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/

6. Chapter 6: Ready or Not

Start: 01-27-2024
Finish: 02-29-2024
Word Count: 24, 246

a/n:

OMG! So, finally, as of March 4/5 2024, all the repair work from the flood that happened Dec 29 2023 if finally finished. Got a new paintjob and the new light fixtures installed! I am happy, so to make y'all happy—here's another chapter.

Chapter title taken from the song: Tripping Daisies - Piranha

Chapter Summary: /"He'll come back. He always does."/

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: character death(s), canon-typical violence, animal attack, injury, blood and gore, angst, mourning, piranha action, Season 2 Finale!

...The walking DEAD...

Piranha

---

Chapter 6: Ready or Not

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
(I'm falling in love)
I'm falling -

Patricia jumped at the unexpected cluster of gunshots and shouts, knocking the radio from the bed and causing it smash to the floor. Her heart hammered loudly and painfully in her chest as she sat frozen for a moment in the ensuing silence on high alert. The house was quiet and that made her even more wary and worried, because those gunshots had sounded close—too close.

She rose from her bed and went to her window, peeking out the curtain, before opening it completely at seeing nothing of note or danger. It made sense, the bedroom was located at the back corner of the house, after all. She turned to the bedroom door. Her first thoughts were of piranha on the farm, but the lack of further gunshots and activity made her doubt that. And then a worse thought came:

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

"No, it won't. 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."

She snatched up Otis' single barrel shotgun from where it leant by the door. She assured herself it was loaded and cocked, the butt against her shoulder like her daddy had shown her when she was just a kid (even though she'd let Otis 'teach her' back when they were dating in high school just to get him close) and left her bedroom for the front of the house. Another stray shot spurred her on. And another before she even reached the front door.

If her godson or her goddaughters were hurt, Patricia would blast away that damn scourge of man herself!

...

Rick stared, frozen in his crouch, unable to look or move away as he watched the Military Dog tear into Shane's throat.

Her initial lunge had thrown Shane into the side of the Hyundai, the shot that was supposed to kill Rick bit into his ear instead before Shane dropped the gun in the surprise attack. The struggle was futile though, as they fell to the ground with Athena on his chest. He tried getting his arm up and between them as a bar of protection against her snapping, snarling teeth. His other arm trying to punch her off with little success.

"Fuck!" Shane grunted as her back paws pounced on his groin. His knees went up to try and knock her askew, roll, but her muzzle manage to get passed his bloody, injured arm. He shouted at the painful puncture of teeth in his throat, and he knew the only reason he wasn't dead already was because he'd managed to get his hand in-between. Instead of futilely trying to knock the dog off again, his free hand scrambled to his belt for his knife.

Marshall rounded the Hyundai, gun raised, ready. He already knew what to expect from Athena's continued snarls, but Shane wasn't as quite so dead. Marshall quickly jumped forward as he caught sight of the scrambling hand, his boot coming harshly on Shane's knife-occupied hand.

"Athena, disengage! Off! By me!" Marshall ordered when he realized that his partner wasn't quite able to fulfill her kill-order and it was and cruel unnecessary to let her continue. Athena did, muzzle and teeth saturated in blood. She came to Marshall's side, still in attack mode, lips peeled back and ready to dive back in for the final kill at a moment's notice or command.

Shane's arm was bloody and torn up with intervening bites before the crucial one locked on, and he'd saved his own life at the cost of his pinkie and ring finger being partially severed. The injured hand pressed to try and hinder the blood flow from his neck. Athena hadn't been able to chomp down far enough or hard enough to hit and sever the carotid on either side of his neck.

Shane stared up at him, brown-eyes filled with anger and defiance. His mouth was a twisted, bloody sneer. "What are you waiting for, motherfucker?"

The bullet wound in his abdomen was high enough that the bullet probably nicked the bottom of his left lung, coupled with the throat injury, Shane was already slowly drowning in his own blood anyway. He was simply putting the asshole out of his and everyone else's misery. Marshall levelled his gun down at his forehead-

"No." Rick muttered. "No." He repeated with more volume and more authority.

Marshall didn't move his gun, but he also didn't pull the trigger. "Rick-"

"No, Marshall!" Rick managed to rise to his feet without stumbling. "I told you before—it has to be me." Marshall inhaled deeply, but said nothing, simply kicking the knife from Shane's hand crushed under his boot before stepping back to allow Rick to take his place. "It never had to be this way." Rick told his best-friend. His Colt was out, cocked, but hung by his side as he stared down at the wheezing, bleeding man on the ground. It still felt like a cop out—like he was just putting down an already dying animal.

Shane scoffed, spitting out blood before he spoke, "It was always going to be this way—you or me."

"No." Rick aimed his gun, eyes wet. His trigger finger trembled. "You're the one that did this to us."

"Even now, you still- you still can't do it." Shane laughed through bloody teeth, grunting with pain. Mocking. "Pathetic. Mmg. You think it'll change anything, man? She'll s-still love me. That baby with still be mi-"

Rick stared at his dead best-friend, almost incomprehensible. He didn't consciously remember pulling the trigger. It had just been a reactive response as Shane clawed under his skin once again. He stared at the hole in his forehead that wasn't there a second ago as it welled up with blood that traced over the side of his forehead at the slight tilt of his head. At the dead brown-eyes that stared fixed on his, angry and accusing even still in death. Death—because he'd just killed his best-friend since childhood and he didn't even remember doing it.

One second Shane was talking and the next he just wasn't. Rick didn't remember that half-second in-between, just the ringing of the shot echoing in his ears, the sightline down his Colt Python. Or was it his heart? He reached up with an oddly steady left hand, rubbing his aching ear, only to flinch, staring at the smears of blood left on his fingertips; the bullet that was flew past his head must have nicked his ear.

Before Marshall could even contemplate what move to make—leave Rick be to his own devices or try and comfort him—Marshall was the one that forced him into this situation after all, the man broke from his stupor by the muffled sobs from under the car. Marshall internally winced; he may have completely forgotten about the woman having to be around.

"R-Rick?"

"Lori!" Rick's voice came out like a hoarse croak as if he'd been screaming beforehand instead of completely silent. He quickly holstered his gun and crouched in the space between Shane's body and the car, trying to block the way. "Don't- don't come out this way."

"Is Shane-? Is he-?" Lori couldn't finish. She had to know, like someone hiding under the bed in a horror movie as another was brutally murdered on the mattress above. While she may have buried her face in the sand, there was no denying that she'd had to of heard—all of it. Her husband killing her lover.

Rick was silent for a moment as he worked to say the words, staring at his distorted reflection in the green metal of the car door. Eyes too wide and coated in sweat, still riding the wave of adrenaline that came with near-death experience. "Yes." He finally managed. "Please slide out the other side." He repeated. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand the expression on her face when she finally saw Shane, the bullet holes, the blood, his torn up throat and mangled hand, how she'd look at him after, like he was the monster...

"O-okay." When he started to hear shifting the opposite way, he got up and went around to meet her, not pausing to spare Marshall and his canine partner a glance, unable to.

Marshall mouth was set grimly. He didn't even try to put his gun back in his holster (not with the tingling in his right fingers, not even to attempt and reach across with his left hand) and instead just flicked the safety back on and shoved the M9 Berretta into the back of his pants temporarily. "White, Athena." He murmured. With one last look at Shane, he left the opposite way of Rick so he wouldn't encounter and interrupt the married couple—and nearly collided with the business end of the hunter's loaded crossbow.

Both flinched back a step, Marshall's accented with a grimace. They regarded each other for a second, Daryl's gaze to the blood that stained Marshall's right shoulder and the side of his chest, shoulders tensing even further than they already were.

"It's done." Marshall broke the silence quietly.

Daryl's gaze drifted from the gunshot wound, to Athena's bloody muzzle, to the pair of boots he could make out around the edge of the car. "You?"

"Rick." Daryl's brow went up. "The kids?" He questioned. Carol, Sophia, and Carl had been position behind him and he was wary of where Shane's second shot had ended up. There had been screams and cries of fright during the brief shootout, but nothing hysterical like someone had been shot, but...

"Fine. Scared." The hunter answered shortly, but that was all Marshall needed.

They shared another beat of silence as they stared at each other. Daryl's squinted blue gaze kept flickering to his shoulder with silent concern that he would never voice. Athena's wet nose gently nudged Marshall's bloody fingers with a whine of concern, bringing her partner back to focus. "Good." Was all Marshall said before he sidestepped, Athena glued to his leg, intent on checking in on his family.

"Marshall?" T-Dog called to him as soon as he spotted the man, pulling a disgruntled (cursing) and shaky Andrea from the ground, her arm slung across his shoulder as she balanced on one foot.

"It's clear—Shane's dead." Marshall didn't stop to chitchat as voices from the house porch picked up and he lengthened his stride, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as more adrenaline shot through his system.

"Jimmy?"

"Oh, God!"

"Beth? Beth?!"

Marshall's step only faltered for a moment as Glenn and Maggie finished rolling Jimmy off of Beth. The teen boy lay still and silent on his back, head hanging off the top step, eyes sightless as blood continued dribble from gory hole that was blown into his cheek.

Patricia was outside the front door, shotgun in hand, a scared but determined look on her haggard face. It was nice to see her out of her room, but he couldn't say he appreciated the circumstance that brought it about.

Five minutes of chaos and this was the result.

"Marshall?" Patricia uttered catching sight of him over the Greenes' heads as Hershel and Maggie helped Beth sit up.

Glenn glanced over, stepping aside for Marshall, eyeing his own blood-covered state. "Is he-?"

"Dead." Glenn's expression tightened further, but he just nodded in acceptance; he couldn't help but eye Athena warily at the sight of her blood-stained muzzle. The first thing that Marshall noted about his baby sister, was that her hair was now dyed red instead of blue. The shock was clear, she was shaky and her breath was quick. He knelt down by his twin. "Sunny."

"I told you." Beth whispered, looking at him, covered in blood. "I told you he was going to get killed."

"Ah, Beth," Marshall murmured, drawing his thumb across her eyebrow to the collect Jimmy's blood that was threatening to drip into her eye. There was a manic gleam in her eyes, and covered as she was in blood, looking like Carry, her blue-eyes popped even more. What was he supposed to say to her? He couldn't exactly say 'no' because Jimmy did end up getting killed in the end. "I'm sorry."

"Come on, let get you inside and cleaned up, sweetie." Patricia murmured, taking a hold of her elbow and helping her stand.

Maggie eyed her twin. "Whose blood is that?"

"What?"

"Is that Shane's?" She questioningly plucked at the sodden material by his shoulder. She eyed the small hole in the material with incomprehension for a moment before it clicked and her eyes widened in realization and fear.

"No, no. It's-"

"Oh, my God, you were shot!" Maggie exclaimed, drawing the attention from Beth to the injured Marshall.

"Marshall?!" Beth cried in demand.

"It's fine." Marshall reassured. "I'm ok-"

"Inside, now!" Hershel ordered sternly, leaving no room for argument from anyone.

They all shuffled inside, quickly congregated in Carl's former room.

"Beth, you don't need to see this. Go wash up." Maggie told her sister as she momentarily fumbled with getting her twin's gun and knife holsters off, taking the silently offered handgun and shoving them out of the way into the nightstand drawer. She wondered if that final gunshot was him, but shook the thought away as she made him sit on the edge of the bed. She had bigger concerns right now. "Why haven't you been putting pressure on this?" she demanded, yanking off a pillowcase without care, bundled it and pressed it against his shoulder.

"Easy!" he grunted, but didn't try and shove her off.

"I want to stay with Marshall!" Beth protested.

"You're covered in that boy's blood, Beth-Anne!" Hershel said. "Now go do as your told. When you're cleaned up, you can see you brother."

Beth gritted her teeth harshly, tears of frustration and helplessness glossing her eyes. "Marshall?" she croaked, pleading.

"I'll be okay. I'll be right here when you're done. Alright?" he swore, reaching to squeeze her hand with his left as Athena wormed her way in-between him and Maggie, wedging between his legs, bloody head on his thigh. "T-Take Athena with you. Clean her up for me?" The Belgian Malinois knew he was injured, didn't want to leave him herself—and beside even that, this had been her first kill-order in over a year.

