Note: First full length part. I'm still looking for a beta reader if anyone is interested. No Daryl this part, but next part has his POV included. He and Pheonyx will meet in the part afterwards.

CW/TW: Anxiety, beginnings of anxiety attack, hunting, allusions to past trauma

*TWD*

The world became very repetitious once the dead began to rise. Sure, there was always the risk of being bitten or attacked by hordes of the undead. But the motions of living continued to be the same every day. Find food, find water, find shelter, avoid the dead, rinse, repeat. Pheonyx didn't have to worry about shelter or water, being on the Greene farm, but the monotony was still there. Wake up, hunt, tend to the animals and crops, train Kismet, eat dinner, sneak off to kill the shadows in the woods, sleep. It'd been that way for almost two months.

Everything changed the day Rick Grimes showed up on their property: a shot boy in his arms and eyes full of pleading hope.

*66 days post outbreak*

Pheonyx knocked his arrow, breathing slowly and focusing on his target: a fat, ball of brown fur that was currently chewing on an acorn. The woods around him were loud with the whistling of the breeze and the tweeting birds. He drowned it all out though, the only thing on his mind was hitting the small animal. Fingers releasing, fletching brushing his cheek, the string vibrated against his fingertips, his arrow flew true and hit the squirrel between the eyes. When the squirrel fell from its spot in the tree, he felt the thump of a bony tail against his leg and he looked down. Kismet looked up at him with a stereotypical Bully smile, tapping his toes in excitement. Despite the death and carnage that had happened in the past couple of months, the dog still had the power to make the young man smile.

"Go get it, Kizzie."

The dog took off, practically tripping over his own feet to grab the small rodent. Another smirk lifted Pheonyx's lips. His pup was anything but graceful when he was excited. Despite this, he was a natural when it came to hunting and scent tracking. The hound in his blood was very prominent. Kismet was eager to please and excitable, but he also was serious when given a job. So when the need to hunt for food became a necessity, Pheonyx began training the dog to retrieve and follow scents. He waited patiently for the animal. Without thinking, his hand pressed to his, now flat, chest through the thin flannel shirt he wore. It was still a shock sometimes when his hand met smooth muscle instead of mounds of dysphoria-inducing flesh. The area was still a mixture of sensitive and numb. The scars were healing nicely, as were the nipple grafts. Both tingled most of the time, but still didn't have much sensation when it came to touch. He'd managed to get his surgery done one week before the world ended. At least now he didn't have to worry about paying back the credit card he used to fund the surgery. Technically, he got a 10k surgery for free. That was probably the only upside to the deadly global pandemic.

A blur of dappled fur trampled the forest floor, only stopping to grab up the small corpse with the arrow sticking out of it. Kismet gave it a small shake and trotted back to his owner.

He took the animal and removed the arrow from its head. Luckily, Kismet hadn't broken the arrow this time. They were still working on gentle handling when it came to Pheonyx's precious supply of arrows. He could always make more, but it was a bitch and half to do.

A gunshot sounded through the air while he was tying the animal alongside his other catches on his waist.

Otis must have found the deer he was tracking, Pheonyx thought.

While he didn't approve of the older man using a loud rifle to hunt, the farm was running low on protein options and Otis had offered to go find some bigger game. Pheonyx's catches of squirrels, raccoons, and opossums only went so far when trying to feed 7 people. Especially since his stepfather kept sacrificing their chickens to the dead that were in the family barn.

The thought of what, who, was in the barn made his heart clench. His mother and his brother were currently rotting away next to their neighbors. Hershel believed that a cure was going to come. That the government or some research facility would come out with some kind of medicine that would right the world. But Pheonyx knew better. He was there when his brother died. He saw him stop breathing. Saw him open his eyes, the bright green that used to be was replaced by milky white, and launch at their mother. Pheonyx watched his brother tear into their mother's arm, sentencing her to the same fate. A day later, he held onto his mom as she died. His fingers on her pulse, the rhythm disappearing under his fingers before she turned, just like Shawn had. They were dead. Walking and ravenous, but still dead. Since then, Hershel and Otis had been taking the Shadows they found and putting them in the barn. His stepfather was stubborn and refused to believe that these people were dead. Everyone except for Pheonyx was in denial. He could tell Maggie was losing her faith though. Every trip into town, every encounter with the shadows, was breaking her resolve. She still held out hope though that everything would be okay again. He couldn't though. He knew this world. He'd seen the darkest parts of it and, unfortunately, he knew that bad things rarely got better. They just continued to fester and bleed.

