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/

5. Chapter 5: Execution or Eviction

Start: 12-17-23
Finish: 01-31-2024
Word Count: 31, 558

a/n:

Merry Christmas, I said. Happy New Year, I said! Want to know how that went? The upstairs apartment's toilet overflowed and flooded down through my bathroom ceiling, the hallway ceiling and my kitchen/dinning area ceiling.

So, all January I've been dealing with insurance adjusters, electricians (3 light fixtures still need to be replaced), and drywall/painter people to repair the ceilings… Anybody else' new year start out as great as mine? Somehow managed to finish this chapter pretty fast though, so check it out!

Chapter Summary: /"Athena—BLACK!"/

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: character death(s), canon-typical violence, drama, angst, mention of abortion, injury, blood and gore, mourning, bonding, farewell Season 2!?

...The walking DEAD...

---

Piranha

Chapter 5: Execution or Eviction

Marshall spun the steering wheel as The Banana Mopeel finally left the almost claustrophobic tunnel of trees, reversing from the side road onto the main drive that lead to the farm. There'd been no talking, just the burned CD in the player, Rick silent in the passenger seat with his thoughts circling while Marshall focused on the road behind, straining his eyes.

Marshall paused, finally able to straighten in his seat. He rolled his neck, massaging away the kink that wanted to form from his neck being strained in an uncomfortable position over his shoulder for an extended period of time. He was about to shift into drive and complete the journey home where the last thing that awaited them was rest, when Rick reached over and turned off the radio.

"Can we just stop and talk for a second?" Rick spoke quietly.

Marshall sighed, but shifted into park and turned off the car. "Rick, I told you. What would happen... he killed Otis, he killed Dale."

Rick shook his head. "I just need to talk to him. I just need to understand-"

"Why would he admit it?"

"I don't know! But we have to try, damn it!" There was silence, just Rick's harsh breath as he attempted to gather himself.

Marshall stared out the dark windshield. "It's not like I want to kill him. And yes, I realize the irony of that statement while I still have Randall's blood sticky on my hand. I just want my family safe, Rick, and he is not safe. Not for either of our families." He looked over to him. "Only you, me, Daryl, and T-Dog know that Shane killed Dale, the rest of your group at the farm believe a piranha got him. But when the truth becomes open knowledge... he'll be condemned and ostracised by his group. You know him, you think he's not going to react, going to push back? And when he realizes that I know that he killed Otis—I become an active threat to him. There is no forgive and forget here." He thought about all that Daryl and T-Dog had said in the woods and his grip tightened briefly on the wheel. "You want to talk about his reasons, you're probably better off talking to Daryl and T-Dog. They know more about the resentment between Shane and Dale, and what went on between Shane and Lori before you showed up. I'm an outsider there, I'm sorry."

"Can't you just talk me through what happened in the woods—just one more time?" Rick pressed.

Marshall sighed, but he complied. "Alright." It was the least he could do considering the task that lay ahead. While it was a kind of delay tactic, the more information he had could only help Rick wrap his head around the truth, right? He knew his previous info dump had been a bit chaotic, whilst Rick was also dealing with killing two other men, watching Marshall slit Randall's throat, finding out that Dale was dead, Shane's involvement, the truth about Otis out, and his wife's safety and whereabouts currently up in the air. "The others approached me about Dale being missing and asked if Athena could pick up his trail for them to follow. With T-Dog and Daryl, we followed the trail that led out to the swamps. First, we found a hammer and nail, T-Dog recognized it as one of Dale's. Next, we found a piranha dead, its head bashed in rather aggressively—they denied that it was something that Dale would do." Rick grimaced, but agreed. "Then, we found Dale. He was already turned, trapped half submerged in the swamp. We managed to get him out—and Daryl put him down."

Rick closed his eyes briefly at that. He knew that had to have been hard for Daryl, would have been for any of them, but he'd come to recognize that Daryl and Dale had a weird relationship. Closer than the others probably realized, Rick had come across them having some kind of philosophical debates before.

"T-Dog didn't see any immediate signs of a bite, so he asked if I could check Dale over so that they would have answers for the others when we got back. I didn't find any bite and that was when we realized that we're all infected anyway, whether we get bit and die or not. We'll all turn in the end. I told them my conclusion—that Dale had been strangled. It was Daryl that realized... when I theorized that it was the stranger who had killed the piranha we'd found, they attacked Dale and took his gun—but Daryl had Dale's gun at the barn, the guns that Shane had handed out to everyone. The guns that Daryl and T-Dog had theorized that Dale had taken from the RV, came out into the woods to keep them in safe keeping from Shane, who—let's be honest, has been growing a fair bit erratic—then followed him out there.

"I was reticent to believe it. Not so much Shane—I mean, everyone has a breaking point, everyone has that in them—but would Shane be that dumb to make such a fatal mistake, even if the killing had been heat of the moment? Taking Dale's gun. That's when Daryl said that, how it wasn't the first time, how Shane came back from the high school, with all the medical supplies, Otis' gun but no Otis, and a story how my uncle stayed behind to hold them off while he escaped.

"Daryl mentioned everyone at the quarry had thought that Lori and Shane were husband and wife before Dale made a comment, and Carl told them all about how you were his daddy and you were dead—breaking Shane's little fantasy life, your life, and that was when his resentment toward Dale started. And then in the face of that... you turn up, back from dead, a million to one chance, and Lori immediately ended it with him. How you were easily able to take control of the group from Shane and he was back to being in your shadow again." Marshall paused at voicing the next conclusion he'd drawn with the new information of Shane and Lori's relationship, "Look, I know it's none of my business, but, Rick... you cannot tell Shane that Lori's pregnant, okay? Whatever sense of control Shane has right now, I don't think he could handle that. Da-"

Rick yanked the door handle and threw the door open, jumping from the small dark interior of the Pinto. Marshall followed more cautiously, watching as the man paced anxiously, one hand shoved into his hair, the other gripping his hip.

"Rick?"

"Shane already knows! The day before. I thought-" his voice was hoarse, "I don't know what the hell I thought! I just needed him to see. That we needed to stay, that we couldn't leave, for the b-baby. It was safe here, but-but, I think it pushed him over the line instead."

"Because the barn was full of piranha. The barn wasn't safe, so the farm wasn't safe. The baby wouldn't be safe." Marshall followed his line of thought.

"And this morning—he tried to clear out the barn whether any of us were willing or not. Oh, God!" Rick realized with horror, abruptly stopping, "It's my fault Dale's dead."

"What?" Marshall circled around the front of the car.

"Yeah." He nodded. "I set Shane off, and when he saw Dale trying to hide the guns..." he covered his mouth, barely able to glance Marshall's way for the guilt. "And Otis. Carl, he shouldn't even had been out there with us. I should have insisted that he head back to the road with others while we looked for Sophia. Then-then, none of it, any of it wouldn't of happened. We wouldn't even be here!"

"Hey!" Marshall closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. Rick instinctively flinched when he saw the hand coming towards him, ready for the pain of a right-hook. Instead, Marshall grasped the nape of his neck, jerking him still and towards him. "Hey," he murmured more softly. The blue-eyes that met his were too wide and too frantic. "I need you to listen to me carefully. You're spiralling, Rick. Shane is not your responsibility. He is his own person, he makes his own decisions—and he decided to kill Otis, and he decided to kill Dale. Those were choices that he made and went through with. That has nothing to do with you, alright? Plainly—sometimes shit happens. The only thing that you can control is yourself. Carl was not your fault. Otis was not your fault. And Dale was not your fault. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I need you to breathe and tell me you get that." Marshall's fingers squeezed briefly but not painfully. "I know I'm a hypocrite when I say that, and our situations are vastly different in the details, but, Rick, despite everything, you still love Shane—that's why this hurts so much. As someone who has killed people they love, I can tell you, that is not something you take willingly. It breaks a piece inside of you that you cannot get back."

"No. No. Just stop."

"It's okay." Marshall hushed. "I get it." He pulled Rick closer by his nape, pressing their foreheads together. "I've been thinking, about after, you know, Resentments between our groups will skyrocket." Rick tensed under his hand. "Lou, the piranha that Shane used as demonstration in front of my daddy, she was our closest neighbour, had a farm, there's an apple orchard there. It's where we get the apples. I haven't been there for a couple weeks, but I could take you, maybe see about your group moving there. And if you're worried about Lori and the baby, you don't have to be. We'll be neighbours, me and daddy can be there, no problem. Give you a couple milk cows and steer, a few chickens, and you'll be all set up in your very own Paradise Farm." Rick didn't react to the Golden Goose offered to him. "I think we could have been really good friends, Rick." Marshall admitted sadly, he didn't think that could be the case after he killed Shane. "It's the ones we love that hurt us the most. A saying has never been more true."

Marshall released the other man and stepped back. "I never got to tell you about Rocky." His palm raised up and laid against the left side of his chest over the memorial tattoo. Rick's gaze flickered to follow it. "He was my first partner. It was our first tour." He took a fortifying breath, "I heard it first before I saw—and by the time I saw it, it was already too late. The RPG hit Rocky directly. He exploded, Rick, right in front of me. His bones became the shrapnel that nearly killed me. Do you see this?" Marshall held up his forearm, twisting it front and back, tracing the set of scars that mirrored each other amid the myriad. "One of his jagged, broken bones went straight through my forearm." He held up both his arms in front of him this time, held in a facsimile of a bracing, protective position. "Do you see it?" He whispered, an underlying tremble in his voice and arms. "My would-be death?" Gentle fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms down but not releasing them. Rick stared, blue-eyes across his face before it settled on the spot the scar would have marked—the spot on the left side of his nose. "Do you see it? It's just a little nick, you'd think nothing of it, but I see it every day in the mirror—Rocky saved my life. He was also the thing that almost killed me."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"How many times has Shane had your back, saved your life?" Marshall asked gently. "How long until he takes it? You can hear it. You see it coming. Are you just going to stand there and let it come?"

It was silent, his gaze blank. "It has to be me. It needs to be me." Rick whispered.

"It's okay if you can't."

"Shane is my responsibility. It has to be me."

Marshall could see the pained determination in his blue-eyes, but before he could say anything else, headlights cut through the breaking dawn as the others finally arrived. The others pulled to a stop on the dirt road a short distance behind. "We can talk more about it later with Daryl and T-Dog," he told Rick as the others got out of the red truck, "We'll get the lay of the land more when we get back to the house; you'll see that Lori's fine and Beth will be awake—and we'll figure the rest of it out."

"What's goin' on?" Daryl's gaze darted between the two as Rick released Marshall and finally stepped away. "Everythin' alright?"

"Just a little therapy session," Marshall replied, "Don't worry, I won't burden you with the details." Daryl tsked. "I take it you didn't come across Lori and Shane?"

"Nah."

"We passed a recent wreckage that wasn't there before," Hershel spoke. "It was dark, but it looked Maggie's. Is your sister-"

"She's fine." Marshall said promptly. "Lori's the one that took it." He glanced at Rick. "Anything else?"

"There were a couple dead walkers close-by," Glenn added as Rick carded his fingers through his hair in stress. "But that was it. Shane must have found her and brought her back."

"I'm sure she's fine, Rick." Marshall murmured. God, he hoped that was true. "Come on," he nudged Rick back toward the Banana Mopeel and the others turned back toward the truck. "Daddy," Marshall called, "This goes without saying, but—you better no go near Sunny until you're showered and sober." After what the 16-year-old had been through yesterday, the last thing she needed to deal with was her daddy drunk and smelling like a barroom floor.

The ride down the drive was a silent, if short one. Before they were even parked, the sound of the vehicles drew the various group members out of the camp or house. Everyone was there to greet them and demand answers, everyone but the sunshine blonde Marshall had hoped to see.

On the other hand:

"Marshall, you're back!" Marshall got his own quick hug from Sophia before she retreated back to her mother. He was just as touched and pleased as the last time she did it. "Daryl!" she gave the hunter a shy wave.

"You're okay!" Maggie exclaimed in relief—and rushed right passed the expecting Hershel and into the awkward arms of Glenn behind him. Now that Maggie knew Hershel was okay, drunk but alive, left them but alive, she felt that anger and resentment she called Marshall childish for having, pointedly giving him the cold shoulder in favour of Glenn.

"Dad!" Carl barrelled into his father.

Hershel sighed sadly at the contradiction in greetings, but didn't see the point in trying to confront Maggie about it just now, he knew he had a lot to make up for with his children. He had a brief conversation with Patricia on the porch before he disappeared inside. The older woman caught Marshall's eye and nodded him over. With one ear trained on the Grimes Family Reunion 3.0, a side-eye as he passed Shane.

"Lori, what did you do? What happened?" Rick questioned, palm gently cupping his wife's cheek.

"I'm fine, it was just a little accident." She promised.

"Little? The others said they saw Maggie's car wrecked, that there were a couple of dead walkers nearby." Rick contradicted.

"I went looking for you."

"Snuck out on her own," Shane felt the need to interject. "I brought her back."

Lori scowled at him, while Rick sent him an obscure lingering glance before refocusing on her. "It might be a good thing that you never made it to town, anyway. Things went... 'pear-shaped' is too gentle a word—FUBAR." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"What happened?" Shane questioned, glancing suspiciously over at Marshall.

"Beth?" Marshall immediately questioned as he gave his Auntie a quick hug.

"The sedative you gave her wore off and her sleep's been restless. Nightmares, been waking herself up screaming, but she won't talk to any of us about it. She's resting again now, doesn't know you're back. Jimmy's up with her, Athena, too. I think Athena's helping more so because Beth thinks you come back for her, if anything."

Rick shook his head. "Not now, Shane. Are you really okay? At least have Marshall check you over—if only for my sake then."

"Just let me wash up first. We can do it in Carl's room." Marshall went inside before she could try and argue it more, as stubborn as her husband it seemed. As much as he wanted to immediately go and see Beth, he knew once he was there, he wasn't likely to go anywhere for a while, so it was best to get this over with first so he could focus on his baby sister without interruption.

"I'll bring your things," Patricia murmured, hand on his back before she disappeared upstairs.

Marshall scrubbed the rest of Randall's blood from his hands in the kitchen sink, all the way up to his elbows, splashed soapy water onto his face and neck to get at any stray piranha spatter. He finished drying up and just left the tea towel draped over his face for a moment of peace before Patricia returned.

"I also grabbed you a clean shirt." She waited for him to change shirts before handing him the small bundle of supplies; stethoscope, BP cuff, penlight, muscle relaxant tablets.

"Thank you." He left the kitchen and walked down the hall. He could hear the voices through the open door, Rick seemed to be giving Lori a brief rundown of what happened in town. He briefly knocked on the doorjamb to announce himself before he entered the room. "Looks like we're all here." He closed the door for privacy.

Rick sighed. "Thanks for doing this, Marshall. I know you'd much rather be with your sister right now."

"It's fine." Marshall set the items in his hand on a clear space on the side table. "Daddy's drunk. Better safe than sorry. You can sit on the bed," he absently tugged the blanket straight. Lori sent Rick a short look but sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "Can you tell me about the car wreck?"

"I... I don't know, I rolled a few times." She picked at her nails. "When I woke up, the car was on its side. I'm not sure how long I was out for."

"Alright. Did the airbag go off?"

"Yes."

"Can you look straight ahead for me? Chin level. Bright light warning." He turned the penlight on, briefly flashing it in her eyes then away. Her hazel gaze was clear and her pupils equal and reactive. "Good. Can I examine your head?"

She blinked away the brief spots in her vision. "Okay."

He pushed his fingers through her thick hair to her skull in examination. "Other than the cut on your forehead, you had no other head wounds?"

"No."

"I don't feel any swelling or anything. Any headaches?"

"Minor."

"Neck?" He gently rotated her head.

"Stiff." She grimaced.

He pulled back and picked up his stethoscope. He placed the diaphragm on the left side of her chest. "Deep breath." He shifted it to the right. "Another." He did it twice more on her back. "Chest and lungs are clear." He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her thin bicep and manually pumped. "Blood pressure's a little high, but that's understandable. Pulse is good." The sound of Velcro ripped through the room. "Can you lift your shirt?"

Lori paused, inhaled through her nose, cast a glance at her husband, and lifted her shirt to below her chest.

"Lori!" Rick hissed in concern at the mosaic of bruises on her torso.

"I'm fine." She promised him. She gritted her teeth as Marshall gently palpitated the already tender tissue.

"Ribs appear to be intact." Marshall remarked. "Were you wearing a seatbelt?"

"No."

"Alright." Marshall finally stepped back in consideration. "Despite everything, you seem in tip-top condition. No concussion, a few shallow cuts, some minor abrasions. The bruises look nasty, but that's just because you Grimes' are a pale people. You'll be sore and stiff for a few days at the least, you need to give your body rest, on an actual bed—you can share this one."

"See?" Lori told Rick, "I told you I was fine."

"In fact, I'd say not wearing your seatbelt saved you from a lot of abdominal trauma." Marshall added, "You haven't been having any cramping or anything?"

Lori stared. "H-?"

"Marshall knows about the baby." Rick pointed out needlessly.

"Everyone knows about the baby now," Lori hissed angrily. "Shane blurted it to everybody—to Carl. I don't even know how he found out. Glenn, Maggie, and-and Dale were the only others that knew."

Rick grimaced in guilt. "I did. I'm the one that told him, I thought it would- I thought it would calm him down."

"Calm him-?! Calm-?!" Lori scoffed, looking at him in disbelief as she stood. "You are so naive sometimes, Rick. After everything that happened? After everything between-" she seemed to remember that Marshall was still there.

"He knows about that, too."

"Jesus!" she carded a hand through her hair, grimacing as she got snared on a tangle and it pulled on her tender scalp. "Anything else private about our marriage that you've been blurting to strangers that I should know about?"

"I couldn't exactly talk about it with Shane, now could I?" There was an unintended bite in his tone due his frustration and they were left to stare at each other silently. And Marshall took that as his cue to unobtrusively gather his things in hand and leave. Only: "Wait, please?" Rick asked, so Marshall reluctantly paused at the closed the door. He turned to his wife, "I'm sorry. That came out more accusatory than it was meant to. What- What happened between you and Shane, when you thought I was dead, that-that- I understand what happened—I'm not exactly happy about it—but I can't blame you."

"And you have to say this with your new best-friend in the room?" Lori wondered after a moment.

"We need to talk about Shane." Rick stated. Both Lori and Marshall's brow rose in mirror of each other, her in question and him in surprise.

"What about Shane?" she challenged, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Did anything... happen when he went after you?"

"Yeah," she scoffed. "He lied to me to get me back here! He told everybody about the baby—our baby," she gestured between them. "With some excuse that he thought everybody knew! He was just trying to manipulate everybody to keep me here."

Rick pursed his lips. He understood why Lori was pissed about that, but he also couldn't necessarily blame Shane for the white-lie either. He really did not want to think about what would have happened had Lori managed to reach town. "And his... behaviour since we got to the farm?" Rick steered her.

She stared at him for a long moment, several thoughts and questions in her hazel gaze, but a prominent one popped up when she saw his blue-eyes flicker involuntarily toward the other man in the room. "You're... talking about Otis." Lori said carefully in realization, glancing toward Marshall. "And Shane..."

"Don't worry," Marshall said blandly. "That was an open-secret amongst your group that Rick didn't tell me—that was all Daryl."

"So, it true?" Lori uttered in horror, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. "I didn't want to believe when Dale said as much to me, but then- but then I confronted Shane about his strange behaviour since coming back from the school last night, and he- and he-" she couldn't seem to finish.

Marshall was really starting to wish he'd been able to get to know Dale more. The older man was ballsy enough to speak without sensor, and to confront and challenge Shane who could easily—and did—physically overpower him and not dither or blink. It was also the thing that got him killed.

"He what?" Rick prompted.