"Okay." Beth frowned but leaned forward and pressed a desperate kiss to her big brother's sweaty forehead, unable to tell if the warmth was simply from over exertion and the sun or if it was something else. "You better not die." He held out his left pinkie silently. Her lips wobbled as she hooked her own with his. "C'mon, Athena."

Athena whined, not moving as she stared up at him with large amber-eyes. Marshall stroked her head. "I'm okay, girl. Now, go with Beth." She gave a subdued woof, but trailed after Beth, tail drooped.

"I'll- I'll get out of your way," Glenn said. "Start on a grave for Jimmy. Check on everyone else..."

"Just the one." Marshall told him. Glenn nodded in understanding. "Thank you." Maggie twisted to give Glenn a quick kiss before he departed, relieved he hadn't ended up like Jimmy.

"Get my kit." Hershel ordered Patricia.

"And mine?" Marshall added.

"Quickly now," Hershel said. "How are you, really?" he questioned as he washed his hands.

"Well, it's not exactly getting better." His bloody fingers twitched.

"Let's see what you've done to yourself here." Hershel returned with a pair of scissors, and Maggie pulled back to let him take her place. Hershel quickly cut the shirt off his son instead of trying to move it manually and worsen the injury. "There's no exit wound, the bullet's still in there." He tsked.

"Figures. Must've lodged in my c-clavicle." Marshall didn't bother to try and look down at the wound himself to assess, and instead just watched his father's face. Which also wasn't much of a giveaway seeing as Hershel Greene had an impressive poker face. "It might be pressed against s-something because m-my fingers are tingly."

"He got you right in the thoracic outlet." Hershel said. "May just be a pinched nerve in the cluster if you can still move and feel your fingers. None of the arteries were severed or you'd be dead already." He assessed bluntly as Patricia returned.

"What?" Maggie couldn't help but questioned sharply.

"Relax. He said I'm not dead yet." Marshall said.

"Lay back and save the sass, little boy." Patricia scolded him. He groaned quietly as he was eased back onto the bed, blood immediately staining the sheets.

"You have morphine in your kit, don't you?" Hershel said, getting out his tools.

"Just... a light shot of morphine, auntie." Marshall grunted. "Just numb me up n-not knock me out."

"Marshall, I can't have you moving around." Hershel said. "One wrong move and I could sever or nick your subclavian artery-"

"I won't. I won't. I can't- I can't be incapacitated r-right now."

"Stubborn boy," Patricia muttered, but gave him a lower dose of morphine as requested.

"Oh, yeah. That's the stuff!" Even with the morphine, he was well aware how much this was going to suck.

"Maggie, hold down his left shoulder." Hershel ordered. "Patricia, careful with his right arm. I'm going to extend the entrance site to get a better look instead of digging around in there blind and risk that artery." He wiped the sight as clear of blood as best he could of the still-bleeding wound, scalpel poised. "Ready, son?"

"Ready, daddy." Marshall murmured as he felt his family's hands. He clenched his teeth, started taking controlled, even breaths. That morphine shot might have dulled the edges, but he knew he's still feel his daddy cutting him open and digging for that bullet. "Aagh."

"Here we go." The vet extended the entrance an inch of either side, horizontal with Marshall's collarbone. Fresh blood welled immediately, which Patricia sponged away. He locked a pair of forceps in place to hold the surgical site open. Patricia again came in with a rubber suction bulb to clear away some of the blood to give Hershel a better line-of-sight. "There it is. Wedged up right against your clavicle and first rib." With another pair of forceps, Hershel carefully eased the mushroomed bullet from the bone. "The subclavian artery and vein appear intact. The bones will have hairline fractures, but are also intact." There was a collective sigh of relief around the room. "I'll close-up now."

"S-see? Nothing to worry about." Marshall told his twin as she repetitively stroked the top of his head. "It's about as fun as I re-remember getting shot."

"Just hush now and lay still." Hershel said. "You need to rest, you lost a fair amount of blood."

"Just until we bury Jimmy."

The atmosphere got even more solemn and Hershel didn't try and scold him further as he finished suturing the 2 1/2 inch incision. After tying the final knot in the line, he cleaned away any blood so it wouldn't clot on the sutures, lined it with steri-strips for extra support, slathered it in iodine and slapped a bandage on it. He patted Marshall's calf, giving it a squeeze before he left.

Patricia came from the bathroom with a pot of warm soapy water. She set it on the nightstand and wrung out the cloth. She started on the crusting blood on his torso, mindful and familiar with his scars (she'd been the main source of assistance in helping tend his wounds when he was finally released from the hospital after Rocky), but even that hadn't been the first or the last time he'd ended up laid up in bed and in need of clean-up.

"Been awhile, huh?" Marshall remarked. He was more than fine with letting himself be fussed over for a change, and it was also a situation that he was more than familiar with (which the reality of was unfortunate, for both him and his family), but he wasn't uncomfortable or embarrassed like Daryl had been when Marshall had mentioned it to the man, and the resultant healing scab under his eye.

"Help me get him on his side?" she asked his sister.

Marshall was utterly pliant under their hands. Maggie reached across and grabbed hold of the waist of his pants at his right hip, and hauled towards herself as Patricia was a brace against the back of his injured shoulder.

"Go team!" Marshall cheered after a moment to recover himself.

"You could have helped a little!" Maggie grunted.

"But you guys were great."

"You enjoy these situations too much," Patricia scolded, but her tone was fond as she ran the warm cloth over his nape and shoulder blade.

"Why are you like this?" Maggie asked in despair. "Only you could like bed baths."

"They're soothing!" he protested. "It's like going to a spa."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "And only you could think that, too."

"He just likes getting pampered." Patricia stage-whispered to Maggie.

Marshall was momentarily distracted as his auntie finally started on the itchy dried blood that coated his right arm. He grimaced as she lifted his arm just enough to get the underside, but was relieved when he felt her touch normally in his fingertips. "It's not like I like getting injured, but, you know, hey... might as well get something out of it."

"God, you're so weird!" Maggie complained.

They rolled him carefully back onto his back, Patricia bending his arm at the elbow to rest across his ribs with a pillow tucked under his elbow as support. He was dealing with hairline fractures in his clavicle and first rib that could easily, with one wrong move, turn a crack into a break that would put him out of commission through most of winter—and that was if he was lucky. "But you still love me."

"Yeah, I love you—but you're also still a weirdo."

"Everyone's a critic." He joked. "Thank you, auntie."

"Of course, sweet boy." She caressed his cheek before she rose, taking the pot back into the bathroom to dump the now cold and brown water down the toilet. "I'll go bring you something to eat and drink." Patricia squeezed Maggie's shoulder on the way out, leaving the twins alone.

Now that there was quiet and calmness and Marshall was laying in bed resting instead of bleeding, Maggie felt the fear she'd pushed away to get the job done well up in her chest. She sniffled, unshed tears trying to blur her sight as she started to tenderly stroke his hair again.

"You need to stop doing this to me."

His left hand found her bent knee on the bed. "It doesn't count—I didn't die."

"Shut up. You could've."

"But I didn't." He assured softly. "Still here, still your weirdo twin brother."

Maggie opened her mouth, ready to question her brother about Shane when the stampede coming down the stairs thundered through the house. A few seconds later, Beth and Athena appeared in the doorway. While Beth took a moment to appreciate that her brother was alive, Athena dashed to the side of the bed with a bark.

Marshall reached across Maggie's lap to the excitable Belgian Malinois. "See, nothing to worry about. I'm just fine." Athena snuffled and nuzzled his hand, tail wagging.

"Now that Beth's here to keep an eye on you, I'm going to go check on a few things." Maggie stood from the bed. "I'll be back in a little bit." She paused in front of her little sister for a second before pulling her into a hug with a solemn sigh. "I'm sorry I all but shoved you out of the room earlier. I just- You just really didn't need to see daddy cutting into Marshall."

"I get it." She hugged back. "I wouldn't have been able to do anything to help anyway."

They pulled back. "Just make sure he stays in bed. Patricia will pop in with something for him to eat. I won't be gone that long." Maggie left.

"You cleaned her up good, Sunny." Marshall gave a small smile, scratching the dog under the chin.

"I ended up just giving her a bath in the end, used the hairdryer to dry her fur—she kept trying to eat the air." She paused for half a second before she added: "I found a fingernail wedged in Athena's teeth."

"Hm." Marshall frowned. "She mangled Shane's hands pretty good..."

"Good." Beth retorted. She pulled the chair from the corner over close to his bedside and sat.

"Athena, lay down." Of course, to the canine that meant hopping onto the bed and laying across his legs—not that Marshall minded, he would have let her sprawl across his chest if he could. "About Jimmy..." he started softly.

"I was right."

Marshall sighed. "You wait long enough, Sunny, and all of us will die. It was just a coincidence. Bad timing. My fuck up..."

She eyed the bandage that adorned his shoulder. It didn't look like much, but it was enough. She propped her heels against the edge of the seat and hugged her knees to her chest as a resentment welled inside of her. "No," Beth scoffed. "It was Andrea's fault. If she knew how to use a damn gun..."

Marshall silently agreed, but he also understood that it had been an honest mistake due to the woman's anger, grief, and betrayal. He also realized that had been why Shane had been so cocky despite the gun waving in his face (one private advanced lesson, that probably didn't even hold actual gun instruction, does not a professional make). First Daryl, now this—the woman certainly wasn't going up in his opinion.

She shook her head. "And- And Rick..."

"Rick went through with it in the end." Marshall told her.

"I know." She pushed her fingers into her faded blue hair. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, but... were you actually surprised that Rick couldn't do it before? I- I don't think I was. Rick couldn't just kill his best-friend, d-despite the terrible things Shane did. He loved him too much. Even if in the end..." she shook her head. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill you. Even if it was to stop you from burning a busload of kids. Not even if killing you fixed the world."

"Just to address a few things," Marshall said wryly but seriously. "You don't have to worry about me trying to burn a busload of kids for whatever inexplicable reason. And not to be a downer, but I don't think this is exactly fixable. All that being said, I would kill myself first before I did anything that would warrant you having to kill me like Rick had Shane." He promised.

"And that won't happen because you're perfect."

"No pressure."

"You know what I meant." Beth rolled her eyes. "You're perfect to me."

"This pedestal you're putting me on is mighty tall, sis."

"You're my big brother. It's a flawed definition of 'perfection' influenced by subjective emotional attachment, exposure, and idealization. Does that make you feel better?"

"Actually, yes." Marshall smiled. "Even if it sound like I've indoctrinated you into some kind of cult."

Patricia return with some juice, fruit, and an easy sandwich for him to eat. The fruit was all bite-size, the sandwich cut criss-cross, and the juice was in a bottle with a suction top so he didn't even have to go through the effort and pain of sitting up just yet.

"What, I get shot and I don't even get any milk?" Marshall joked.

"Drink your juice, little boy."

"Of course, auntie." Patricia rubbed Beth's shoulder before she left. Beth just blatantly watched her brother slowly eat. "We'll have to do your hair again." Marshall told her when he was mostly finished eating, feeding the remaining berries at the bottom of the dish to a happy Athena.

"Okay." She murmured.

"I'm right here." He assured her.

"I know. So am I."

"Good." And they were just left to stare at one another, silently relishing the other's alive company.

"It's time." Maggie announced softly upon her return, looking between her siblings. "Glenn and T-Dog finished digging the grave."

"What about Shane?" Beth questioned tartly.

"I don't know." Maggie admitted. "They can't seem to decide what to do with his... body."

"Well, they're not burying him around here!" She burst, rising.

"They won't." Marshall promised. "But for now, let's just say good-bye to Jimmy first, alright?" Beth went quiet again. He sighed. "Athena, off." The dog rose her head with a short whine, but hopped off the bed, brushing against Maggie's leg as she sat by the door. He took a deep breath, rolled to his left, keeping his right arm against his ribs, legs over the edge and sat up with a grunt before either of his sisters could try and help him.