Which was why Pheonyx had to be the strong one and protect the farm. Every night, he went into the woods and cleared any dead that crossed his path. He'd wait until everyone was asleep then slip out with his primary weapon, a Civil War era Navy cutlass sword, that he nicked from the antique store in town. It was light weight and more aerodynamic than a machete. And the guard allowed him to push the dead away without worrying about his fingers being bitten. He's spent the better part of a week tanning squirrel hides and sewing the leather to create a sheath to holster the sword at his hip. Sleep was a rarity now, as he walked through the farmhouse door just before dawn most days. Giving him just enough time to change out of his bloody clothes and slip into the shower to clean the gore off of his tanned skin.

Pheonyx was brought out of his thoughts as Kismet nosed at the squirrels hanging off his waist. He pushed the pup's wide snout away from the corpses.

"You'll get your fair share. Don't worry. We should probably head back. If Otis caught that deer, this should be enough to last us for the week."

The two began making the lengthy trek through the woods. These woods were second nature to Pheonyx, so finding the way back was easy. Kismet stopped to pee on several trees, making the trip longer than it usually was. Before long, they were stepping out into the cleared land near the farmhouse. In the distance, He could see Maggie sitting on the front porch with a book in her lap. He and the dog jogged up to the house, grass crunching under their feet. As they got closer, Kismet sped up upon seeing one of his favorite people.

"Incoming!", Pheonyx yelled in warning.

Maggie had only a second before the thick-muscled dog was running up the steps and launching himself into her lap. The dog was easily 70 lbs of muscle, but he still thought he was a lap dog. She was slightly shocked but she dropped her book to begin scrubbing the wiggly boy.

"How is my favorite boy?", she cooed. Kismet licked her face happily and his tail thumped on her leg.

Pheonyx caught up and stepped up onto the porch next to them. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and removed his bow and quiver from over his shoulder. He placed them gently against the side of the house. "I feel like I should be offended at that. I've known you for nearly 21 years and this mutt is your favorite?"

Maggie feigned shock and covered the dog's ears, "Don't talk about my boy that way, Pheonyx Archer Greene. I'll let you do your own washin' from now on."

Chuckling, he reached out and ruffled his sister's short brown hair. "You know I don't mean it. He's my boy too. Really glad I decided to bring him along instead of boarding him. Don't know what I would do without his goofy ass."

Kismet's ears perked and he stared out into the distance. The two Greene siblings turned to look out into the field, expecting to see Otis with a deer slung over shoulders, but were met with the sight of a man in a Sheriff's uniform running towards the house. He was carrying a kid in his arms, blood coating the khaki colored shirt he wore.

Maggie picked up the binoculars from the table beside her and used them to get a better look. Pheonyx grabbed Kismet's collar and pulled him off his sister's lap.

"Kismet, stay." The pup whined but laid down on the porch, his butt wiggling at the prospect of a new friend approaching the house. He was much more trusting than Pheonyx would have liked.

His sister called out for Hershel, "DAD!"

Pheonyx grabbed the Glock 19 from the holster at his right hip, his sword being on the left. He deftly untied the squirrels from his hip, letting them fall to the porch next to his bow and quiver. Flipping the safety and making sure a round was chambered, he jogged to meet the man halfway.

"Was he bit?", he asked, pointing the gun at the man. Unlike his family, Nyx knew that there were bad people in this world. As much as he wanted to help the pale, bleeding child in the man's arms, he also had a family to protect. Whether the child was bit or the man had bad intentions, he couldn't be sure. So he needed to be cautious.

The Sheriff was panting, sweat dripping down his face. "Shot. By your man. He said to find Hershel. Is that you? Please. Help me. Help my boy."

The look of pure desperation in his sky blue eyes, had Pheonyx lowering, putting the safety back on, and holstering his weapon. He figured if he knew Otis's name, this probably wasn't a trap.

