiting larger container with a lid.

He was unclipped the leads from either side of the cow's bridle that prevent it from trying to wander away while he was milking (all their milk cows had them for easy control), and gave its rump a light, prompting pat on to encourage it into movement. Marshall took a moment to grab his water bottle from the fence and sate his thirst, only to sigh out his nose as he noticed the approaching figure. Only one person had that bowlegged gait. Instead of just waiting for the man that he knew was gonna want to talk—again—Marshall set the bottle down and went deeper into the field to find his next gal.

While all the cows looked similar and their bridles were generic and purchased in bulk, they each had her own personalized attached clip (each handmade by Beth) that each depicted a different flower (Daisy, Tulip, Lily, Rose etc.) and subsequently that became the cow's name. Of course, they either fell apart or even fell off and got trampled, but Beth had always been more than happy to make new replacements. If it wasn't already obvious through the array of drawings and wristbands the siblings had, the blonde teen was really into arts and crafts.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon." Marshall remarked, using the bridle to guide Rose into movement. "It's only been a few hours."

Rich sighed, carding his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "Sorry. You must be sick of me by now."

"You're pretty blue eyes and cowboy swagger certainly work in your favour, Rick."

Rick gave a short chuckle. "With all this sweet talk you must have been very popular back in day."

"Once upon a time. It's tricky combo to find somebody you trust and can look beyond the scars and missing bits—even fellow soldiers."

"Missing bits?" Rick questioned.

"Mm. Internal. External." Marshall leashed Rose's bridle into place. "Don't worry—you'll probably never have a reason to see it."

"Right." Rick silently watched as Marshall rung out a cloth from a tin bucket half-filled with water long-warmed in the hot sun and squatted by the cow, cleaning off its udder.

"I was supposed to be showing Sophia how to do this." Marshall commented in a subdued tone. "But the degree of separation is probably for the best."

"We don't have to be." Rick responded.

Marshall snickered, sitting back on his heels as he shot a sly look at the other man over his shoulder. "That talk with daddy not go to plan?" He rinsed the cloth and gave the udder a secondary wipe-down. "And here I thought you had the special ability of Talk no Jutsu." When he dropped the rag back into the bucket, he was met with Rick's confused expression. "Don't worry about it." He waved it away.

But how could Rick not worry about it? Everything just kept piling up. The group was relying on him to keep them safe. Shane was growing more and more argumentative and aggressive. Finding out that the Greene's Farm barn was filled with walkers did nothing to help him in either of those regards. And the cherry to top this dastardly dessert—Lori's confirmation of her and Shane's affair. He paced anxiously as Marshall simply watched him with silent sympathy, his cowboy boots kicking up dust. All of that just served to exhaust him, physically, mentally. No, what made him want to just collapse in on himself and scream and ugly sob was-

"Lori's pregnant!" he blurted. And maybe it would have been said to garner more sympathy towards his plight, but it hadn't seemed to make Hershel care a lick more about any of them to change his mind. Glenn had to know because he got those pills for Lori, and there was a chance that Maggie knew too because she was with him, and he told Shane because Shane was supposed to be his best-friend, but he also might be- which he doubted was his brightest idea, but right now he couldn't think- he just wanted- he needed... He was just so fucking terrified right now and he just needed someone to say-

"Congratulations!" Marshall stood beaming at him.

Rick could only come to an abrupt halt in his pacing as if the former Ranger hand physically grabbed him and yanked him to a stop. He could only seem to stare like he was in some sort of out-of-body experience. It was surreal. That had been no one's response to this news. Like a guy telling his buddies he was gonna be a dad again.

"That's awesome news, Rick." Marshall grasped his shoulders.

Lori was right when she said this baby was going to be a siren call to the walkers out there. And Shane had a right to be feel betrayed and angry. And why should Hershel give anymore shits about the Grimes' problems than he already did? But here Marshall was, a man he hadn't even known for a full week. Fucking beaming with a boyish grin that made him look like the teenager Rick had teased him about being, not the battle-hardened soldier his resting face portrayed.

He gave the man a friendly shake, "One already here and wrecking havoc, another bun in the oven. You single-handedly trying to repopulate the Earth?" He teased and Rick was brought back to his conscious body at that little tidbit of a reminder. Rick looked proud and embarrassed and terrified and upset. Marshall stared, green gaze darted between desperate blue as realization dawned. "Shit," he muttered. His finger momentarily dug into the meat of Rick's shoulders. "You told daddy, didn't you?" he wasn't really expecting a response, "And he still refused to let you stay." Marshall remembered the expression on Maggie's face when he called Rick 'desperate'. She must have found out from whatever was on that list with Glenn, which meant the man himself could have only found out just as recently.

Desperate indeed.

Marshall's jaw tightened. "I'll talk to him." He decided, fingers unconsciously kneading the man's shoulders as his thoughts raced distractedly. Rick was silent, almost fascinated to watch his green eyes darken with anger and offence. "Daddy's just being a stubborn, territorial bastard. None of us actually want you guys to shove off, even if we're not meshed 100%. Maggie's taken an apocalypse-shine to Glenn, and Beth was babysitter extraordinaire watching all the cute little church rug rats. She loves kids and babies."

"What about you?" Rick found himself voicing, sounding like he had a little frog in his throat. Marshall gaze refocused on him. "You ever think about having a kids?"

"Hmm..." Marshall drummed his fingers thoughtfully, the cotton under his fingertip damp with sweat. "Not particularly in regards to myself, at least not up to present. Walking towards to IEDs isn't exactly conductive to mini-me's. So not planned, per se, but if a happy accident happened from one of my fun-nights, I know I'd be delighted. But I kind of always just assumed I'd be the Fun Uncle around here—Maggie's and Beth's and Shawn's babies taking over the farm like Gremlins fed after Midnight." He murmured with self-indulgent fondness. "Who knows, that might still happen!" He chuckled quietly and Rick responded with his own soft smile. "C'mon!" Marshall suddenly declared, pulling Rick's shoulders into movement.

"What?" Rick questioned, momentarily stumbling after him.

"Come on, you need to be distracted." Marshall lead him over to the awaiting cow. "It's good practice," he made a crude jerking off gesture that got a bark of laughter out of Rick, even if it had a bit of a hysterical edge to it. Good, the man needed to let some of that out. "Take a seat!" he slapped the seat of the small milking stool. When Rick sat, with his long gangly legs, his knees almost ended up at his chest. "Alright," Marshall knelt close next to him, one knee in the dirt. "Observe." He demonstrated; top of the teat going in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, the rest of his curling around. "And squeeze. Gentle, but firm." A short stream of milk spattered into the dirt. "And contrary to popular belief—no actual tugging. Like rabbits invading vegetable gardens. Your turn."

"Really?" Rick wondered in curiosity as his hand mirrored Marshall's on a neighbouring teat.

Marshall adjusted his hold slightly. "Yeah. Squeeze." His hand lingered on Rick's hand to monitor his grip. "Rabbits have a unique digestive system so there are a lot of fruits and veggies that are toxic and to simplify, basically gives them food poisoning—and it's not like they can throw-up. Rabbits are forage animals, and gardens aren't naturally occurring so it's not like they know better. It's an over exaggerated stereotype." An uninterrupted stream sprayed the dirt. "Good, it's like you're a natural." He smirked and Rick rolled his eyes. "Test the other two." Marshall ordered, standing up.

"Isn't this wasting milk?" Rick questioned even as he reached under to do as asked.

"It's a pre-game check list. Gotta make sure everything checks before getting to business." Marshall positioned the previously emptied bucket under the cow. "Now get to it. Both hands, the two teats closest to you." Rick looked at him for a moment as the Ranger lingered by his side before reaching back under for the udder. Marshall watched, Rick's movements hesitant and slow at the new activity, his left more fumbling and awkward than his right. "No tugging," he chided in reminder as the man unconsciously fell into the bad habit. "Sometimes it's better to not even watch your hands. Listen to the sound of the milk stream hitting the bucket, fall into the rhythm. If you're doing something wrong, she'll let you know."

Rick stopped craning his neck down to watch his hands, sat more comfortably on the milking stool, his face end up turned against the cow's side, his blue gaze falling to the side of the face of the younger man squatted close beside him to observe his progress. It was easy to fixate. This close, this lighting, the shine of sweat, it was easy to notice the little, tiny knick scars that would have otherwise been invisible. The stray freckle by his ear. The scar under his jaw that Rick didn't know what to make of; the raised tissue was just so clean. Whatever made it had sliced through the layers of skin like butter. But whatever rhythm Rick had achieved was broken when Marshall stood again. "Are you leaving?"

Marshall chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm not going far." He disappeared around the other side of the cow. "Keep going."

Rick glanced beneath to reposition his hands again and caught Marshall's lower half squatted across from him on the other side of the cow. "What are you doing?"

"Joining the fun." Marshall grasped the two opposing teats familiarly and easily fell into a quick-paced rhythm. He'd had been milking cows since he was a little kid, so he was an old hand at it. "Tandem milking. It'll go along quicker this way." Rick faltered as their knuckled brushed at the close quarters. "Get your rhythm back, don't be shy." He hummed.

Rick exhaled deeply, focusing on the sounds again. His squirts were an off-echo to Marshall's quicker pace, but he was also starting to pick up the repetitive pattern.

"Look," Marshall's voice was soft and faceless. "Whatever happens from here to The End, I think it will all work out the way it's meant to. Kids are adaptable. We can't exactly be happy about that given the circumstances, but we can be relieved. That's just life. Tragedy strikes everyone. Now. Before. Babies are different. If they grow-up Now, if this is all they ever know... maybe it's easier. It's not exactly something to be happy about, but that's precisely what the little things are for. A box full of superhero comics. A dog in need of brushes. A mother's lullaby..." Marshall went back to humming.