"Damn it, Marshall!" Maggie was not impressed.

"You complained the last time when I was a limp doll."

"You need to be more careful!" Beth frowned at him.

His twin sighed, breath hissing from between her teeth. "I managed to find Shawn's old sling from when he fell sliding down the banister." Maggie showed him. "And a button-up at the bottom of your drawer."

"Fancy." He let her help him into the green shirt, buttoning up the front and rolling up the sleeve to his elbow on his left arm. With a bit of help from Beth, they managed to get Marshall strapped into the sling, the strap crossed over his left shoulder, and another went around his chest to keep the arm entirely mobile.

"You heard what daddy said about your collarbone. One wrong move and it'll snap like the Thanksgiving wishbone." Maggie scolded when he huffed at their caution. "How's it feel?"

"Confining, but better. Thanks."

...

It was just the Greenes this time, gathered around the mound of freshly turned soil as Hershel read from his Bible: "'The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.'"

"I'm sorry I couldn't love you." Beth murmured, digging a small hole in the softened dirt. She unclasped one of the many bracelets that adorned her wrists. It was the first thing that Jimmy had gifted to her. He'd won if for her from the town fair that summer on their 2nd date when they'd just started dating. She covered the bracelet and hole up with the dirt, packing it down and leaving her handprint behind in the dirt. She stood, dusted her hands off, turned and silently headed back to the house without another word to anyone.

Marshall watched her retreating back, haloed in the glow of the setting sun before looking back at the fresh grave—and was silently grateful. It had been so close to being Beth in the ground. If she had been standing to the right instead of the left... He shook the thought away, there was never a good time to think about such things. He inhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the twinge in his shoulder. "You weren't so bad for a First Dumb Boyfriend." He told the grave before he turned and left himself.

Instead of heading back into the house, he headed for the tool shed, having to force Athena to leave his side and back into the house. He didn't end up getting too far before there was the frantic call of his name, and the pounding footsteps toward him.

"Marshall? Marshall?!"

He turned in time to get tackled around the waist by a strawberry-blond 12-year-old, and unlike the other times where she'd pulled away as abruptly as she'd hugged him, she clung. "Whoa! Hey, easy." His left hand pressed into the back of her shoulder but he didn't try and pull her off of him. "Butterfly, what-?"

"I s-saw you." Sophia shook and sobbed, her face pressed against his stomach. "Covered in b-b-blood. And-and then Glenn a-and T-Dog were d-digging a-a-a gr-g-grave! And no one w-would t-tell me anything!"

"I see." He hummed as he rubbed the girl's back soothingly, spotting her mother rushing to catch up.

"Sophia!" Carol reached them, panting slightly. Worried and upset. "You can't just run off like that." She watched him warily, "Marshall, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay." He assured softly. "She was just worried, is all."

It was a couple of minutes before Sophia managed to calm down; a combination of the back rub and the familiar humming. Carol wasn't sure what to do with herself as her crying daughter was comforted by someone else.

Sophia sniffled as she reluctantly pulled back, fiddling in embarrassment. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"Don't be." He smiled down at her softly, reaching to fix the skewed butterfly clip in her hair. "I didn't mean to worry you like that. But as you can see, butterfly, I'm alright—Still here, still alive."

"But your arm's hurt!" she protested.

"I'm okay."

"What happened?" Carol asked, resting her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

"I was shot." He admitted. "The sling's just there to make sure I don't agitate the wound by using my arm."

"You should be resting, not up and about." Carol frowned.

"I know. I'll be going to bed early, trust me. But, you know," he pondered slyly to the girl, "This does mean I'm gonna need some extra hands with all my chores. Think you could help me with that, butterfly?"

Some of the shadow and slump left Sophia. "I can?"

"I don't know, ask your mama?"

Sophia turned pleading eyes to her mother. "Mom, can I?"

Carol wouldn't know why or even how she could say 'no' with the excitement that was brightening the dullness that had shadowed her daughter's blue-eyes. Sophia had been so frantic and beside herself when no one seemed to be able to give her a straight answer as to what happened to Marshall, just T-Dog mentioning him covered in blood, or how they all found out that Jimmy was also killed along with Shane, and she wasn't allowed to go to the house and find out herself. Carol had barely managed to hold the girl off at the sight of the man when the Greene Family came from the house for Jimmy's funeral. "Yes, sweetie." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Sophia turned back to him with a beam, an expression he mirrored with a boyish grin. "Looks like I got myself an official apprentice."

"Alright, Sophia. Let's leave Marshall to finish whatever he was doing."

"Okay. Bye, Marshall!" Sophia waved as her mother steered her around and ushered them back to camp.

"Athena will find you tomorrow." He promised her.

Marshall turned back onto his path to the shed, adjusting the strap in the crook of his neck with a mild grimace, thankfully, the higher collar of the shirt cushioned against the bite of it. The wheel barrow he needed was already out, tipped up on its front end against the side of the shed. He undid the latch on the door, the sun from the open doorway lighting the interior dimly. He stepped into the confined space, easily finding his desired items after growing up coming in and out of this shed—though with only one hand left to him, he was forced to make several trips in and out, using the bed of the righted wheel barrow as a wagon.

He paused in the doorway, backtracked and snagged a small hatchet off the rack before closing the shed door and latch. He managed to wedge the handle through and behind on his belt at his left hip. Marshall had easily been able to unclip, flip around, and reclip the horizontal knife sheath on the back of his belt. Unfortunately, the same could not be so easily solved for his gun. It was a right-handed thigh holster, so in order to draw at the moment he was going to have to become a mild contortionist—not that he foresaw needing it quite so soon again, the threat had been neutralized after all. It was still nice to have options, though. He'd have to dig through his lockbox later to find something for his left-side while his right arm was out of commission.

Marshall eyed the wheel barrow before him with mild distain; trying to handle these things one-handed, even empty, was a bitch-and-a-half but needs must. He grabbed the left handle closer to the body for better control and used his right hip to help stabilize and guide. He still grimaced at the twinge this manoeuvre elicited, but pushed through with his wobbly journey up the uneven grass to the drive.

The entire group (barring Carol who was watching the kids at camp, and Glenn who was most likely with Maggie) was in a loose semi-circle around Shane, who was still lain where he died, like some sort of vigil, even hours later. At least they'd covered the man's body with a sheet, not that it could obscure the truth that lay beneath, blood stained through the thick material.

Rick was silent, gaze fixated on said blood stains. Lori was beside her husband, yet there was a wall of distance between them. Andrea looked like she always did, filled with indignant anger. T-Dog just wanted this done with and behind them, but knew this shit would fester within the group for a time to come. Daryl simply looked annoyed with the lot of them for continuing to flounder on a matter that, to him, seemed simple.

Of course, like always seemed to be the case, Daryl clocked Marshall even before the slightly squeaky wheel revealed his approach to the rest. His gaze lingered on the sling, his own fingers white-knuckled on the crossbow strap across his chest. The entire thing had started and ended in 5 minutes. From the moment Andrea pressed the trigger to an empty click (he'd put too much fucking stock in her) to Marshall walking out from behind the Hyundai with blood soaking his chest and shoulder, rivulets tracing down his limp arm to spatter from his fingertips into the dirt below, Athena shadowing him with her own bloody maw. It what could have ended with simply one bullet and one body, but ended up finished six shots fired and two bodies dropped. Daryl silently hissed between his teeth, pinched glare landing on the side of the blonde's face—left the damned safety on!

"Hello." Marshall greeted simply, parking the damned wheel barrow with silent good-riddance. Lori and Andrea's guard seemed to go up at his appearance.

Lori's eyes flickered around warily in search. "Where's your dog?"

"She's at the house with my sister." Marshall's head tilted slightly. "You don't need to be scared of her, she has no reason to hurt you."

"I saw what she did!" She gestured to the sheet-covered body. "Your attack dog ripped out his throat!"

Marshall couldn't help the frown that ticked down the corners of his mouth. "Athena is not an 'attack dog'. She's a highly-trained Military Canine, she's an experienced soldier. You should be thanking her-" he continued over the sputtering, "If it wasn't for that 'attack dog', it would be your husband's brains spattered on the driveway." He supposed he could categorize her ignorance under being tucked away under the Hyundai, denial and trauma.

Lori flinched, gaze going to the silent man at her side who had not visibly reacted. "Rick?"

"Shane had a gun to my head," Rick licked his dry lips, gaze rising from the stained sheet to his wife, "He was about to fire when Athena tackled him. The bullet went passed my ear instead."

Silence met the statement by the group. Marshall eyed them. What the hell have these people been doing for the last 4 hours? It was that group-mentality shit again, wasn't it? Where they all shared a collective of one stunted brain cell. And with Rick clearly disassociating... "I'm here for the body." Marshall remarked, redrawing the attention and focus. "Could you wrap him up in the tarp, please? I'm down an arm." He grabbed the folded green tarp from the wheel barrow, holding it out to T-Dog, who happened to be the closest to his left after Andrea.

With grim nod of acceptance, T-Dog reached across to take it only to have his hand pushed back by an interfering blonde. Daryl scoffed quietly at her.

"Why are you even here?" Andrea demanded.

"This is my farm." He deadpanned.

"Shane was part of our Group. We'll deal with him." Andrea insisted confrontationally. Then what the fuck have you been doing for the last 4 hours? Marshall wanted to ask. "It's none of your business."

"He left my uncle behind as bait to be rent by a hoard of piranha. He killed a 17-year-old boy, who collapsed dead onto my 16-year-old sister, covering her in his blood and brain matter. He fucking almost killed me in front of my family. But, more imperative to you—he strangled Dale manually, face-to-face, crushed his trachea, no doubt cracked his hyoid bone. Do you know how long it takes to strangle someone to death?" She didn't seem to have an answer for that. "And you think I'm gonna just let you burry your boyfriend next to my family, next to all the people he killed?"

Andrea's fingers curled into fists at her sides, unshed tears glossed her eyes but she supplemented it with fury at Marshall shoving Dale's death in her face, her own inadequacy at killing Shane, for trusting him in the first place. The terror that left her immobile in the face of that empty click, leaving T-Dog the duty of tackling her to safety. "Shane was right: you are self-righteous and smug." The blonde muttered derisively. "Almost killed you?" She got up in his face, an inch of space preventing her from pressing up against his bound arm, face tilted up to his superior height—and so damn reminiscent of her dead-lover's confrontational anger. "You go shot in the fucking shoulder! It's a damn flesh wound, you fucking baby, and you're trying to milk it by wearing that sling?"

Marshall's right fingers twitched. His eyes brightened with viciousness, his lips peeled back, ready to unleash the vipers poison—before he inhaled deeply through his nose, chest expanding, shoulder aching, and the brightness died. "Yeah. That's right. Just your ordinary, every day, run-of-the-mill shoulder gunshot wound." He smirked genially.

"Andrea." Rick warned when she didn't back away, finally showing some form on involvement. "Back off. Now."

"Well? Are you going to punch me or kiss me?"

"Pig!" Andrea sneered, lip curling as she stepped away from him.

Marshall mentally rolled his eyes. He wasn't the one that stepped all up into her personal-bubble to... what, try and intimidate him? "Always a pleasure talking with you, Andrea." He deadpanned. "T-Dog?" Marshall held out the tarp once more.

This time, the man wasn't intercepted by the furiously pouting woman. He unfolded the green tarp on the ground beside the body. Daryl stepped in to help shift Shane's body onto the tarp, taking hold of his armpits through the sheet as T-Dog grabbed the legs. It was all very reminiscent of Dale.

"Here, hunter." Marshall held out some metal clips for him before he could rise to his feet again after wrapping the tarp. Daryl paused for half-a-second, gaze drawn to the man's twitching fingers in the sling, before grabbing the old clips, tossing a couple to T-Dog to make sure the tarp stayed closed. Marshall took the last items from the wheel barrow so the two men could heave the body in; a spade and a large flashlight.

"Where do you plan on taking him, exactly?" Lori questioned quietly. Marshall nodded to the woods. "You're just going to dump him in the woods?"