"He-" she swallowed, unable to look either in the eye. "He said he did what he did for Carl... and because he-he loved me." Rick's jaw tightened, stare fixed on her as she continued. "That it wasn't a mistake, it was a long time coming. He thinks it was real, and it was right, and-and meant to be. That-that the baby is his." She jumped to her feet. "But no matter what, this baby is yours." One hand squeezing his shoulder, the other on his stubbled cheek to get him to look at her. "It's yours, Rick. Say something." She whispered, pled.

Lori realized she'd already lost a piece of him when Rick's gaze had more life in it when they shifted, however briefly, to meet the green-eyes behind her. "I told him that you know." She blurted quietly, drawing his attention back. She didn't truly realize how many mistakes she made until she had watched her husband's face. She'd just been so angry and cornered and guilty. "I thought it would make him... back off. But, he's becoming delusion and dangerous, Rick. You saw what he did at the barn as soon as you weren't here as a deterrent, he's threatened Dale and Hershel. He's scaring people. He's scaring me, so you-you can't leave like that again." Her expression tightened as she remembered Shane drunk at the CDC, the night that Rick could never find out about because he would outright kill Shane, and she couldn't handle it if she was the reason for killing a piece of her husband's soul. She quickly tried to backtrack, "It's better to just give him space. Let him calm down."

Marshall managed to swallow back the harsh bark of flat irony. That was really the last thing they wanted to do; let Shane stew and plan. Rick pulled Lori into an embrace. "It'll be okay," he murmured in reassurance to her, but its own silent plea for himself when blue met green.

Marshall quietly slipped out, closing the door silently behind him. Shane's threat level just went up several alarming notches. Shane now definitively knew that Rick knew about his and Lori's relationship, and that meant the danger Rick was already in rose, became more immanent. And he knew that Rick was starting to finally realize it, too. Soap Opera didn't even begin to cover the drama, Marshall sighed. He barely paused to spare a glance at Hershel's closed bedroom door; good, his daddy listened to him. He spotted Maggie and Glenn in the kitchen as he headed for the stairs, but didn't try and intrude on his twin—he did not want to touch that tension with a 10 foot pole, sure it had to do with the 'I love you' Maggie had mentioned earlier. He had only one sister on his mind right now.

He steps were slow and exhausted laden as he ascended the staircase, the old floorboards in the hallway creaked under his weight. Before he even reached Beth's door, a cuddly but lethal body squeezed through the crack to greet him. Athena gave him a woof so quiet in greeting that it was more like a huff than a bark, tail swishing. "Good to see you, too, girl." He smiled. She nuzzled into his hand, and he bent over to smooch her blue-pigmented forehead. "You are dismissed from your cuddle duties, go about your business, soldier." He patted her vestless back before he straightened, he knew the snuggles weren't half as good with the bulky, obtrusive vest in the way. He could hear the faint click of her dull nails fade as the dog disappeared downstairs and he reached his sister's room.

Before he could push open the door, however, it was pulled open for him. A startled Jimmy stood on the opposite side. "Marshall! Y-you're back. I should've guessed with the way Athena bolted just now. Beth will be relieved. A-and Hershel?" he asked quietly.

"Why don't you go and see for yourself?" Marshall suggested.

"R-right." Jimmy sent a look back over his shoulder toward his girlfriend, "Beth? M-Marshall's back. I'll just be downstairs." When no response came, Jimmy sighed in defeat and stepped passed the older man. He whispered to Marshall before he left for downstairs, "She barely said anything since the-the first time she woke up screaming for you. Not even to Patricia or Maggie."

Marshall silently nodded, lips in a tight frown. He was already starting to regret going after Hershel and the others. They would have made it back fine—whether that would have been with an injured Randall or not, he supposed he would never truly know. What he did know, was that he should have stayed with Beth. He pushed the door the rest of the way and finally laid eyes on her after almost 20 hours.

He wanted to say she looked better, but...

Maggie or Auntie must have helped her changed into something a bit more comfortable because she was in a Pluto t-shirt that was a size too big for optimum comfort and pair of cotton capri pants, but he knew she hadn't had a bath or shower by the way her sunshine blond hair sat all tangled up in a messy pony was darker. She looked even more paler by the exhausted, purple shadows under her dull blue eyes. The thousand-yard stare was still in affect where she leaned curled up listlessly against the headboard.

"Hey, little sis." Marshall murmured as he dumped the stuff in his hands into his kit that was still in her room before sitting on the edge of her bed. She blinked at him. At least there was that. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear but she flinched away from him. That was a painful stab to the heart. He dropped his hand to his knee, fingers curled. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here, Sunny."

Her breath suddenly hitched in her chest. "You were gone." Her voice was quiet and hoarse. "I kept having this dream- about the barn. About you... but it wasn't Eric that almost got you, it was m-mama and it was Shawn—and they got you and I couldn't do anything about it!" Tear clouded her eyes, gaze fixed on his throat instead of his eyes like she could still see the gushing blood and missing chunks of delicate skin. "And I woke up, and screamed for you, and you weren't here. You were gone, Marshall! Where were you?" Marshall hugged her to his chest as she cried. "When I was mean and told you to stop hovering over me, you weren't actually supposed to go! Mama and Shawn are gone- and-and you were, too! Why'd you leave me?!"

Marshall's fingers curled into the knotted clump of hair at the back of her neck. His chin trembled against her crown as all the terrible but truthful answers circled his mind. How he went searching for a dead man and found the ghost of their uncle. How daddy intended and did leave them, only to come back by unmitigated circumstances. Their family had already lost three members, how was he supposed to admit to her it was almost four? "I'm so sorry-" was all he could say.

"No. No!" she shoved at his chest, pushing away, looking him in the eye in demand. "Don't give me an excuse, I want to know the real reason, Marshall!" She grabbed his shoulders, nail's digging in.

He gazed at her, feeling the burn behind his eyes. He voice was soft, "Even when I'm gone, I'll always be here, I'll always come back. Haven't I managed to prove that yet, hm?" He brushed the stray hairs out of her watery eyes. "And as long as you need me, I'll be here. You're my Sun and I couldn't live without you."

It was the truth, but it also was the truth she was looking for. Her eyes darted between his, intent, watching. "Is this because," she paused, biting her chapped lip, trying to decide if it was worth it. In the end, she realized whether she got her answer or not, the thought was still there, it would still haunt the back of her mind. "Because of daddy?" Beth felt the muscles under her fingers twitch with tension and if that unconscious reaction wasn't answer enough, the heartbreak that swam in his green-eyes was. "So that wasn't just a nightmare," she mumbled to herself. She could hear snippets of conversation in her senseless state, but they'd held no substance, like smoke in the air. "Daddy didn't come see me... because daddy left us. He chose to drink instead-"

"Sunny..."

"No!" she shook her head, expression twisted in anger even as it was slick with tears. "Don't- don't try and defend him, Marshall! He kept us here, waiting for a cure, and when he's showed the shit truth, he'd rather leave us than face that he was wrong!" Marshall pursed his lips. What could he say other than the fact that Beth was right—that was exactly what happened. "And-and- you went after him. For what?!"

"Because he'd still daddy." Marshall murmured. He pressed his fingers into her hair, managing to disentangle the elastic band. "All that anger and disappointment, that's because you love him so much. It was why I didn't want to go after him." Beth let him comb his fingers through her knotted hair, calming under the soothing attention; her hair stayed blond despite the blood on his hands. "But then I thought about you and Maggie, and how we already lost Otis, mama, and Shawny, and I wasn't going to be the reason we lost daddy, too." He fingers absently braided her hair into a loose fishtail, snapping the elastic around the end.

"They weren't your fault, Marshall. How could you think that?"

"I never should have let daddy and Otis put them in the barn." Marshall whispered, unable to look at her as his hands dropped. "In a sick way, the barn was like Schrödinger's cat. In a way, mama and Shawn were still alive, they-"

"They weren't." Beth cut him off, reaching up and grabbing the short hair at the top of his head, forcing him to look at her. "Look at me!"

"Ow! Beth, what-?" his hand went up to encircle her thin wrist, but she tightened her grip.

"I saw them. That-" she shook her head, her lip trembled. "That was not alive, that was not them! You did the r-right thing, severing the ghost-string and letting them finally go to The Spirit in the Sky." Her expression suddenly went determined and pleading, "If I ever get bit-" Marshall opened his mouth to protest, but she gave another yank and silenced him. "If I ever get bit, you better not let me turn into- turn into a piranha, Marshall. I... I don't know if- if I could do it myself, so you're gonna have to, okay? Promise me! You have to pinkie promise."

"Sunny," he felt the lump in his throat, staring into his sister's scared eyes. His pinkie shook slightly as he raised his hand, it stilled as her smaller pinkie wrapped firmly around his. "I pinkie promise... if you ever get bit... it has to be on an accessible limb that I can just lop off of you."

"I pinkie promise—if I ever get bit, it'll be on somewhere you can lop off with ease."

"Infinity!" they said.

"Seal it with a kiss." They leaned in and kissed each other's thumb pads. "Something easy that I wouldn't miss—like your testicle?"

"Cute." He booped her nose with his spit-marked thumb, and she gave his hair a last yank before letting him go. "Have you eaten something?"

"I'm not hungry." She picked at her fingernails.

"I could make you the best sandwich in the world."

"Contrary to popular belief, PB&J sandwiches don't actually solve all our problems."

"No." Marshall agreed. "But they're a pretty good start to tackling all that other crummy stuff. I know that when I find a PB&J sandwich stashed away in my bag from a certain sunny baby sis o' mine, it always puts a smile on my face."

"Maybe later," she declined though she still had a small, pleased smile. "You just got here—can you just lay down with me for a while? I'm tired."

"You always ask the hardest things of me." He teased her. He managed to kick off his boots and laid down with a heavy sigh. "I could use a nap, and then we'll eat something."

"Okay." Beth tucked tightly against his side, laying her head on her big brother's chest. "Sing something?"

His fingers idly traced up and down her spine. "Like what?"

"Whatever you want." She just wanted to hear it and feel in through his chest; with him here like this, she knew she'd finally be able to sleep. Beth's hand fisted his shirt material, clutching the dog tags that lay beneath. Marshall singing her lullabies was better than any bedtime stories or a warm glass of milk.

"Whatever I want, huh?" he pressed a kiss to her hair before settling his head back on the pillow. "That's a tall order. Let's see:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star-"

"Marshall!" she whined.

"Hey, you're the one that gave me creative liberty here." He pinched her side and she kneed him in the thigh. "Now, where was I?"

"Twinkle twinkle..." she mumbled.

"Exactly." He hushed:

twinkle, twinkle, little star
how I wonder what you are!
up above the world so high
like a diamond in the sky

when the blazing sun is gone
when he nothing shines upon
then you show your little light
twinkle, twinkle, all the night

then the traveler in the dark
thank you for your tiny spark
how could he see where to go
if you did not twinkle so?

in the dark blue sky you keep
often through my curtains peep
for you never shut your eye
till the sun is in the sky

Beth was asleep, completely pliant snuggled against his side. Her hand still fisted his dog tags even in sleep, like the thread to his soul to keep him tethered there with her. His arm tightened around her waist, he had no intention of moving from this spot. He turned his face into the crown of her head and whispered the last verse, his eyes falling closed:

as your bright and tiny spark
light the traveller in the dark
though I know not what you are
twinkle, twinkle, little star

Marshall blinked awake, staring at the dimmed ceiling. His eyes darted down at the feeling of warm fingers curled around his wrist to find his twin perched on the edge of Beth's twin bed, lost in thought.

"Hey," he murmured.

She turned her attention to him with a subdued smile. "Hey. Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright. Judging by the shadows on the ceiling, it's been a few hours. Everything okay? A Tier 2 Apocalypse didn't happen while I was taking a nap, did it?"

Maggie gave a quiet snort so as not to wake their little sister, who was finally getting some proper rest. "No, that was the same shit show as it ever was." She squeezed his wrist briefly. "The others just finished burying Dale. I told Andrea while you were gone that she could dig a plot for him near the others, so he wouldn't be alone, you know? It looks like we're well on our to curating our own fucking cemetery."

Marshall turned his hand in hers, fingers curling around her slimmer wrist in turn. "It has been a lot this week, hasn't it? The shit tends to come in waves, but we Greene's know how to handle shit."

"You speaking literally or metaphorically?" she joked.

"Not to brag or anything... but both." He observed her for a minute, "Something else bothering you? Looked like you and Glenn were having an intense moment in the kitchen before I came up."

Maggie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I honestly have no idea what the fuck that was. He backed off and with Dale... I feel like a bitch trying to confront him about it right now. So," she swept her free arm, "Time-out it is—not to forget the pathetic moping."

"And daddy? Don't think I didn't see you just skip right passed him and into Glenn's arms."

"Fucking daddy," Maggie hissed. Beth's fingers tightened around his tags. Maggie lifted his arm and twisted, wedging herself against his side on the edge of the bed under his arm. "I'd been so God damned worried we'd be losing him, too, that as I soon as I realized that he was back and okay—albeit drunk—all the anger I called you childish for just reared up." She buried her face in his shoulder. "He just came back like he'd done nothing wrong, and when I confronted him about drinking and how worried I was..." She gritted her teeth. "He said that was the least of his problems!"

Marshall breathed deeply. It appeared the truth hadn't remained in the shadows for long regarding that tidbit of family dysfunction. Should have known his sisters would figure out the truth. It seemed like the remaining Greene Siblings lost any illusion toward their father. He'd always really been a stern, infallible figure in their lives. But no one was really infallible.

Maggie took a peak at her sister's sleeping face across from hers on Marshall's chest, the slight wrinkle between her brow. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"I don't know... daddy, whatever happened in town, Dale... pick one."

"Heavy subjects for a guy that just woke from a nap." His fingers absently drummed against her shoulder. "Do you remember in high school, that creep on the JV Baseball Team? The one that got suspended for peeping in the girls' locker room? T-"

"Vaguely," she interrupted, her lip curled. "Randy or something. Why are you bring that up, now of all times?"

"Glenn mention the little group they ran into?"

"Just that he froze and he blames me."

Marshall rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. If Maggie asked him for advice, he'd speak-up, otherwise, it was the 10-foot pole approach. "Turns out, Randall was with them. He was still alive by the time Daryl and I caught up, impaled his leg on a fence post. Rick was having a crises of conscious, I think, after having to kill those two other guys in the bar and wanted to save him."

"What happened?" Beth spoke up, opening her eyes, having roused with the sound of Marshall's voice, as quiet as it was, in his chest. "Did you save him?"

"Jesus Christ, Beth!" Maggie jolted, nearly tumbling off her perch but Marshall managed to keep her upright.

Beth snickered as she leaned up on her elbow. "You're so jumpy."

Maggie tried to kick over Marshall at her. "Shut up, I knew you were awake!"

Beth scoffed, "Oh, I'm sure." She managed to grab her sister's flailing leg around the ankle, and Maggie let out a shriek as she was sent crashing off the edge of the bed. "Ha!" she claimed triumph.

Marshall laughed when his twin sat up, hair ruffled and a glower on her face. "Ooof!" he groaned curling up a bit on his side away from her when she slapped him on his vulnerable stomach in petty sibling retaliation. "Why?!"

"Don't laugh at me, then."

"Jesus Christ, Maggie, that fucking hurt!" he complained. The scar tissue on his abdomen was a hit and miss of dead and sensitive, and she'd certainly hit the mark. "You couldn't just slap me in the face again?"

"Sorry." Maggie picked herself up, sitting back on the edge of the bed, her leg curled underneath her as she fixed her hair.

"Why'd you slap him?" Beth frowned, trying to wrestle Marshall's arms away to get a look. "Can't you see that Daryl already punched him in the face?"

"I already told you Daryl didn't punch me in the face, Sunny!" Marshall rolled his eyes. "If anything, you two are the violent ones here—slapping me and yanking on my hair!"

"You're such a baby," Maggie teased, lightly flicking his earlobe.

Marshall instinctively reached up to the new stinging, allowing Beth to tug his shirt up. "Christ, Maggie!" she gaped at the bright red splotch that bled around the scars into the surrounding healthy tissue. "I'm afraid to ask what his face looked like when you were through with him."

"It wasn't that bad," she pouted, brushing the blonde's hands away and tugging his shirt back down so she didn't have look. "I was upset and he was being an complete jackass!"

"I was also upset and being an asshole," Marshall agreed. "We'd just realized daddy left-"

"I don't want to talk about daddy," Beth interrupted, her arms crossed tightly. "What happened with Randy?"

Marshall sighed. "As soon as I realized who he was, there was no way I was letting him come here, not around you two, and definitely not Sophia."

"You killed him," Beth realized in a whisper and Maggie remained silent.

"I-" Marshall tried to... he didn't know. "Yeah." He sat up, ready to scoot off the bed when the teen hugged him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He murmured, resting his cheek on her head, green gaze carefully watching his twin. "Mags?"

Maggie exhaled, shoulders slumping. "And you let me go on about Glenn?"

"Obviously," he gave a little smirk.

"And Dale?" Beth wondered softly, shifting back slightly to look at his face. "I don't even think I actually met him. What happened to him?"

When Marshall couldn't seem to find an answer, Maggie voiced her own suspicions: "You found him in the swamps, right? So, you shouldn't have taken as long as you did, even with bringing his body back. I mean, what the hell was he even doing out there in the first place? Daryl took off with you immediately after y'all got back, and T-Dog... I just got the feeling that T-Dog was talking in circles when he tried to tell the others."

"It's..." Marshall scoffed, scratching his forehead. "Complicated." He cringed at the annoying word-choice despite its truth. He stood from the bed, "I'm working on it. Don't worry about it." He waved his hand. "I'm going to go grab you some food, Beth, you said you'd eat something after you slept. I'll be right back."

The sisters exchanged worried and confused looks, it was clear to them that their brother was holding something big back. Making the decision, Maggie sprung into action, jumping from the bed and bodily blocking the bedroom door before Marshall could leave. "Uh-uh, no way. What the hell is going on? We're not stupid, Marsh. There's something else you're not saying. The truth."

"Maggie," Marshall groaned. "Stop playing around—move."

"No." She crossed her arms. "Not until you tell us what's going on."

Marshall's mouth tightened. "Don't make me move you myself."

"Try it." Maggie challenged right back, chin and shoulders squared. "And Beth'll jump on you like a spider monkey."

Marshall glanced back to find Beth stood on the foot of her bed, muscles tensed and ready to spring at a moment's notice, one blond brow curved, daring him. "Fuck me." Marshall muttered, turning his back to them.

He hadn't even gotten to assess the updated situation about Shane with Rick yet and already his sisters had sussed him out. Beth had just woken up from one collapse over Annette and Shawn, would the truth about Otis send her into another like it had with a panic attack for Marshall? And the last thing they needed was to have Maggie's rage overwhelm her and her going blindly after Shane, either shouting out the accusations in front of the others, or simply trying to kill him herself. And he damn well knew whatever pieces of her soul and heart Patricia had managed to gather back up, would crumble to dust when she found out the truth of her husband's death.

"Marshall?" Beth hopped off her bed with a little thump. "It's obviously bad news, just more shit on an already shitty day, what's new?"

"Okay." Marshall relented. He turned to face his sisters, "This isn't common knowledge yet, but... you don't have to get bit or scratched to turn. You just have to die with your brain intact."

"What?" Beth sat heavily on the foot of her bed.

Maggie pressed back against the door. "You're serious? We- we're all...?"

"Already infected with whatever the hell this virus is," Marshall finished for her softly. "Death is just the thing that triggers it, and bites are just a painful shortcut. It... it doesn't change anything. We're still alive, we're still standing. It just means, that either way, no matter how someone dies, there's just that extra step we have to take to make sure they stay that way."

"Destroy the brain." Beth murmured. They were quiet for a moment as they settled into this new reality.

"How did you figure this out?" Maggie questioned suddenly, looking up at her twin.

"Randy?" Beth guessed, that was the only person she could think of that had died recently non-related to piranha. "How did you kill him?"

"Quick and messy," Marshall admitted, chewing on his cheek. "A lot of piranha were closing in and we needed a distraction."

Maggie frowned. "Well, then, it couldn't have been him. You wouldn't have been able to stick around long enough to watch him turn."