Their hands brushed a little more frequently as Marshall started to strip his side, the engorged quadrants emptying faster under his more experienced hand, changing to tone of the rhythm with the shorter squirts. Rick's pace no longer faltered at the ghost touches. His hands were more than tired, fingers cramping. He didn't even register that Marshall's side had gone silent, more focused on trying to keep his fingers from locking up.

"Easy, Rick." Marshall gently took his wrists and pulled his hands away. Rick blinked at the man beside him, who wasn't there a second ago. "Don't work yourself into a tizzy." He placed a water bottle into tired fingers before he turned his attention to stripping this side of the udder. "Watch me work, Deputy Daddy."

Rick's lips quirked despite how cringey that really was as he sipped the water. "Please don't call me that."

Marshall sent him a smirk over his shoulder, his practice movements not faltering. "Mm. I think you kind of liked it. Your mouth did a thing," he teased.

"It did not!" Rick protested even with surprised laughter in his voice. "You weren't even looking at me!"

"Oh, well now I know for sure." He shifted back, hauling the filled bucked out from under the cow. He went over and emptied it into the larger, lidded bucket that was lined with cloth for convenience to filter out any stray hair or debris before boiling it. "No need to be coy, Rick. It's just us." He went over and started to unclip the cow's bridle as Rick shifted back onto his feet, taking the milking stool out of the way with him. "Rose here won't tell anyone." The cow lowed in response when he patted her before moving away back into the field.

"Well, aren't you being cute now." Rick remarked dryly, but the brightness in his blue eyes was mirth instead of manic like earlier and Marshall gave him a boyish grin in response. The older male just stared at him for a moment. "You cut your hair!" He blurted.

Marshall snorted. "And he finally notices," he mumbled playfully. Rick rolled his eyes. "I can't stand long hair and I hate facial hair." He handed the man the empty bucket to occupy his free hand.

"Surely you've grown a beard at one point while you were overseas." Rick said. "There was no way you'd be able to shave every morning like you do here."

Marshall raised a challenging brow as he picked up the four gallon bucket of milk. "Tell that to the pocket knife I used to scrape half my face off with—it's also pretty decent at stripping men naked."

Rick stared at him, Marshall stared back unperturbed. "You..." he gave his head an amused little shake. "You're still something else."

"Mysterious~!" Marshall called back cheekily as he headed out of the paddock, kicking Rick into action of following after grabbing up the metal bucket he'd left behind. "How else am I supposed to get all the pretty boys to chase after me?"

"Clever." Rick remarked. He quickly caught up to the other man. "Does that make me a pretty boy?"

"I guess that's for you to decide." Marshall answered. They walked in silence as Rick ruminated on that cryptic comment before the Ranger spoke up again, "Half of this is your groups'." He gestured the milk bucket. "It'll be in jugs in the 'fridge for y'all."

"That's not-" Rick tried to protest.

"You pitched in for it, didn't you?" Marshall winked slyly. "Isn't that the point?"

"Thank you." Rick just settled on saying.

...

Marshall used a measuring cup to scoop out the scalded milk from the pot and poured it into the awaiting glass bottles that lined the island table with minimal spillage. After sealing them and wiping them down with a damp cloth, the one litre bottles easily took an entire shelf of the fridge. No doubt once Rick spread the word of 'milk on the house', he'd be back milking within 3 days, maybe even with Sophia in tow with him next time. He made himself clean up after himself, scrubbing out the pots and everything else and utterly hated it. If it were up to him, it would be disposable dishes and utensils all around, but he knew these days that wasn't a option anymore.

He spied Maggie finally making her grand return through the window and quickly dried his hands off before heading out the back door in his bare feet to greet and tease his twin. After all, the hill in the paddock where he typical milked and a pretty great overview of the rest of the main farm—i.e. Shane at the barn and Maggie's interrupted return from the garden.

"Well, looky here." Marshall all but cooed. Maggie's back was turned to him, so he couldn't see her face but her suddenly drooping shoulders at his voice said it all. "I -spy-with-my-little-hawk-eye... someone and their secret-not-so-secret boyfriend have made-up already. That silent treatment is like a magic spell—maybe I should give it a try." Maggie straightened from the wagon and turned to her twin with a wicked roll of the eyes, her arms crossed. "Wanna share the deets?"

She didn't even try to deny it or tell him where to shove his smug face. "He ambushed me as I was coming back from the gardens. There was yelling—on his part... a quickie in the woods." Marshall snorted. "What can I say?" Maggie added glibly, "He's sexy when he has a spine."

"Tell me you at least had protection?" was Marshall's sly counter.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "My knife, bat... and 11 condoms to pick from." She ended bluntly, wanting to catch him off guard, a pointed remark for him to back off. A dare.

Marshall just gave her an impressed whistle. "You know, sis. In Apocalypse Now, a top M.O. is gonna be Apocalypse Sex. Example," he gestured at her. "And your 10 remaining gloves of love. But eventually, those condoms are gonna run out. Sooner probably quicker than later. So if I were you—I'd have the 'kids talk' with your boyfriend." He grinned, laughing when she grabbed a potato from the basket and whipped it at his head. Looked like he was the one that just put the scare into her. Of course, he caught it like a boss before it could give him a black-eye. "Just wait until I tell Beth! She gonna- HEY!" he barely managed to retreat with both eyes the way his sister had thrown that carrot with precision like it was a balanced knife.

She knew where to hit him where he was sensitive, the scab was still fresh under his eye from Daryl just the other day. He giggled to himself. It was still funny either way and it definitely didn't stop him from gossiping to Beth about it like a fellow teenage girl.

When dinner came, it was a quiet affair, nothing but the scrape of utensils and the sound of polite chewing. Marshall still needed to talk to his father, he'd said he would to Rick and he'd meant it. He also knew the best approach would depend on the timing. He knew their eviction wasn't immediate (though it probably felt like a big ticking clock counting down over their heads regardless), so he'd try tomorrow. He didn't exactly expect to make much headway, but maybe if he actually explained his point of view... well, maybe Hershel would actually listen.

...

Despite having heard the giggles that only children could authentically produce through the closed bedroom door, Marshall wasn't approached by the strawberry blond butterfly to brush Athena. While not a surprise, he was still disappointed. He would just have to do it himself after they got back from their nightly patrol.

"Let's go, girl." The dog darted out the open screen door in front of him, jumping smoothly off the porch to do a short arc in the dark before returning of the time it took him to walk down the steps. Armed with his sidearm at his thigh, Kukuri knife at small of his back, and his baseball bat resting casually on his shoulder rather than his compound bow. It was the bat from his teenage years. Wooden, worn to his grip, but well taken care of. While his sister had a preference from aluminium bats, there was just something about the heft of a solid wooden bat the couldn't be replicated.

He finally decided to turn his headlamp on when he was far enough from the light of the house and campfire. While it was easy enough to see out in the open by the moonlight, the nights were typically as cloudless as the Georgian days tended to be—the tree line and their depths were a portal of shadow and darkness and hidden dangers.

With so much activity on the farm, he knew it was just a matter of time before there was an incursion, especially since it had been days since he'd been out into the woods for a proper sweep. With all these new mouths to feed, though, it was also only a matter of time before there was a need for a proper hunting trip—one he knew that Daryl would be more than willing to join him in. That was certainly something Marshall was looking forward to, he wanted to see the hunter in his element.

As they approached the final spot check of the night before it was time to return to the house, Marshall signalled Athena for 'silent' and to 'stick close'. Unlike all the other nights they did their nightly perimeter check, there was company at the barn. It was always best to go stealth-mode around the barn with careful, silent footing; at a berth of at least 15 feet; with his light askance of it, enough to see but not direct enough to arouse the attention of the piranha within through the cracks between the wood boards. So, it was his headlamp that announce his presence first around the corner to the main barn doors.

"Hey! Who's there?! Identify yourself, I'm armed!"

Marshall really wanted to let out a crass 'your mom!', because honestly... who the hell did the guy think it was? "The guy who told you not to fuck around the barn." He answered lowly instead before he rounded the corner into view with Athena on his heels, the lamp light shinning directly at the man. "The guy who knows better then to shout out in the darkness." He stopped walking. "The guy who knows you're not armed with anything but a pickaxe and a pussy knife because then you'd really be out on your ass."

"Smartass!" Shane tsked in annoyance, hand up to block out the light blinding him. "Get that out of my face!"

"I am smart, and I do have a really great ass." Marshall agreed nonchalantly, not moving the light from his face. He idly twirled the bat against his shoulder where it rested. "It's nice of you to notice, Shane, even if I don't reciprocate."

"Not even in the apocalypse." Shane sneered.

"Go to your tent, Shane. Go to bed." The last thing Marshall wanted to have to deal with was this man sleep deprived and even more illogical and short-fused.

"If you think I'm just gonna leave it unguarded and sleep like a baby-"

"It doesn't need to be guarded because their wasn't anyone poking around and stirring them up. Despite the smell of rotting, wild predators like foxes who try for the chickens don't go near it. Athena knows better than to go within ten feet of it. You're just making tensions higher around here—but whatever. Stay out here all night, flinching at every little sound, holding your breath until your lungs burn when the crickets stop chirping for even just a moment." Marshall walked forward toward him, this time angling his head slightly so the man could actually see him properly for the first time since they started talking, and he'd know. "But know, you keep touching on that barn... you're going to force me to be touching on you." He didn't pause in his stride as he passed by the man, dog close in on his other side, not leaving Shane enough room to respond other than his typical, annoying huff followed by that nervous head-rubbing tick. The ice was so thin, it was already bowing under his feet.