"I'm going to bury him in the woods." Marshall corrected.

"With one arm?" Andrea scoffed, arms crossed.

"No. Rick's going to come with me."

Rick's eyes met Marshall's for the first time since the Ranger arrived. "Okay."

"I'm not trying to be an asshole here," he told Lori. "If I were, I would set his corpse on fire and roast marshmallows in the flames."

Daryl snorted as he turned to leave. "Suggested that—tossin' 'im into that pile of burnt walker bodies from th' barn a few miles out. Freaked out on me."

"It was a bit messed up, man." T-Dog followed after him.

"And we're just supposed to wait here while you do that?" Andrea asked.

Marshall couldn't help but roll his eyes this time. "Or you could start packing up your shit to move into the house."

"That's actually happening?" Lori questioned in surprise.

"Yeah. Though I suggest you keep her," he jerked his chin at Andrea, "Out of my family's way. Sunny's liable to take her head off." Andrea scoffed under her breath as Lori just nodded, watching silent, gaze flickering between Rick and Shane, as Rick took up the load of the wheel barrow. There was no farewell bidden between husband and wife. "Shouldn't be more than a few hours." Marshall turned, hand gripping the base of the spade along the shaft, the rounded end of the handle resting on the toe of his boot to naturally lift the weight as he walked. Rick was a silent ghost behind him but for the crunch of his cowboy boots in the grass and the eerie squeak of the wheel.

It wasn't long before Marshall was forced to turn on the flashlight to light their path as the dying orange glow of the setting sun easily got lost in the dense overhead foliage. Rick also needed a wider path for the wheel barrow and Marshall was reticent to tripping in his current condition. His twin was right after all—the last thing any of them needed was his collar bone snapping like a Thanksgiving wishbone.

"Here should be fine." Marshall finally declared, stopping in a small pocket of space. They weren't too far gone from the main farm, but they were off the beaten path a bit. He found a place to wedge the flashlight in a set of gnarled roots to best illuminate the area before handing off the shovel silently.

Rick was a silent, mindless machine as he dug the grave. Stubborn and relentless, working through silent inner demons as he cut through the packed earth. He continued, despite how sore and tired his muscles must have been, despite the sweat that dampened his shirt and dripped from his nose.

"I didn't bring any water." Marshall suddenly realized. He should have gone back into the house to grab a small packed bag, but he'd just headed straight for the tool shed.

Rick didn't answer as he stomped the blade of the shovel alongside a partially uncovered stone the size of a head hidden in the dirt, working the handle back and forth, trying loosen it from the tangled roots. Marshall straightened from where he'd been leaning against a tree watching the man work and watching the area for any stray piranha to stumble upon them.

Rick didn't pay him any mind to Marshall seemingly wandering around as he finally managed to heave the rock free with a strained grunt, before he finished rounding out the shallow grave—maybe he could use the rock as some kind of marker. Dirt and sweat streaking his skin, Rick heaved and dragged Shane's tarp-wrapped corpse out of the wheel barrow and into the grave, as Marshall was sat on the ground fiddling with the project on his lap.

It was then that Rick finally just took a moment to gather himself, turning his gaze from his dead childhood best friend that he killed to the other man in his company. Leaning on the handle of the shovel, he watched as Marshall silently struggled to loop the two cut branches together with length of fishing line from his pocket. He had the main stick pinned upright between his thighs, right hand out of the end of the sling to hold the intersecting piece in place, one end of the line clenched between his teeth as his left hand looped and weaved the line around the two pieces. Rick frowned as he watched, as not for the first time the fingers on Marshall's right hand spasmed, dislodging the cross section and leaving behind a tangle of fishing line. Instead of just giving up out of frustration and anger, though, he just started all over again.

"You don't have to be here." Rick finally spoke, picking up the shovel again to start filling the grave. "I'm fine here, I can find my own way back. You should be with your family, with Beth."

"Beth is... vindicated." Marshall said around the fishing line between his teeth. "Jimmy was killed—just like she predicted."

Rick grimaced, closing his eyes briefly against the wave of guilt. He'd gotten that kid killed because he couldn't pull the trigger when he needed to. "Jimmy- I- that's on me."

"I already tried to shoulder the blame on that one, buddy. She wasn't having any of it. Doesn't blame you either, but like I said earlier: Andrea should watch her back."

"The damn safety." Rick sighed with resignation.

"You don't sound surprised. I just figured she was overwhelmed by her emotions."

"Forgetting the safety has always been an issue with her."

"Guess she was too busy fucking Shane in that Advanced Lesson of theirs for him to show her proper gun handling." Marshall commented wryly. Rick gave a bark of dead laughter.

"We're all going to die eventually. Old-age with become the oddity—so, of course your sister is vindicated, but it's not the truth. That curse nonsense." Rick shook his head. Marshall just hummed noncommittally, focused on his task. Rick stopped shoveling to regard him, "Why are you here, Marshall? Why are doing this? You should be resting—you were shot for God sakes!"

"Been shot before, it's nothing new."

"Marshall-"

"You shouldn't be alone." Marshall stated bluntly, looking up from the mess in his lap, momentarily giving up as he fingers kept spasming. He hoped it was just because he was pushing himself and not something more complicated and permanent. "How can no one else realize that? Your wife- she's just too angry to see it. If I'm making you uncomfortable, I can-"

"No." Rick stopped him. "That's not- That's not what I meant. I just don't- How aren't you as angry as them? How can you sit there so calmly, making him a cross?! After what he just did? Be here for me when I messed up so badly? When my own wife can't even-" he choked back the sudden sob.

"No matter what he did," Marshall murmured softly with sympathy, "He was still your family, Rick. You loved him. You're not mourning the man that he became in this world, but who he was Before. That kid you met in 6th Grade, your fellow deputy, the man who was an uncle to your son, the man that saved you wife and son. Whatever I may or may not feel about Shane Walsh—justified or petty—it's not about him. I'm here for you, Rick. That's all."

"That's all?" Rick blinked at him through the hot unshed tears that blurred his gaze, staring at the man in grateful amazement.

"I'll be here. You're not ready for it yet, you need to process some things on your own, but I'll be here if you ever need a private therapy session."

"Marshall, you're..."

"Emotionally compromised? Yeah, I am coming to that realization." Marshall turned back to the project in his lap.

Marshall had a general care for everyone's wellbeing, but it was different with Rick—it was too intent, too fast—that care and concern. He'd never been in love with anyone outside of his family, so he honestly couldn't tell you what it was like. He thought maybe it was like this. Wanting to be there for Rick, despite any hang-ups he may have about Shane, even if he probably didn't have the right to be. Damn, was he as bruised and battered as Maggie? Of course he would do something stupid and fall in love with a married man, if that's what this actually was. But there were no set rules to love—how it bloomed, when it bloomed, for whom it bloomed. Even how large that bloom became. He sure as hell hoped that Greene Family Curse stuff really was just nonsense... Maybe Marshall was just infatuated? Where Daryl rebuffed him, Rick welcomed him. Maybe this was just what friendship outside of his family members felt like? It wasn't like he had a personal form of reference for that either.

"I was going to say 'good person'." Rick frowned, obviously misinterpreting him. "A good friend." He added softly.

Marshall's head jerked up so fast that he unintentionally pulled the knot closed with his teeth, finishing off the cross. His stitches pulled at the abrupt movement, but it was easily ignored as his bright green-eyes searched Rick's face. "Friend?" Rick nodded, unable to help the brow raised in amusement at how much of an eager puppy he looked. "Even after I-?" he swallowed, eyes flickering to Shane's partially covered body.

"Friend." Rick repeated, conviction firm. "And this," he nodded to the grave, shovelling dirt again. "This was my responsibility. If I hadn't been such- such a 'coward', just like he said-"

"Stop. Not wanting to kill him doesn't make you a coward. You're too hard on yourself, Rick." Marshall murmured.

Rick shook his head and corrected, "Not hard enough. It's my responsibility as leader to keep them safe. If I screw-up, they're the ones that pay the price. They did pay the price—you paid the price."

"Nobody's perfect, Rick. Not even me—even though Beth says so. We all have freewill, we all make our own choices, we all play our own parts. Second guessing yourself, that helps nobody. Not them and not you. The What-If Game, that's nothing but a downward spiral into guilt and self-loathing. You can't change what happened, all you can do is learn from it."

"You sound like a self-help book."

"It's just being practical. The hard part is actually going through with it—like New Year's resolutions."

"That's not encouraging—I don't think I've ever known someone to actually stick to their New Year's resolutions."

"I'll just have to be your cheerleader then—Go! Team Grimes!"

A puff of laughter escaped him, a small fond smile ghosting over his lips. "How can I say 'no' to that?" Finally finished filling the grave, Rick laid the dirt-caked shovel in the wheel barrow with a quiet clang. Shane was dead and buried but all these new complications stayed haunting him like wraiths—it was a relief to somehow still have Marshall Greene perched in his corner.

"I've never had a friend I wasn't related to before." Marshall remarked aloud to him in glee, the blush on his cheeks lost in the saturation of the high beam flashlight.

"How could you have never had a friend before?" Rick couldn't help but question. "I don't see how that's possible, you're a very likable guy."

"I just... never saw the need, really. I had my family, my sisters and brother, and after I joined the Army, with death hanging overhead, I didn't see the point in attachments that would just fall to the wayside anyway." He reached behind him and pulled his knife from its sheath. "No point in handing out more grief than was already there to be had."

"Well, then, what changed? Shouldn't you feel the same now—even more so now?"

"It's the end of the world, Rick. What's the point in surviving if there's nothing to survive for?"

"Valid point." Rick eyed the knife in the man's left hand and the precariously balanced cross in his lap. "Ah! Maybe I should do that?" He suggested, stepping forward before Marshall could try anything. "You're already down an arm, you don't need to loose a couple fingers, too."

"You're probably right." Marshall handed over the knife handle-first. "You should be the one to do the honours, anyway."

Rick sunk to the ground with groan in front of him; he was definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow, all these sore and overworked muscles.

"What kind of knife is this, anyway?" Rick questioned, examining it for a moment as he found a comfortable grip with it, that was not your typical hunting knife, or even a military KBAR.

"It's a kukri knife. The blade has a 20-degree curve to it, because of the shape, all the weight goes to the front of the blade—very good at hacking piranha. That one's only the 8-inch, though. I may have a variety, going upwards to the machete." He rubbed his nose. "It's a good knife."

Rick could only nod, taking the makeshift cross. He braced it flat on the ground and started the painstaking task of carving Shane's name into the wood. Rick was focused so intently, starting on the first 'A' that the explosive and sudden "AH_CHOO!" in front of him caused him to jump a foot in the air and narrowly miss cutting his own fingers off.

"Owie!" Marshall whimpered, left arm reaching across to hug himself through the sharp pain.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked in concern, watching him with worried eyes, not sure what he could even do to help.

"I am so gonna load up on morphine when I go to bed tonight," Marshall announced. "And I'm sleeping in. What's the point of getting shot if I can't sleep in until at least 10 o'clock? Also, I'm never gonna sneeze again because that was fucking horrible! I can't believe I forgot how that felt. Oh." After Rocky, when his skin stretched and pulled painfully with just breathing... the stitching in his abdomen and groin... To say it simply hurt was an understatement, nor could he claim it was just a single sneeze; it was one of those attacks that there was no choice but to ride through it, be it 6 or a dozen successive sneezes. No one should be surprised to learn he popped some stitches in some not-so-fun places.

"And you're not loaded up on morphine now?" Rick frowned.

"Just the shot auntie gave me so daddy could cut the bullet out." Marshall finally exhaled, relaxing out of his recovery hold.

"Cut out." Rick repeated.

"Stop looking so guilty," he chided. "You're not the one that shot me."

Rick's expression tightened. "No, I'm just the one that got you shot."

"Technically, we can blame Andrea." Marshall tried to joke. Rick's frown just deepened, gaze dropping to the cross between them. Marshall leaned forward, left hand reaching out, "Rick, you c-!"