"Not me. My step dad.", Pheonyx heard the loud screen door behind him and the sound of his stepfather's hurried steps approaching. "Come on, let's get him inside."

Before Hershel could ask, he filled him in, "He's been shot. Said it was Otis, and that he told him to bring the boy here."

Hershel nodded and led the sheriff into the house, past the rest of his family that had gathered outside at the commotion. The vet began to fire off commands, asking Patricia to get his kit and ordering Maggie to get painkillers, coagulates, alcohol and clean linens. Pheonyx ushered Beth and Jimmy away from the guest room off the main living area.

"I need you guys to go out front. Otis should be back soon too. Command Kismet to be on guard. He's gonna growl if someone comes up but he won't attack until you tell him to. Wait forOtis, the less people in here the better. Jimmy, take my gun," he pulled the gun from his holster and handed it to the teen, "Remember what we talked about?"

Jimmy nodded, checking the safety and checking the magazine for rounds. While Hershel was against gun use on the farm, Pheonyx refused to walk around without one. He had taken Jimmy, Beth, and Maggie out for lessons shortly after the outbreak began. Guns were a last resort for the dead, but if the Sheriff had a group that wanted to attack them, a gun was more threatening to humans. Jimmy and Maggie were naturals but Beth was still hesitant and very innocent. She believed wholeheartedly that the shadows could be cured, like their father did. She also only saw the best in people. The idea that someone would try to hurt the family was something she refused to believe. Which was why Pheonyx gave the gun to Jimmy. The boy had only been dating Beth for a few months, but he was visibly head over heels for her. Pheonyx knew he would protect his little sister no matter what.

Beth looked hesitant but pulled Jimmy out to the front porch. Nyx rolled his sleeves up and moved into the guest room, where Maggie and Patricia had returned with the items Hershel asked for.

"Is-Is he alive?", the Sheriff asked desperately, his voice shaking with emotion. Sweat was dripping down his pale face, and he was shaking. Shock, Pheonyx thought. He honestly didn't look much better than the injured boy on the bed. Both had a deathly pallor to their already pale skin.

Hershel unbuckled the belt that was used as a tourniquet from around the boy's chest, "Pillowcase. Quickly."

The man was still standing in shock so Pheonyx jumped into the fray. He grabbed one of the pristine white pillows from the bed and pulled the case off of it. Folding the pillowcase into a thick pad, he pressed the cloth against the boy's stomach. Warmth from his blood soaked into Pheonyx's hands. This wasn't the first gunshot he'd helped treat. The others had been farm animals but the same principles applied. His stepfather pulled out his stethoscope and began to check for a pulse.

"I've got a heartbeat. It's faint."

The sheriff let out a small breath of relief but his body still radiated tension and despair. Maggie and Patricia were moving at the end of the bed, pulling out all the tools Hershel would need to treat the boy. The older woman moved to Pheonyx's side of the bed, "I got it, Nyx. We need room, take him please", she inclined her head towards the boy's father. Pheonyx nodded and moved around the bed until he was standing next to the man.

"Hey, we need to give them some room. What's your name?", he placed his hand gently on the man's arm. There was a fog over the man's blue eyes and it took him a moment to respond.

"R-Rick. I'm-I'm Rick.", he stuttered and nodded to himself, as if assuring himself that that was really his name. At that moment, Pheonyx was surprised that he could even answer that.

He kept his tone calm, as if he were talking to a scared animal. "Rick, Hershel is a great doctor. He's going to do everything he can for your boy. But we need to give them space." He squeezed Rick's arm and gently steered him out of the room. They both watched as Maggie began to set up an IV for the boy.

"Move!", an unfamiliar voice floated in from the side window. Rick and he looked out and saw two men running towards the house. The large frame of Otis was struggling to keep up with a taller man with curly black hair and an impressive amount of muscle. Pheonyx's eyes were locked on the shotgun in his hands. The man didn't have it pointed at Otis or the house, but it still set him on edge.

Pheonyx and Rick both walked out the front door. The sheriff was still in a daze, but Pheonyx walked with purpose. Outside, Beth and Jimmy were standing with Kismet growling at their side. The teen boy had the gun in his hands, finger off the trigger like he had been taught.

"Jimmy, give me the gun. Take Beth upstairs. Kismet, stand down."