When all the was said and done, ready for bed in his sleep shorts, Athena gave a whine at the sight of the brush but no strawberry-blind butterfly to wield it. "I know," he murmured as he brushed her. "Maybe tomorrow."

[tWD]

Marshall was taking a break sprawled out of the sun on the porch swing, a foot propped on the arm rest, the other on the deck absently setting the swing into gentle rocking motion. One hand reach up behind his head, finger wrapped loosely around the upper anchoring chain, the other cradling a sweating bottle of water on his chest. His eyes closed, an amused curl played across his lips as sung to himself.

He heard the scuff of approaching shoes on the porch boards. When he wasn't immediately flopped on by Beth, or a bucket of water wasn't dumped on him by Maggie, nor did he hear the call of his father or Auntie, he knew it must of been one of Rick's Group.

They paused and lingered with an awkward air, yet he didn't open his eyes or stop singing. There was a faint thump like something was set down.

"Brought this back t'ya." Daryl said in lieu of a 'hello'.

Marshall cracked an eye open, green slit finding and lingering of the man's face first, before it dropped to the formally given care basket. There was still a variety of items left in it, not that the man expected it to come back empty. Just from a surface view, the various food and drink containers remained (mostly empty)(good), his MP3 Player (guess Daryl didn't want him to hunt him down), the clothes, crossbow bolts and medical supplies were gone as expected. Marshall didn't spot the puzzle book, but he did see Beth's crochet manual even if it looked like the materials for it were gone (the implications of that were super adorable and the boyish smile suddenly appearing probably freaked the older man out with the no obvious prompting). The real kicker though, the most delicious cherry on top, sitting there on top like the Crown Jewel—the Rubik's Cube. Six sides of solid colour.

Marshall's sudden whoop! of delight and abrupt sitting up had Daryl flinching back. Water bottle discarded to the side, he snatched up the cube, turning the toy around in his hands. "Daryl, this is incredible! You finished it in two days!" Marshall looked at him with bright green eyes.

Daryl squinted. "What's that supposed t' mean?" he was irritated with how his eyes kept zeroing in one the scab under his eye.

"That you're amazing!" Daryl blinked at the prompt and serious reply. "You did the whole thing in like a single sitting. Oh!" He lit up. "I have the best idea." Marshall held out the Rubik's Cube toward him. "Can you take this and walk up to Beth, and just hand it to her without a word—and then walk away?"

"No." Daryl denied promptly, fingers twitching a little but hands unmoving from his sides.

Marshall's smile dropped into a pout. "Why not?"

"Why would I?" was the immediate retort.

"'Cause we're friends?"

"No, we ain't."

"I don't accept that, but fine. How 'bout cause I'm her big brother and I want to give her shit about this and to watch her die on the inside a little." He twirled the toy around in his hands. "Sunny hate's these things with an hilarious passion 'cause the furthest she'd ever gotten was just two-sides. She gets so frustrated that she chucks it at the wall and smashes them—so I always make sure to stick one in her stocking at Christmas."

"'M not gonna help you be a jackass t' your lil' sister."

Marshall slumped back into the swing, "That's sweet, Daryl, but Sunny's really a demon with a halo—who dumps milk in your boots and leaves them to sour in the sun or puts a bunch of live frogs in your underwear drawer..." he could see the silent amusement in Daryl's eyes and grinned himself. "She excels at guerrilla warfare."

Daryl chuffed. "Good for her."

Marshall watched him consciously hitch his left hip against the railing. He smiled to himself, that it was a sign of Daryl planning to stick around for a little bit more and not immediately take off. He needed to tread carefully so he wouldn't annoy him with questions about his wounds even with how strong the desire was. Instead, he settled on what he figured for safe ground: "Those bolts work with your crossbow alright?"

"They're alright."

"I wasn't really sure because I never got a close look at it with butterfly playing the gargoyle over it, but it look like the same size as Shawn's, though his is a newer model. He'd only had for like five years." Marshall explained. "I always thought crossbows were too bulky, at least for me in comparison to the compound bow. But he always said it was made better hunting than any rifle ever did." He flicked a smile at the other man. "You muscle that thing into submission barehanded, don't you, hunter?" Marshall mused.

"It's quieter. Faster." Daryl answered. His thumb unconsciously brushed across the thick calluses on his fingers. He'd earned those.

"Well, don't try doing that now—you'll pop a stitch." Marshall couldn't help remark.

Daryl rolled his eyes a little but otherwise didn't respond to the mother-henning. It was a companionable silence for a minute until he broke it. "Your brother..." he started, chewing on him thumb cuticle, his gaze drawn over Marshall's shoulder to the not so distant structure of the barn from the house. "He in that barn?" Marshall only gave a silent nod, green gaze lowered. "Don't think I could do it neither." Daryl mumbled quietly, not looking him in the eye. "Don't think I could just leave 'im like that neither."

"You really are sweet, Daryl." Marshall gave him a soft smile.

"Shut up. Don't call me shit like that."

Marshall sighed. "It wasn't meant as an insult. It doesn't make you weak." Daryl glared and the green-eyed man's hands briefly rose in surrender. "So... your brother... Sophia mentioned him..."

"Ain't nothin' kill a Dixon but a Dixon—down a hand or not." Was Daryl's sharp response. "I'll see that asshole again an' when I do, I'll put a bolt in his sorry ass!"

"Oh, I believe it!" Marshall chuckled and the hunter made an annoyed gesture at him.

Daryl lightly kicked the basket with the toe of his worn shoe. "Just take your shit back and leave it alone."

"You didn't have to return it so soon. In fact, you didn't have to return any of it except for the MP3."

"Shut up."

Marshall chuckled. "Why do I get the sense that in Dixon-speak 'shut up' might not actually translate to 'shut up'?"

"Shut up." Daryl glowered.

"Now that felt like a tried and true 'shut up'."

Daryl didn't even bother to respond before he turned on his heel and left. A wide smile split the Ranger's face. "Hate for you to go, but love to watch you walk away." He murmured.

He picked up his MP3 from the basket and turned it on, smirking as the screen blinked with a low battery—that meant the hunter actually listen to it. He grabbed the basket and took it inside, he couldn't wait to recharge and play the Most Recent Playlist. See what kind of music Daryl Dixon listens to, even if it was most likely the man had just let it play at Random. There were a few thousands of songs loaded onto it, after all.

Marshall plugged it into the nearest outlet to charge and dropped off the used containers by the sink for someone else to wash, because washing dishes was the last thing he would do voluntarily even in the apocalypse, before he went in search of his father. It was time for that talk he promised Rick. All he had to do was follow the faint notes of the record player to Hershel's office. The door was ajar and Marshall paused for a moment to watch his dad staring distant out the window. He stepped into the office.

"Daddy-" Marshall started, but Hershel cut him off with a raised hand before he could begin.

"Don't bother. I suspect you sister said all that you're going to."

Marshall's briefly raised eyebrow was all that was given away of his surprise. He wondered if Maggie had confronted their father before or after her reunion with Glenn. Not that it mattered because something she voiced had clearly stuck with their father. "Then something she said must have struck a cord with you." He quietly observed his father, who, with a frown like that, looked like he was contemplating some life-changing shit. "I guess I'll leave you alone, then. I'm was going to grab a bath." Hershel just nodded absently, distractedly and reset the needle on the record. Marshall watched him for a silent moment before he turned and left his dad to his thoughts.

"M-Marshall?"

Marshall paused at his name, foot poised on the bottom step of the staircase. He turned his head toward the voice and found the strawberry-blonde lingering nervously down the hall. "Butterfly." He turned to face her with a small smile. "Have you finally come out of hiding?"

"I wasn't hiding." She corrected him a small voice. "Mom just thought it would be better to stay o-out of the way."

"Understandable." Marshall agreed. "I know things got pretty tense at the barn the other day... I'm sorry if I scared you."

"You didn't scare me." Sophia glanced up to meet his eyes. "I don't l-like yelling. My d-dad always yelled."

Fucking Shane. "Still. What can I do for you? Want a glass of milk? Y'know, Rick helped milk the cow for it yesterday. I promised to show you how, didn't I? Maybe we'll ask your mama if she'd let me show you when we run low again."

"Really?" her face lit up at that and her entire shrunken demeanour just filled right out like an inflatable getting a fresh top-up of air.

Marshall grinned. "'Course. I promised I'd make a farm girl outta ya, didn't I?"

"Oh, but that's not why I came t-to find you." Sophia admitted, deflating a little. "Carl said," she made a face, "That he punched his... brown train... ticket...?" Marshall snorted at that—what a cheeky brat. "A-and wanted to know if he can go outside now?"

"Why don't I come take a look now, hm?" Marshall offered. Sophia waited for him to reach her midway down the hall before she turned and walked back to the guest bedroom that had Carl's sole occupation for the past 6 days. Despite the box of comics to keep him occupied and his apocalypse-best-friend to keep him company, the Greene son had no doubt the boy was still going stir-crazy.

"I found him, Carl." Sophia announced in her quiet voice as she led Marshall into the bedroom.

"Marshall!" Carl shouted. "I did it! Can I please go outside now? Pleasepleaseplease?!"

"Just let me check you out first, alright, trouper?" Marshall chuckled at the childish excitement. He washed his hands in the bathroom. "Let's take a look-see." Propped comfortably against the headboard and pile of pillows, Carl was easily able to lift his shirt a bare his stomach. Marshall peeled back the gauze pad. "Alright, same questions as last time. You're appetite?"