Marshall abruptly turned toward the open window. "You better not be tryna jump out that window, Marshall Elijah Greene!" Beth scolded, accusatory finger pointed his way.

Marshall paused and blinked at her. Damn, he couldn't believe he hadn't considered that. While, yes, it was a straight drop, and the back of the house was on a bit of a decline, it was no higher than the second floor balcony so with the proper landing to absorb the force he could easily walk it off. "I hadn't even considered it until you just said something, you crazy person."

"Hey, it was a valid conclusion considering it's you!" the teen protested. "You jump off the balcony all the time."

"True."

Maggie ignored them, her eyes darting as if trying to follow the thoughts racing around in her head. "Oh, my God!" She uttered. "Dale?" Her green eyes darted up to drill between her twin's tense shoulder blades where he leaned against the window sill. "Marshall?" She said sharply.

"The world was always a bit of a shitty place," Marshall said. "A shitty place filled with even shittier people. People like Randall—only there are no more boundaries left to even attempt at restricting their actions. I only ever wanted to protect you two, but I came up short so many times already." He covered his suddenly burning eyes with his hand. "I don't want to tell you." He admitted. "It- I didn't- argh!" he growled in frustration at himself. "I'm just so angry and tired and sad, and I just want to get it all over and done with, and then cry in the corner for a bit."

"Just... start with something small?" Beth suggested, worrying her bottom lip. It was actually pretty frightening, seeing her big brother reacting like this, so chaotic when he was typically the calm in the eye of the storm, the sibling of reason and composure. She didn't even want to fathom what could cause him such distress, did she even need to know?

Marshall inhaled deeply, dropping his hand from his eyes and straightening. He turned to his sisters. "It has been mentioned between Rick and myself about his group... maybe... leaving the farm and setting up at Lou's Orchard."

"That's your something small?" Maggie demanded, mind instantly going to Glenn.

Beth made a face at her sister, knowing exactly where her mind jumped to. "That actually doesn't sound like a bad idea—barring the drama with your apocalypse-boyfriend... what, are we supposed to cram them all into the house when winter finally hits soon? But, Marshall," she looked to her brother, "I thought you liked Rick and Daryl? I've never seen you so... giggly the way you are with them. And what about Sophia? If I were insecure I might be jealous."

"Liking them has nothing to do with it. We haven't had time to discuss details or anything, just that it's an option." Marshall shook his head.

Maggie crossed her arms, albeit somewhat angrily. "What else have you decided?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "It's not the end of the world if they move, Maggie! I mean, it's the end of the literal world, but it's not the end your romantic world—or whatever." She returned her focus to her brother, "What happened with Dale?"

"He was a piranha when we found him—he just wasn't bitten by a piranha." Marshall said.

"What happened, then?" Beth's brow furrowed. "Did he have a heart attack or something? That still happens."

"No." Maggie shook her head. "If that's all it was, he would be so... freaked out. A walker didn't kill him and he didn't die of natural causes, that means he was-"

"Killed?!" Beth exclaimed in realization. "Like, by a person? A human person?!"

"Yes."

"W-well, did you- did you find them?" Beth as anxiously, shifting. "Does it have to do with Randy's Group?"

"Yes. And No."

Maggie's gaze narrowed, green-eyes boring into her twin. Peeling back the layers. He'd found that calmness again that frustrated her and made it harder to figure him out, but Magnolia Lynn Greene was far from stupid, and the conclusion to this was obvious. "Holy shit." Her back slid down the door, leaving her in a squat.

"What?" Beth questioned.

"It was- you think it was one of the Group? Someone from Rick's Group?" Maggie looked up, searching. Her brother's mouth was set in a grim line. "Who-?" She started, but shook her head, there was only one person that came to mind. "Shane. Fucking Shane?"

"What?" Beth repeated. She scooted back on her bed, pressing against her headboard, hugging her large plush horse stuffie that was as big as Athena to her chest. "Marshall? Is she right?"

The dislike between those two men was obvious, and Dale never would have let Shane go through with the barn had he been around. Hell, that was probably why Shane had done it in the first place. Dale dead in the woods, Rick off with daddy, and Marshall oblivious in the bath—Shane's Top 3 Points of Opposition were out of picture. If Maggie hadn't sent Beth to get Marshall, Shane would have managed to bust open the barn doors before her twin had been able to intervene and it would have been a massacre—she just wasn't 100% sure who would have ended up on the winning side, but there was no doubt be some casualties on their side.

Marshall nodded. "I'm... working on it with Rick."

Beth frowned. "What does that mean?" but her quiet mutter wasn't heard.

"What else?" Maggie wondered in defeat. "That can't be it. Not having to get bit, that sucks but it doesn't actually change anything. And Dale... no offence meant, but we didn't even know him. I get being worried about Shane, I was fucking scared of him even before this, so... what else, Marshall? The real reason."

"Dammit, Maggie." Marshall sighed. Her twinstincts must be working into overdrive, she was reading him like a large print book.

"Do you think you're protecting us by not telling us?" Maggie questioned.

"Yes." Marshall said instantly, without hesitation.

That caught them off-guard, his whip-quick response.

Beth squeezed her stuffie. "Is this like the barn with mama and Shawny?"

"Yes." What was the point of the truth if it was going to hurt more than the lie? "I don't want to tell you." He repeated.

Maggie stood up angrily. "But you're going to anyway. You need to now. By not saying anything, you're not protecting us, you're endangering us!"

"Just give him a goddamn minute, Maggie!" Beth suddenly shouted, overwhelmed with anxiety. Tears pricked her eyes. "You're gonna bully him into telling you and then as soon as he does, you're gonna wish he hadn't!"

"Sunny," Marshall started, going over to her and kneeling by the bed. "I-"

"Am I wrong?" Beth wondered. "Don't you wish you didn't know?"

One hand squeezed her knobby knee comfortingly, while the other brushed away the runaway tear from her pale cheek. "Yes. But if I never found out, nothing would be done about it. The person who did the terrible thing would get to walk away scot-free, and I can't live with that, knowing- you'll be in danger, too, if nothing is done."

"Will it hurt?" Beth's lip trembled as Marshall cupped her cheek tenderly.

"Like losing them all over again." He whispered.

"I don't want to lose anymore people." Beth denied.

"You can't lose what's already gone," Maggie said softly, sitting by her siblings.

"Do you still want to know?" Marshall asked, looking between the two.

Beth and Maggie exchanged an unsure glance. "You-" Beth paused to sniff. "You said you were working on it with Rick, what-what does that mean? He-he knows what you know? He agrees?"

"He knows what needs to be done," Marshall agreed sadly. "We just haven't worked out the exact logistics of it."

Maggie frowned. "You're talking about Shane?" Marshall silently nodded. "You're- You're saying he did more than-than... kill Dale? What could be worse than killing one of his own people?"

Marshall's jaw worked silently for a moment before he was able to force the words out, crumbling his sisters' worlds with a croak: "He killed Otis." He ripped the bandage off the still-healing wound, letting the blood gush out like a severed artery.

There was a beat of absolute silence and stillness, no breath, not a blink as the words—their meaning—their true meaning registered. Beth's sob broke it, like a shattered mirror.

"No," Maggie shook her head in denial, eyes shiny with tears. "How could you-? How do you even know that?"

"His gun." Marshall whispered. "Uncle O stayed behind to cover Shane at the school, right?" Maggie sniffed and nodded. "But Shane brought Otis' gun back. He brought back Dale's gun, too."

"Oh, God!" Maggie cried. Thinking back to that night, she'd been so overwhelmed by the grief not to notice that small, but crucial detail. That sick bastard was probably banking on that.

"You're going to kill him, right?" Beth demanded. "He can't stay here! He killed Uncle Otis, and you're saying he killed Dale, too. You're going to kill him, right?!"

"I'll fucking kill him!" Maggie stood up, only for Marshall to quickly pull her back down.

"No! No. You're going to stay the fuck away from him, and you're going to let me take care of it."

Maggie scoffed. "You mean Rick? They're childhood best-friends, Marshall. Shane slept with his God damned wife, her baby may not even be his! He didn't do a damned thing then, what makes you think he's gonna do a damned thing now? Pick strangers—you—over them?"

Marshall ignored pointed and angry low-blow. "If Rick can't bring himself to, I'm more than ready." He assured her. Maggie didn't seem to appear very appeased by that. "This is a precarious situation, Maggie. You need to stay away from Shane and you cannot tell Glenn."

"If Shane killed Dale, doesn't Glenn deserve to know?"

"And then what?" Marshall asked. "He tells the others? They confront Shane, create a scene... what do you think he'd gonna do, Maggie? You saw him at the barn, you think he'll just back down?"

"No." Maggie agreed resentfully, clenching her teeth.

"It needs to be done right. You think when I found out, my first thought wasn't to head back to camp, go straight up to Shane, and put a bullet in his head? But it's not that simple. He's Rick's blood-brother and he thinks that to make everything right again, that he has to be the one to do it. As long as it get's done in the end, I don't think it matters, but if in the end Rick can't bring himself to do it... it'll still get done."

"And what about the rest of his people?" Maggie asked.

"I guess that's up to him." Marshall shrugged. "You're My Family, I chose to tell you—mostly. It's Rick's Group, he's their Leader so it's up to him when and how he tells them the truth."

"What about Auntie?" Beth asked quietly.

"This will break her." Maggie agreed.

"But... we can't lie to her, right?"

"Otis will still be dead," Maggie wiped her nose on her wrist. "Isn't it better to think it meant something, that he saved Carl, and not because of that asshole fucking murdered him!"

"But that's wr-!" Beth started to protest but cut off at the audible thump! outside her bedroom door. Three heads whipped back to stare at the closed bedroom door. "Wh-"

"Shit." Marshall jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, yanking it open. There were only three people that should have been allowed up on the second floor and could have overheard them, he just prayed it wasn't- "Shit! Auntie!" Marshall dropped to his knees beside the older woman's unconscious body as his sister rushed over.

"Jesus, is she okay?" Maggie asked.

Marshall's fingers automatically found her pulse-point, even as the woman already seemed to be coming around, giving a low groan, her eyes fluttering. "Hey, auntie. You're okay." He brushed the loose hair from her pale face.

"What happened?" Patricia mumble, trying to push up.

"Easy! Don't move just yet." Marshall gently pushed her back to the floor. "You fainted."

"Why-? Oh." The memory returned, her expression just completely shut down. "I heard you through the door. Otis..."

"I'm so sorry, auntie." Marshall squeezed her hand.

"Why? You didn't kill him." Beth knelt by her, fresh tears in her eyes again and she wordlessly stroked the woman's hair. "Beth, you're supposed to be resting." Patricia remarked.

"You should come and lay down with me, then." Beth told her.

"I just came to tell you I made some food, I wasn't sure whether you were up for coming downstairs or wanted to eat in your room. I'm ready to get up now." She rose despite the Greene siblings' protests. "The food will hold until you're ready. I-I just need to... I'll be resting in my room." Patricia didn't allow them to stop her as she slowly made her way back downstairs.

"Damn it," Maggie uttered guiltily.

"I'll check in on her in a little bit," Marshall assured softly. "She's in shock. C'mon." He brushed the fresh tears from Beth's cheeks. "You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." Beth protested quietly, hugging herself.

"You need to eat—and so do I." He put an arm around her shoulders and nudged her toward the stairs. "After, we'll bring auntie some tea. Maggie?"

"Yeah. Coming."

Downstairs was empty, which wasn't surprising. Beth and Maggie claimed the stools on either side of the island table and Marshall made a b-line for the pot that sat on the stove, lifting the lid.

Marshall stuck his face in the little puff of steam that still lingered in the warm pot. "Oh, God, yes. I need this." It looked like a bit of a potluck, probably leftovers from last night that no one was present for, and it smelled delicious. He grabbed 3 bowls, filled them up and handed them out.

After that first sniff that awakened the past 24+ hours of lack of food, Marshall was more than fine with shovelling the delicious food into his gob. Maggie's pace was more civil. Beth was playing with her food more than she was eating it, but she was taking a nibble for at least every five fiddles of her spoon.

"Where's Jimmy?" Maggie questioned to break the silence.

Beth gave a careless shrug, not bothering to lift her head. "How should I know?"

"He's your boyfriend."

"We've been going out for 3 months—most of that in the apocalypse—suddenly I'm married to him?"

"Whoa!" Maggie muttered.

"What's with the sudden attitude?" Marshall asked, it wasn't an accusation but genuine curiosity. "You don't like him anymore? I caught you making-out enthusiastically just the other day."

"Yeah, the other day." Beth dropped her spoon in her half-eaten portion, letting it ring in the open silence against the side of the bowl. "When I was just some stupid, naive teenager who didn't actually know shit about shit. I'm just starting to realize... everything is so fucked up. What even actually matters anymore? Daddy threw in the towel, auntie's eyes were just empty—I don't want to end up like that. I don't to fall in love if that's just what it ends up being." She looked her sister in the eye, "It's too late for you but it sure as hell isn't for me. Glenn is gonna die, Maggie, just like your mama and my mama and Uncle O—and it's gonna make you wish you were dead inside!"

Maggie stared at her, lips parted in complete shock. "What the actual fuck, Beth?!"

"Just look at all the evidence against us—our family is cursed." She stood, slamming her hands on the table. "I'm not gonna end up like that!"

"Beth, you can't just... denounce love." Marshall shook his head, setting his empty bowl aside, incredulous and sad at his little sister's line of thinking. "It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?" Beth demanded. "You have! You've never been in love and you're perfectly happy!"

"You think I don't want to be in love?"

"Name one person you've said 'I love you' to that wasn't family?" Marshall sputtered, unable to come up with an answer. "You said that if you ever fell in love, we would know because you would bring that person home. You've never brought anyone home—and I mean anyone." Her hand cut definitively through the air.

"Are you trying to hurt me?" Marshall wondered quietly. "'Cause it kinda feels like you're just pointing out how pathetic and lonely I am." He decidedly did not think of Daryl and Rick and his broken desperation for even friendship.

"That's not what I'm saying." She perched back onto the stool. "You love us, you always said that we're your best-friends. You don't need anyone else, you don't want anyone else, you'll never get a broken heart. It's smart! I don't want anyone else either. Kissing Jimmy is fun, I guess, but that's not worth it when I realize that he's just gonna die, too."

"You're gonna break that poor boy's dumb little heart." Marshall pointed out.

"So, I should just lie? Pretend to love him?"

"Just because you're not in-love with Jimmy doesn't mean you don't care about him or even you won't find some other boy." Maggie pointed out.

"Some other boy in the apocalypse?" Beth scoffed. "Yeah, right! That's a laugh." She pushed her stool back from the counter and stood.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Shower."

Marshall stared after her as she left. "Jesus Christ!" he muttered. He was sad that that was her thought process on the whole thing—and also thanked fuck that he wasn't a hormonal teenager in the apocalypse. He groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She's too young to be having a damn existential crises of love!"

"She's a teenager, it's pretty much the status quo." Maggie muttered, trying not to freak out herself at the valid points that her bratty little sister made, points that Maggie had tricked herself around by falling in love with Glenn. She watched her twin for a moment, thinking back to some things that he'd said. "Do you," Maggie asked softly, "Want to be in love?" Because, while it was true that Maggie had never brought any of her boyfriend's home, barring her high school sweetheart Eric Shannon, who daddy knew from Church, she brought friends home all the time. And while Marshall may have hung out with her and her friends, he didn't have him own friends.

Marshall was quiet for a moment before he sighed. "It doesn't matter. If it happens, it happens. If it's meant to be, it'll be." He turned and put the kettle on to boil. "I don't need to be in-love to be happy. I love you guys and that's enough to keep me content. Besides, Sunny was right, you guys are my best-friends. Why would I need anyone else?"

"Oh?" Maggie raised an inquisitive brow, sensing something a little deeper.

Marshall groaned. "I struck-out! Daryl totally rebuffed my advances of friendship. It was really pathetic!"

"Then he was clearly in denial."

"You're just trying to make me feel better." He paused. "Thanks," he mumbled coyly.

She smirked. "You're adorable."

"Shut up." He poured a cup of tea for Patricia.

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"... I can love and hate you at the same time." Marshall concluded haughtily.

"If he's mean to you, tell me, and I'll take care of it." Maggie tried to keep a straight face but ended up snickering.

"Hate~!" She outright laughed him out of the room. "You're so mean to me!" he called back to her.

"We may be best-friends but I'm still your sister!" she called back.

Marshall shook his head. With tea in hand, he went down the back hall toward Patricia and Otis' bedroom. He couldn't hear the faint sounds of the record player from Hershel's office, but the door was closed so he knew his father was in there. He paused outside of Patricia's door. It was silent there as well. He gently knocked, waited a moment though he wasn't exactly expecting a response, and gently opened the door.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn closed blocking out the afternoon sun. He could faintly hear her breathing, and from the light from the open doorway he could make out her curled up form under the comforter of the bed.

"Auntie," he murmured. "I brought you tea. A little something to warm you up, get your sugar up. It'll make you feel better..." his socked feet shuffled softly over the rug-covered hardwood floor as a prevention of tripping and falling in the dark with hot tea. "Auntie?"

"Thank you for the tea, but I think I'm just going try and rest for a little longer." Patricia whispered.

Marshall found the nightstand and carefully sat the cup of tea down. "Whatever you want." He murmured. He perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you had to find out like that. I never-"

"You're not the one that killed him."

"I know." It didn't stop the guilt though.

"And killing that man won't bring back my sweet Otie."

"No, it won't." Marshall agreed quietly. "It's not an eye for an eye, auntie. It's not about revenge, it's about safety. He's dangerous, he's already killed two people and when he realizes the jig is up... I'm just trying to protect everyone that's still here." Patricia didn't respond and they sat in silence and darkness for several minutes before Marshall finally stood. "I love you."

It wasn't until he was about to close the bedroom door that she murmured, "You're a good boy."

Marshall closed the door quietly and just stood there for a moment. It pained him that he couldn't give her the comfort that she needed, that he couldn't help. Otis would still be gone, no matter what happened to Shane Walsh. The point of the matter, though, was that Otis was dead in the first place. He took a deep breath and walked away, turning a cold shoulder to his father office in the process. It was a good thing Hershel had listened him and kept his distance from Beth, now not only because he'd been drinking, but because Beth was now as likely to bite his head off as Maggie was. It was going to be some work for the man to get back into his children's' good-graces, and right now Marshall could only say that Beth's angry angst was a step above senseless, at least she was emoting something. They all just needed one damn minute to settle before a new shit-storm arose, but the apocalypse and the world didn't take suggestions.

He glimpsed the empty kitchen before padding upstairs. If Maggie had gone to seek out Glenn, he was just going to have to trust his twin to keep the sensitive situation to herself. Beth's door was open and the room the empty so she must have still been in the bathroom; he just stepped in long enough to grab his boots before heading back downstairs.

He pushed out the front screen door, manually easing it closed so it didn't slam. He paused to glance around and clock Rick's Group. The only person remotely close to the house, literally in a grassy patch by the front path, was a certain strawberry blonde girl and the one and only Belgian Malinois of his heart.

"Hey, butterfly." Marshall murmured, sitting on the top step. Athena rose her head and looked over at him, but when he didn't call her over, she went back to her pampering via 12-year-old. "Where's your mama? I would've thought she wouldn't let you get more than five feet from her."

Sophia gave the man a subdued smile. "Mom's with Andrea. She's really sad. Her and Dale were really close."

Marshall started to unlace his boots. "How are you holding up with everything?"

"Dale was nice. I l-liked him." She buried her fingers into Athena's thick fur, scratching to the dog's delight. "He always let me and mom stay in the RV when dad got too... mean. And he'd always somehow find little treats for me and the other kids."

"He sounded like a cool guy." Sophia nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral."

"That's okay. Rick gave a speech about Dale, Daryl carved him a cross just like for your mama and brother."

"Oh?" Marshall murmured. He'd have to thank the other man when there was a moment, then.