Jimmy glanced at Pheonyx out of the corner of his eye, hesitant to let up his stance, but he still handed the gun over to the older man. The boy led Beth into the house, the porch door slamming shut behind them. Kismet trotted over to his owner, leaning against his side with his tail wagging. Pheonyx pulled out a bit of squirrel jerky from his pocket and handed it to the dog, rewarding him for standing guard.

Otis and the unknown man had made it to the porch by then. Pheonyx guided Otis inside, Kismet on their heels, wanting to give Rick a moment with the other man. He was still leery of the newcomer, but he also knew that they wouldn't try anything while the boy was being tended to by his stepfather.

"He's alive? Is he still alive?", Otis asked, his voice cracking.

Pheonyx nodded, "Yeah. Hershel is working on him now. What happened, Otis?"

The older man was on the brink of tears, "I should have listened to you. Shouldn't have used the gun…", He sniffled and wiped the sleeve of his army green shirt over his eyes. Otis was a large man. Tall and wide set. The appearance made him look more gruff than he truly was. He was a soft man at heart.

Pheonyx pulled him in for a hug, "It's not your fault, Otis. I know you would never shoot a kid intentionally." They separated and Otis nodded. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. The younger man truly didn't blame Otis. When they discussed the use of firearms, Pheonyx's only thoughts had been on the noise. Shadows were drawn by sound and nothing was louder than a rifle going off in the middle of the woods. "Patricia and Maggie are helping Hershel. He might want to ask you some questions about what happened though."

Rick and the other man walked in. The sheriff was still in shock, walking as if in a cloud. The other man was holding himself together well. But his posture was stiff with fear and probably a bit of suspicion. Unfortunately, the end of the world left everyone with a plethora of the latter. You can't trust anyone, no matter how good their intentions seem. Pheonyx had learned that earlier than most. (Heck, he had the damn phrase "The road to hell is paved with good intentions", tattooed on his ribs. One of many tattoos that graced his skin). Maybe that distrust was what aided him in surviving this long.

Kismet jumped up on the couch right near Otis and Pheonyx, no doubt looking for a comfortable spot to nap since he was relieved of his 10 minutes of guard duty. Pheonyx gave him a head pat and another piece of jerky from his pocket. Normally by now, the dog would be chowing down on the innards of their morning hunt, but with the chaos he was reluctant to leave his family alone with the strangers. While he was 90% certain these men wouldn't try anything while the boy was being helped, he couldn't let his guard down. The two strangers walked into the room where Hershel was working on the boy, and Pheonyx walked with Otis to stand in the doorway.

Hershel was keeping pressure on the boy's wound while Maggie held up the IV attached to his small arm.

"You know his blood type?", the old man asked gruffly.

Rick nodded, "A-positive. Same as mine."

There was a flicker of relief flashed through Hershel's eyes. "That's fortunate. Don't wander far. I'm gonna need you."

Pheonyx took a small step forward towards the boy's right side, arms crossed over his chest. It was instinctual. A way of creating a barricade without hiding behind a physical barrier. "Hershel, I'm O negative. Might be better to draw from me first if he needs blood.", he glanced at the two men on the other side of the bed and took in their haggard appearances. It was more than shock and stress from the situation. Their faces were lean from lack of food, and they radiated a bone-tiredness that one could only acquire after falling on hard times. "No offense but you guys look like you haven't eaten a good meal in a while and you're both in shock. Taking blood could put you right next to him in that bed, Rick." He may have been wary of the strangers, but it was an injured boy. Not offering to lower his guard and donate blood was something he wasn't willing to do.

Rick muttered his thanks, wiping at tears that spilled over his lower lids. The other man inclined his head in a respectful nod. Hershel grunted in agreement. "He's right. We'll take yours, Rick, as a last resort. Otis, what happened?"

Otis hadn't stopped looking at the pale boy since they entered the room and he didn't move his eyes even as he spoke, "I was tracking a buck. Bullet went through it", his voice wavered and cracked. "Went clean through." He made his way around the bed to Patricia, seeking comfort from his wife.

"The deer slowed the bullet down, which certainly saved his life, but it did not go through clean. It broke up into pieces. If I can get the bullet fragments out…", Hershel trailed off while lifting the pillowcase from the boy's wound and looking into the bleeding hole.