"Good." Carl told him as Marshall carefully palpitated his stomach.

"No nausea?"

"No."

"How's the pain?"

"Okay. Mom makes me take the medicine like clockwork."

"Good. The swelling's gone down considerably, too. So, what's this I hear about a... brown train?" Marshall teased. Sophia made that same face again as in the hallway and Carl giggled.

"I went, so I can go outside now, right?"

"I don't know... describe it to me."

"What?!"

"How much did you have to push and strain? Consistency? All that good stuff."

As much as he was giggling before, he was an embarrassed twelve-year-old boy now, and his present best-friend was, well, a girl. "Um."

"No need to be embarrassed," Marshall promised. "Everybody poops!"

"Ugh!" both children groaned.

"Come on, kiddo. The faster you answer, the faster I may let you out of your pen here."

"I felt like I had to go." Carl finally mumbled. "But I had to sit there for a while. I had to push but I remembered what you said. It was hard at first, but then it got softer. After, I was tired and I hurt more, but I felt better. Even more better than after when I fart..."

"Good." Marshall gave a reassuring smile. "And it looks likes you didn't pop nothing that wasn't suppose to pop. You're war wound looks good; the stitches will stay in for another day or two, depending, but it looks like you, Daryl, and T-Dog will probably be getting your stitches out around the same time."

"Does that mean I can go outside now?" Carl asked, turning impatient.

"Where's your mamas?" Marshall questioned both kids.

"They said they were gonna do laundry while we safe in here together staying out of trouble." Sophia told him.

"Alright. Why don't you run out there and tell Lori I'm letting Carl out of the house—but just to the porch!" Marshall called after her as she bolted from the room. "Just to the porch." He repeated to the freckled face beaming at him from the bed. "Come on. Go easy." He reminded as Carl scooted from the bed. "I'll dig out some board games or something to keep you entertained. And I'm sure Beth wouldn't mind joining in the fun." It was very interesting to watch Carl flush at the mention of his little sister.

Carl had managed to make it to the hall before Lori was there, looking a little frantic as her hazel gaze darted between Marshall and her son, and winded like she'd run to the house.

"What's happening?" she questioned.

"Nothing frightening, it's good news." Marshall promised. "Carl had a bowel movement and I'm letting him out onto the porch."

"Oh, that is good." Lori said with relief, stroking Carl's hair affectionately.

"Just hang around." He told the boy. "Don't strain yourself. You'll tucker out easily enough just by being out of bed. I'll go find those board games and Beth."

He found his little sister lacklusterly sweeping the upstairs hall and asked her to dig out the board games for him, she took to her new task gladly.

"Where the BF?" he wondered.

Beth shrugged as she followed him downstairs. "Ran off with daddy."

"Alright." They were probably at the stables then. He went to the kitchen as Beth picked out an assortment of games that were stowed in the bureau in the parlour. "Hey, Auntie, give me a hand?" With Patricia's help, they'd created two trays of assorted goodies.

Maggie twisted around from where she sat on the porch steps, Glenn subtly sitting closer than was strictly necessary to be casual but not so blatant to obviously be pressed against her side, as her twin backed out of the door, tray in hand. Patricia with her own tray followed him out as he held the screen door open for her. Pitchers of water, peach juice already sweating out in the heat. A plastic tray of frozen juice pops and a stack of cups. A platter of cut veggies with Patricia's simple homemade dip, and fresh fruit from the garden.

And the gaggle descended.

Beth with an armful of various board games, Sophia and Carl in her wake. It was really good to see the boy finally on his feet and out of the house, now he was really on the path to healing. Followed by their respective mothers who settled into the two rocking chairs with refreshments. Beth, Patricia and Carl clamoured over which board game to play.

Marshall gave a sharp whistle, calling him partner back home, and it wasn't even a minute before the blue-pigmented Belgian Malinois darted up the small space on the stairs beside Glenn, who jolted into Maggie's side with a startled sound and she laughed, before sitting promptly at her master's feet where he removed her vest. Marshall pulled the brush from his pocket and waved it pointedly in Sophia's field of vision. Attention caught, dark-blue eyes darted from the brush, to the man, to dog and back around again. Sophia bit her bottom lip, eyes lighting up, one hand curled against her chest in shyness as the other reached for the brush dangling in front of her like a treat. Her small fingers curled around the handle.

Athena woofed, circled the 12-year-old a couple of times, brushing against her at all sides before she flopped down on the porch. Tongue hanging out of her mouth, legs up in the air, more than ready for pampering from the girl. One moment of stillness, then Sophia was practically upon the dog like a ravenous animal—or an ecstatic kid.

Maggie met her twin's eyes. She raised a brow at him. Because just the other day, didn't he call a whole Greene Family Meeting with the point of all of them keeping their distance from Rick's Group? Marshall shrugged and then shot a pointed look at Glenn pressed up beside her. She gave a good-natured eye roll. Because in the end, this was the best kind of confrontation that could be had. Not a lick of hostility or suspicion and wariness amongst their small little porch party.

Marshall gave Maggie a teasing kissy-face, darted over to poke Beth in the ribs that garnered a squawk and a retaliatory swat, and gently tugged a lock of strawberry blond hair that earned him a shy smile before he grabbed Athena's vest and disappeared back into the house.

And in that moment of a moment of time, her fingers twined with the man she was falling for against her better judgement, sweaty palms pressed together and hidden from view between their pressed thighs... it was like this wasn't the apocalypse.

Maggie found, isolated on the farm, if one didn't dwell on it, it was almost easy to forget. It was almost like just another Church Picnic. Daryl and T-Dog wandered over and chatted with the pair, the former actually participating with more than one or two-word grunts. Maggie was totally going to lord this over Marshall because he missed it for a bath!

Maggie's shoulders automatically tensed at the approaching couple. Glenn sent her a glance before he followed her gaze and tensed up right alongside her. Shane was in fast approach towards the group, determined set to his pace and stride, duffle bag clutched in one hand, shotgun in the other with Andrea close on his heels. Her green-eyes darted, wary to note the gun occupied holsters on their hips. She cursed her brother for having decided to separate from the group because peace was fleeting, a daydream, and this nightmare of a buzz cut was here to chase it all away without a doubt. Dread. Dread filled the brunette and she rose to her feet in instinctual response before the pair even reached them.

"What's all this?" Daryl questioned, but Maggie didn't need to.

There was only one thing that this could be about. This was one of the things Marshall had warned her about. Shane. The barn. A coup. And Rick was nowhere in sight to force his partner to back down from this harebrained scheme to get his way and assert his authority through intimidation and fear. Shane was after the barn.

"Time to grow-up and stop playing house. You with me?" Shane paused in front of the other man to offer the shotgun.

Daryl stilled for a second, gaze flickering from the present gun, to the man's face and back again. Shane looked strung out, lack of sleep and paranoia and anger lining his overly sweaty face. He seemed way too keyed-up, his pupils wide with adrenaline. Daryl was wary. Obviously, Shane was about to try and do something about the barn. He agreed that it needed to be taken care of, but even he knew an ambush was a stupid idea. He took the gun anyway but remained silent, Shane seemed to take that as acceptance.

"Thought we couldn't carry?" T-Dog questioned when Shane passed him a handgun.

"We can and we have to." Shane addressed the group, who were all warily on their feet by now. "Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now we know it ain't. What about you, man?" He moved on to Glenn. "You ready to man up and protect what's yours?"

When Glenn took the riffle after a moment of anxious hesitation, Maggie gave him a look of disbelief and anger. The 22-year-old could only give her a helpless shrug. Whether he would actually use it remained to be seen, but he had come to learn in these past months that it was better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.

"What about you? Can you shoot?" Shane asked her.

Maggie scoffed. Was he an idiot? The answer was: Obviously. Of course she could shoot, what a stupid question. But did he honestly think that she would agree and participate in this farce? Her arms crossed over her chest defensively, but her shoulders went back and her chin up to make herself appear bigger instead of them going up to her ears. "Can you stop? You do this, you hand out those guns... you're as good as gone. Do you get that? Your whole point for this bullshit will be for nothing!"

Shane stared at her for a terse moment. Maggie fought back that shudder at the madness in his eyes and refused to back down despite the danger and fear he presented. Finally, he scoffed, completely dismissing her as a threat and approached Carl next to where the boy now stood at the porch railing, distracted from his innocent game of checkers.

"What are you doing?" Carl asked. He cast a worried glance to his best-friend, who was hugging onto Athena in her own anxiety. The dog had sat up, guarded at the man's approach, sat, but ready in front of girl like a shield, amber eyes trained on the man. "We need to stay. They're gonna make us leave!"

"We ain't going anywhere, okay?" Shane promised. "Now, look," he addressed the group, "Hershel, he's just gotta understand. Okay? He- well, he's just gonna have to. We got to make sure this place is safe. Alright?" He took out a revolver from the duffle bag before setting it on the ground, and looked into the eyes of his best-friend set in the face of his son. "Now, I want you to take this. You take this, Carl, and your keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it." He held it out to the boy he'd known since birth, his own pseudo-son.

"What is this?" Lori inserted herself between her son and her ex-lover, simultaneously pulling Carl back behind her with hand while the other pushed the proffered revolver away. "What do you think you're doing? Rick said no guns. So, whatever this is, it's not your decision to make—especially with Rick son."

"What needs to be-"

"Oh, shit!" it was T-Dog's uttered exclaim that drew attention. His back was to them and it took a moment for others to pinpoint and realize exactly what it was that drew such disbelief into T-Dog's tone.