"Yeah. And I found some flowers to make a wreath for him. Amy tried to teach me and Elise at the quarry, she was really good at tying the stems!" She paused, going shy, "Do you think he'd like them?"

Marshall smiled. "Oh, butterfly, there's no doubt in my mind." Sophia gave a small beam as he finished putting his boots back on. "You hungry? There's leftover stew inside."

She shook her head. "We already ate lunch, I-I shouldn't."

"That's not a 'no'." Marshall remarked, standing. "I'll be back."

She rose to her knees. "But-!" her protest died as he disappeared back inside, leaving her feeling anxious. Athena rolled to her feet with a whine, sensing the girl's sudden stress and nuzzled at her.

Marshall wasn't even gone 5 minutes before he used his elbow to open the door, carrying a warmed bowl of stew and a glass of juice. "You can eat it up here." He nodded at the rocking chair and set them on the old side table next to it, when he looked back over, Sophia was still sitting frozen in the grass. "It's not going to bite you, butterfly. In fact, you're the one that supposed to bite it." He teased her. Nothing. "Sophia," he murmured softly, but seriously, "You're not going to get into trouble if that's what you're afraid of. You're not stealing it, I offered it. In fact, the crime would be not eating it, then that's just wasting food." He came down the steps and squatted to get eyelevel with the nervous girl. "I know you've had to be careful with your food while on the road and even at the quarry, but your on the farm now, it's a little different here. We have our own gardens and crops, there's quite a bit that's already ripe to pick—more than enough for 16 people—so you're not eating someone else's share. And they're perishable. That means that they can only be stored or left uneaten for a short period of time before they go bad and become wasted."

Sophia had begun to chew on her lip as he spoke, answering all the fears she had had about accepting the offered food. Missing meals and sparse eating was not a new concept to Sophia Peletier in the apocalypse, just an already present pothole in her road. It wasn't because her mom was neglectful, in fact, Carol always made sure Sophia ate first before eating herself. It was just... easier to miss a meal when her dad was in a bad drunk mood than it was to risk the littlest thing in setting him off. But Ed wasn't here, she didn't have to be scared of so many things now. "I am hungry." She admitted in a whisper.

Marshall smiled, feeling pride at the courage it took her to admit that. "Then there's no reason not to eat it." Her freckled cheeks warmed when he tugged gently on a lock of her hair. "Up you go." He threw a thumb back over his shoulder toward the porch.

Sophia climbed to her feet, brushing the dirt from the back of her pants. She paused, looking shyly down at her fidgeting fingers. "Thank you, Marshall."

"Aw, no need for that. You let me, I'll feed you 'til you actually want to say 'no." He joked. "Beside, you want to stay taller than Carl, right?"

She nodded rapidly. "Do you really think I'll be taller than Carl?" It was really a point of pride for her.

"Well, to grow, things need nutrients, so," he booped her on the nose, "You gotta eat!"

"Okay!" her blue-eyes brightened. "I'll eat right now!" Sophia hopped up the porch steps.

Elbow propped on his knee, chin in hand, he watched her for a moment with a small self-satisfied smile. He was definitely going to keep plying her with food when possible, Carl, too. God, he remembered how much he ate as a growing boy. It wasn't like their Group wasn't feeding them, the Greene's were supplying them after all. The Group would be able to grow their own crops at Lou's when winter passed and have more than enough meat with Daryl out hunting—they'd be self-sufficient in no time. But, Marshall was a believer of 'if you could you should' in certain respects, so he was going to go right ahead and feed them while they were there.

And Lori. It was still very early in the pregnancy, so it wasn't very urgent and going back into town right now was not an option with it overrun with piranha—maybe in a few weeks—but they should be trying to find baby supplies, and things like prenatal vitamins to make sure she had everything she needed to carry the pregnancy through because God knows it had been a very stressful start.

Athena whined at him for attention and he was more than happy to indulge her. "You need your vest back on," he scratched under her chest, "Can't have you running around here naked and unprotected." Especially with things with Shane up in the air. She woofed. "Too bad. Doesn't matter how sharp your teeth are or how deadly your bite is, they can't catch bullets. Go on, then." He patter her flank, sending her back to Sophia. As long as Athena was around, Marshall wouldn't have to worry about the girl's safety, not that she shouldn't already be one of the safest people on the farm.

Marshall gave a soft groan as he stood, things cracking that shouldn't in a healthy 25-year-old, but he came with some early mileage on him. Now, he needed to find Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog (inconspicuously) and come up with an actual plan while there was still quiet and before Shane tried to act on his own. Now that he knew that Rick was in the know about his affair with Lori, he probably felt like there was a countdown hanging over his head, whether he should act first or wait for Rick to act so he could react was still to be seen.

Marshall turned toward the camp, shielding his eyes briefly from the afternoon sun, and scanning the camp. It wasn't very occupied. He could spy Lori and Carl at the picnic table, Glenn and Maggie atop the RV, and Bingo, T-Dog at the camp fire. He started to make his way over. Sophia said Andrea and Carol were off together somewhere, no Shane, no Rick, no Daryl. Hopefully information easily provided by T-Dog. His approach was noticed by Carl, who gave him a wave, Marshall waved back but T-Dog had his back to him so he was a bit bewildered by the boy's action before the Ranger suddenly sat down beside him on the log.

"Yo."

"Damn!" T-Dog jumped. "You scared me, man!"

"Sorry," Marshall chuckled.

T-Dog looked around warily. "What's up, man?"

"Don't be so stressed, you're making this weird."

"It is weird." T-Dog remarked.

"No, we're just having a friendly, casual conversation, T-Dog." Marshall supplied. "Like how's your arm, and where are Daryl and Rick? We need to about what's gonna happen."

"Damn, man." T-Dog muttered, self-consciously scratching at his bandaged arm. "Daryl moved his stuff away from camp," he threw a thumb over his shoulder in indication out beyond the RV, "Not exactly sure where Rick is."

Marshall frowned. "Daryl moved? Why?"

T-Dog shrugged. "Didn't exactly stick around to explain, you know?"

"Right. And the arm? I didn't exactly have a chance to ask last night..."

He sighed. "Yeah, man. It's itchy, little sore, and I'm still taking the pills for the blood infection, but it seems to be doing alright."

"Can I see?" T-Dog shrugged, carefully pulled back the taped edge of the bandage that dominated the inside of his right forearm and offered the limb. Marshall gave a low whistle, impressed. "That's about 7 inches, with at least 42 sutures! Jesus, do you realize how lucky you are? You're an inch away from your radial artery there, and you're just off-center enough down the rest of your forearm to have missed the suicide-highway. How the hell are you alive?"

"Luck thy name is Daryl Dixon, man."

Marshall sighed. "The man that never ceases to surprise or impress." Marshall took hold of the back of the wrist, fingers carefully curled around the artery point. He squeezed the tips of T-Dog's fingers and watched the blood flow back into the digits. "Has there been any tingling or numbness in your fingers?" Marshall traced down alongside the wound, there was no unordinary heat radiation, it wasn't puffy or weeping, and while he could still spot the red line of the sepsis, if kept on the right track, that would fade away, too. "Looks like those pills are knocking that blood infection right out." He remarked, putting the bandage back.

"Daryl said it was the primo stuff."

"You, Daryl, and Carl should be able to all get your stitches removed back-to-back." Marshall told him, pleased. "The 3 of you got hurt right on top of each other," he shook his head, a little amused at the irony, "These things tend to cluster." Like death. "Just keep taking the pills until you finish the bottle or you see the rash disappear and stay gone."

"Got it."

"Alright. I'll find Daryl, and you track down Rick. I was thinking we meet at the supply shed behind the house, but I think Daryl's new camp site may be more discrete." Marshall rose. He added quietly, "And remember, T-Dog, casual. Shane can't get anymore suspicious than he already is." T-Dog could only nod. Marshall made his way toward the RV.

"Everything okay?" Maggie called down. She'd spotted his approach earlier and had been watching him with T-Dog even if she hadn't been able to hear what they were talking about.

"Fine. I'm looking for Daryl. T-Dog said he moved from camp this way?"

"Yeah." Glenn nodded. He stretched his arm, pointing. "Over there through those trees, there's this stone tower thing?"

"It's an old stone chimney." Marshall said. It was about a 10 minute jaunt from the house. "Alright, thanks."

"Remember what I said-" Maggie started to call after him.

"Hate~!" Marshall called back. He heard her laugh and Glenn's questioning mumble. He rolled his eyes. His sister was definitely gossiping about his pathetic friendship skills. He absently hummed to himself as he walked through the loose cluster of trees before he reached the open field beyond. It was easy to spot Daryl's camp by the old crumbling stone chimney; his tent was all set up, motorcycle parked nearby, a clothesline hung with some freshly killed squirrel, a crackling fire. "You made yourself at home pretty quick."

"What d'ya want?" Daryl asked gruffly from where he sat in the shade of the mouth of his tent out of the overhead sun, busily plucking the feathers from a grouse.

"Many things," Marshall admitted, "But I'll just settle with a couple from you." Daryl eyed him but didn't reply so the Ranger continued. "Before things get messy again, I just wanted to thank you."

Daryl tensed, looking up at him warily. "For what?"

"I was talking with butterfly and she was telling me about the grave marker you carved for Dale—just like the ones you made for Annette and Shawny."

Daryl shifted under the soft smile. "So what? It was the decent thing to do—had nothing to do with you."

"I know. It was sweet of you anyway."

"I already told you t' cut it out with that 'sweet' shit!" Daryl put down the bird and the feathers, and stood up in annoyance—annoyed at the feeling he got when the younger man said stupid shit like that to him.

"It's not meant to offend, Daryl." Marshall sighed sadly. "It's not an insult, it's a compliment. What's so wrong with being considered sweet?"

"'Sweet' gets you shit in the world and then it gets you killed!" his hand swung through the air between them.

Marshall thought about the scars that covered Daryl's back and was resentful that he was punished and forced into that mindset at a young age, but even still, he could see the kindness within the hunter. "I'm sorry you think that."

"What else d'ya want so you can get the hell outta my face?"

Marshall silently agreed not to linger on the 'sweet' subject with how it was riling up the other man. "Shane. You, me, Rick, and T-Dog need to discuss what's going to happen. They're meeting us-"

"Nah." Daryl dismissed, interrupting, turning his back. "I'm good right where I am."

Marshall blinked at him for a moment. "Wow, didn't take you for a coward."

"What the hell'd you just call me?" Daryl spun around to snarl in his face.

"You heard me." Marshall didn't back away. "You do understand—that you were the catalyst for this entire situation, don't you? Figuring out that Shane killed Dale, revealing that Shane killed Otis. You could have kept it all to yourself and nothing would of had to change, but you didn't! You turned me and my family's world upside down and you don't just get to walk away from the consequences of that when we don't get that choice!"

"Sure, I can. I coulda... maybe shoulda—killed Rick an' T-Dog for my brother, but I didn't."

"It's not the same," Marshall denied quietly. "You said it yourself... nothing kills a Dixon but a Dixon. Your brother's still out there, still alive for you to find. Rick hadn't cuffed your brother to that roof with the intention to leave him for dead, nor T-Dog intend to when he dropped the key. They went back with you to find him, they were never a threat to you.

"Shane-" Marshall squared his jaw and continued, "Shane killed my uncle, he killed your friend. He's an active and present threat—to my family, to Rick—even to you, Daryl. To your Group. So, no... there's no forgive and forget."

"You can't make me do shit!" Daryl shook his head, pacing.

"You think you're not a part of this?" Marshall remarked coldly and dismissively. "That's too bad and too late because I told T-Dog to meet us here."

"You smug sonovabitch!" Daryl tsked in annoyance, grabbing the front of his shirt. "I moved out here to get away from you people!"

"You're separate but you haven't actually left, and I don't think you will. At the very least, you care about most of them—otherwise you wouldn't have gone looking for Sophia, or looking for Dale, or came with me to get Rick and Glenn. And I don't have to be your friend to admire that about you."

"Would you shut up about that already?!" Daryl hollered, shoving him back, heart hammering in his chest. Marshall stumbled but didn't fall. "I already fuckin' told you I don't want to be your friend, get that through you thick, pathetic skull!" Daryl was left breathing a little heavily due to the emotional outburst, and was left defenceless in the face of the quiet ache in the man's green-eyes.

Lonely and pathetic, Marshall thought wryly. "My sisters are my best-friends; that doesn't make me pathetic, that makes me lucky. Wanting to be your friend... there's nothing pathetic about that either. Though I am genuinely sad that you don't return the sentiment, I'm not trying to force myself onto you." He took a breath. "That being said, while we may not be braiding each others hair and gossiping about boys, that doesn't mean we can't be civil. We do technically still live together for the moment, so, the F-word will be a shall-not-mention between us." Marshall paused, then added, "I would offer to seal it with a pinkie-promise, but you still look like you want to punch me in the face." Daryl snorted and Marshall had to tamp down on the automatic self-satisfaction at having prompted the sound from the other male.

"Whatever." Daryl scoffed, spotting Rick and T-Dog approaching over Marshall's shoulder.

"Sorry that look a bit." Rick's blue gaze went between the hunter and the Ranger, lingering for a moment on the latter's ruffled t-shirt. "Everything okay?"

"Don't worry, it only got a little dramatic over here." Marshall waved it away. He eyed the former deputy, "You look paler and sweatier than usual, Rick."

"Thanks," Rick said sarcastically.

"You need to drink more water," Marshall reminded him. "Did you even get any rest? You've been awake for more than 24 hours, you need-."

"I'm fine." Rick waved him away. "Enough chit-chat, we're here for a reason."

Daryl tsked. "Let's get on with it, then."

"Ah, yes—the reason. To add more fuel to this already burning dumpster fire..." Marshall deigned to kick things off.

"That doesn't sound good." T-Dog muttered.

"You should know that my sisters know everything and auntie knows about Otis."

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut?" Daryl scoffed.

"Nope!" Marshall exclaimed overly happy. "My family, my decision. But don't worry... they won't interfere. Auntie shut herself down and away. Maggie's focused on not trying to drive Glenn further away, and my sweet Sunny has been disabused of the notion of Love and everyone is going to die, so... you just gonna have to deal with one Greene until this is taken care of—then all bets are off! God knows the fallout of this, whatever that may be, FUBAR any which way you look at it."

"Christ," Daryl muttered.

"I honestly can't say I'm surprised you told them," Rick murmured.

"They're smart cookies, they sussed it out pretty quick with just a few context clues." Marshall said, scratching his shoulder. He looked to Rick, "Have you decided what you want to do, because I am willing to go the non-lethal route on this—If you actually, honestly think that he would stay away, Rick? I am genuinely asking you. Not what you hope or wish would happen, but the honest assessment. You know him best, you-"

"I thought I knew him." Rick uttered.

"Rick." Marshall sighed quietly. "You still do. It's just with Lori and the baby-"

Daryl rolled his eyes and said bluntly, "The only way to take care of this is with a bullet. He's in love with your damn wife, man! That's why he killed Otis."

"Don't you think I know that?!" Rick growled through his teeth.

"If you can't do what needs to be done yourself—then just let Marshall do it! He's been harpin' on this damn thing non-stop."

Marshall pulled out a packet of gum from his pocket and popped one into his mouth, keeping it occupied so he didn't pop off with his own childish remark. He'd only brought Shane up on three occasions that he could think of with Daryl—the initial confession in the woods, briefly on the drive to town, and now. "Anyone want one?" He rattled the plastic and foil packet.

"Yeah, man. I'll take a piece. Thanks." Marshall popped a piece into T-Dog's palm and the man tossed it back. "My mouth is pasty as hell."

"You should drink more water."

Daryl scoffed. "That your response to everything?"

"Well, it's the answer to dehydration, so, yeah. I highly recommend it."

"Alright. Enough you two!" Rick cut in when Daryl looked ready to insult him back. "Let's just... get back on topic." He sighed, carding fingers through his sweaty curls. "I've been thinking," they watched Rick pace. "About what you said before," he nodded at Marshall. "About moving us to Lou's Orchard." Daryl and T-Dog exchanged confused looks. "I think- I think I can use that."

"What the hell are you talking about?" T-Dog questioned. "We're leaving the farm? Since when?"

"Nothing's been decided yet-" Rick started.

"What the hell is Lou's Orchard?" Daryl gruffed, narrowed eyes looking between Rick and Marshall.

"Lou was our closest neighbour," Marshall explained. "That piranha that Shane shot down at the barn. It's primarily an apple orchard, I've been there a few times, came back with some decent hauls. It's got a decent farm house, a couple of cabins for the live-in workers, a good crop field. It's prime real estate." He worried his gum for a moment. "I thought it might be a good alternative... after."

"It can be discussed over properly later with the others." Rick dismissed with a frown. "I thought that I could use that to get Shane away from the farm, just the two of us. Say I want to check it out, that it's been a while since it was just the two of us, that we have some things we need to talk about."

"You don't have to be the one-"

"Like I said before, it has to be me, Marshall." Rick said. "Shane's my responsibility."

Marshall groaned in frustration. He got where Rick was coming from, the guilt, the feeling of responsibility—Marshall felt the same way about Otis, Annette, Shawn—but it also made him want to scream.

T-Dog voiced Marshall's concerns for him, though: "Just the two of you? That- that doesn't sound like a very good plan." T-Dog admitted. "I mean, first of all, wouldn't he be suspicious as all hell? You think he'd actually buy it that you want to go out so soon after you just got back?"

"He knows that I know about him and Lori—I think he'll over think it but end up at the simplest conclusion that I just want to talk." Rick concluded. "He shouldn't expect it's about anything other than him and Lori."

"Or maybe he won't be suspicious as all and think it's the best opportunity to finally take Rick out." Daryl pointed out. "Just the two of 'em."

"Maybe it'd just be better to tell the others-" T-Dog started, at a loss.

"It'd be utter chaos." Rick denied.

Daryl snorted. "Andrea might just take care of it for you. She might've been fucking Shane, but she loved Dale."

"Exactly, she loved Dale, man. Don't they deserve the truth? I mean, Shane's hanging around, not a damn care. It's some twisted shit!"

"We can't risk it," Rick shook his head.

"And what about the fact that we're all infected?" T-Dog questioned. "They deserve that, at least."

"When they question how you found out, what are you going to tell them?" Marshall wondered. "You can't say Dale, they think he was bit and died, remember?"

"Could say Randall." Daryl voiced. "They know vaguely about him, right?"

"You could. Until they realize that we couldn't have been able to stick around and watch him turn. That's how my sisters realized something wasn't quite right, you think your people won't notice the same discrepancy?"

"It'll just have to wait 'till after," Rick decided. "We'll gather everyone, sit them down, and then tell them the whole story at once. They'll be upset, and they'll be angry, but there's nothing else that could have been done. They'll have to just... deal with being in the dark."

"I'm still not very keen on this," Marshall shook his head in worry. "It's so God damned risky to you, Rick. Even if he goes along with it... When he realizes what's actually happening, he's going to fight, Rick. With you deciding to kill him, all bets are off and he won't hesitate, so you can't hesitate. You have to be ready to kill him."

"I'm sure," Rick murmured, but it was solidly inlaid with conviction. He locked gazes with the other man. "For Lori, Carl, and my unborn child, I'm sure."

"When d'ya plan on doin' this?" Daryl interrupted whatever the hell was happening between them.

Rick broke from Marshall's intense green gaze to look over at the hunter. "It has to be in the next couple days."

"And I can't get you to change your mind and just let me-" Marshall pressed.

"No." Rick's answer was firm.

"Dammit. Fine." Marshall relented unhappily. "It's settled then, I guess."

"It is." Rick turned with further ado and started to head back.

"Shouldn't you be more happy?" Daryl questioned when the younger man turned to leave, too. "Shane'll be gone."

Marshall paused, but didn't bother to turn back. "It's not about revenge, Daryl, it's about safety."

T-Dog watched Marshall catch up to Rick before he turned a raised a brow to the hunter beside him.

"What?"

"What the hell is up with you and Marshall, man?" T-Dog asked straight-up.