Rick's breathing increased a bit and the fog in his eyes cleared a little. "Lori doesn't know. My wife doesn't know–", a sob wracked his body and the other man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "My wife doesn't know."

Hershel glanced at Pheonyx and inclined his head at the men. Wordlessly telling him to get them out of the room. He followed his stepfather's silent command. "Why don't you guys come with me into the living room? Hershel needs room to work.", they both looked at him reluctant to leave the boy's side. "We can talk about how to get word to your wife. One of us can probably ride out and find her but I'll need you to pinpoint where she is on a map."

This seemed to motivate the Sheriff and he nodded. They both followed Pheonyx into the living room farthest from the guest room and settled onto the couch. Kismet was still sleeping in the other room, snoring away and unaware of the tension occurring around him. There was a small writing desk in the corner of the room where they kept the majority of the local maps, some were hung up in the stables where Pheonyx used them for planning runs and plotting shadow trap locations. He went and pulled out one of the simpler maps, one that showed roads but not altitude. Grabbing a marker, he quickly starred the area where the farm was and marked the way which Rick had come from.

"I've marked where the farm is on this map. The arrow is the direction you guys came from to get here. Try and mark where you think your wife is at. Maggie knows these woods about as good as me. So, if you can mark a general area where she might be, she should be able to catch up to her."

The other man took the map and marker, even though Pheonyx had held it towards Rick. The man was still dazed though.

"I'm gonna grab you both some water."

Pheonyx took a little bit of time walking to the kitchen. He was antsy. Strangers were a trigger for him. Strange men especially. The commotion of the injured boy had had his mind occupied and his anxiety had been diminished. But now that he was alone in the open kitchen, those nerves flared. Six years and his demons still held a grip on his heart. His hands shook as he opened the fridge and took out three water bottles. Setting them on the counter, he breathed deeply and opened one of the bottles. Taking tiny sips, he felt his body begin to settle down.

Gotta be strong for them. Beth, Maggie, Hershel, Otis, Patricia, Jimmy., He repeated the names three times before his heart reached a normal pace.

Pheonyx left his bottle on the counter, grabbing the other two bottles, and walked back into the living room. He could hear Rick and the other man talking.

" A little girl goes missing… You look for her. Plain and simple.", Rick said, his voice determined.

A little girl was missing? Before Pheonyx could ask any questions, the door to the guest room opened and Maggie stepped out. She glanced around and caught her brother's eyes. "Pheonyx! He needs blood."

He tossed the bottles of water onto the couch next to the men and hurried after his sister into the room. The pained cries of the boy reached his ears, breaking his heart. It was like a time machine sucked him back to the past. The noises were reminiscent of the sounds he made on many occasions as a small boy. The scars on his back burned, almost as if the lashes were being whipped into his skin for a second time. Determination filled him, an internal promise to himself that this boy would live. No matter what. He stripped off his flannel shirt, letting the clothing item fall to the ground, leaving himself only in his gray wife beater. Patricia grabbed his arm and began to sterilize the ditch of his arm. Pheonyx kept his eyes on the boy, his brain not comprehending the frantic talking around him. He watched as the unknown man held the flailing boy down, allowing Hershel to dig into the wound for one of the fragments. The boy's screams rang in his ears, blocking out the feeling of the needle entering his vein.

"YOU'RE KILLING HIM!", Rick screamed, tears running down his face. He moved to try to push Hershel away but Pheonyx reached out and grabbed his clammy hand with the arm that Patricia wasn't working on.

"Don't, Rick. He's trying to get the shrapnel out. We don't have any sedatives so he's feeling everything right now. But Hershel has to do this."

He squeezed the man's hand, trying to offer him some kind of comfort, before pushing him back gently.

The boy's cries stopped suddenly and the air in the room chilled, everyone's hearts skipping in fear. The man holding him down pulled away, his face paling and he stuttered while looking at Hershel for reassurance.

The older man spoke softly but firmly, "He just passed out."

He pulled the forceps out of the boy's wound, the bloody instrument holding a piece of bullet in its metallic grip.

"One down. Five to go.", Hershel muttered.