Maggie silently cursed. What utterly terrible timing! Down by the barn, coming through the fence that walled the tree line, were Hershel and Rick with Jimmy, leading two walkers with snare poles around the necks like animals to stow inside the already crowded barn. How could her daddy think that this was the answer to her question of who he wanted to be in the world as it was now? She got the sentiment, but with the way tensions were when it came to the barn, this was just gasoline on the dumpster fire.

"What the hell is this?! What the hell is this?!" Shane charged off down the slight hill like an enraged bull that saw red. Most others streamed along behind him, rushing to the scene of the crime like they were pulled along by strings.

"Beth!" Maggie grabbed her sister. "Go get Marshall! Now!" She shoved the blond towards the door before bolting after the others. She didn't know what she was going to do when she got there, she forget to even grab some kind of weapon before she ran. All she knew was that she wasn't just going to leave her daddy alone to the approaching mob.

Carol didn't move from porch deck, hugging Sophia to her. Patricia also knew it was safer to stay than put herself into a situation where she would only be a burden.

"Carl, stay with Carol!" Lori shouted at her son when he tried to follow. "I'm mean it!" before rushing toward the commotion her husband was at the center of.

Beth took the stairs two at a time, her converse clad feet stomping up the steps. "Marshall!" she screamed, no point in trying for subtly. She hit the landing. "Marshall!" she slammed into the bathroom door where she could hear his voice carry from as he sang to himself. The door burst open, banging harshly into the wall. It sounded like it dented the wall but she'd worry about that later.

Marshall was up and out of the tub in an instant, yanking off the cranked-up headphones. "What's happening?" Marshall demanded at the sight of his frantic sister, adrenaline racing through his veins. He grabbed his discarded pants, quickly yanking them up his legs.

"It's Shane!" Beth instantly relayed. "He started handing out guns trying to convince everyone they needed to clear out the barn—and then daddy came out of the woods with Rick leading two piranha to the barn. They're all down there."

"Fuck!" Marshall brushed passed her and rushed to his room. He quickly grabbed his sidearm and shoved it into the back of his pants instead of stopping to strap it on. He paused for a second to grab another that was all but collecting dust at this point in the apocalypse before exiting into the hall again where the blond lingered anxiously.

"Oh, God!" Beth cried out, flinching at the sound of gunshots. Three in rapid succession.

"Stay in the house!" he barked at her, and ran down the hall, but not toward the staircase. He left via the second story balcony, he climbed over the wobbly railing, scaled halfway down before simply dropping the rest of the way. He grunted at the short impact, bare feet stinging and coated in dirt as he took off without further preamble. Two more gunshots. A bark of warning behind him before the rapid crunch of paws approached, and Athena raced alongside him. "Orange." Athena woofed in acknowledgement.

Three more rabid shots. Marshall took in everything in short order as he rapidly closed the distance with his partner, hands instinctively priming the gun in his hands without having to look down. The group was gathered loosely around the three main players. Shane, closest to the barn and with the happy trigger finger. Rick, struggling to hand off his snare pole so he could intervene, but everyone was too frozen to assist. And Hershel, stilled, stunned as Shane callously used the piranha in his snare as target practice.

"Enough living next to a barn full of things trying to kill us. Enough. Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now if ya'll want to live, if you want to survive, you gotta fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now!" Finally a headshot punctuated Shane's point.

Cowards, Marshall tried not to sneer. It wasn't their fault, they were civilians. Pizza delivery boys, and volunteer drivers, civil rights lawyers. Didn't stop the anger, though. Someone could have stepped up for Rick's snare pole, Rick could have just given in and killed the piranha he possessed because Shane was certainly using that as a tether to stop his fellow Deputy from intervening.

They passed the gate unnoticed, Shane's back to the crowd as he approached the barn. Marshall signalled for Athena to circle, while he simply cut through the middle of the pack, barefoot, shirtless, nothing but a pair of pants that clung to his skin in damp patches. There was some startled exclaims at his passing, but he didn't pause, right hand extended. Shane did, at the doors to Hell, pickaxe raised. He glanced over his shoulder but it was already too late.

Marshall fired the load.

"No!" Rick screamed.

There were aborted shouts where a gunshot was expected but all they were met with a click, followed by rapid popping as he relentlessly held the trigger. Shane grunted, muscles seizing. The pickaxe clattered to the ground. He groaned through clenched teeth as he dropped to his knees, yet Marshall didn't relent until the man was prone on the ground just feet from the rattling barn doors.

Marshall released the trigger as he approached but didn't eject the cartridge from the Taser just yet. His finger stroked the trigger with silent desire, just until the cartridge blew out, he cooed internally. Instead, he grabbed the back of Shane's collar and hauled him halfway up as Marshall bent. With his back to the group, Athena inserted herself in-between and covered him in case someone suddenly decided they were finally going to do something. Shane grunted, arms shakily trying to support himself as his collar choked hum and he snarled at the man, spittle and dust covering his chin.

"I warned you." Marshall growled lowly. "I fucking warned you." And before Shane could even try and back talk him, he punched him forcefully with his Taser occupied hand in the temple. He let gravity do the work as he released the back of the unconscious man's shirt.

He turned back to the group, surveying them with a blank and hard stare as he finally ejected the cartridge, Shane laid out at his feet and reloaded with the spare. Nothing but the quiet snarls of the collared piranha and the banging on the barn doors to fill the silence. Hershel was on his knees in shock as he stared incomprehensibly at the dead piranha just feet away. Oh, that looked like Lou. She was their closest neighbour, lived miles down the road. They'd lost contact with her almost two months ago. Marshall and Otis had gone to check on her but had found no sign of her, she must have been wandering the woods this whole time. Maggie was trying to give their father some sort of silent comfort with Glenn shifting nervously at her shoulder.

"It's been one day." He remarked. "All any of you had to do, was stay away from the barn. Yet..." he looked at each armed person with silent condemnation. Glenn avoided his gaze entirely. Marshall lingered on Daryl, the shotgun in his hand. He thought after their talk the other day, that the hunter understood. He guess he thought wrong. "You thought that by doing this, that he was protecting you? Forcing the doors open for you to be overrun with piranha. This isn't O.K Corral-"

"You think the solution is to bring more walkers in?" The blond woman interrupted, hip cocked, throwing an accusing glare toward Rick.

"You." Marshall said, pinning the woman with a stare. "You're lucky you weren't already out on your ass after you discharged you weapon and injured one of your own!"

Andrea scoffed, offended, and opened her mouth to argue back before T-Dog wisely silenced her with an elbow.

"If you didn't realize already," Marshall held up the Taser toward the sky, not in threat, but just in presentation, an indication to draw their gazes, prove his point. "I'm still being polite. The smart thing," he reached behind his back for his lethal gun and there was responding tension and shifting of their own weapons, but he didn't draw it, didn't even actually touch the grip before letting his hand drop again. Just proving a point. "I should have put down the threat. A threat to my home. To my Family. Even to you all. You think pulling something rash like this is the mark of a good leader?"

"Marshall-" Rick tried with that imploring tone.

"Rick." Marshall's own tone silenced him. He addressed the group. "Get him the hell out of my sight. The rest of you... leave."

With a nod from Rick, T-Dog and Andrea rushed forward, wary of the dog and Ranger, and hauled Shane up between them much like Rick and Marshall had to Daryl's senseless form days ago. After a look at Marshall, Daryl followed silently after the trio, tsking annoyed at this entire thing.

"Rick?" Lori wondered. He was stuck still holding on to that walker in the snare pole.

"I'm alright. Go. Make sure Carl's okay." Rick assured. Lori reluctantly left.

"Maggie?" Glenn questioned quietly.

"You should go, too." Maggie sad. "This is a family matter." Glenn sighed quietly but complied.

"Jimmy, take daddy to the house to Beth and Patricia." Marshall instructed the teen.

With Maggie helping to coax Hershel onto his feet, still in a dazed shock, Jimmy managed the slow trek toward the house. Maggie lingered like she knew Marshall wanted but stayed silent, green gaze shooting between the two men all the while avoiding looking at the ensnared walker.

Marshall finally tucked the Taser into his back pocket, gaze resting on Rick. "Athena, yellow." The dog sat from her alert stance, her pointed ears flicking at every eerie wheeze from the piranha. Marshall walked straight toward Rick, the piranha, who'd practically become docile, grew energetic and more noisy at the closing prey.

Rick instinctively tried to guide the walker away but stilled with the shake of Marshall's head. Marshall paused just outside of the piranha's grabbing reach and swung his leg out without giving the man any warning, hooking his bare foot and taking out the piranha's legs out from under it. The pole was ripped from Rick's grasp as the piranha went down like a ton of bricks. It immediately attempted to clamber to its feet but Marshall was on it in a instant, grip on the pole at the base of its neck keeping it temporarily pinned.

Maggie couldn't help the little flinch as Marshall bore his weight onto the pole at the base of its neck, there was a jolt as bone gave and the piranha beneath gave a jerk before its brainstem was severed. It finally became quiet but for the muffled snarls from the barn that too were dying down. Marshall released the pole to let it clank to the ground with a small puff of dust before he rose. Rick didn't dare to try and speak first as he watched the man with caution.

"I already warned him once, Rick. This was his second strike. The third..." Marshall paused, making sure he had eye contact and Rick's sole attention. "He tries something again—I will be lethal. He comes near my family..." there'd be nothing left to reanimate.

"I understand." Rick said. He held back the automatic 'I'll speak with him', because clearly that had worked out so well this far. "I'll make him understand. I'll make sure he stays away."