Daryl shoulders tensed. "Nothin'."

T-Dog raised a sceptical brow at the other man. "He was awful protective of you when Andrea shot you. You and Sophia both. Had Athena guard Sophia all the way back to Carol's arms so no one else would go near her. Only let Rick touch you to help haul up to the house... doesn't sound like 'nothing'."

"That had nothing t'do with me." Daryl muttered after a long moment. He had no clear recollection of that. He vaguely remember reaching the farm, then waking up in bed with Marshall close over him.

"It just seems like you're being especially hard on the guy for just wanting to be your friend."

"No one just 'wants to be friends', man. Grow up. Everybody always wants somethin'."

Interesting perspective, must be lonely. "What could he want? As far as I can see, Marshall and his family have been more than generous with us, and considering the state of world..." T-Dog shook his head, "And we haven't exactly been returning the gesture here." Daryl didn't answer. "Maybe give him a break, he's been through the grinder, man."

"He's not special." Daryl sneered. "We've all been through shit."

"I don't know, man, seems to me he's under your skin."

"That's right, you don't know."

"Alright, my bad." T-Dog held up his hands in surrender. "All I'm sayin' is, the stuff between you two in the woods... none of that felt like y'all were strangers. I would think if you didn't give a shit, you wouldn't be so angry at him."

"Don't matter anyway." Daryl dismissed. "Ain't you heard Rick? We're moving camp." His arm swept.

"Doesn't mean we won't still see them."

"What's it matter t' you whether I'm friends with 'im or not?" Daryl didn't wait for an answer as he turned back to his tent, picked up the grouse and resumed plucking feathers, the silent 'fuck off' was clear.

T-Dog responded anyway before walking away, "We could all use a friend, man."

...

Marshall quickly ate up the distance between them, the 4 inches he had on Rick had his stride easily eating up the space. "Rick."

Rick sighed tiredly. "Marshall, you're not going to change my mind."

"I'm just trying to protect you," Marshall told him honestly. "But I can recognize a losing fight when I see one. You're so stubborn," I clearly have a type, he thought. "No, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry I didn't come to Dale's funeral."

Rick shook his head. "You were with Beth, I understand. How's she been doing... considering everything?"

"She's angry and hating right now."

"Understandable."

But Marshall scoffed, at a bit of a loss. "Well, yes—but also, no."

Rick frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I guess her thinking of it is... She's convinced our family is cursed." Rick blinked at him. "I know, but the thing is... Daddy lost two soul mates, auntie lost her soul mate. I can kind of see her point in that naive, woe-is-me, teenage angst way, even if I don't agree with her methods. She told Maggie straight-up it's already too late for her and Glenn was going to get killed, too. And now she's giving Jimmy and love the cold shoulder."

"Oof!" Rick shared a sympathetic grimace. "I can also see where she's coming from. What about you?" He questioned hesitantly but morbidly curious, "Have you ever been in-love?

"Not like that, not like daddy and auntie." He confessed. "Never been in a monogamous, committed relationship before. Never brought anyone home to meet the family—lovers or friends otherwise. Never really been attached to anyone outside my family. Even in the Army, because of my specialty, I was never assigned to a permanent unit, just shuffled around where I was needed. But then again," he mused, "I fell in-love with Rocky instantly. And I was ready to throw in the towel, before Athena saved me, and I held on that much harder. And I know- I know that if something happened to her, like-like it did with Rocky... there will just always be a perpetually dead chunk of my soul, that I'd never be able to recover from." Marshall took in a sudden, sharp breath and shook his head with a weak chuckle, "But that's not even what you really meant."

"No, no." Rick stopped him, hand on his shoulder. "I get it. I can see it." His blue-eyes were serious and sympathetic and actually understanding. "You love her, she's your soul mate. And nothing's going to happen to her because she has you—you're like the dynamic duo."

Marshall smiled softly. "You totally get me, Rick." He booped him on the nose, "And I appreciate that about you."

Rick chuckled lowly and shook his head as they started walking again. "Why do you do that?"

"What?" Rick reached up and booped Marshall on the nose in explanation. Marshall's green-eyes lit right up and Rick saw that boyish smile for the first time in what felt like a decade. "What d'you mean? What's wrong with it?"

"I'm 32-years-old and you're booping me on the nose."

"So, what? Age has nothing to do with it."

"You've done it 3 times." He pointed out.

"Aw, you keeping count!" Marshall giggled.

"That's not the point." Rick groaned as they crested to the RV.

"Then what is your point? It's an act of endearment, Rick. It's not me inferring you to be child. Beside, you were being particularly cute!"

"Men in their 30's aren't cute." Rick pouted, stopping.

"You're whole face is contradicting that statement." Marshall pointed out. "Does it make you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?"

Rick protested, "That's not what I was saying-" Marshall rocked on his heels in triumph, pleased. Rick sighed in wonder. "Marshall, your so..."

"Cute?" Marshall finished for him. "Because I called you 'cute' and you didn't even say it back. You're supposed to say it back," he pouted.

"Well, you're certainly being real cute right now." Rick agreed, smirking.

"It comes natural, baby!"

"Is that why you were fishing for a compliment?" Rick started walking backward into camp.

"Validation every now and then never hurt anybody." Marshall shrugged, veering around the other side of the RV to head back to the house. He could feel Maggie's raised brow from a mile away, but pointedly didn't look up. It looked like Maggie had once again smoothed over some of the cracks with her beau. "Did you eat up?" Marshall asked the girl as he climbed the porch steps. She was still sat in the rocking chair, but now had one of his kid-friendly manga cracked open; Athena was by her feet busily gnawing on one of her dog bones.

Sophia perked up in the chair. "Yes! It was really good! I can't remember the last time I ate something so good!"

"And licked the bowl clean, too, I see." He teased, picking up the bowl and glass from the side table. Sophia blushed. "Don't be embarrassed. Come on, I'll grab you a glass of milk."

"I-I shouldn't." Sophia protested. "Mom told me it's best to stay out of the house and give your family space."

"Ah, that's thoughtful of your mama. Well, I don't want to get you in trouble, so I'll bring it out to you. And you can bring one for Carl, too. He didn't look very happy to be stuck by his mama when I saw him earlier."

"She's making him do homework."

"Your mama don't feel the same?"

Sophia bit her lip. "It's just... I was starting in Grade 8 before e-everything, and Carl was only in Grade 7. So, it's all the stuff I've learned before." She said it shyly, like it was something to be ashamed about. "Mom said I could do whatever I wanted as long as I stuck close and didn't cause trouble."

Marshall smiled. "Smart butterfly! And don't worry, you're no trouble at all." He winked and disappeared into the house. "I'll be right back." He set the dishes in the sink and tracked down a blue and a red tall plastic cups, and filled them to the brim from the milk jug. "Alright." He backed out the screen door and down the porch steps. Sophia followed his down, tucking the manga under her armpit. "Here's one."

"Thank you." She murmured, taking the cup with both hands, she took a gulp off the top, giving her a little milk-stache.

He chuckled. "Before I give you Carl's, tuck this away in a pocket." He held out a sandwich baggie to her.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. "Are those cookies?!" She was gaping at it like it was the Holy Grail.

"Yep. There was still some left at the bottom of the cookie jar. They're just oatmeal and cinnamon, but-"

"That's okay! Thank you!" Sophia took them before he could change his mind and managed to stow them in back pocket of her jeans, her blue eyes sparkling.

"We were lookin' a bit low on milk, so I was thinkin' I could take you milkin' tomorrow like I'd promised you at dinner."

"Really?"

"Yes. Carl, too, if he wants. Make sure to mention it to your mamas, okay?" With the Shane Situation coming to a head, he probably wouldn't get another chance and the girl had been so damn excited about it the first time he brought it up.

"I'll tell mom!" Sophia said excitedly.

"Here's Carl's." She carefully took the fuller cup in her right hand. "Got it?"

"Uh-huh!" she nodded carefully.

"Alright," he chuckled, watching her move at a snails pace down the dirt path, hyper focused on the gently sloshing milk. "Good luck and safe travels, butterfly." Athena head butted his thigh with a woof. "I know, I'll miss her, too." Marshall played with her pointed ear. "Come on, let's find your vest, girl." She followed him inside. He hummed haphazardly as he puttered around in search. "Hm." Probably in Beth's room, that'd been where Athena was last. They padded upstairs.

"Beth?" Marshall knocked briefly on her closed door. It creaked open an inch. "Sunny?" he pushed it the rest of the way open, a sudden, inexplicable spike of fear going through him—"What are you doing?" he questioned incredulously.

She was sat at her vanity, sunshine blonde hair bound in a high ponytail. Her left had held the tail of hair, the other a pair of scissors that were ineffectually hacking at the thick rope of hair. "What does it look like?"

"Cutting you hair?" Marshall voiced. "Very badly?"

"Shut up." She glared. She tossed the scissors down and released her pony, when she did, a chunk of long blond locks drifted to the floor. A second later the elastic sprung free. Marshall snorted. "I wanted a change!" Beth whined. "It's what they all do in the movies and books! The character goes through some life altering crap, they cut their hair, then they take charge."

"Nothing wrong with that." Marshall stepped into her room, Athena went to sniff curiously at the fallen hair. "Want me to cut it?"

"Do you even know how to?"

"I cut my own hair," he pointed out, ducking down to look at his reflection in the mirror. "Are you trying to saying I did a bad job?"

"No. But do you know how to do anything other than a high and tight?"

"Well... I guess you're gonna find out." He smirked.

Beth groaned. "I think I'll just finish it myself."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Don't be a baby. With that chunk you hacked off, it'd be too short for something like Maggie's. You want Carol-short?"

"No! I couldn't pull that off."

"Pixie?" Marshall suggested, running his fingers through her hair. "I can make you look Punk instead of Church."

"Hm." Beth regarded her reflection for a moment. "Alright, let's give it a shot!"

He tugged a lock. "Go wet your hair." Beth left for the bathroom and he looked around for Athena's vest when said dog suddenly sneezed and hacked. "Don't eat that!" he scolded, shooing her away from the hair.

"It's my shampoo," Beth said upon her return, ruffling her wet hair with a towel. "It's raspberry scented."

"She does love her raspberries," Marshall agreed. "Where's her vest?"

"Uh," she cleared her throat. "Chumley."

Marshall's eyes found the horse stuffie and he snorted. "My eyes skipped right over it." He got to work getting the vest off the stuffed animal and onto Athena with Beth brushed her tangled locks at her vanity, the damp towel laying across her shoulders. "Alright, alright, alright. What are we working with here?" he played with her hair.

"Stop messing around!" she laughed.

"Never!" But he picked up her comb and ran it through her hair, getting rid of the tangles he'd created. He clicked his tongue in thought, gaze going from her hair to her reflection.

"What?" she questioned warily. "Should I just get Maggie?"

Marshall scoffed. "You should definitely not trust Maggie to cut your hair! I just have a way better idea, I'll be right back." He left before she could question him further.

Athena laid her head on her thigh and Beth scratched her head. "I'm a little worried about it, too."

"I'm back!"

"What are you gonna do with that?!" Beth exclaimed, jumping to her feet at the sight of the electric razor in his hand.

"Relax," he cooed, hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the seat. "Trust your Big Bro, I've got an awesome idea!"

"Easy for you to say!" she muttered.

"Trust me. Close your eyes?"

"Why?" she whimpered. "What are you gonna do?"

"It's a surprise. Now close your eyes and let me work—I'm gonna make you look like a badass!"

"Okay." Beth squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders tense. "I'm trusting you with this, please don't fuck up my hair."

"Well, you already did that." Beth could only groan in response as he chuckled behind her. "Relax." Her posture did not relax even though all he was doing was clipping the long tresses out of the way so he could get at the clump she mutilated properly. "The razor is turning on—don't move." He turned the switch and she bodily flinched at the sudden buzz. "I said don't move!"

"Ah, God!" she tensed further, but forced herself still, her face scrunched up as tight as her eyes. He chuckled. "Don't laugh right now!"

"Stay still!"

Beth growled but did. She could imagine her hair severed from her scalp with the buzz of the razor in her head, felt the air against her skin. "You said you weren't going to do Carol's!?"

"I'm not." He turned off the razor.

"Are you done?"

"No." He put the razor down and picked up the scissors and comb, taking out the clips in increments. She stopped asking questions after that, and even though Marshall was humming, all she could hear was the snick of the scissors cutting off her hair right next to her ear. It was half-an-hour later that he put down the scissors and comb, yanked the towel from her shoulders and all the clinging hair, and fussily brushed her now dry hair to his vision. "Alright. The moment of truth. Open your eyes."

Beth took a moment to psych herself up. She didn't doubt her brother in many things, but this was one of the few that she did. Oh, well, it was almost winter anyways, she could always just wear a hat if it was awful. She peaked one eye open, then the next... and stared open-mouthed at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her right-side was shaved, thankfully not down to the scalp—which she was worried about—going as high as her temple and as far back as her nape. She fingered at the longer locks combed over on her left-side, it was a little chunky but not something that was obviously noticeable. All in all, it was more of a bastardized version of a bob than it was a pixie—and Beth fucking loved it!

"Holy shit, Marshall!" she squealed, jumping up and sending hair flying, hugging Marshall excitedly.

"I take you like it, then?" he chuckled.

"I love it! I didn't know I could look so badass!" she turned back to the mirror.

"Well, if you want to take it one step further..."

She slowly turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"We could dye it with food colouring." He pulled three little plastic bottles from his pocket. "Red, Blue, Yellow."

Beth stared at the dye in his hand. She was probably stupid for feeling as excited as she was about a damn hair cut, exhilarated at some cheap food dye. It'd also been months since she had this kind of enthusiasm about anything, and it just felt good not to feel like shit for a minute, to not think about all the serious shit. "Yes."

Marshall smiled, booped her on the nose. "You're hair won't be so sunshiny anymore, but you'll still be Sunny to me."

...

"What have you done to your hair?" Was the first thing out of Hershel's mouth at the sight of his youngest daughter. Jimmy was already sat at the table, gaze darting to and from the teenager.

"I just... needed a change." Beth responded as she finished setting out the plates, shoulders wary. She hadn't laid eyes on him since the funeral. Her jaw tightened to stop her from... she didn't even know—bursting into tears? Shrieking like a banshee?

"It's blue." Hershel pointed out.

A neutral assessment. "Yep."

Hershel watched her for a moment, before he sighed quietly and sat in his chair at the table. "It looks nice, Doodle-Bug."

Something instinctively relaxed in her at his acceptance—the little girl craving her daddy's approval. Maybe he actually thought that instead of just trying to pacify the anger that was sizzling beneath her pale skin and her blue-hair—that was the abandoned daughter. Or he just didn't want to start a fight, wanted to sweep his mistakes under the rug as always. Maybe Beth was just as exhausted and let it slid—for now.

[tWD]

"Auntie?" Marshall murmured, carefully elbowing the door out of his way, a tray in-hand. She hadn't come out of her room for dinner last night, and when he'd check on her, she wasn't very responsive—towards him, at least. She'd gotten out the photo albums... and Marshall's heart just kept breaking:

oh, Patricia, my darlin', Patricia
I can see my dreams in your eyes
your smile is as gay as the bright summer day
you're much fairer than Erin's blue skies

Now, though the curtains were still closed, though she was still in bed, clothes rumpled, hair lank, open photo albums taking over Otis' empty side of the bed, it wasn't heavy with silence. He could hear the guitar cords playing from the old cassette tape, could hear his uncle singing to his wife from The Spirit in the Sky:

oh, Patricia, my lovely, Patricia
you could make all my dreamin' come true
my heart is just droolin', Patricia, no foolin'
I'm falling in love with you

Marshall silently set the tray down in a cleared space on the nightstand. It was an assortment of things: a filled teapot with a cosy, water, milk, buttered bread with strawberry jam, fruit to pick at. Just in the hopes that she'd pick anything:

your smile is as gay as the bright summer day
you're much fairer than Erin's blue skies
my heart is just droolin', Patricia, no foolin'
I'm falling in love with you

Patricia was doing all the things she hadn't the chance to do when Otis had first died. It wasn't like this news reawakened the grief she felt, it hadn't even been a full week since they lost him, it'd never gone anywhere. If anything, it had become more. And with nothing to distract her and pull her away, it washed her away in a tidal wave:

oh, Patricia, my lovely, Patricia
you could make all my dreamin' come true
my heart is just droolin', Patricia, no foolin'

She didn't respond verbally when he just silently leaned over, stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. But he felt the exhale, the silent sigh, that brief instant of relief as she cried silently:

I'm falling in love
(I'm falling in love)
I'm falling in love with you

Marshall silently closed her bedroom door, his Uncle's voice cutting off as she rewound the tape and played it again, for the... Marshall would never know how may times. He inhaled deeply and swallowed the lump in his throat. He headed for the kitchen, he had a goal in mind for today with every intention of pulling it off.

"How is she?" Maggie questioned, making a coffee at the counter.

"The photo albums have come out, and she's been listening to a tape of Otis playing the guitar and singing to her." Marshall stirred the pitcher of iced tea he'd left on the counter. "I just want her to eat and drink something."

"Yeah." Maggie agreed softly, she still felt the guilt of how Patricia had found out the truth—all because of her angry outburst. She bit her bit, watching her brother fuss around. "So... you talked to Rick again?"

"Uh-huh."

"And?" she pressed.

"It's... figured out." He tucked a clean dishtowel over the top of the basket, hiding away the yummy, and still warm contents away from sight. He'd baked a load this morning, leaving the others in the still-warm oven.

Maggie frowned, turning fully to him. "You don't sound especially confident."

Marshall sighed. "It's figured out. What happens will happen, and if it doesn't happen... well, it fucking better or I'm going to lose it." If something happened to Rick because of the man's own guilt... Marshall shook his head. "They're going to wait until after to tell the Group the truth about everything—deal with all the anger and outrage when the actual danger is gone. So, how are things with Glenn?"

"Subtle." She muttered. Marshall shrugged, leaned back against the counter with a raised brow. "I'm not exactly sure where we stand... I haven't said it again, he hasn't said it yet. We're not exactly talking about it, but he's also not running away from me either, so I feel like that's a win."

"Nobody said love was easy." Marshall pointed out sympathetically. "And the end of the world doesn't exactly make it any easier."

Maggie scoffed in agreement. "Is that why Beth's hair is blue now?"

Marshall shrugged. "She wanted a change. That was the most visible and least harming. I distinctly remember someone else's Rebel Stage—pink and blue streaks, wasn't it?" he teased.

She stuck out her tongue. "Well, I guess we don't have to be too worried about it. I mean, she can't exactly run off to the city to get tattoos, and smokes will probably be as hard to find as chocolate these days. Is theft even a thing now when everything's free?"

"I suppose you're right." He sighed. "Poor Sunny—the only thing she can do is scorn love."

"She's still a brat," Maggie said. He snorted. She crossed her arms. "That shit she said about Glenn... like that shit wasn't the reason I didn't want to fall in love already. She was also fucking right about it being too late."

He squeezed her shoulder before he turned and picked up the pitcher and basket. "All you can do now is just embrace it, sis." He headed for the front door. He shouldered out and down the porch steps, heading for the camp. He easily spotted his two targets busily hanging up a fresh assortment of washing on the makeshift line they'd set up.

He eyed Lori for a moment, as she passed the clothing to Carol, who was at least doing the brunt of the activity. Marshall held back the comment that she should be resting. It was her body, she knew its limits way better than him. She knew the consequences of it if she pushed herself too far, so he refrained.

"Good morning, ladies." Marshall greeted. "I come bearing bribes and asking favours." He set the pitcher and bread basket on the little camp table set up nearby. "Don't take into account the weird combination." He joked.

"What's this favour?" Carol eyed him curiously.

"Taking your kids off your hands for a few hours?"

"And that's us doing you a favour?"

He shrugged. "Whichever way you want to look at it. They're good kids."

"Says the man that doesn't have any of his own." Lori muttered.