Everything went abruptly still and quiet. The crickets and wildlife in the darkened woods, each man as they froze with bated breath while the distorted echo died within the trees.

"What was that?" Rick questioned in a harsh, cautious whisper. "A gunshot?!

"We need to go!" Marshall jumped to his feet abruptly, snagging the flashlight and bolting through the trees.

"Marshall?" Rick raced after him, following the bouncing light beam. He didn't even have to question as the world silently answered in the form of repeated reports. All coming from the farm, all the echoes of gunshots. Had Randall's Group somehow found them? Someone else? What if-? "Marshall?!" They were almost to the tree line when Marshall suddenly dropped from sight with a surprised and pained cry, flashlight flying from his hand. The light beam danced all around the trees, showing him flashes and flinches of the walkers that haunted the shadows like ghouls. Before he could even attempt to help Marshall, who Rick dreadfully realized, while down his dominant arm, also didn't have his knife, he was laid upon himself by several walkers.

Marshall didn't even have a chance. His only warning was a shadow from the corner of his eye half a second before the collision. Totally taken unprepared, he couldn't even attempt to twist out of the way of the 300 pound corpse that bowled him over. It was only a brief relief that he landed more so on his left side, than either directly onto his back or especially onto his right shoulder (because he knew for certain that it would have snapped his clavicle clean in half), leaving no room for doubt in his death (whether that would have been via piranha or bone shredding through his subclavian artery, he didn't need to find out).

Rick still had his knife, which Marshall was grateful for because he never would have been able to reach it anyway. And while he had the hatchet tucked into his belt at his left hip, right now it was kind of pinned under him. He had somehow managed to get his right knee up in-between them before the full weight of the piranha could bear down on him, but it didn't afford him much as it sunk into the rotted, bloated flesh instead of offering any real barrier.

The real saving and killing grace was actually the sling. While yes, it left him unable to use his arm, it also gave him a better barrier against any gnashing teeth than even his shirt did with thicker, more durable material. Before that theory could be tested out though, he managed to reach his left arm between them, using it as a bar against the piranha's throat as horrendous teeth snapped at him, his hand fisting into the jacket material at its shoulder for extra leverage.

One of them was going to give sooner or later, hopefully there was a miracle waiting in the wings for Marshall Greene, hopefully a man called Rick Grimes. Marshall strained, gritting his teeth, trying to keep from being overpowered by the superior weight, strength, and position, trying to rock them enough to somehow slip out from under it.

Turns out—it was a little bit of all of it!

The piranha gave way first, in the literal, literal sense: Marshall's knee finally popped through the stretched, thin membrane of skin encasing its bloated belly. Putrid, rotted human meat exploded over him. Without that cushion between them, even if its weight lessened, just let the piranha bear closer onto him with sharp bones instead of squishy flesh with an abrupt jolt. The worn material tore away from his fingers, his arm slipped—all he could see was the black, rancid maw heading straight for his face. Ah, so I really am going to die here. When the piranha's head suddenly jerked, Marshall's face was spattered, blinding him as its head just abruptly fell, teeth closing with a click.

It took him a long minute to register that he was in fact alive, still breathing, though frantically. His nose intact on his face, unbitten. And that the ringing in his ears wasn't just the blood rushing at his near-death experience, but because of the close report of a gunshot.

"Marshall? Marshall?"

His name was shouted anxiously from multiple sources, but it wasn't exactly like he could open his eyes to look or open his mouth to speak, not unless he wanted a taste. So he was left to do nothing because he really couldn't do anything in his current position, as Rick and whoever else that had come across them, heaved and scrambled to pull the popped piranha off him. There was gagging and desperate whimpers, and someone broke off to actually throw-up. Marshall didn't blame them, he could smell it and feel it, he sure as hell didn't want to know what he looked like. But he managed to roll out, coating himself in ground debris like he was tarred and feathered. He started at the tentative touch without warning.

"Relax, it's just me." Rick murmured, knelt at his side, and quickly used a clean patch up his own shirt to clear off Marshall's face. "Alright, you can look now."

Marshall blinked open his eyes and the first thing he saw was Rick's blue-eyes. "Thanks," he croaked.

"Wasn't me." He turned his head and gave a strict, disappointed yet relieved look at the Apple of His Eye holding a handgun.

"Little Grimes, I could hug you!" Rick helped Marshall sit up, grimacing at his covered state but not pulling away.

"Please don't." Carl's face was twisted up it complete disgust.

Marshall glimpsed the 3 other dead piranha around them, but something far more important took his attention. "Butterfly?"

She was hugging the flashlight like it was her dolly. "A-are you okay, Marshall?" She asked him.

"Still here. Still alive." Marshall promised her. "What the hell is going on?" He left the question for the entire floor, it was Carl who answered, gaze darting around.

"We'd just finished moving everything into the house. We could hear the cows crying from out in the field. Hershel and Daryl went to check it out, but they didn't get very far before they saw the walker herd. Bigger than the one on the highway, dad. Everyone grabbed guns and they were talking about leaving—I couldn't just leave you! I had to find you!"

Rick sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "You should have stayed with your mother," was the only reprimand he gave, "She must be going out of her mind. You, too, Sophia."

"S-sorry."

"Sophia?" Marshall enquired.

The girl jumped a little as Rick dispatched a stray walker that stumbled through the tree line. She whispered, "We got separated. And I couldn't just let him go on his own."

Marshall sighed wryly. "At least you stuck together." He eyed the girl with a frown, "You don't have a weapon?" Sophia silently shook her head. "Here." He pulled his KBAR from the sheath inside his boot and handed it to her. "I'll show you how to use that properly after, but for now keep hold of it just in case, okay, butterfly?"

"Okay." She swallowed, fingers tight around the handle.

"Alright, plan of action?" Rick pulled Marshall to his feet as they listened to the continued gunshots.

"They're already planning on fleeing," Marshall pointed out. "So we gotta make a run for a car or be left behind."

"A herd that size would tear right through the house." Rick agreed. "Here's your knife."

"Keep it, you'll need it. Your gun only has five bullets."

"Four." Rick realized. He hadn't reloaded after Shane.

"Keep it." Marshall repeated. "'Sides, I have this." He pulled the hatchet free from his belt. "And my gun."

"Carl, you don't leave my sight. You get separated, you scream, understand?"

"Yes, dad." Carl nodded, holding his gun ready in front of him.

"Wait. Before we go..." Marshall wedged the hatchet blade under the shoulder strap of the sling, easily slicing through it. There was a loud rip of Velcro as he yanked free the chest strap.

"Your shoulder-" Rick started.

"Is the least of our worries." Marshall interrupted, slowly stretching his right arm, careful not to overextend. "It can always get more stitches thrown into it, as long as I don't break my collar bone, we're good. Sophia, come here." He took the flashlight from her hands and using the clip on the handle, hooked it onto the waist of her overalls. "You stick on me, you understand? I don't care how much I stink!" Marshall commanded the girl, only shifting her to his right side after her confirmation, guiding her left hand to grip his belt. "Move with me."

With Rick shifting his son into position beside Sophia and on his left side, in the more protected position between the two men. They were worried about their other loved-ones, of course, but right now, here, it was the 2 kids in their care that needed their focus. Sharing a nod with Rick, the four broke from the cover of trees.

Their journey started off easy. Rick and Marshall picking off the strays at the fringes of the hoard as their little group drew immediate attention from the piranha at the back of the crowd. But it was as they closed in on the main scene at the farmhouse that the true chaos was finally experienced.

There was no order, just panic.

The cows had been a good, if temporary distraction. An easy docile meal to feed on, their lows of pain and anxiety a call to feast—but as soon as that first shot was fired, all bets were off. Any piranha not currently feasting on beef was drawn further in. More piranha, more gunshots, more piranha, more panic. It was an endless cycle. The problem: they would run out of bullets long before they did piranha, so their only choice was to make a dent big enough to escape.

It was like trying to shoulder through a drunken mob of sports fans of a rival team. Any human shouts and screams lost all meaning in the collective of terrible groans and snarls of the piranha. Two vehicles already appeared to be in play: Marshall could hear what he thought might have been Daryl's motorcycle, and he could vaguely see the green Hyundai popping in and out of sight off into the field, trying to draw some attention from the house with a varying degree of success.

Shortly enough, before they even set their eyes on anyone, Marshall was forced to draw his sidearm and a quick alternation between hatchet and gun at the onslaught of piranha that just didn't seem to end, lunging at them for a bite. The pain from the recoil in his arm didn't even register, only knowing that the gun was the better choice for his right arm, than the cranking of the hatched forcefully through bone.

He could feel the little jerks and pulls of Sophia's slight delay in following his movements; it was more of a relief than a hindrance, a constant sign that she was still with him. And Marshall cursed the fact that he hadn't tethered the Grimes' to his hip as well, when there was a brief pocket of inactivity that allowed him to reload his spare clip into the magazine of his berretta—and he realized the two were nowhere in sight. The cacophony of groans, the sharp echo of gunshot over gunshot, he just never realized he'd been the only one firing in their little bubble. There was no time to dwell on it, just another worry in the back of his mind as Sophia forcefully collided with the back of his hip with a scream.

Marshall reacted instantly, twisting around. The butt of his gun came down first, cracking across the crown of dark-haired pigtails. The follow through with his hatchet was skewed, the upper part of the blade clipped its temple—not with enough force to kill, but to send it spinning, falling face first into the ground. An instant later they were bowled over by the crowd of rowdy piranha.

Sophia first, her small body sprawling on her back and onto the still-living piranha her own size. Before she could react and roll, she was weighted down by Marshall's torso. She tried to swallow back the sobs at the low snarls from the kid walker right by her head, trying to turn its own and snap at her with braces filled teeth. Marshall had lost hold of his gun with spasming fingers in the fall, but he managed to keep his grip tight on the hatchet handle. Good thing, too, because while the piranha that initially knocked them over tumbled to the wayside, the following piranha that tripped was coming at him teeth first.

Marshall managed to get the hatchet in-between them in the nick of time, blade up, for the piranha to fall onto it face first. He flinched at the spatter across his face, but didn't immediately shove the dead piranha off him as he tried to catch his breath, despite the adrenaline, his shoulder was still killing him.

"Butterfly, you alright under there?" Marshall uttered lowly.

"Y-yeah." Sophia whimpered, it was a little hard to breath but she knew that, that was not what was going to kill her here. "It's s-still alive under me, but-but it can't s-scratch or bite me."

"Good, good. That's good. You doing great, Sophia. We've got ourselves a little blind pocket here in this piranha sandwich. Do you still have your knife?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I dropped my gun in the fall," he whispered. "Can you look around for it, see if it's not been kicked around like a soccer ball?" It wasn't exactly the end of the world if he lost the gun, in the sense that he could get his hands on another from a number of his stash-points (the house, the Banana Mopeel, the stables), but it sure would be handy if they could find it right now (he'd just put a full clip into the thing, after all).

"O-Okay." Sophia took a shaky breath, trying to blink away the tears to clear her vision. She turned her head, gaze darting around dirty shoes and rotted feet in the dark grass, trying to spot a small glint of moonlight off of black metal. It reminded her all too much of being alone under that car on the highway as the herd shuffled past, groaning, bumping into the cars. And while the walkers loomed and tripped over them, though she was scared, she wasn't alone. Her already tense body went stiff instinctively, her eyes locking onto to those of milky-white not even 10-feet away. Her lips clamped tight to keep the frightened cry at bay.

"Butterfly?"

"I f-found it." Sophia's voice broke. "There's-there's a w-walker beside u-us. It's on the g-ground. It's legs are all mess- they're all messed up. I don't think it can stand. Your gun's hooked on it's-it's finger." Well, that was not safe, Marshall decided. "It's staring right at me. It's crawling towards us, Marshall!" she cried in panic. "It heard me!"

Marshall hushed her gently, calm but firm. "I need you to calm down and be brave, okay? Deep breath." He felt her shuddering behind him. "I need you to take that knife and I need you to stab it in the head before it can get close enough to bite you." Marshall instructed her.