Marshall regarded the man. Oh, how he hoped Rick's determination bore tangible fruit. He believed he would do his damnedest to protect the child he already had in the world and the one that was on its way—even if that meant he needed to leave his best-friend by the wayside. "I really hope that's true, Rick." He finally whispered.

They watched the man walk away, shoulders heavy like they held the weight of world but instead of collapsing, he carried on because that was all he knew how to do. All that remained were the Greene Twins.

Maggie watched her brother. Marshall blew out a breath, rubbing his forehead and shielding his face. He knew what he had to do, what needed to be done. His former inability had brought them around full circle to here and now, forcing his hand where he'd previously kept it still.

"What are you planning to do?" Maggie questioned her twin quietly, despite already having her suspicions. It was just easier to be in denial, easier to look away and ignore—until Marshall cut away her blinders and gave her no other choice but to see.

The man finally dropped his hand and looked at his sister. Time to stop looking away. "Maggie... I need you to get me my bow and quiver."

"Marshall, you-"

"I never should have let it get this far." Marshall admitted quietly. His confession. "I should have put Shawny and Annette to their proper rest."

"Mar..." Maggie reached for his shoulder, squeezing tight. Grounding, comforting, guilty. "It never should have been laid at your feet like that-"

"It's what I was trained for."

Maggie scowled, being deliberately obtuse. But she was angry. "You were trained to kill your family?"

"You know that's not what I meant." He frowned. "I was trained to be able to handle stuff like this so others wouldn't have to. To be able to take the burden and not be crushed under it. But I faltered. I failed... and look where it's driven us."

"Shut up." Maggie choked. "Don't you get that you make it so easy to rely on you? Because we've always been able to trust you when you say you'll take care of it, 'cause you do. And when you can't, we always know you tried your hardest. It was so selfish to just expect you to do it in the first place—and now we've just added to the burden. You're not alone, okay? You have me. You've always had since we were born."

"Not before?" Marshall teased feebly.

"We're twins... don't make it weird."

"Not to make it weird... but I love you."

Maggie rolled her eyes a bit. "I love you, too—despite yourself. I'll grab your bow." She regarded him. "And your boots. And a shirt. Anything else?"

"No. But take this." Marshall held out the loaded Taser.

Maggie stared at it. "Why...?"

"It's no use to me for this. Just hold onto it as a precaution. Not that you should need it."

Maggie sighed deeply, but took it. She wasn't wary because she didn't know how to use it, Marshall had shown his three siblings how to even before the apocalypse, but she was wary at the prospect that she might have to actually use it. It had been alarming just to watch Marshall use it on someone else. Mostly, she realized, it was the noise of the current, the loud, continuous 'popopopop!', as opposed to the single 'bang!' of a gunshot and then it was typically over with. She didn't know if she had the nerve to hold the trigger and she'd only be able to see if she had the actually wherewithal when she actually had to.

Marshall squatted and Athena came to him. He pet and hugged her as he watched his sister's diminishing figure. If Shane was going to react, it'd would be now, after he woke up. Offended, seething, revenge-oriented. Or worse, he'd be quiet, keep his distance, and plan. Not for the first time, he felt that sliver of regret of not going lethal. Then again, had he shot Shane in the back with bullets instead, he was sure the hair-trigger response of the armed inexperienced civilians would have been to fill him with even more holes than he had Shane. Prominent on his mind for that would have been Andrea. He also knew that these 'civilians' weren't as innocent and unmarked as he was making them out to be.

The world went to hell in a hand basket. Survival was innate in all animals. It was instinct. In a deadly situation, people had to do what people had to do. There was no doubt that group hadn't had an encounter with another. Because while survival was expected, it was also a typically selfish response. There was no doubt blood was on this groups' hands... piranha couldn't handcuff people to roofs, after all. It was hard to keep your integrity when everyone else seemed so willing to lose theirs at the drop of a hat.

Athena whined and licked his ear in comfort, much to his physical discomfort, while the emotional gesture was appreciative. He rubbed her ear and scratched behind it before he made himself break away from the brief cuddle.

Maggie dropped his boots at his feet upon her return and slung a t-shirt at him, his quiver slung over her shoulder and her smaller fingers curled around the fitted, but worn handhold on the body of his compound bow. He slipped the shirt on first. It was already worn, cheap thin grey cotton that he wouldn't care if it got ruined in the dirty task that lad ahead of him. He pushed his dirty feet into his boots and gave them a hasty tie.

She was watching him silently as he straightened. He watched his twin silently back, waiting for her move. Her fingers intermittently tightened on the bow grip.

"Do you want me in there with you?" Maggie finally voiced.

He wondered, "Do you honestly want to be?"

"No." She admitted like a confession of weakness. "But if you want the company, I will."

"It's okay. It'll be easier to kill our friends and family if you're not watching me." He admitted quietly but wryly and she grimaced in agreement.

She finally offered him the full quiver from her shoulder. "Can't we just burn the damn thing to the ground?"

Marshall secured the quiver around his waist, cinching the belt until the basket sat comfortably in position.

"While I can appreciate the sentiment... it's completely impractical. The barn structure would collapse long before the flames burnt out the piranhas' brains', and then we'd just have a bunch of flaming ghouls wandering around."

"You could have just said 'no'."

"When have you ever taken just 'no' for an answer?"

The only counter-argument the twenty-five year-old could think of was her tongue and his compound bow. Marshall took his bow and retaliated with his own tongue.

"You should go back to the house—take Athena with you." He fiddled with the trigger band now on his wrist where it had been clipped to his bow. "No point in just waiting around here."

"Alright." She said softly. "Come, Athena."

Athena looked to Marshall for confirmation of the command before she followed after the woman back to the house. Marshall watched them until they passed the fence before he turned and regarded the barn like it was the ominous dark bear cave mouth it didn't outwardly portray itself to be. Not even the chained doors were that out of place. Just you typical old barn...

If only.

With a sigh, he clipped the bow to quiver belt out of the way at his back as he circled to the side of the barn, steps even and quiet. The piranha seemed to had quieted in the intervening silence since no one was activity and literally rattling the chains on the door, and he didn't want to be the pin-drop that set things off again. Not until he fired the first actual shot first. The gas lantern hung from a hook by the ladder that lead up into Hayloft, a nearly empty book of matches wedged into the post crevice. He lit the lantern there outside, where the strike of the match was like a quiet hiss whereas it would become a firecracker inside the barn. A literal match thrown in gasoline, as it were.

Marshall ascended the ladder into the Hayloft, he was in mission stealth mode. There were times to breach loud and proud, and then there were times to breach like a creaking floorboard would wake the baby. Steps as quiet as possible on the worn wooden planks (having grown-up and played and died in this barn, it was easy to avoid the creaks), breathing sounds subdued. Each movement precise to cut down on even the seemingly unremarkable sounds like the rustle of his clothing, or the clatter of a loose arrow knocking into another.

He kept the flickering lantern flame at its lowest without having it sputter out of existence, to let his eyes adjust and to also not draw attention. One would think it wouldn't matter, he was up here and they were down there. Slow targets were easier to hit than fast targets, simple as that.

He set the lantern down as he knelt on a single knee, close to the edge of the loft and with the most open view of below, which was still mostly cast with shadows despite the overhead sunlight trying to break through the gaps. Like not even the purity of the sun could completely penetrate the fog of putrefaction that thickened the air inside the barn.

He took shallow breaths through his dry mouth, craving for a piece of gum. The rot.. like spoiled meat because that's all any of them were. Just sacs of meat that didn't know when to stop playing dead and just be dead. The shuffle and drag of uncooperative feet, whether it be from some injury to the body before or after death, or simply through the state of decay, were like nails on a chalkboard. It made him want to cringe and stick his fingers in his ears and wiggle them. It was made all the more palpable because they were only partially visible, like shadows moving in the dark.

Marshall brightened the flame gradually, allowing himself to adjust. The piranha gave no real reaction to the innocent change in their environment. During his studies and encounters with the piranha, Marshall had learned that they relied mostly upon their hearing and sense of smell, their eyesight of poorer condition which relied on more bigger movements. Light, or more, still light, had no real draw or reaction from them, like the setting and rising of the sun. Flashing lights, like police sirens or strobe lights might be an entirely different matter. Marshall hadn't the occasion or need to test out that little theory, but he thought it best to avoid the possibility anyhow.

Finally, he unhooked his bow from his back. Slowly, but smoothly slid an arrow out from the quiver. He nocked it, but didn't draw back yet. His mother and brother were down there, but he purposefully didn't try and search them out. If he did, it would be all that much harder. The trigger band clicked into place and he drew back to his ear. He didn't have to hold long as he found a target in the dim spotlight below. He didn't hum his mother's lullaby. He didn't deserve comfort in this. He released. His target collapse to the ground in stillness and silence, a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.

The action drew some minor attention from the other piranha, but they quickly grew disinterested at one of their own and Marshall nocked another arrow. Why would they be? It wasn't some squirming, screaming, living, breathing thing for them to devour and draw no satiation from, only to repeat the same cycle over and over until it was put down. It collapse onto the first with the same lacklustre fanfare. The sound of the arrow head piercing through the bone and into the gooey contents within was almost like a decaying pumpkin.

He drew and fired at silent will:

ready

aim

fire

It was like fish in a barrel.

Piranha in a barn.

The growing pile in the spotlight was starting to draw a reaction now. They became a bit more vocal at the disruption, their idle movements more agitated. The center was crowded with corpses so the remaining lingered in the shadows making it so he could hear them but not see them. Marshall paused to turn up the flame to its max height. Only stopped long enough for his eyes to adjust to what seemed like a sudden brightness. Still, the lantern light didn't reach all the deep corners, and the stalls beneath the Hayloft were a blind spot. He readied his compound bow, searched for his evading piranha, drew and released.