"It is what it is." Marshall dismissed. "So, what do you say? I promised Sophia I'd show her how to milk a cow."

"I remember," Carol murmured softly. She honestly hadn't seen her daughter so excited in years, or so trusting of any man. "She also mentioned something about that last night."

"Well, I ended up showing Rick last time, so I wanted to make up for it." He glanced to Lori, "And I certainly wouldn't mind Carl tagging along."

"He's still healing," Lori protested.

"Yes." Marshall agreed. "He's doing well. I wouldn't let him strain himself, but a little exercise is good for him. It'll help his digestion and any lingering constipation he might have. I think I might even be able to take out any stitching he has as soon as tomorrow."

"It's barely been a week!" Lori frowned. "He's only been out of bed for the last few days. He was shot and nearly died and you want to take out his stitches already?!"

"It's normal to be worried," he said calmly, "I know it seems fast with the amount of trauma his body's been through, but children are remarkable, far more endurable and adaptable than even adults. I'll examine him tomorrow, and we'll just go from there, alright?" She reluctantly nodded. "I was going to take out T-Dog's stitching as well, and if I can get a hold of Daryl..."

Carol chuckled lightly, "You have fun with that."

Marshall smirked, "I'm sure I will. He's stubborn."

"I think that would be a understatement."

"So?"

"Just milking?" Carol asked.

"Well, I was thinking the horse stables, too."

"To ride?" Lori's shoulders stiffened.

"Well, Carl definitely wouldn't. It would jostle him too much and he'd end up straining his abdominal muscles. But butterfly... I'd easily be able to get her on a horse."

"I don't know... it feels a bit dangerous." Carol admitted.

"You're her mama, whatever you want."

"Maybe another time."

Marshall nodded. "Then just feeding and brushing it is!—and petting, obviously, can't forget that. Is that a 'yes' from both Mama Bears?"

"Yes."

"Alright." Lori allowed.

"Great!" Marshall clapped his hands, glancing around the camp. "Any idea where I can find said rascals?"

"Carl had a handful of those comics you gave him, so he shouldn't be too far."

"And Sophia's usually not to far away—unless he's doing homework." Carol added.

"And Athena's typically with Sophia if she's not with me." Marshall whistled, different from the command for Athena to return to him. A moment later they heard her signalling yips. "That's my cue. Mamas, I'll have them back by lunchtime." He turned and headed out of the camp, a minute later Athena yipped again and he adjusted his course appropriately to soon end up at the chicken coop.

Athena approached him, tail wagging in greeting as he pet her, watching the two kids for a moment throwing seed down for the chicken. Well, it was one less chore he needed to worry about.

"Hi, Marshall!" Sophia wiped her hands off on her pants. "Are you taking Athena?"

"Nope."

"Are we in trouble?" Carl wondered warily.

"Nope."

Sophia and Carl exchanged confused looks. "Then why are you here?" the boy wondered.

"Hm," Marshall tapped his chin thoughtfully, teasing. "What was it again? It might have been something fun, if I'm remembering right..."

"Marshall!" they both whined, making the man grin.

"Butterfly, trouper—know anybody around here that wants to learn how to milk a cow? Or perhaps brush and feed the horses?"

Sophia perked up so fast she bounced. "You talked to mom?" she asked excitedly. "Does that mean she said 'yes'?"

"Yep. And I managed to convince your mama to let you in on this, too, Carl. If you're interested?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then. Follow me, little ducklings." They nipped at his heels like excitable puppies. Grabbing the needed supplies, the four made their way to the paddock. He let the two wander among the cows to choose which one they wanted to milk, and after a spot-check to see that her utters were indeed engorged, they settled on Tulip. After securing her harness, and wiping down her utter, he had two very attentive students knelt on either side of him as he demonstrated how to properly milk while testing each quadrant. "Don't pull, just squeeze downward. Alright, who wants to try first?"

"Can I?" Carl asked looking across at Sophia. She nodded.

"Alright." Marshall shifted back to let the boy front-and-center, the brim of his brown Sherriff's Hat knocking a bit against the side of the cow. The Ranger's arm reached over his shoulder, positioned Carl's dominant hand over the teat. "In the circle of thumb and forefinger... and squeeze gentle but firm downward." Marshall's much larger hand overlaid his small one in demonstration, a squirt of milk hitting the metal bucket loudly, making both kids jump.

"This is so weird!" Carl exclaimed.

He chuckled. "Now let me see you do it?"

Carl gave a tentative squeeze. The stream wasn't as powerful as Marshall's and he frowned. "I did it wrong?" he tilted his head to look at the man behind him, knocking his chin.

Marshall just nudged the brim unbothered. "Your squeeze was just a bit uneven, that's all. Wanna give it a go with your left, too?"

"Alright..." Carl dubiously reached forward and wrapped his left hand around the nearest teat. "L-like that?"

Marshall made a minor adjustment, "There. And squeeze," his hand overlaid the boy's again. "Again. Keep going, both hands." Marshall stopped puppeteering his hands and watched Carl continue to uncertainly milk. "You're as natural as your daddy was at this."

"Really?!"

"Yeah, you just got to find a good rhythm, and remember: squeeze downward, don't pull, trouper. You keep at that and I'm gonna get Sophia started on the other side—but, you get tired, you start hurting—you stop, you hear me? You sit back and you rest."

"Yes, sir." He nodded.

Marshall knocked the beam of his hat with his knuckle as he stood. "Alright, butterfly, your time to dance." He got her settled in front of him like he did Carl. "Just like a I showed Carl, you were paying attention, right?"

"Uh-huh!" her nod was rapid but her movement hesitant when she reached out with both hands—even though her positioning was correct. "Is that okay?"

"Perfect! You've done this before, haven't you?" he teased.

"No!" she giggled. "I'm just doing what you showed Carl."

This time, Marshall did puppet her hands, just to give her a general idea of amount of pressure she needed. "Show me what you got?"

"Okay." Biting her lip, she squeezed both her hands. She paused and looked back questioningly at Marshall.

"Don't look at me, you're doing just fine. Keep going!" Encouraged, she continued with more confidence. "If I'm not careful, you really gonna take over, aren't you?" he tugged a lock of her hair as she smiled shyly. "You okay over there, Carl?" Marshall called. "It's gone quiet."

"Fine." He said a little shortly. There was a disheartened sigh. "Were you lying about my dad?"

Marshall frowned and Sophia stopped milking, but he gestured her to continue and got up, rounding Tulip to find Carl sitting slumped, picking at his fingers. "Now why would I lie about a thing like that?"

"Adults lie about dumb things all the time!"

Marshall thought about that for a minute as he dropped to his butt beside the boy. "That's true. But it'd be a weird thing to fib about. It was your daddy's first time, just like you. He fumbled with it for a bit, but he's stubborn, and he found his rhythm." Marshall reached forward and started milking casually, but quickly. "Like that. It's tiring and repetitive, and it takes time and repetition to build up your tolerance, like with anything. You'll see that when you're fully healed and take a real swing at it. It's a good skill to have. Useful."

"Because we're leaving?"

That took Marshall off guard, but didn't outwardly show it as he continued to milk. "That's not for me to say."

"So, you are? You're kicking us out?!"

"Of course not." He replied calmly, looking over at the boy.

"You're lying! I heard mom arguing with dad," Carl mumbled. "Dad and Shane are leaving tomorrow to look at a new place that we might be staying."

Marshall swallowed, a stray surge of adrenaline setting his heart racing, sitting back. So, Rick was really going to go through with his plan, then. It'd gone quiet on the other side of the cow, but he didn't call out the girl on it. Whether she was milking or not, she'd still hear, and this kind of involved her. "When a decisions made, he'll tell you and your group."

"But—it's safe here!" Carl protested, chest heaving with anxiety. "There's food and water, and you have a big house! My mom's pregnant. It almost winter, we can't leave!"

"Carl," Marshall laid a firm hand on the small shoulder. "I need you to calm down. Deep breath. That's it. Again. I know things have been scary and overwhelming, nothing's been decided, alright? It's just a bit of window shopping."

"Everything's just been so... weird!" he sniffed. "Since Dale- since Dale died."

"People are sad, Carl. That's normal. All of us have been through a lot of loss recently. Everyone handles it differently. Some get quiet, some get loud. Some move their tent away from camp."

"You're talking about Daryl?" Sophia's voice came behind his shoulder, surprising him.

"Sophia, you scared the shit out of me!" Marshall exclaimed. "I didn't even hear you, you're quieter than a mouse."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be, quiet is also a useful skill."

"You swore!" Carl said.

"Don't tell your mother, her disapproval is intense." Carl could only agree with that. "Yes, butterfly, I was talking about the hunter. Do you two want to continue milking Tulip, or should I finish so we can 'horse around'."

The two 12-year-olds exchange a look. "We'll finish."

"Alright! I dig the determination and I appreciate this mini-vacation you're giving me."

A good hour passed before Marshall deemed them done and finished the milking, stripping the utter to encourage it to refill. He emptied the metal bucket into a plastic one with a lid, unhooked Tulip so she could go back to grazing. They left the paddock, and with a stroke of luck, Marshall spotted Jimmy nearby hacking away at the wood pile. Marshall whistled, gaining the 17-year-old's attention, and when Jimmy glanced over, Marshall waved him over, going to meet him halfway.

"I was just chopping wood." Jimmy said like it wasn't already obvious, wiping the beads of sweat from his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Marshall just nodded. "Nice work. Was wondering if you could run this milk to the fridge so I can boil it later?"

"Sure. No problem." Jimmy pulled off his work glove and took the bucket hand from the man.

"Thank you."

"H-hey, Marshall?" Jimmy stopped him before he could turn away. "I was just... w-worried about Beth? She's been a little-"

"She's working through some stuff, Jimmy. Just give her a little space. You keep poking her and she'll bite your fingers off."

"R-right. Of course. Th-Thanks, Marshall." Jimmy quickly turned away for the house.

Marshall watched him for a second before shaking his head and heading back to the kids. "Poor bastard." Knocking a hat brim and tugging a lock of hair, he ushered the two slightly impatient 12-year-olds to the stables.

"There's so many!" Sophia gasped, her eyes bright.

"Yeah. I'll introduce you to each, you can give 'em a little snack, then I'll show you how to brush this big guy here." Marshall pointed out Thor. "That'll keep you occupied for a bit." He grabbed the vegetable basket and selected a cucumber and used Boomer as an example for what to do. "Hold out your fist like this, let them come to you. Don't be nervous, ain't no reason to be and they can sense that so it'll make them nervous in turn. Then," Marshall broke the end off the cucumber, "Offer it out with your palm and fingers flat. They'll lip it up and that's that." He broke the remaining piece of cucumber into two and offered each a piece. "Your turn." He patted Boomer's neck as Sophia stepped up to the plate.

Some wariness was normal, especially for the first time being around the animals, not to mention just their sheer large size. Sophia naturally flinched when Boomer exhaled heavily from his large nostrils on her hand, but she ended up giggling at the feeling of his lips tickling her palm as he ate the cucumber. Carl was naturally more confident after having watched Sophia go first and nothing went amiss. At the realization that treats were being handed out, the other horses started poking their heads out their stalls. It wasn't until Marshall was leading Thor out of his stall by his bridle to the floor that Sophia and Carl's attention was temporarily drawn away to the far stall by the high-pitched mews for attention.

"You have kittens?" Sophia cooed as the pair knelt outside the board that kept the kittens contained, said kittens scrabbling at the board in curiosity at the visitors. The mother cat watching them warily from on high upon a shelf. "Can we pet them?"

"Go ahead."

"They're so tiny!" Carl laughed as one tried to wrestle his hand.

"They're only about 4 weeks old now. Still new to the world, still drinkin' their mama's milk." Marshall clipped Thor's bridle to the post with a tether to keep him in place.

"Do they have names?" Sophia asked.

"Just the mama, Patches." Patches meowed as she caught sight of Marshall passing to the equipment stall across the way to grab the brushes.

"Why are they out here instead of in the house?" Carl wondered, looking over his shoulder.

"They're barn cats. It's in the name. Patches is the rodent control around here, keeps 'em from getting into the horse feed and such." Marshall returned with various brushes. "C'mon now. Let me show you how to do this, you can visit the kitties later, they're not going anywhere." Because of the size difference, Marshall hefted each kid onto a sturdy stool on either side of Thor after a little show and tell with the brushes. The man kept a close eye as he brushed the knots and tangles from Thor's tail, making sure neither over reached and toppled off. "Just like that, nice long strokes. You're scratchin' all those itches he can't get."

"I see he put you straight to work," Rick remarked, hands on his hips as he slowly walked in, looking around.

"What are you doing here, dad?" Carl questioned.

"Your mothers sent me for you—you're an hour overdue for lunch."

"Ah, my fault." Marshall pulled back the Velcro cover on his watch. "I wasn't paying attention.

"Can't we finish first?" Sophia asked.

"Not today." Marshall swung her down from the stool. "Best not to leave your mamas waiting any longer, or they won't let you back."

Carl hopped down by himself with a quiet grunt, straightening his hat. "You alright?" Rick questioned, hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"Hey, don't push it." Marshall flicked his brim. "I'll be swinging by tomorrow to check on those stitches, see if we can't take them out."

"Really?" Carl perked up. "It's not too soon?"

"We'll see."

Carl sighed. "You always say that."

"And it's always true." Marshall smirked.

"Go on, back to camp now." Rick encouraged. "Both of you."

Sophia said goodbye to Thor and Marshall both before leaving with Carl. Marshall went absently back to Thor's tail, fingers deftly moving to create small braids out of the mass of hair.

Rick's gaze was stuck on his dextrous fingers for a moment before he commented: "You're good with them." Nodding his chin to where the kids had disappeared.

"Here are some irrevocable truths: Don't matter the state of the world—they're still 12-year-olds." Marshall murmured. "And in the end, not matter what, animals are the most genuine. In the end, it won't matter if you nurtured them from birth or taught them for years—one thing will always win out."

"And what's that?"

"Survival Instinct."

"Couldn't the same be said for humans?"

"In a way. The difference? From experience... I have found... when the echoes of Death's footsteps approach, humans have an inclination towards, hm, duplicity and immorality, to simply get a few steps ahead."

Rick swallowed. "That's..."

"Fear." Marshall mused. "I guess, in the end, it only really comes down to two things—which do you fear more? Living or The End."

"Are you alright, Marshall?" Rick asked him genuinely, worried.

"I apologize. That was, uh," he chuckled, rubbing his forehead with his wrist. "That was just me being retrospective at an odd time. Don't pay it any attention, weirder things have happened when my mind wanders."

"Are you afraid of death?" Rick asked abruptly.

Marshall blinked at him. "That's a heavy question." He absently tapped at the tags under his thin shirt. "I've flirted with death on many occasions—and by that, I don't mean dangerous situations with the possibility of death—I mean that my heart has genuinely stopped beating in my chest. Not exactly a stranger here, so... Not personally scared. Do you know what I mean?" He wondered. "Like, it's not me I'm scared for... but what happens to my sisters? If I'm not here, if they're not ready—will my death kill them? Not to put so much stock into myself in the Grand Scheme we call Life, but... when I die, will it get them killed, too?"

"I can understand that," Rick whispered.

"Yes. I suppose you can." Marshall went back to braiding. "Not to put a damper on this light-hearted mood of ours..."

"What is it?"

Marshall sighed quietly, finishing off another braid before looking over at the man who was stroking Thor's thick neck. "Carl and Sophia know that you're 'looking for a new place' to set up camp—apparently Carl heard you and Lori arguing about this 'new place' that you were going to check out tomorrow with Shane."

"Dammit." Rick muttered, combing his fingers through his curls. "She knows what it means—me taking Shane out there. Suffice it to say, she wasn't happy about it."

"Mm." Marshall made a noncommittal noise, biting his tongue.

"What?" Rick questioned. "Just say it. Whatever it is—just say it."

"It doesn't matter, it's your marriage, it's not my place." He shook his head. "I'm going to stop 'harping' on you as Daryl so affectionately put it. I just want to say one thing, and then I'll climb off your back. You already got enough shit to deal with and you don't need me nattering in your ear about it, too."

"Alright." Rick conceded after a moment of consideration.

Marshall took a deep breath. "No matter what happens out there... whether you excommunicate him... or execute him—you have to come back, Rick Grimes."

Rick frowned, brows creased. "I plan to, Marshall."

"Good." Marshall nodded, breaking eye contact to turn his attention once again back to braiding. "Then we'll see each other again."

[tWD]

"Marshall?" Beth questioned from her brother's bedroom doorway, watching as he was sorting through his med kit, creating a separate pile of items. "Rick left with Shane a while ago..."

The man gave a noncommittal hum, not looking up from his task. "I'm starting to run low." Marshall sighed. "Not the high-quality drugs and medication I shouldn't have—but iodine, alcohol swabs, and medical tape, of all things."

"You don't want to... talk about it?" Beth stepped closer.

"Nope."

"What if I want to talk about it?" She pressed.

Marshall stopped, raised his head and looked at her. "Do you?"

Beth stared for a moment, playing with a lock of blue-hair. "I don't know." She admitted.

"What's happening, is happening. There's nothing left to do but wait." Marshall told her. "As... scary as that is, you're just going to have to... trust."

"What are you doing?" she asked, leaning against him.

"Prepping, with a side of inventory." Marshall said. "How was your ride?"

"Good. Hopscotch was a bit stubborn at first, I'd been neglecting her, but she was happy to stretch her legs." She admitted quietly. "And it was nice to just... forget about everything for a bit."

"And Jimmy?"

Beth blew an annoyed raspberry. "Staring at me with puppy-eyes."

"What else were you expecting? For him to just go along with you campaign against love—when he has no idea that, that is what's happening?" Marshall pointed out wryly.

"Maybe," she muttered petulantly.

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of teenage romance."

"He'll get with the program eventually—or he'll die. One of them will come first."

"Sunny-" Marshall sighed heavily. "Alright. He's your boyfriend, not mine, handle it however you want. Just know, while he may be your first dumb boyfriend—yours isn't the only heart at play here. Don't be an asshole and play with him, put him out of his misery when you figure out what you really want."

"Sounds fair." Beth decided without much fuss. "What are you actually doing?"

"Distracting myself." He nudged her off him, repacking his med kit and picking up the bundle he'd separated. "Can you check-in on auntie? Bring her something to drink and eat?"

"I already did before I came up here." She whispered.

"Thank you." Marshall pressed a kiss to her forehead. "She needs space but not be alone."

...

"Howdy," Marshall greeted. "I'm here for some stitches, know where I can find any?"

Carl's hand immediately went into the air. "You can have mine—I'll give you them for a new box of comics."

"Oh, you're negotiating?" he chuckled. "That's cute. What about you, T-Dog?"

"I don't know, man, those comics sound mighty interesting." T-Dog teased.

"What? No fair, you have more stitches than me." Carl pouted.

"How about we combine our stitches and go into it together?"

"Okay." Carl nodded. "Does that work?" he asked Marshall.

"Sound like a deal to me! Who wants to go first?" Marshall looked between the two.

"Little man can." T-Dog said. "Give 'im first crack at those comics."

"You can do it in our tent." Lori spoke curtly, arms crossed over her chest.

"Lead the way, trouper." Marshall followed to the largest tent set up in camp. Even with the pump mattress, folded up cot, and card table in the corner with two fold-chairs, it fit 3 people easily enough without them tripping over each other. Marshall had Carl sit in one of the chairs, relaxed back with his shirt raised while Marshall simply knelt in front of him.

Marshall opened an wipe, gently using it to clear any crust from the stitches as he examined each shrapnel wound, giving a once over of the ones closed with steri-stripes. Like Patricia had done for T-Dog's wound, Hershel had used a continuous suture for Carl's 4 inch surgical incision. "All of these look good, healing along nicely. I see no reason why I can't remove the stitching. You ready for that, trouper?"

"Yeah." Carl glanced at his mother as she worriedly clasped his hand. "I had stitches before—I fell off my bike, busted up my lip." He pulled down his bottom lip to show off the white scar amid the shiny pink. "There was blood everywhere! But I didn't have to get them removed."