"W-What? No! You have to!"

"Yes, you, Sophia." He kept his tone even as he attempted to work the hatched from the skull on his chest, gaze trained on the piranha whose attention was being drawn. Yelling made her cow and afraid, but calm tones and firm instruction kept her present and in the playing field. "You're right—we've been sussed out and in a minute I'm going to be busy taking care of these piranha, so, when I get off you, I need you to roll to your right, and I need you to stab that piranha in the head. Then I need you to turn back and stab the piranha we're on top of before it can get up and try to bite you, too." He managed to get the hatchet free, and positioned his right hand in ready to throw the literal dead-weight off of him and come up swinging. "I know it's scary, but you're going to do it anyway—because you want to live, because you want to see you mama again, because I won't be able to do it for you. Because you can, butterfly. You have to."

And he shoved the dead piranha off him and lunged to his feet toward the three piranha before they could lunge at him and trap the both of them in that piranha sandwich. His hatchet blade split its skull before it could even crash underneath him to the ground. Marshall could only believe that Sophia was okay, that she was handling herself even though he couldn't see her, couldn't turn to look, because she wasn't shrieking in pain. So—she was fine. She was fine. Boney fingers grabbed his shoulder, he grabbed the wrist in turn and flipped the piranha over his shoulder with a grunt. He tore it's rotted arm from the socket, the fraying tendons finally snapping, so while his hatchet momentarily got stuck in the side of its head, he was forced to use the severed arm in his right to bat away the last of the trio.

Marshall finally managed to get his hatchet free and while fending off one piranha with another piranha's arm sounded bad-ass, other than popping a stitch in his shoulder, it hadn't actually put the piranha down, so his hatchet cleaved its head as it was sitting up again. Breathing heavily, it had been a while since he was active in this particular way (Jimmy was usually the one that chopped wood, so Marshall was a bit out of practice), and face the scene that he'd turned his back onto.

Sophia was, in fact, alive. Crumpled on her knees, shoulders shaking as she tried to muffle her crying, her fingers locked around the handle of the KBAR that was buried in the eye of the pig-tailed child piranha's eye. Behind her was the piranha with the mutilated legs, dead face-down in the dirt. He could see his handgun in its outstretched hand, its broken pinkie caught through the trigger guard. It was an honest miracle the gun hadn't managed to misfire and probably kill Sophia.

"Butterfly?" he murmured as he disentangled his gun and slid it home into his thigh holster.

Sophia flinched with a sharp gasp. "Marshall?"

"Yes. I'm here."

She rose her head, face a pallet of sweat, tears, grime and walker spatter. She sniffed. "I did it." Sophia told him.

"Yes, you did." Marshall agreed proudly. "I'm so proud of you, you did so good." He eased her locked fingers from the knife handle gently and yanked it free with a squelch. "I knew you could." He handed the knife back and pulled her to her feet, her knees shaky. "C'mon, now. We gotta go." He made sure that her fingers were curled around the back hip of his belt before he felt ready to push forward.

There were two points of destinations for Marshall, two paths set before them:

With the porch light on, highlighting him like a spotlight in the dark, stood Hershel. Armed with his shotgun, white dress shirt near glowing beneath his suspenders, emptying shotgun shell boxes scattered at his feet and the growing pile of dead piranha at the stairs… Or the barking that was lost in the crowd—the one that he had subconsciously been inching them toward.

Daddy made no move to escape, even with his own paths presented to him: the wrap-around porch, through the front door at his back and out the backdoor. While Athena- Athena barking meant people, his sisters, likely others, otherwise the dog would be slipping through legs unnoticed in search for him, instead of the song-and-dance of distracting and felling piranha.

Hershel was like a man on a mission—his Last Stand—and with remorse, Marshall turned his back on his daddy. Marshall's point of focus was the sound of Athena's barking, wherever she was, he knew at the very least, were his sisters. With renewed determination, it didn't take 2 minutes to find the small collection of living humans amid the dense cluster of piranha.

From what he could discern, T-Dog was at the head of the pack as he unknowingly broke away from the group as they pushed for the closest car—the Banana Mopeel. Lori, with nothing but a revolver to her. He pinpointed Beth with relief as the tip of her aluminium softball bat rose above the heads of the crowd like a flag, covered in congealed blood and clumps of hair, before it was brought down to bear on any biting head in her path. And bringing up the rear was auntie wielding Otis' gun from earlier. He couldn't spot Athena, but he could still hear her, watched as piranha around the group would suddenly just drop from sight as the military dog weaved through legs like a shark through chum, when they got a little too close into a blind spot. That was all Athena could do, really, giving the humans a moment of respite, unable to cave in piranha skulls herself.

Marshall started hacking through on his side with the hatchet. He broke through the last layer that separated them, creating a little gap to jump through to the others. Beth spun around, nearly braining him (covered in piranha guts as he was, his face long spattered again from Rick's cleaning, he couldn't blame her), but was inadvertently saved by Sophia as she tripped over walker bodies and with her locked grip on his belt, ended up jerking him aside with her slight weight.

"Marshall!" Beth cried with relief, a hoarse sob leaving her throat before she could swallow it. She nearly dropped her bat with relief. As much as she wanted to just crash into his chest, she knew it would have to wait.

"Told you I wasn't going anywhere." He promised, pulling his gun from his holster, shooting a piranha that broke through the line behind her.

"Rick?!" Lori spun around, frantic eyes darting around. "Where's Rick?"

"We got separated-" Marshall quickly reached forward and pulled the inattentive woman to the more safer center of group, another bullet putting down the piranha that had been about to take a lucky bite out of her shoulder.

"What-?!"

"Chit-chat later!" T-Dog hollered back at them, slamming his foot into a walker's leg, snapping its knee, and leaning over to plunge the end of his crowbar into its face before it could get up. "We need to get the hell up outta here!"

Athena suddenly broke through the crowd, bodily slamming into a piranha that was sneaking up on Patricia as she struggled to reload her shotgun and not get overwhelmed by grabbing hands—not on the safety of her little hill like Hershel was, a step above the crowd. That quickly took Marshall's attention, as Patricia let out a shout as hands tangle into her loose hair, jerking her back into arms-upon-arms just as she snapped the barrel back into place.

Marshall lunged forward with a shout, grabbed her arm before she was buried beneath a hungry piranha pile, and yanked her back to him as he shot into the crowd. He only had time enough to press a quick kiss to her forehead in relief before he had his hatchet back in-hand. "Get to the car!" He pushed her from the edge of group, the shotgun dropped and lost amid the kicking feet. Patricia didn't have the heart to tell him what lay beneath the matted locks of hair at the nape of her neck.

"Keys, man! Where are the keys?!" T-Dog shouted as he frantically threw a walker against the side of the Banana Mopeel and repeatedly bludgeoned it with the rounded edge of the crowbar.

"Seat crevice!" Marshall managed to get enough breath in to shout back around the lump in his throat, as he struggled to act the barrier between him and the women. "Get to the car!" Beth was silently crying, but she was still swinging her softball bat, anger and grief powering her blows. When they reached the car, she tore the back door open, diving into the backseat. "Athena, in!" she barely had time to jam herself to the other side before a gunk-covered Athena was thrown into her lap. "Auntie, Sophia, get in!"

"Marshall!" Lori shouted, grabbing at him, pulling his attention instead of getting into the damn car. "Where the hell is Rick? Where is my husband? And Carl- We can't leave without them! I have to find them!"

When she tried to push back into the closing piranha, he pushed her back, furious. "And what the hell do you think running back into that is actually going to do, Lori? Rick isn't stupid, he'll be fine. And Carl will be fine right where he is with his father." He yanked the front passenger door open behind the pregnant woman. "They don't need to be worrying about you running off like a headless chicken and getting everyone else killed. Now get in the fucking car!" He didn't give her a chanced to respond before shoving her in and slamming the door.

"Come on, we gotta go!" T-Dog shouted from the driver's seat, quickly cranking the door window back up as a walker slammed against the door. He flinched as the severed fingers tapped against his shoulder before disappearing into the dark space between the seat and the door. "Get your skinny white asses in here and let's go!" he turned the keys in the ignition.

Marshall stopped short, nearly bowling over Patricia behind him, Sophia still attached at his hip. "Auntie? Get in the car-"

"It's too late for that, sweet boy." Patricia sniffed, silent tears down her dirty cheeks. "It's time for me to be with my Otie in The Spirit in the Sky."

"What-?" Marshall said with incomprehension as she pulled him into a hug as the piranha were closing in on them again, attracted to the engine and bright headlights. His arms automatically wrapped around her. The reality came when he felt the warm blood down her back...

"Marshall?" Beth called in confusion as the back door suddenly slammed shut, but no one else had gotten into the backseat. "Marshall? Auntie!" she tried to push past Athena to get to the door before she flinched back with a scream as the window was spattered with bright red blood and the Pinto was sent rocking at the crash of piranha. "No! NO!"

T-Dog had no other choice but to throw it into 'drive' and floor it before they got swamped by the walkers.

Athena howled, scrambling frantically at the door with her paws to get out, only succeeding in locking the door and preventing Beth from throwing herself out of the moving car after her big brother and auntie. "Marshall! No, no, no! Marshall?! Auntie?!" she scrambled to look out the rear window, but all she could see in the rear lights was the thinned herd of piranha shambling after the Banana Mopeel and the sight of the farmhouse shrinking. She was helpless to do anything but watch as her crying filled the silence of the car.

[tWD]

Beth wasn't quite sure how long had passed before the ringing in her ears faded and the world around her came back into sharp clarity, just that the warm colours of dawn were contradictory to the dead husk of her heart and soul. Her auntie was dead. Her big br- She yanked her gaze away from the dried blood spatter on the window, her fingers tightening in Athena's fur where the dog lay in her lap. No. She refused to believe. Until she saw her brother's corpse jerking around like a puppet with broken joints...

"Where are we?"

Her unexpected voice caused both adults in the front to jump in their seats. T-Dog's gaze and mind focused on the seeming endless stretch of dirt road before them; while Lori's circled and circled in endless worry about her lost husband and son.

"Goin' East." T-Dog's fingers drummed the steering wheel. "I figured we'd head to the coast, you know? Like we shoulda done from the jump. Grab a boat, live off the sea..."

Both women gaped at him.

"What are you talking about? We're not leaving without Rick and Carl. What about the others?" Lori immediately denied his plan-of-action. "Stop the car! Turn around, T-Dog!"

"Look, I get it, alright?" T-Dog tried to soothe. "But there just ain't no way- We wouldn't even know where to begin to look. Besides, you both saw the farm, it's gone, and going back is just suicide."

"Stop the car and get out!" Beth shouted furiously, her dirty shoe slamming into the back of his seat. Athena perked up in her lap, ears back at the raised voices and tension. "You want to run away to the coast? Be my guest, but if you think you're using my brother's Banana Mopeel to do it, then you better check yourself!"

"His what?!" T-Dog exclaimed in confusion, finally hitting the brakes.

"His car, you asshole!" Beth punched the back of his seat and Athena barked. "My family is back there! My sister, my auntie, and my brother."

"Look, even if he-" T-Dog started and Athena snarled in warning for Beth.

"He is!"

T-Dog sighed. "It wouldn't matter anyway. Marshall wouldn't be at the farm, girl. Same with Rick, same with anybody. If they're alive—they ain't there. So, there's no point in even trying to go back—we'd just get ourselves killed."

"Rick would head back to the highway. Where we broke down—where we lost Sophia. Glenn would, too." Lori insisted. "It's a good place to start, so turn the car around, T-Dog."

He was silent for a long moment, gritting his teeth as he stared out the windshield to the clear road ahead. And when his gaze flickered to the rear-view mirror at all the trouble he knew lay in the opposite way, his eyes caught onto Beth Greene's. Her gaze was set, a furious fire in her blue-eyes despite the tear tracks on her cheeks. Droplets of dried walker blood on her pale skin, swamped in her big brother's old army jacket, one fist twisted in Athena's fur, the other white-knuckling the taped grip of her bat—and T-Dog sighed in defeat. "Shoot. Alright, damn. It seems like a long shot to me, but what the hell." He pulled a U-turn, driving them back into the danger-zone.