15.

Friends, family, and strangers.

He'd kept count of the arrows fired.

There was perfect silence. He guessed there were none lingering under the Hayloft after all.

He lowered the lantern flame, clipped his bow to his back quiver strap and ascended the inside main Hayloft ladder onto the ground floor. He hung the lantern on the post hook and turned to face the consequences of his actions.

The smell was thicker down here on the ground floor, more potent than the scent that wafted up to the Hayloft with the piranhas' movements. It wasn't an unfamiliar scent to him, whether it had been coming across a bloated animal corpse here on the farm growing up, or the permeating scent of cooking corpses and heavy tang of blood overseas... while easier to ignore, it was impossible to dismiss. He approached the center pile, gaze darting around the barn before focusing on his task. He shifted the corpses, pulling his arrows as he went. Some needed more force to extract, wedged into bone. Others practically slurped. All would need a thorough cleaning with vinegar from the surgery.

The collected arrows in his hand clattered to the barn floor amongst old chicken bones from suddenly numb fingers. He found them together, outside the center near the outer edge by a broken pen fence.

It wasn't his step-brother's face that drew Marshall's recognition, it was the goofy coveralls that Shawn always liked to wear when he did farm work. It was the stray curler in his step-mama's dark, stringy hair, and the familiar locket still around her neck. His hands shook as he yanked the arrows sticking from their skulls like flagpoles marking his success, leaving gaping holes behind.

He wasn't sure how long he just knelt there, unmoving, staring into the abyss, smothered in the awfulness from all sides, the screaming silence. It wasn't like he'd never killed piranha before, it wasn't like he'd never killed piranha that he recognized before. It wasn't even like he'd never killed another living person before, he hands weren't clean, a fact that his body reflected well. You didn't look like that because he didn't do his own dark deeds.

Disassociating entirely was truly bad form, but letting it overwhelm him to the inability to function while on the other end of the spectrum, was as equally devastating to his psyche. While playing the middle field was the best place to linger—it was why he dubbed them 'piranha' to give himself a degree of separation, to make it easier.

It didn't help here.

"Look out!"

The sudden scream in the deafening silence was startling, ripping him back to reality. To the rasping snarl behind him. Too close to react in anyway defensively or offensively to the weight that tackled him from behind. Fingers with jagged, broken nails dug into the thin material of his T-shirt, the clack of teeth too close. And Marshall realized he was about to die. Torn apart upon the corpses of his mom and brother. Somehow, it felt a little bit poetic. He'd failed to save them, put off giving them their final rest and here he was after finally doing that—about to be killed in the same way they were right before them.

But instead of feeling dull teeth rip into his unprotected neck, there was a wet crunch and then dead weight on top of him. There was a moment of stillness and quiet as reality set and he realized that he was in fact not dead.

"M-Marshall?" came they terrified plea.

Marshall drove into action at the voice. With a grunt, he managed to elbow the dead piranha off of him, and pushed himself from the bodies beneath. He twisted around on his knees to face his Guardian Angel.

"Beth." He managed to find his voice. "I thought I sat to stay at the house?"

The rusted pitchfork fell from her shaking hands with a clang and the blond teen threw herself at her big brother as a sob tore painfully from her throat. Uncaring of Marshall's now soiled form, she clung to him, trembling, her face buried in his throat that had been so close to being torn out just like Shawny's had. Marshall immediately hugged her back, rocking them in the comfort of both because that had been too close!

When Beth's sobs calmed down from heaving, leaving her with the occasional hiccup, she managed to pull back just enough to look her brother in the eye. "What were you doing?! You almost died!" she shouted at him angrily.

"I..." Marshall trailed off before he took a fortifying breath. He tried to brush the tears from her cheeks with the back of his knuckles, but it continued to dribble from her eyes. "I found mama and Shawny." He whispered with guilt, grief, and shame.

"What?" With wide eyes, she looked over at the piranha that were laid out right next to them. She instantly recognized her mother's nightgown despite its torn and soiled appearance. It was the one Beth had gotten her for her birthday years back, with black and white milk-cows with curlers and coffee and sunbathing in a bikini, and driving in a sports car. "Mama!" she shoved him away before he could stop her and collapse atop her mother's rotted corpse to cry anew.

He wanted to pull her away, even though he knew she'd only come kicking and screaming. Beth didn't need to see her mom and brother like this. This wasn't who they were, this rotted meat, but it was already too late for that. This was going to be the most prominent memory Beth had of them now. Marshall had thought that by finally doing this, he was making up for his previous failure, but it turned into him just failing even more.

His focus was drawn to the piranha that almost killed him. He couldn't say if he recognized the former person or not. Stared at the arrow shaft that stuck from its skull. So, it wasn't a stray that he missed and he didn't miss the target, yet somehow... morbidly curious, the arrow came free easily with a flap of skin. In the soft glow of the lantern flame he could make out the dim gleam of what looked like a metal plate. What the hell were the chances of that?! He'd hit his target, just missed the bull's eye. One in a million and he almost died. Now he would have the terrifying prospect of wondering how many other piranha he encountered would also end up being this One.

Beth sat up, tears dripping from her chin to patter onto the gown, not like it made any visible difference. With trembling fingers, she tried to brush the hair away that obscured Annette's face, only to make a horrified keening sound as it came off tangled in her fingers with clumps of rotted flesh.

Marshall quickly pulled her away after that, cleaning the hair clumps from her hand. He shielded her from the sight and fresh tears wet his throat again.

"I couldn't even recognize her face!"

"Shh. I know." He hushed. "I'm sorry. You never should of had to see that. I'm sorry. Come on," shifting his hold on her as he stood, her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried his clinging 16-year-old sister to the Hayloft ladder on the other side of the barn. It was only a mild struggle to make it up the ladder and then back down the outside one. There was a single-man door under the Hayloft, but the inside was barricaded by a stack of hay bales and the outside was also padlocked.

The bright, overhead sunlight was almost disorienting after the darkness of the barn. He blinked away the spots and made his way to the well behind the barn. He dropped to the ground on his knees with a grunt. He managed to pump water from the well into the waiting bucket, the clean rag from his back that he'd been intending to return to Daryl but hadn't gotten the chance.

Beth pulled back with a gasp at the shock of the cold wet rag pressed to the nape of her heated neck. She was quiet and still as he wiped off her pale face, finish with her arms and hands.

"Sunny, I'm sorry you had to see that." He finally murmured. "But I've never been so glad about you not listening to me before."

Beth breath slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. He left her to collect herself as he dipped the rag and cleaned himself up from his own tackle onto the bed of rotted flesh. "I never- you never let me see them before. After mama died and Shawny." Her voice caught. "A part of me always resented you for that, but now- I get it now!" she cried, fresh tears dribbled from her red-rimmed eyes. "I wish I never saw them!"

He hugged her. "I'm sorry."

But Beth shook her head rapidly, pushing at him to break the embrace, her sunshine-blond hair mussed and falling out of her hair tie. "I'm not, though." She contradicted herself. "They were always gone. We already lost them a long time ago. And I'd rather see them like that now than you-!"

Marshall pulled her back into him and hushed her, finally breaking the silence to hum in comfort. Beth didn't fight against him, but fell into him deeper. Felt the vibration in his chest, the comfort of his steady breaths in her hair and let it soothe her.

"You still shouldn't of had to see that and I will do everything and beyond to make sure that what happened to them doesn't happen to you." He vowed. "Let's get back to the house, alright?" Marshall finally murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Okay." Her voice cracked. She lingered in his embrace a moment longer before forcing herself from the safety of her big brother's cocoon.

He pulled her to her feet with him as he rose and kept her close to his side on the walk back to the house. The walk felt shorter going back than it had when he'd bolted from the house and to the barn instead.

Maggie almost burst of the house after she caught sight of their approach out the window. "Beth?!" She was surprised and angry. "What the hell!"

"Your stupid ex-boyfriend almost ate Marshall!" Beth broke away from her brother and snarled at her sister like it was her fault that man had been in the barn in the first place.

"What?" Maggie was taken aback at her sister suddenly going for her throat that she almost didn't register exactly what Beth was saying.

"Remember a few years back when he got into that dirt bike wreck screwing around and had to get a metal plate put in his head?" Beth reminded her. Maggie looked horrified with the dawning realization. "Yeah. So you don't get to yell at me, okay? You should have remembered, he was your boyfriend!"

Maggie looked to Marshall guiltily. "I didn't even think about that."

Marshall gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It was a little freaky," he admitted. "I pulled my arrow out and it was like Terminator underneath—all shiny metal. I was just bringing Sunny back. I still have to-"

"No." Maggie decided.

"What?" Marshall blinked.

"I said 'no'." She answered. "You're done. It's my turn, now. I'll take care of it. I'll sort the barn now. You and Beth clean up. I'll get Glenn and some of the others to help, it's the least they can do"

Marshall observed his determined twin for a moment. "If you want to get your hands dirty that bad..." he sighed. "It's impractical to try and bury them all. It'll just contaminate the ground. So-"

"Bury mama and Shawn out by Uncle Otis' memorial, and burn the rest." Maggie concluded, her arms crossed under her chest.

"Yeah." Marshall agreed softly. "Wrap them up. Burn the others. Away from the barn—don't want the smoke to bring anyone knocking, and the stench..."

"Otis' truck will be easiest." Beth added in a whisper.

"Got it." Maggie was just as quiet.

There was a minute of silence between the remaining Greene children as they simply looked back at each other in silent, mutual grief and weariness. It wasn't even noon yet. Marshall pulled both his sisters into him.