"Internal stitches, like in your abdomen or mouth are dissolvable, they come out on their own." Marshall picked up tweezers and thin-edged scissors. "This shouldn't hurt. All I'm gonna do is pick up the suture thread like so," he used one of the smaller shrapnel wounds that Hershel managed to throw a couple interrupted stitches into, "Snip, little pull. Easy as that. How did that feel?"

"Okay. I could feel a bit of tugging, but it didn't hurt."

"Tell me if you want a break, alright?" Marshall go to work, humming. Carl had his chin tucked down, watching with interest, the little pieces of blue thread starting to pile up as he begun on the continuous sutures. first the knots at either side of the wound, then snip and pull each cross. "That's it." He wiped away a couple tiny beads of blood that welled up. "Don't worry about the steri-stripes, they'll fall off on their own. I would recommend leaving the bandage over it, just so your shirt doesn't rub you raw and rip the scabs off too soon. Let that breath for a minute and I'll be back with your payment, boss."

Marshall didn't realize that he was followed until halfway to the house and she spoke. "Why would you let him go?" Lori's muttered accusation stopped him in his tracks. There was no doubt who she was speaking about.

Marshall managed to keep the frustration and worry from his tone, unlike her. "You don't think I tried to stop him? He thinks it's his fault, that it's his responsibility."

"You think it's mine?" she challenged angrily with her own guilt.

"No." Marshall said sincerely, taking her off-guard. "I think it was just a collective of things, from several sources, with no ill-intention, that just culminated into this... no-win scenario."

"You know what he's going to do!" she hissed after a moment.

"I know what he has to do." Marshall corrected. "I'll be back with that box of comics for Carl." He left her there, going up to Shawn's bedroom and grabbing another box of comics.

Lori wasn't there when he came back, nor was she with Carl when he dropped the box off and taped a fresh gauze pad to the boys stomach—it was a lot to swallow: your husband killing your ex-lover. T-Dog was already waiting for him at the picnic table, and set to work. It was quiet but for Marshall's humming as he worked along the man's suture line. Snip and pull.

"Know where Daryl is?" Marshall asked when he finished.

"If he ain't at his tent, I have no idea."

"Alright." Marshall gathered his stuff, tossed the cut sutures into the fire as he passed and headed for the hunter's little camp. Nothing had changed from the night before, other than the unlit campfire and the absence of his intended target.

Marshall sighed quietly, but set his small bundle on top of a camping stool that sat out and sprawled into the grass. He had nothing better to do than wait, after all:

your colour's fading
'cause I kept you waiting
it's a wild, wild world
and you're a wild, wild girl

our sun's still shinning
but it seems half the size
and it's a wild, wild world out here
before my time runs out

One arm folded behind his head to act as a cushion, he closed his eyes against the sun:

what if I run away to Mars?
would you find me in the stars?
would you miss me in the end
if I run out of oxygen?
when I run away to Mars

I can't tell which way is home
I've been gone for so long
it's an empty world up here
I skip stones and wonder
how long til I'm discovered
it's a quiet life up here

He could hear the whisper grass being brushed aside but could feel no breeze. A hunter on approach:

before my time runs out

what if I run away to Mars?
would you find me in the stars?
would you miss me in the end
if I run out of oxygen?
when I run away to Mars

Even behind closed eyelids, he could feel the sun's intensity lessen as he was stood over, casting him in shadow. Yet still, the hunter didn't call him out, just like when he was playing the piano a few days ago. So, just like then, Marshall didn't stop singing:

three, two, one, I miss you
I'm sorry, I got issues

what if I run away to Mars?
would you find me in the stars?
would you miss me in the end
if I run out of oxygen?
when I run away to Mars

"What if I'd been a walker?" Daryl challenged from above him. "This ain't no damn spa for you t' be nappin' in the grass!"

Marshall opened his green-eyes to a pretty enticing angel of the man standing over his head. "I didn't know you cared."

Daryl tsked. "I ain't gonna be the one tellin' your sisters an' old man you got yourself killed signing kumbaya in the damn grass." He rudely stepped over the man instead of simply going around.

"If you were a piranha..." Marshall mumbled softly. "I would be sad."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Daryl growled in response. "Can't you leave me alone for one damn minute?"

"When your company is, oh, so welcoming?" Marshall quipped back. He leaned up on his elbow to observe the hunter as he leaned his crossbow against the outside of his tent. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"If you're just gonna be a smartass..." Daryl muttered.

"So, you have been looking." Marshall said. "Ditto, Dixon."

Daryl turned to him sharply with a glare. "You want me to beat your ass?"

"I already told you, Daryl." He climbed to his feet. "You can't tease me like that."

"Shut up!"

"Flirting aside," Marshall waved a hand. "I'm here for those stitches of yours—lose the shirt." Daryl snarled. "Sorry, sorry. Can I please take out your stitches now before things go FUBAR? It won't even take 10 minutes." Daryl continued to glare. "I'll be gentle? Come on," He picked up his stuff from the stool, giving it a pat as he knelt by it, things balanced on his thigh. "You want me out of your hair, right?" he squirted on some hand sanitizer.

Daryl tsked and finally threw himself onto the stool. "If it'll get you t' leave faster." He muttered. "An' no talkin'. Or singin'. Or that damn hummin'!"

"So demanding." Marshall murmured. "Hold your shirts up so I can see."

Daryl grunted but fisted the hem of his shirts at his ribs with a crossing arm. Marshall had to consciously not start humming as he set to work, the same steps as both Carl and T-Dog: clean the stitches, snip and pull. Marshall was very honestly but pleasantly surprised that Daryl hadn't decided to just take the stitches out himself instead of letting Marshall near him again. But within a couple minutes, the mirrored wounds were stitch-free. Marshall rose to gain access to the graze at Daryl's temple obscured by messy hair, but still had to lean over the man slightly to get a better angel. Daryl flinched at the gentle feeling of Marshall's fingers combing in his hair.

Marshall paused. "Just moving your hair out of my way."

"Whatever." Daryl grunted.

Marshall parted the hair and peeled away the plaster. He unconsciously clicked his tongue at the sight of the 2 1/2 inch graze held together by interrupted sutures and steri-strips.

"What?"

Marshall paused in confusion. "What?" Daryl pulled back enough to squint suspiciously up at him. "Something wrong?"

"Just get on with it." He finally said, swiping the air.

"Okay..." Marshall said slowly, still confused but went back to task. He spent a little more time cleaning up the graze because its position in Daryl's hairline where it was more inclined to sweat, as opposed to his side which would have been more inclined to pop a stitch.

"The hell you doin' up there?"

"Shooting my shot because I know you're not gonna let me near you to do it again." Marshall informed. "I know the sweat makes it itchy and sting."

"I ain't no damn kid."

"Never said that." Using his pinkie and the edge of his hand to keep the hair at bay, Marshall grabbed the knot of the stitch furthest back into the hairline and snipped. "This may hurt, it's pretty scabbed back here." Was all the warning he gave before he pulled. Daryl didn't make a sound, but he did smack the man's thigh with the back of his hand. "Healing hurts, ironically enough—but I'm sure you already know that."

Daryl's shoulders tensed. "You know nothin' about me."

"Agreed." Marshall whispered. He removed the remaining stitches in silence. He cleaned up the few drops of blood that welled up from the pulled scabs, but didn't put a new plaster over it. "There, finished. I'll get out of your hair—literally." He snickered. Marshall turned to leave without further ado. "Don't miss me too much when I'm gone, okay, hunter?"

"And why the hell would I do that?" Daryl muttered, watching Marshall walk away.

When Marshall made it back to the house, he set the tweezers and scissors on the side table and dropped heavily onto the couch in the front room. Slumped back, head resting against the back of the couch to stared at the ceiling with hooded eyes, booted feet stretched out in front of him. A moment later, Athena trotted in, dull nails clicking on the hardwood, and hopped up, sprawling across his lap.

"There's my girl," he murmured, burying fingers into fur. Her tail whapped lightly against the cushion. His eyes fell closed. He couldn't have been idle for more than half-an-hour before a presence announced themselves.

"Marshall, I've been looking for you."

"Here I am."

"Please look at me when I'm speaking to you?" Marshall raised his head from the back of the couch, and shifted to sit up straighter, but otherwise stayed his place, looking over at his daddy. Hershel observed his son for a moment before he commented, "You look tired."

"Busy days." And restless sleep for the passed couple days. "So, do you, daddy."

"I've had a lot to think about." Hershel told him. "And my children haven't been speaking to me."

"You wanted to leave us." Marshall whispered. "You... chose alcohol over us. You've always been a pillar of strength for our family, daddy. We had to watch you crumble and the roof collapsed on our heads."

"That's exactly what I did, son, I crumbled. I refused to see the truth, and when I had no choice but to see it... I was lost and afraid. I didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to protect you and the girls, when I was the one that brought the danger here? I was stuck looking to the past, at Annette and Shawn when I should have been looking forward—toward you, Maggie, and Beth."

"What actually changed your mind?" Marshall wanted to know. Needed to. Logically, impersonally, he could understand it, the trauma, the loss of hope—but Hershel had not been alone, there was still people here, living people, that needed him and relied on and loved him. That also hung on for him.

Hershel was quiet for a moment. "Rick did."

Marshall slowly nodded. "And that... crap that we'd be just fine without you?" he scoffed.

"All true, but that doesn't have to be now. Shouldn't have to be."

"Alright." What else was he supposed to do, be resentful and spurn his daddy at the end of the world? "Maggie and Beth, you're going to have to fix that yourself."

"I know."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"No, though I'm glad we did." Hershel shook his head. "I've been thinking on it... winter's nearly here, the cold will be settling in. We should see about getting everyone settled into the house."

Marshall sat and stared at his daddy with silent raised eyebrow, caught off-guard. What timing! Would Hershel feel the same when the truth came out about Otis? Would it even matter if Rick's Group went to Lou's Orchard anyway? If they did, it might still just be easier for everyone to stick around here for the winter than trying to settle-in and establish a new home in the dead of winter. "That's... gonna be complicated, daddy." Marshall finally settled on.

"I know. There will be a lot of us, it'll be crowded. I figured we'd be upstairs, and they'd settle in downstairs. The guest rooms, sitting room, front room. Rick and his family would take my room."

"A proper discussion will have to wait until Rick gets back." Marshall played with Athena's soft ear.

Hershel nodded. "I just wanted to tell you first. Where exactly did Rick go?"

"I wasn't sure you'd ever change your mind about letting them stay. Fort Benning would just be a death march, but I'd thought that Lou's Orchard might be a good alternative."

"He went to check it out?" Hershel frowned. "And you didn't go with him?"

Marshall didn't have a believable answer other than 'it's complicated' and that hadn't worked the first time he tried to use it. He was actually surprised that it hadn't been a question that had come up from those in the Group that weren't in the know of the truth.

"Marshall," there was low scolding in his tone, "What exactly is going on here?"

Maggie came into the house, oblivious to what she'd just walked in on, chuckling with Glenn. She paused, looking between the two. "Everything okay?"

"Your brother's hiding something." Hershel said, turning his gaze to her. Maggie reactively clammed up. "Glenn?" Glenn just looked confused and uncomfortable.

"What's going on?" And enter Beth from upstairs. She crossed the room and sat beside Marshall on the couch, petting Athena.

"Beth, are you aware of what the twins are up to?"

Beth glanced at her older siblings, before laying her cheek on her brother's shoulder. "Totally."

"And you don't think it's something that I should be made aware of?" Hershel questioned sternly.

"That's for Marshall to decide."

"What did you just say to me, young lady?"

Beth inhaled sharply through her nose, her jaw working for a moment in anger. She glared at her father. "You chose to leave us! You left without a damn word. We can do this without you, wasn't that the point? You don't need us, we don't need you, right? So you don't get to involve yourself like you're worried about us!" She panted, fists clenched at her sides. She didn't remember standing, but there she was.

"Of course, I'm worried about you, Beth-Anne."

"Did you just say you liked my hair so I'd be happy and trust you again?"

"I wouldn't do that. I was surprised by the change, but it suits you."

"Maybe... maybe we should all just get it over with." She muttered, sniffing. Doing a sudden 180. "Save ourselves the pain. Go out as-as a family." She looked around at Maggie, Glenn, and daddy's horrified faces, and Marshall's blank one as they realized what she meant. "All of us. Glenn, too." She gestured.

Maggie gaped at her sister. "What?"

"I saw daddy give him his pocket watch the other day—he's family now."

Marshall's green gaze met his father's for a moment before they shifted to the younger man. "I see."

"I'm sorry." Glenn blurted as soon as he was under the mirror of his girlfriend's gaze.

"Why?" It wasn't said meanly.

"It- Stuff like that, it-it's supposed to go to the son, not-"

"It was never going to be mine." Marshall said simply and Glenn looked even more confused. "It was always supposed to be Shawn's." He shifted Athena off his lap and stood, hugging his little sister. "But we won't be with mamas, Otis, Shawny, Rocky," he murmured into her blue-hair.

"We'll still be together." Beth muttered piteously.

"We're together now. And one day, we'll all be together again with The Spirit in the Sky, but just not today, Sunny. Alright? Not today."

"Not today." She slumped against him.

"Welcome to the family, Glenn. As you can see, we're your typical all-American nuclear family just trying to make it in the apocalypse. Enjoy."

"Thanks, I think." Maggie gave him a wry smile. They faintly heard the crunch of gravel. Glenn went to the window and spotted the green Hyundai pulling up. "They're back!" he headed outside and Maggie quickly followed him out onto the porch.

They. Had Glenn meant in the general sense or the literal sense? Surely he wouldn't be able to see clearly from the house. Beth stepped from the hug. "Athena, close." Marshall ordered, tapping his thigh in signal. "Orange."

"Marshall, what's going on?" Hershel demanded.

"Not now, daddy."

The two blue-eyed Greenes followed the Ranger out. Jimmy rose curiously from the rocking chair at the sudden gathering crowd of, well, everyone, at the front of the porch. He moved behind Beth on the porch as Marshall stepped down, giving Athena a silent command via hand signal. The overhead sun glared off the Hyundai's windshield, making it impossible to see its occupants...

Of all the scenarios that Marshall had over-thought in the intervening hours of the pair's absence: Rick killing Shane. Shane killing Rick and returning to the farm with another Hero Story just like he'd done with Otis. Even Rick simply letting Shane go. The one that never even crossed his mind—two doors opened—Rick returning to the farm with Shane in tow!

Lori gave a shuddering gasp of relief and confusion at the sight of both men, both their faces a painting of blood, bruises, and lacerations like they'd gone a round of fisticuffs. Lori shot a hard, wary look over at Marshall before hurrying over to her husband. "Rick, are you okay?" her hands hovered over his face. "Your face is all beat up! What happened?"

"I'm fine." Rick grasped her hands pulling them down as he squeezed them.

"Dad?" Carl questioned, but Rick waved him back when he tried to approach. The boy frowned but hung back by Carol and Sophia.

Rick managed to meet Marshall's eyes—guilt, frustration... helplessness. Of course, Rick couldn't just blatantly kill his best-friend in what could be construed as an act of 'cold-blood'. He'd only killed those two men in Hatlin's because they'd been about to shoot him, Hershel, and Glenn; he'd wanted to help Randall even after he'd been shooting at them. So, Marshall wasn't exactly surprised, or even raging, he was just fucking tired of this horrible situation. It didn't take being psychic to realize there would be no winners here, simply losers.

"What the hell happened?" Andrea questioned.

"We found another group—set up at that orchard we went to check out." Shane announced, hip leant against the front of the Hyundai, taking control of the conversation before Rick could.

Daryl's calloused thumb brushed repetitively over and over the pads of his other fingers, itching to have it curled around his crossbow as his eyes darted between Points A, B, and C, (such similar standing to when they first found out the barn was filled with walkers, especially with Carol-Sophia-Carl behind and to the right of him), but having his crossbow at the ready when there was no 'danger' would only be suspicious.

"And they did that to your faces?" Carol spoke.

"I recognized one of the men." Rick clarified. "He was a part of the ones that attacked us in town, the one that managed to get away. It was Randall's Group."

While the others were sharing looks at this sudden new and possible threat popping up, Marshall's face was blank, mouth tight and eyes like glass as his green-gaze subtly flickered between both men. Half his brain registered the conversation going on, while the other was spinning its back wheels in the mud on something a little more critical to the situation—trying to figure out exactly how much Shane knew. How far had had Rick managed to get into his interrogation before the fists started to fly?

It was easy to think that Rick would have started with something 'small' and obvious, like Shane-and-Lori, which would easily lead into Carl/Otis, and then it would just have to be a nosedive into The Barn/Dale. But if Shane was here, then Marshall was sure that it didn't reach that 3rd Tier, especially not if Rick gave away that Marshall was aware of Tier 2 and 3. Shane would certainly be more tense, wary, and caged—especially in regards to Marshall—and if Marshall took Daryl's word, the man wasn't exactly subtly when he was worked up into a tizzy.

"They're bigger than us, counted at least 30." Shane added, egging on the concern for this unknown group. "Mostly men—and well-armed." And no one else but a select few seemed to realize that neither man answered Andrea's question as concern of a possible threat distracted them, as was exactly Shane's intention.

Daryl's eyes lingered on Rick for a moment, trying to see if what Shane was saying was the truth and not some sort of exaggeration, but the general worried frown wasn't exactly helpful. He had to figure it was an active and large enough threat for the man to risk bringing Shane back. His gaze strayed to Marshall, and even though he only had a side profile of the younger man, he was giving off those same vibes as he had on approach of the barn. The soldier. Sure as shit, Marshall was gearing up for something, even if his expression gave away not a lick of worry at either situation.

"Marshall." Maggie's tone was pointed and wary, hands gripping the railing. She was concerned about this group moving in 'next door' but she was more pissed that she was looking at Shane Walsh back on their farm. Marshall cut her a look that clearly stated: stay out of it, Maggie! stay there! Maggie snarled under her breath but did as told as Glenn cast her a worried look.

"Everybody, calm down!" Marshall ordered evenly, left hand raised in a calming gesture. He only continued when all eyes were on him, "Lou's Orchard may be our closest neighbour, but it's still over 30 miles away from our farm. With a whole lot of woods, road, and river in-between. They're not an active threat and would have no reason to even venture this way, especially in the winter, when they have all the resources at the orchard."

Shane's gaze hyper-focused on the younger man. "That's a lot of speculation." He drawled.

"No. It's the obvious, objective conclusion." They eyed each other for a moment. Marshall's shoulders shifted back and down, casual. Hands hanging loosely at his side, right next to the holster on his thigh.

"If the orchard's no longer an option, what are we supposed to do?" Glenn spoke up. When he went to step down off the porch, Maggie grabbed his hand and pulled him back. "Maggie, what-?"

"Stay." Maggie muttered, casting a pointed look to her daddy and sister, fingers tightening in his.

"Easy," Marshall answered. "Daddy already decided that the 9 of you should move into the house with us for the foreseeable winter."

"Are you retarded or something?" Shane scoffed. "There's 10 of us."

"I can count just fine, thank you. Thing is," Marshall's gaze fixed on Shane. "Only 9 of you are welcome. The tenth? You. Are not."

"What are you talking about?" Andrea stepped forward with indignant defence, looking from Shane to glare at Marshall. "What, because of what happened at the barn you're going to kick him out into the cold?" She blinked as she was suddenly regarded with a green pitying stare; he wondered how much self-loathing she was going to feel when she realized she was defending Dale's murderer?

"Girl, chill." T-Dog touched her elbow but she pulled away.

"Seriously, man." Shane was quick to hop onto the bandwagon presented to him on a silver platter. "A petty grudge? Tasing me in the back and knocking me out wasn't enough? It was the right move, man. Those things weren't sick," he said pointedly. "They weren't alive. And you knew that, too, because you cleared that whole damn barn out yourself—family included."

"You son of bitch!" Maggie's uttered cry carried from the porch. "That wasn't your decision to make!"