Beth was silent once more in the backseat, relieved that they were going back but there was one frantic question racing through her mind:

How would Marshall know to go there?

...

Beth had long since wound down the blood-stained window, not wanting to have to stare at it, to contemplate the implication. Her grip flexed in Athena's fur and around her bat. Uncle O was dead. And mama, and Shawny. She refused to add Marshall to that list and she'd fight anyone tooth-and-nail who tried to. Marshall would stay alive for her and Maggie and Patricia, Athena and Sophia.

"Why'd you stop?" Beth questioned T-Dog when he pulled to a stop on the dirt road, several other's branching off into the trees.

"Damn it." T-Dog sighed. "I'll admit it—I don't know where we are. It was dark and I was just tryin' to get the hell up outta there. Is there a map or-?"

"Let me drive." Beth piped up after catching sight of the worn signpost nearly blending in with the trees.

T-Dog snorted. "Girl, you-"

"Know where we are."

"Do you even know how to drive?" He questioned warily.

"Yes. My brothers taught me." Beth stated icily. "I know where we are—let me drive."

T-Dog glanced silently over to Lori, who just nodded. He sighed, but after putting the gear into 'park', got out of the driver's seat after double-checking to make sure that the coast was indeed clear of any walkers. There was a car wreck in the trees and he could just make out a walker caught in the windshield of the overturned vehicle, but he didn't see the point in going over there to check it out.

"Athena, stay." The teen told the dog when, instead of just using the door, Beth just climbed through the small space between the two front seats and into the driver's seat, and Athena tried to follow her up. Lori had instinctively pressed away against passenger door when her muzzle popped through the space. Beth settled her bat in the foot well alongside her left leg, clicked her seatbelt in place from habit, shifted into drive, cranked the wheel to the right and pressed down on the gas.

When T-Dog settled into the backseat, he calmly let Athena sniff at him, before dismissing him, and rested her muzzle of the open windowsill with a whine. He wanted to reach out, pet her, give the animal some kind of comfort because he knew she was missing her master like all-hell, but he wasn't sure if that plan of action wouldn't just get him bit. The back hem of her vest, in a bright red patch, literally said: DON'T Pet/Ask Before Petting.He'd seen the state of Shane's hand and had no intention of encountering that same sort of fate.

"Maybe you should slow down a bit." Lori suggested carefully.

Beth barely glanced her way before her gaze flickered to the speedometer. She scoffed quietly. Other than the fact that she wasn't even going 60 on the back road, she wasn't very much inclined to listen to anything the woman said. Lori was the reason that Marshall, Patricia, and Sophia weren't in the car with them right now. If she'd just gotten into the fucking car and not try and run off on her own like she'd done before, the others would have been in the car, too, instead of out of it when the hoard of piranha had descended.

Beth had to resist the urge to take the turn-off that would lead them back directly to the house. As it was, the road that took them around the farm was speckled with piranha like stray chicken. Her grip tightened on the wheel, but she didn't slowdown, just kept her speed and shifted the wheel just enough so the Banana Mopeel would clip the reaching piranha instead of plough right through them and risk damaging the car.

The were coming up to the final turn-off that would lead to the main highway, and she finally put some pressure on the brake pedal. The road was narrow, the trees in tight, the fork was a bit of a blind spot—it was that reason she was able to slam the brakes to the floor so easily as the motorcycle swerved passed the Pinto's fender from her left, and why they didn't crash right into the following green Hyundai.

Shouts filled the interior. Lori managed to brace her hands on the dashboard. T-Dog bounced off the back of the driver's seat while Athena crashed from the seat and into the foot well with a yelp. The seatbelt slapped taut against Beth's chest, loose, faded-blue locks flying into her face and obscuring her view as her heart hammered in her chest.

Beth shakily put the car into park and turned off the ignition. When she flipped her hair out of her face and looked out the driver's side window, it was into the just as startled green-eyes of her big sister staring out the Hyundai passenger window. Beth scrambled to release her seatbelt. She tripped over her bat in her haste to jump out of the car, but by then it was only a quick scramble to her feet and she was crashing into Maggie's equally as desperate embrace.

"Maggie!"

"Oh, God, Beth! Thank God! Thank God!"

The others were a little slower to get out of cars, but no less relieved as they all looked took each other in. Daryl had his crossbow at the ready, checking out their surroundings as he noted that half their group was still not accounted for.

"Sophia?" Carol's voice trembled. "I think she was with C-Carl..." she looked desperately at the only other mother for confirmation.

Lori shook her head. "Carl's with Rick. That's what- that's what Marshall said, but they got separated."

"And Marshall?" Maggie prompted, looking at her sister with a mix of fear and hope. Athena had briefly greeted her before going off nearby to relieve herself, and she did not like the implication that the dog was with her little sister, but her twin was not.

"We got separated." Beth said simply. "Marshall, auntie, and Sophia."

Daryl caught the brief, tense glance that T-Dog and Lori shared, but he stayed silent. Miracles did happen after all. Just look at Sophia being found and saved the first time after 2 days alone in the woods or Carl surviving his gunshot in this climate, so for now neither decided to say anything.

"Oh, God!" Carol covered her mouth, trying not to breakdown. "And none of them are here. Where are they?!"

"The highway." Glenn said. "That's where we were going, that where we figured everyone would go."

"Us, too." Lori agreed, rubbing Carol's back comfortingly. "They'll be there."

"Then let's get going!" Daryl said gruffly.

"The highway's not even a mile from here." Maggie told them.

Lori ended up going into the Hyundai, despite how uneasy it made her feel, to keep an eye on and comfort Carol. She'd hidden under this car as Shane was killed right next to it, but even that was better than having the dog that mauled him literally breathing down her neck from the close-quarters of the backseat in the Pinto next to the sister of the family she probably got killed. Beth whistled for Athena to get in the Banana Mopeel, she took over the backseat as T-Dog claimed the passenger seat. Daryl led the procession on his bike, the Banana Mopeel in center, and the green Hyundai following onto the highway.

Beth gaze darted around the abandoned highway warily, swallowing with unease at how desolate it all was as their vehicles crept along the cleared way. Athena's head was poked out the back window again, scenting the air. Beth had never been out this far before, she hadn't even left the main farm since all this started months ago—and it only really seemed to be sinking in how isolated the Greene's had been since the start of the apocalypse. How protected Marshall had kept them. She recognized her daddy's truck first as she parked and turned off the car, even before Lori was running passed with a cry of "Carl! Rick!".

Beth's tsk was covered by the clap of various closed doors as they all met up around the truck. "Athena, perimeter. Stay close." The teenager commanded the dog as she jumped out the open driver's door, with a woof she disappeared amongst the abandoned cars. Rick, Carl, and Hershel were the only new faces present. Beth hugged her father, though it wasn't as vigorous as Maggie's. She knew the truth, she'd seen her father plant his flag on the porch steps where Jimmy bled, while Maggie had been driving around with Glenn trying to thin the herd out.

"Sophia's not with you?" Carol whimpered, desperate gaze jumping from one new face to the other, slowly sinking in on herself.

"She was. Marshall, too. With me and dad." Carl said.

"We got separated." Rick admitted gently. "I don't know what happened to them, but if I know one thing... Sophia is safe with Marshall."

"We have to go back to the farm!" Carol straightened. "They could still be there, Beth said they got left behind."

"Sweetie, that's not- that's not a good idea." Lori tried gently. "It's-"

"It's easy for you to say." Carol interrupted. "Your son is here, with you. Alive. And my daughter is out there alone, again."

"She not alone." Beth countered, looking up from where she'd been spinning the head of her bat on the dirty toe of her Chucks. "She's with my brother and auntie."

"Honey," Lori tried to be soothing and gentle. "You saw the same thing that me and T saw. That bl-"

"Shut up." Her voice was low but her tone was poisonous. There was stunned silence as they stared at the blue-haired teenager.

Oh, shit, Maggie thought, staring at her little sister and seeing the shadow of her twin brother. It was the little baby viper raising its head from its little sleepy coil. When Marshall was pissed beyond belief, at the end of his rope, he didn't get loud, he got low and vicious like a striking viper. Maggie just skipped to volcanic. And Beth, well, her temper was an amalgamation of the twins'—her normal angry setting was Maggie's but her ultimate anger setting was Marshall's. Lori trying to say that her big brother was dead was a sure-fire trigger for it, and Maggie sure as hell wasn't going to step in-between that (like, where hell did that woman get off?). Their daddy, however, held no such sanctity.

"Beth-Anne, you do not speak that way—to her or anyone." Hershel reprimanded his daughter.

Beth let out a harsh bark of sarcastic laughter that had Lori flinching. "She's the one that tried to run back into the piranha hoard instead of just trusting Marshall when he said that Rick and Carl could take care of themselves. She's the reason that Marshall, auntie, and Sophia got left behind!" Lori ducked her head in guilt, arms tightly hugging herself. "And you," there was blank hostility in her expression as she looked up at Hershel, "Abandoning us to get drunk and commit passive-suicide wasn't enough? I saw you, daddy, up on the porch. You were ready to die on that farm and leave us again!"

"What?" Maggie uttered, stare incredulous at her father as she took a step away from him and to her little sister, shaking her head.

"Not to save anyone else, not to save any of your children. None of us are here because of you. Glenn saved Maggie. Rick saved Marshall. Marshall saved us. And Marshall is going to protect auntie and Sophia," Beth glanced to Carol, "Just like he did before." She looked her father dead in the eye, the eyes she shared with him, "I will not listen to you because I do not trust you."

Hershel sighed quietly. "I'm here with you, aren't I, Beth-Anne?"

"Only because Rick is a good-person and he saved your ass—again." Beth shook her head and turned away from her father.

Rick silently squeezed Lori's tense shoulder, but when it failed to relax under his touch, he dropped his hand with disappointment. "What about Andrea?" He finally broke the hard silence.

"She saved me. Told me to run, but when I looked back, she was gone and I was alone." Carol spoke up. "Daryl found me."

"Saw her go down." T-Dog admitted sadly. "There was nothing I could do."

"But did she get bit?"

T-Dog could only give a helpless shrug. He just saw the blond head of hair go down amid the walkers in the side mirror, unable to hear any noise except for Beth screaming and crying, and Athena howling for Marshall in the backseat.

"Well, we can't stay here," Rick finally decided, looking around. "We already had to avoid walkers just waiting around for you all."

"We can't just leave! What about Sophia? How is Marshall supposed to find us?" Carol questioned fearfully.

"There's no point in staying here." Beth remarked to everyone's surprise. "They're not gonna come here. Marshall doesn't know where this place is, and unless you explicitly told Sophia to meet up here in-case-of-emergency—she won't know to tell him, either."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Carol looked toward the teenage girl for answers. Beth would know Marshall's next move best.

But Beth didn't crumble under the mother's weighted gaze. "Simple." She reached into inside breast pocket to whip out a folded map. "We just follow Marshall's treasure map. At the start, Marshall hid little supply caches all over, marked them on the map—and rendezvous points in case we had to leave the farm."

That certainly had everyone's attention. They were in desperate need of supplies; everything they owned was sitting packed up but abandoned in the now overrun farmhouse. Whatever they had now, they'd fled with in their hands.

"Is that from the fridge?" Maggie wondered.

"No, this is from my pocket. I helped Marshall make a bunch of copies and stashed them around. There one in the Banana Mopeel, there should be one in the truck, too."

"Where?" Hershel asked, having never seen it there.

"Let me guess," T-Dog shook his head in mild amusement, "Seat crevice?"

"The ashtray, actually. That one was my idea." She shrugged. "Had to get a bit creative with it, couldn't just leave it out for some asshole to find and none of us smoke. This one's mine," she held it against her heart, "but you should get one, Rick. And the other one should go to Daryl." Beth decided.

Daryl glanced over at his name from where he was keeping an eye out. "Why me?"

"Can you read a map?"

"'Course." He scoffed.