"I love you both."

"I love you, too." They both said into his shoulders, their arms grasping each other at his back as they hugged.

[tWD]

Clean from his quick shower. Beth in the comfort of her boyfriend. Maggie with the helping hands of hers, Marshall sat shut inside his bedroom. Despite direct sunlight spilling into his room, his desk lamp was clicked on and directed at the task at hand:

there are things
I have done
there's a place
I have gone
there's a beast
and I let it run
now it's running
my way

Hunched over, vision amplified by the adjustable magnifying glass, he was intent at the current project at hand. Cleaning and polishing the encrusted blood and fluids gunking up every crease and engraving on Annette's locket. Busywork but with purpose. The dull tip of the needle scraped into each elegantly curved groove, poked through each tiny hoop that made up the delicate chain. The tiny scrape and squicks of the action left a constant state of goose bumps on his arms. Each breath cleared the miniscule flakes away:

there are things
I regret
to can't forgive
you can't forget
there's a gift
that you sent
you sent it
my way

The locket had been a gift to Annette from Hershel. Shaped oval and gold, the front cover of the locket had five adorning birthstones to represent each of them (as Marshall and Maggie shared their birthday). On the back engraved was 3:1-8[1]. Inside, in one-half lay their wedding picture; in the other, the first picture taken with all four children:

so take this night
wrap it around me like a sheet
I know I'm not forgiven
but I need a place to sleep
so take this night
and lay me down on the street
I know I'm not forgiven
but I hope that I'll be given
some peace

There was only one person left who this belonged to, and he hoped it gave her comfort instead of more heartbreak. He couldn't give her, her mother and brother back, but he hoped to give her a piece back that she could hold close to her heart. Both sentimentally and physically. He found that in Rocky's dog tag's, in the rabbit's foot he made with Otis, Beth's pictures that decorated practically every spare space of his bedroom walls, the green eyes that he'd always share with Maggie and Josephine, every chuck under the chin from Patricia:

there's a game
that I play
there are rules
I had to break
there's mistakes
that I made
but I made them
my way

He wondered in dread of when Beth got over the shock and relief of him nearly dying wore off, if she'd blame him. He wouldn't even blame her. Even if he couldn't have known when Annette got bit, couldn't have fathomed Shawn getting killed in turn... he still felt guilty because even if he hadn't killed them the first time, he certainly killed them now:

so take this night
wrap it around me like a sheet
I know I'm not forgiven
but I need a place to sleep

He stared at the locket laid innocently on his desktop, gleaming under the lamplight. The delicate chain without a trace to indicate that it had been embedded in Annette's rotted flesh. His thumb ran over the gleam of the set birthstones solemnly:

so take this night
and lay me down on the street
I know I'm not forgiven-

"Marshall?" there was a knock at the door and Marshall's voice cut off abruptly.

"Yeah?"

The door opened a moment later and Maggie stood in the door, coated in a sheen of sweat, her hand still on the knob, a numb look in her eyes. "Just wanted you to know. The graves are dug. I was gonna shower, then I thought we'd do a service, like with Otis."

"Alright."

"The other walkers are loaded up, too, in the truck by the barn. Some others offered to take care of it—after." Even though Maggie told him all she needed to, she still lingered.

"This sucks." Marshall remarked wryly.

She gave a humourless scoff. "Tell me about it."

"I thought it was supposed to feel better," he admitted quietly.

"Maybe it's just too new for it to feel like that?" Maggie offered. Her eyes flickered to his hand in the spotlight of the desk lamp. "Is that mama's locket?"

Marshall nodded, his thumb stopped stroking the gems abruptly. "I cleaned it... thought Sunny..."

"I took her rings off before wrapping her." She admitted to her similar train of thought—twins for the morbid win. "I thought daddy might want them."

"Twin-powers activated?"

"Please don't started that up again." Her comment was as subdued as his.

A smile flickered across his mouth. "What's the point of being twins if I can't say cringey and awesome stuff like that?"

"The mere thought of sharing twin-lepathy with you," she shook her head. "I just can't do it."

"How did you turn into a rebel and punk?"

"Instead of a nerd and a weirdo?"

"I still love you, though."

"I know."

"See you at the funeral?"

"See you at the funeral." She left for her bedroom to grab a clean set of clothes before showering, leaving his bedroom door ajar.

He sighed a flicked off his lamp, his bedroom still lightened by the sun. He left the locket on his desk and went to the clothes rack in his closet. He was of the belief that you might as well do things properly while you still had the chance. Annette and Shawn hadn't gotten the proper farewell to the Spirit in the Sky the first time, they deserved it this second and last time. With the locket in hand, he went across the hall and knocked.

"Sunny?"

"You can come in." Her voice wobbled.

He opened the door and found her sat at her vanity. She was wearing a dress, her sunshine blond hair twisted up and pinned into a bun. It was leaving him nostalgic for the good old Church Days. Though her back was to him, he could see her tear-streaked face in the mirror's reflection.

"I can't stop... they keep ruining my make-up." She confessed quietly like it was something she needed to be ashamed of.

"They won't care." He tried to reassure.

"Then why are you in a suit?"

"You got me." He sighed, rolling his shoulders a bit self-consciously in the black suit, the collared shirt snug around his throat. "The truth is... this funeral should of already happened and we might not get the... quiet we have right now to do it the traditional way again. Here. I thought you would want this." He held out his open palm to her.

Beth turned on the vanity stool to look properly instead of through the mirror's reflection, and promptly froze. "Is that...?" she made no bid to reach for it.

"Yeah. Maggie got her rings for daddy, but I thought this should go to you. She'd want you to have it." He murmured. "Do you...?

Beth made a choked sound and fresh tears welled in her blue eyes. "Y-yes. I do. Can you-" she gestured at her throat, sniffing.

She waited for the shock of cold, but it was warmed from Marshall's hold against her pale skin. Her breath was shaky as she turned back to mirror. Her fingers trembled a little as she reached for the golden locket, fingers brushing stone as her fingernail caught the little catch and she opened the locket. She couldn't see the pictures inside clearly, whether that was because of the size or her blurred vision. There they all were, despite it not being the actual last time they were all together, it kind of was, because there they all were. Beth closed it and settled it back against skin, her hands wiping away the tears before dropping into her lap. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Thank you."

Marshall carefully held either sides of her head and kissed her hair. "Come on. It's time to say goodbye-for-now."

And so, the Greene Family, all dressed in their Sunday-best, crossed across the dirt and grass like a funeral procession. The sun beat down on them from a cloudless sky, the mild breeze like a dry-heat did nothing to stall the sweat in their layered clothing.

It was just two, unevenly shaped mounds of dry dirt, though someone had taken the time to construct two crosses that were planted at the head of each grave. Marshall's gaze fixated on them as he held Beth against his side, his fingers interlinked with his twin's on his other side. They weren't just haphazardly thrown together, like two unequal sticks that lay crooked. While yes, they were scavenged branches, there was no twine or rope or stripes of material that bound them together. Effort and care went into the project. The two pieces for each were proportionate, the ragged bark was cut off clean and smooth to reveal the pale wood beneath, and they looked like they were slotted together instead of tied. The letter carved in were sloping and imperfect, and yet, Marshall found it perfect. He wondered who was responsible.

The group was there to pay their respects despite not knowing those that were being buried, dressed the same as they'd been earlier that day. It was almost surreal to see people dressed in formal-wear these days. Everyone barring Shane (good; Rick was keeping his promise so far), and it looked like Dale wasn't there, either. Marshall felt no concern for that. He wasn't in the mood or mindset to care for a stranger when it was his family he needed to focus on right now, not the man he'd only shared a few words with in a heated situation.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven:" Hershel's voice softly broke through the quiet. "A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to built up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance." It was the same verse number that was engraved on the locket around his youngest daughter's neck. It was the same quote spoken at the wedding of his second wife. "A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away." Of purpose and acceptance and action and faith. "A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace."

And that was it. It was over. It was silent. Any tears that leaked from the siblings' eyes were of sadness and relief. Because it really was a relief. Like tearing off a band-aid from a festering wound and finally allowing it to breathe, to heal.

And it would heal.

Like with any wound, it would just take time:

I know I'm not forgiven
but I hope that I'll be given
some peace
some peace
some peace

[tbc..]

...The walking DEAD...

---

The Teddy Bear's Picnic
Imagine Dragons - Ready Aim Fire
The Black Lab - This Night

[check out the youtube video: THE TEDDY BEAR'S PICNIC | Featured Creature | Short Film by Crypt TV]

.

[1] Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (ASV)

For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to built up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

.

So, for the Greene Family gemstone/Birthstones... I have no idea what the characters' birthdays are in the show, so I looked up the actors' birthdays/months and used that to give each character their stone (baring Shawn's actor, who I couldn't find, so I just picked his randomly):

Maggie & Marshall - January = Garnet [red]
Hershel - March = Aquamarine [light blue]
Shawn - June = Pearl [white]
Beth - August = Peridot [yellowish-green]
Annette - November = Topaz [yellow]

.

Any guesses for who crafted the crosses for Annette and Shawn's graves? I feel like the answer is kind of obvious, but I'm still curious to see who you think. It'll probably come up eventually.

So, the next chapter (definitely) will still be on The Green Farm, perhaps the chapter after that too (maybe)(probably), before we finally move along into the Prison Arc in Season 3. As for when you'll see the next chapter... *nervous laughter* ...you should probably expect that sometime after Christmas/The New Year 2024. *cue ninja carrots-daggers and potato-throwing-stars*

Anyway, please comment and like - Bye! *dives for cover*