Shane didn't even give her a second glance, just dismissed her, same as that morning before the barn. This time it was Glenn squeezing her hand and holding her back.

"You're saying that like I should be grateful." Marshall spoke. "What a crock of shit! There's nothing about you that I would ever be grateful for, Shane Walsh. Ever since you've been here, all you've brought is tragedy."

Shane's shoulders tensed as he straightened from the car. "What the hell you tryin' to say, man?"

"You know exactly what I am saying." Marshall retorted, stared fixed. "So, the answer to your question is simple, Andrea—Shane murdered my uncle. He widowed my aunt."

"What?" it was Hershel's uttered exclaimed that broke through the stunned silence. He stumbled and Beth was quick to grasp his arm and steady him.

Marshall wanted to cast an apologetic look to his daddy. He'd done just as Maggie had with Patricia, though her reveal of the devastating news had been unintentional, while Marshall's had been intentional, but he daren't look away from the accused man. "Like some sort of sick retribution for accidentally shooting Carl—as if him risking his life already wasn't restitution enough."

"Shane?!" Carl's cry of confusion cut across the group, unshed tears glossed his eyes, his voice wobbly.

"Oh, baby!" Lori muttered, hand covering her mouth as Carol pulled Carl and Sophia tightly against her sides in an inadequate form of comfort to the situation.

Shane's gaze jumped to the boy who'd become his pseudo son. "Of- of course, I didn't, buddy. He helped me get the supplies we needed for your surgery. He- he stepped up and saved me so I could bring back those supplies!"

"Uh-huh." Marshall wasn't moved (though he needed to find a way to make it up to Carl if he could when this was all over; the boy did not need to hold the guilt for Shane's despicable actions). "Bait's good like that." He retorted coldly. "Live bait, especially. They squeal and they struggle and they bleed—all very enticing for piranha." His sisters weren't the only ones to flinch at the description. "It was a nice story you spun for my family, kept them pacified in their grief, but there were holes in your story.

"Otis stayed behind to cover you—yet you came back with his gun. Are you going to try and talk your way out of that? How about the fact that you already confessed to the deed?" Shane's body jerked in an aborted move to look over at Lori, the woman dropping her own gaze as her husband squeezed her shoulder. "Should I go into more of the dirty details?"

"Man, you're so full of shit!" Shane blustered. "You're just spinning this shit around on me because of your guilt and that fact that you weren't around for your own family-"

Fury burst inside of Beth and she shouted at him, letting go of her father. "He was saving Sophia and Daryl, asshole!"

"What'd you just call me, little girl?"

"Do not speak to my sister." Marshall warned in a low tone.

Shane spat, "I'm not gonna take shit from some little girl-"

"Such a big man," Marshall mocked in a dull voice, unimpressed, infuriating the other man further. "You think you're Big Shit? Hell, maybe you were—Big Shit in a small town. A Big Shit in high school. A Big Shit quarterback," he gaze flicked the '22' necklace that gleamed silver on the open space of his chest. "A Big Shit ladies man alpha male around town... but when the Big Wide World went to Shit... well, now you're just a small piece of shit in this Big Shitty World."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You wanted to go at my teenage sister, I thought I'd just give you taste."

"And 'piece of shit' was the best that you could come up with?"

"Well, your an asshole... so, yeah, I thought it was pretty clever."

Daryl coughed. Shane took an incensed step forward.

"Marshall, stop playing games." Rick warned.

"You're right," Marshall briefly held his palms out in acquiesce, "No more games, Rick. This ends here, now. They deserve the truth." Shane's suspicious gaze swept between the two men, thoughts racing. "This is my final offer, Shane, before shit really gets out of hand in a minute." Marshall gaze was sever, "I know. I know everything you've done on this farm, so just make this easier for everyone and yourself—Get the fuck off our farm or I'm going to put you in the ground."

"Did I just hear the right?" Shane scoffed, hand waving. "You just threatened to kill me? You gonna do that in front of everybody, too? You're family? Little kids? You just gonna let that happen, Rick?" he spun around to the other man. "In front of your son? In front of your wife? You think I didn't realize that's what you were about when we went out together, alone. That was the plan, wasn't it? That the two of you cooked up—to fucking kill me. Yeah, I've seen the two of you, sneaking off together, sharing whispers." The others were giving Marshall and Rick the wary looks now as Shane continued. "Was stumbling upon that group an actual wrench in the plan or were you secretly relieved to have a way out, an excuse to give your little boyfriend? You're a coward. You don't get what it takes to keep them safe. Any of them!"

"After everything you've done-" Rick countered.

"You're such a damn joke, Rick! I'm so terrible? I'm so dangerous? Then why didn't you go through with it? Why'd you bring me back here? So your damn boyfriend can do it for you? You're not strong enough for this world, man. You're weak. Talking instead of doing. Going to save strangers instead of looking after your own family.

"You don't get it, man." Shane scoffed. "You never did! You're living in a fantasy land, same now as back then. You actually think you can live on the farm together; love, rainbows, and happily ever after? You're just lying to yourself, man. Just like thinking everything was okay, that your marriage wasn't falling apart because you never raised you voice back." Lori flinched as Rick's lip curled. "That beautiful woman. Your own son. That unborn baby. This group? You're gonna get them killed. You're pathetic. You ain't no Leader."

Rick hand was white-knuckling the grip of his Colt Python sat in its holster. "You think it's weakness that I'm not attacking you like some kind of wild animal?" He hissed. In turn, Lori's nails dug into the top of his hand in restraint as she stood half behind him. "You did this to yourself, Shane." Rick spoke quietly. "It didn't have to be like this."

"And that's where you're wrong, Rick. Again."

"You're unravelling." Marshall remarked. "They trusted you, God only knows what you did to deserve it, but from what I've seen... your only actions have been purely selfish and put everyone in danger to stroke your own ego. You are the bad Leader."

"You're the fucking joke!" Shane paced briefly with incredulous anger. "Your entire family is smug and self-righteous. You're the ones that put everyone in the group in danger with that sick shit with the barn, collecting those damn walkers like pets. And you think you have the right to judge me?!" Shane panted. He looked around at the rest of his group, "Letting Rick take control is what lead us into mess after mess, every person we've lost…

"I said at the quarry that y'all shouldn't have left—we get ambushed and overrun by walkers. I said we should head to Fort Benning instead of the CDC—that fucking quack tried to blow us all up. I said we should leave this cursed farm, and looked at all that's happened?"

"You happened." Marshall interrupted. "Otis—you. The Barn—you. D-"

"Shut your mouth!"

Marshall did, but not due to any intimidation on the Shane's part. He regarded the spiralling man with a unimpressed look. It was almost amusing, certainly satisfying to see the panic that flashed through his eyes when Shane realized that Marshall actually knew his biggest, dirtiest secret. Shane's eyes darted to Daryl, T-Dog. Rick. All just standing there, watching the show.

"Did you kill Otis?" Glenn's call cut clear across the yard. He could feel Maggie trembling, but wasn't sure if it was anger or grief. Maybe it was both. Beth was the same, Jimmy's hands on her shoulders from where he stood behind her. The fury in the sisters' eyes, Glenn had never seen them look so alike before. The look in Shane's eyes when his head whipped around to him... the 22-year-old barely managed not to flinch back despite the distance between them.

"You fucking with me right now, Glenn?"

Glenn didn't answer for a moment, narrowing his eyes, frowning. The response may have been rhetorical, but he didn't care. "No."

"Well, you gonna answer the man?" Marshall questioned at Shane's extended silence.

"Motherfucker, I'm gonna kill you myself."

"Really? Then that'd take your body-count up to 3, wouldn't it?" Marshall challenged.

Shane was one second away from blasting the Ranger away.

"Enough with the pissing contest!" Andrea shouted, utterly fed up with whatever the hell had been happening the past 20 minutes. Just Shane ranting about Rick's leadership, nothing new there. Complaining about Marshall, still, nothing new. What exactly had this conversation accomplished other than dragging Rick's marriage through the mud, highlighting Shane's infatuation with Lori and obsession with steeling Rick's family, and putting a spotlight on Marshall's crush on Rick? Shane still hadn't admitted outright that he killed Otis. "Would one of you just actually say what the hell is going on?!"

Marshall didn't take his gaze away from Shane, one brow arched, at the following silence. One beat, two, three. Every gaze darted between the two with bated breath. No one moved, no one spoke. No answer was forthcoming...

Until one man cracked out of sheer stress. He'd just been standing on the sidelines, watching, listening, and he was sweating bullets, holding the answer to everyone's question. "Shane killed Dale, man! Okay?" Now every gaze was fixed on him; few were taken aback, more were not. One was incensed.

"What are you talking about?" Surprisingly, it was Carol that broke the silence. Sophia and Carl were whimpering, hugging her tightly. "Dale was bit. He turned."

"T-Dog?" Andrea said sharply from beside him, her heart and thoughts racing.

"I..." T-Dog licked his lips nervously, swallowing. He pointed out quietly, "I never actually said how Dale died, just that he was already a walker by the time we finally found him." He didn't feel very relieved to finally get the big secret off his chest—and there was still another to go.

"Shane strangled him." Though it was a murmur, Marshall's voice still carried to them all. "Crushed his trachea. Tried to dump his body. And brought his gun back, just like he had with Otis."

Now every gaze fixed on the accused man. Shane shifted minutely under the weight. Jittery with the sudden spike of adrenaline. His gaze was trained to the ground as he sweated anxiously, mind racing for an exit strategy, his chest panting lightly. He couldn't just start shooting, not unless he was ready for his Last Stand.

It took Andrea a moment of shock to process, to understand. She trembled as she regarded the man who she'd considered friend, who'd she'd taken as lover, who she'd sought comfort in! "You're not even going to try and deny it like you did with Otis?" And she had her Ladysmith out from the back of her jeans and aimed at him. "You sick bastard!"

The tension notched up with the introduction of a weapon to the situation. Several fingers twitched on many different hands, itching for their own weapons, but none took them to hand.

Shane finally looked up. "Girl, you point that at me, you best be ready to shoot!" He barked.

Andrea flinched but didn't drop her weapon. "He was fucking right about you, you sick son of a bitch. He was right- And I went to you! I want to hear you say it! Tell me why, goddamn it!" She braced her other hand under the butt to steady her hold.

Any compunction he had vanished as his eyes lingered on her gun for a moment before meeting her angry, frightened eyes with a sneer. "All he had to do was keep his damn mouth shut. But that was Dale for you, always talkin' shit!" He tsked in annoyance, careless. "I was walking away, but he just had to open that big, righteous mouth of his. So, I shut him up myself. Shoulda known better than to try and stop me." He rubbed his head and scoffed. "Was surprised when y'all came back and said that he turned—must've been scratched by his trip through the woods or something." T-Dog glanced to Rick, he definitely didn't think now was the time to point out that they were already all infected.

"What did killing Dale accomplish?" Rick demanded. "You coup at the barn failed!"

"Did it?" Shane challenged. "'Cause it looks to me like that barn's clear of walkers. Just face it, you people need me! I'm the only one here that knows how to do what needs to be done. I ain't afraid to get my hands dirty with what needs doing. Your Leader doesn't have the balls to do what it takes to keep y'all safe—too busy off trying to be the hero to strangers than giving shit about any of you. Heh. You won't last the winter without me! You sure as shit won't survive another group." He turned his attention back to the blonde woman, "You shouldn't be so affect by it, girl. Old man like him, fat guy like Otis, it was only a matter of time. Not 'if', just 'when'. Well, whatcha gonna do, girl? You got any balls in your back pocket? Wanna play with the big boys? Gonna do what your fearless Leader here couldn't? You loved Dale, didn't you?" He mocked. "Didn't you?!"

"Fuck you!" Andrea screamed back, tears brimming her eyes as her hands trembled but didn't waver from the target. "Rot in Hell."

Her finger pulled the trigger.

No shot fired.

Andrea realized her mistake too late. In her anger and distress, she'd forgotten the damn safety! Tears splashed down her cheeks, her eyes filled with terror as she stared death in the eyes. Shane's eyes, dark and pitiless.

Marshall knew something was amiss with just how cocky Shane had been with a gun in the hands of an emotionally distraught woman pointed at his head. So, he was ready when something inevitably went wrong. But Shane wasn't after Andrea when he drew his own gun. She wasn't a threat to him. Not even Rick, whose first concern was getting Lori safe. No, the number one threat was that damn mouthy farm boy.

Their side arms trained on each other simultaneously as everyone tried to dive down and away to some form of cover as shots fired in chorus. Marshall was an open and easy target, as broad as a barn side with only 20 feet separating them, but it also meant that Shane was at the same disadvantage. So, there wasn't much surprise when both hit their targets.

(Rick managed to pull Lori back and away behind him at the side of the Hyundai. Daryl pulled Carol and the kids away to cover at the nearest tree. T-Dog tackled Andrea down like a line-backer).

That was not to say that their shots landed the same. And who could say exactly why Marshall managed to get his second shot off half-a-second earlier. This one managed to hit Shane's thigh, causing his following shot to stray wide as his leg faltered beneath him.

(Glenn naturally protected Maggie, and Hershel saw Jimmy covering Beth bodily as he ducked down himself).

Shane cursed and quickly hobbled back, taking cover around the back of the Hyundai before his leg could give way beneath him. Blood covered his left side and leg, coughing against the burning in his chest. Marshall had been aiming for center mass and definitely hit on target, while Shane had been aiming for a headshot, and while it was obvious he'd missed his intended target, he hadn't missed entirely.

"Lori, stay down!" Rick hissed urgently into the ensuing silence, having pushed her under the closest cover—which just happened to be under the Hyundai. Crouched against the side, he attempted to calm his breaths he adjusted his sweaty grip on his drawn Colt Python. He pressed against the against the front wheel, his view point was cut in half—he could make out T-Dog on Andrea, Daryl peering out from behind a tree where he'd quickly grabbed Carol, Sophia, and Carl to cover (where he could faintly hear whimpering and crying)—the other half on the playing field, everyone on the porch, Marshall and Shane were a blank spot. About to peek out and better assess, he stilled at the shift of gravel behind him.

"Behind you, brother, just like always." Rick cautiously looked back over his shoulder and into the barrel of a gun. "You should have just stayed dead, Rick."

"Athena—BLACK!"

BANG!

[...tbc...]

---

...The walking DEAD...

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Perry Como - Patricia
Talk - Run Away to Mars

...

So, this chapter was a cluster-fuck, huh?

It's a bit longer than my usual 22-24 thousand, but that was because I suddenly decided to stick a bunch of bonding/fluff in there before the finale, so the cuppeth-runneth-over, and ended it here... still at the Farm... but I swear to G-O-D, they're leaving the farm in the next chapter (which will {spoiler!} also include the Winter Time Skip between seasons), if things go how I plan, at least.

I hate group-scenes. Like, it's easy in a television show to do a 2 second shot on a side character in the group silently reacting, but I find it so fucking... clunky trying to do that in writing so it ends up being - the whole group is present, but with only like 3 people with actual dialogue, and everyone else just being silent ghosts. Is it just me? Anyway, I rewrote the final Shane-showdown three times, and ended up with this one, which I like way better. I added more, well, everyone else to the fold, cleaned it up to better flow. I hope it satisfies.

---

Here is the Original/Unedited outline/synopsis of what I had planned with Shane before I decided to get 'creative' with Dale's death (I just feel like it flowed better, showed off Shane's crazy/infatuation better without the reveal of Dale's murder). Tell me what you think:

/ sophia was ripped away from his with a scream and before he could react a blitz attack that marshall was not prepared for. until athena jumped in, biting his arm...

the cows escape through a break in the fencing. hershel insists the family can take care of it. it's a heat wave. marshall works himself into heatstroke. he collapses in the grass for some rest. sophia finds him. in his fevered, befuddled state, the sun in his already hazy gaze, marshall mistakes her for beth and holds out his arms for a cuddle. sophia tentatively agrees; she trusts marshall, feels safe with him, he was her friend, she looked up to him despite such a short time in knowing him. marshall took care of her and held more concern for her than her own father ever did—he also never stared at her the way her father sometimes did. the way he did that made her mom nervous and purposefully anger him to draw his attention away from his daughter. shane spots them and already wanting to beat marshall's ass and take marshall down a peg or entirely, throws sophia off marshall and starts pounding into the other man, acussing him of being a pervert and such. marshall is completely taken by surprise, and in his fevered state, goes into a semi-PTSD-flashback. sophia's screaming, very high-pitched shrieks that carry i.e. eventually draws attention/a crowd. athena attacks shane, latching onto his pummelling arm and momentarily getting him off marshall. marshall is disoriented, only knowing he's under attack and there's a little girl screaming, whether it was beth or sophia or some stranger little girl didn't matter. and then he hears athena's yelp of pain as shane manages to punch the dog off of him, his forearm bloody and torn up. marshall instantly sees red that has nothing to do with the blood in his eyes.

marshall is on his feet in an instant, rushes shane, grabs him, turns, tripping him up, and slams him into the ground. marshall instantly checks on athena. the dog's maw is bloody with shane's blood, she didn't appear to have any open wounds, just bruising from blunt strikes. marshall orders athena to disengage and guard sophia. shane finally gets his feet again and they square off. marshall had warned rick to keep shane away from him and his family, warned shane what would happen if he hurt athena or his family. marshall gave warning after warning, chance after chance for this man, not because marshall had any faith in him but because rick did. but marshall was done handing out chances to this man like pieces of gum. shane was going to die. knives are drawn and they square off, their firearms scattered in the grass in the scuffle.

rick, among others rush up. rick tries to interfere. as much as marshall wanted shane's blood on his knife, he wasn't going to risk hitting rick. apparently, shane didn't feel the same about his best-friend. shane swipes at rick, rick was barely able to jump back from being gutted.

'shane, what the hell?! what are you doing?!' rick

'you don't get it man! you never do!" shane 'you live in some fantasy land. same now as back then. you think we can all live on this farm together; love and rainbows and happily ever after! and you thought just because you never raised your voice back at her, man, that your marriage wasn't falling apart. you never got that she wanted you to yell back, man! you know how easy it was for her to let you go? inside of a week she was with me. we were together, we were in love, we were a family. me, her, carl. and then you just waltzed back into our lives and it all went to shit. that baby is mine! and you want this farm? you want this farm, this asshole has to go! he dies, and all that's left is an old man and three girls. it's as easy as that. now move, rick. or i'll give you a grave right next to his and lori won't have to pretend that she still loves you like that, won't be obligated to stand by your side at the end of the world.'

'no brother. that ain't gonna be how any of this ends etc. [+episode quotes]. now drop the knife and come back to your senses'

'there's no coming back from this, man. someone's dying. now, you can step aside and let me finish this, let me solve all our problems. or you're gonna have to shoot me, rick.

'not like this.'

'you're a coward, man. you don't got what it takes to keep them safe. that beautiful woman. your own son. my unborn child. hell, the rest of the group. you're weak. you ain't strong enough for this world, rick. hell, just look at you right now. shaking, hesitating, talking still instead of doing! its pathetic. you're pathetic, man!'

rick kills shane for the others to witness. then shane reanimates. the secret rick learned at the CDC is revealed about the virus being airborne. /

---

And this is a brief summary of the plot had I decided to have Shane {spoiler}Live AU:

/they're about to bury dale? or at least a group setting. the confrontation with shane, truths revealed. dale/otis/baby/affair. shane slowly loses his cool, criticizes rick, pleads with lori. then turns on marshall. guns are drawn, shots are wildly fired. the others screaming and diving for cover. marshall managed to semi tackle rick and gets shot in shoulder. rick gets grazed. shane gets shot in the leg. maybe others? in the choas, shane escapes? the herd comes.

shane ends up in woodbury with merle then andrea? loses his cool when he finds out about lori. wants rick and marshell dead?

the governor standing over rick's body ready to kill. shane kills him then goes for rick. stating judith was his. there's a gunshot. shane starts bleeding through the chest. behind him stands carl, gun raised./

Until next time!