"Well, you're off to a good start." Beth joked, but more seriously added: "Marshall trusts and likes you and Rick, so that means I trust you, too. You're the provider and Rick is the de facto leader. You should both have maps."

Daryl sucked his teeth to hide his embarrassment at being called a 'provider'. No one ever called him that besides Marshall every time he called Daryl 'hunter'. "Whatever. Just hurry it up—we're drawing a crowd." And he turned his attention back to the walker that had been shuffling up on them for the last few minutes between the cars. Athena had already clocked it and had been impatiently glancing to and fro between Daryl and the piranha, waiting for him to fire his crossbow or give her a signal.

Beth internally smirked like the devil and unfolded folded the map, turning it the right way around before smoothing it across the sun-heated metal of the truck hood.

Daryl finally got a clear shot on the walker and fired, the bolt landed true, of course, but the walker banged into the side of a van before collapsing dead onto the road. He glanced around warily at the sound for anymore sneaking up and found various looks directed his way. He could only shrug, that wasn't his fault. When he turned back to go and retrieve his bolt, he stopped short at the van at the sight of the Belgian Malinois pulling the short bolt from the walker's eye socket. Athena went and sat at his feet with a whine, tail wagging tentatively as she present him with his bolt, setting it on the road between them.

Crossbow strap over his shoulder, Daryl slowly knelt, picking up his bolt. It was a little wet by the fletching where the dog had grasped it with teeth, but after a moment of careful inspection, found no markings. He remembered Athena retrieving that rabbit Marshall had shot, handing it off so delicately like a proper hunting dog. "You're a good dog, aren't you?" Daryl wiped the walker blood off and reloaded his crossbow. He held his knuckles out for her to sniff. She did, giving them a brief lick in permission and he reached up to scratch her behind her pointed ear. "He'll be fine. Asshole's too persistent t' die off that easy." He mumbled before he rose and returned to his previous position to keep an eye out and listen in on the others over the map.

"Your brother... He's... he's something else, Beth." Rick smiled at the sisters. "So, what are we looking at here?"

Glenn gaped at it. "That looks like a videogame quest map!" Maggie rolled her eyes at her boyfriend.

"This is the farm." Beth tapped the red star. "And these little horseshoes are all the caches."

"You brother's been busy." Rick muttered, eyes darting around the marked page. It took him a second to trace out their current location on the highway. "We're here... trying to go back towards the city would be pointless, Fort Benning, too, so all those caches are null."

"The orchard, too, right?" T-Dog spoke up. "You said Randall's Group was camping out there now."

"Right."

"It's right there." Maggie reached around her sister and pointed to the depiction of an apple before Beth could. That was one of the few that she'd helped her twin with; it sucked that the whole venture had been pointless in the end.

"What's the unicorn mean?" Rick questioned, squinting at the symbol with the apple. T-Dog snorted.

"It was a rendezvous point." Beth said. "Marshall obviously won't be heading there."

"No, he won't." Rick agreed. He started searching for more unicorn heads closest to their position. "What are the raindrops?"

"It's fire. Nobody said that Marshall was an artist."

"Those are the burnt out farms." Maggie added.

"Alright. So... that would put the closest and safest rendezvous here." Rick tapped the unicorn.

"That looks in the middle of nowhere, man." T-Dog pointed out. "And there are no other caches around it but itself."

"Do you know what this is?" Rick asked the Greene sisters.

Maggie shook her head.

"Never been there," Beth admitted. "I think Marshall said it was like, an abandoned rest stop, or something? He only ever went that far out by himself. But you don't have to be so worried about supplies, beside Marshall putting a bigger cache there because it's a rendezvous-"

"That's if someone hasn't found it an' picked it clean." Daryl scoffed.

"Possible." Beth admitted with a frown. "But it's buried treasure, so... hard to find without the treasure map. And besides that, the Banana Mopeel's trunk is filled with supplies, there's a lockbox in the back of the truck, too."

"What's the Banana Mopeel?" Glenn asked. "You said that before."

"It's what he calls that pint-sized car o' his." Daryl answered, jerking his chin at the pale-yellow Pinto. "Went on a whole rant about how bananas are extinct."

"What kind of supplies?" Carl wondered.

"Fuel. Food, weapons and ammo, camping stuff. Should be a whole assortment like all his caches." Beth told the boy.

"Your big brother's so cool!" Carl informed the pretty teen. "Really weird but still cool."

Beth laughed for the first time in days. "The weirdness is all part of the greatness." She wiggled the brim of his hat making his freckled cheeks blush.

"Alright, so that's the plan." Rick raised his voice slightly to address the whole group as Beth folded up her map. "We'll do a brief inventory of the supplies we have, fill up the cars and head toward this rest stop while we still have the light."

Rick managed to get the folded map out of the truck's ashtray and Beth grabbed the copy from the Pinto to give to Daryl. While water was passed around and the teen poured some in the travel bowl that Marshall kept in the car for Athena, she'd grabbed the can of spray paint from the roadside kit in the trunk.

Carl watched her with interest, as on the side of the same car that their group had left the message for Sophia, the teenager started to spray paint. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving a message to for Marshall in case he does actually end up coming across this place." Beth stepped back and pressed the cap back onto the neon green spray paint can. "That way he, auntie, and Sophia can follow after us."

Carl frowned at the symbol she drew. "What is it?"

"The symbol for the Goddess Athena." It was simply a diamond on top of a cross, the likeness to that of the female-symbol. She'd also added 3 dots trailing in the direction that they were going and a horseshoe for extra measure. "He'll know it was us and that we're okay, and the direction we're headed."

Finally, they split up into the cars. Daryl leading the way on his motorcycle. The Grimes Family took over the Hyundai, Glenn drove the truck with Maggie and Hershel, while Beth refused to give up the driver's seat in the Banana Mopeel in the company of T-Dog, Carol, and Athena.

In the intervening hours of travel to the rest stop, Beth turned on the CD Player to fill the stifling silence:

I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
sat by the river and it made me complete

oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
so tell me when you gonna let me in?
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

Beth fished the gum pack from the center console, popping a piece into her mouth before offering it up. It was declined on both fronts:

I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches are they looking at me?
is this the place we used to love?
is this the place, that I've been dreaming of?

oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
so tell me when you gonna let me in?
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

It wasn't exactly a jolly singing atmosphere, but it was worse to simmer in the silence, and Beth had always found music to be a great outlet:

and if you have a minute why don't we go
talk about it somewhere only we know
this can be the end of everything
so why don't we go somewhere only we know?
somewhere only we know

oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
so tell me when you gonna let me in?
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

She just needed to focus on a goal and not the doubts. Beth couldn't let herself get as low as she had been a few days ago. She didn't have the luxury of becoming catatonic out here like she had at the farm:

and if you have a minute why don't we go
talk about it somewhere only we know
this can be the end of everything
so why don't we go
so why don't we go

To get so low and so lost to think that giving up and giving in—just like daddy—was the answer. It wasn't. Not while Maggie was still here, not while Marshall was still out there expecting to find them:

Aaah aah-ooh-oh

this can't be the end of everything
so why don't we go somewhere only we know
somewhere only we know
somewhere only we know

The sun was finally starting to set when they pulled off on the widened shoulder of the road at their current final destination. The journey had been uneventful, no encounter with other humans or more herds, just stray walkers. Either just wandering or at the occasional accident site, it was all just passing scenery with no reason to stop.

They all slowly got out of their designated vehicles, weapons in-hand, eyeing their surroundings warily, but it was silent and still, not a rasp or shuffle to be heard.

"This is it?" Lori remarked skeptically, keeping a hand on Carl's shoulder to prevent him from leaving her side.

"Looks like there's path there leading from the road," Daryl nodded his chin. He eyed the broken post, gaze finding the rest of the sign peeking out from the shrubbery. "Looks like someone purposefully took out the sign."

"It was Marshall—it had to be." Maggie said.

"We don't know that." Rick denied, shaking his head. "Anybody could have been by this way since he was last here."

"Maybe someone should stay and watch the cars?" Glenn suggested. "It's not exactly inconspicuous and they're carrying all our supplies."

"You're worried about people even though we saw no one getting here?" Carol asked.

"Other people are still out there, whether we see them or not." Glenn shrugged. "It'd be stupid not be a little cautious."

"Is that you offering?" Rick asked. Glenn shrugged but nodded. "Anyone else want to volunteer to watch the cars? Don't want anyone going around alone."

"I'll stay." Hershel offered before anyone else could deign to speak-up.

"I think I'll stay back, too." Carol quietly spoke up.

"Alright." Rick reluctantly agreed. "I don't exactly like splitting up, but we're only a shout away if something does go down." Maggie handed off her shotgun to her father, sharing a quick kiss with Glenn before they separated. "Okay, let's see what we're dealing with first here—find that cache before we unpack and settle in while we still have a bit of light to see with. T-Dog, you got the rear?"

"Yeah."

"Beth, Maggie, do you know what you're looking for?" Rick questioned the sisters as Beth popped the Pinto's trunk and Maggie briefly dug around in the trunk, coming back up with a camping shovel and a flashlight. "There's no instruction on the map telling us how to find it."

The two shared a wry look over the closed trunk. "You know Marshall," Maggie said. "So when you see it, you'll know."

Daryl scoffed, waiting at the head of the path with Athena. "So, it's some weird shit a stranger would probably overlook or just dismiss."

"Daryl~" The hunter twitched at the sunshine beamed his by the teenager wielding a gory bat and wearing an oversized Army jacket, the coo of her voice reminding him exactly of her big brother. "I knew you liked my brother."

"No." Daryl said shortly, turning down the path. "But you're as annoyin' as your brother."

"You say that like an insult, but it's really a compliment!" Beth skipped briefly after him to catch up. "Athena, let's go."

Maggie groaned. "Beth, don't run ahead!"

The other's quickly followed down the path. Rick ended up at the front with Daryl. Maggie next to her little sister, giving her arm a little pinch in scolding. Lori and Carl behind them with T-Dog taking the rear. Athena trotted alongside the path, ears keen and nose twitching for any new scents. It was only a few minutes silent walk until the footpath opened up to the 'rest area'.

It was nothing special or extravagant, just an area cleared out in the trees where a large cement patio with a roof was erected over a bunch of picnic benches, a built-in fire pit at the center with a screen filling in the opening in the roof above for the smoke, and on the backside there was a body of water trickling over a short rock wall to create a little babbling brook.

"I was expecting..." Lori trailed off, staring.

"Walls?" Maggie suggested wryly.

"Well, yeah."

"This isn't the Four Seasons, lady." Daryl rolled his eyes. "It's a roadside rest area. Where families on road trips pullover to have lunch an' let the brats stretch their legs."

"We should fill-up those empty water jugs from the truck. Who knows when we'll find another water source." Rick tried to look at the positive. "For now let's track down that cache."

"I'll hunt around—see if I can't find us some dinner." Daryl announced and headed toward the tree line. He didn't get very far before he nearly tripped over a face winking at him from the ground. "The fuck?" He toed it with his shoe, digging out the porcelain edge from the dirt.

While keeping an eye out, T-Dog noticed that back of the hunter standing in the trees. "Daryl, I thought you left to hunt, man? Gah!" T-Dog exclaimed in surprise as he came to the hunter's side. "What the fuck is that?"

"Some weird shit." Daryl answered succinctly.

"Damn, I always thought those things were creepy as hell. Yo, your brother's messed up!" T-Dog called back to the others, gaining their attention.

The others converged on the pair and eyed the broken gnome statue face in the dirt winking up at them and Beth giggled. "Look around, there should be three more pieces—all within eye-line of the previous and subsequent one."

"Spread out, but keep within sight-range." Rick instructed.

Five minutes later of careful search:

"I found it!" Carl called out his find, staring at a pair of painted boots.

They restarted the search from the boots:

Daryl rolled his eyes at the pipe sticking out of a rotted log.

It nearly took 20 minutes to find the red-painted gnome hat the marked the spot of their treasure:

"Now, all we have to do is dig." Maggie announced as Daryl tore up the dying bush by the roots, significantly loosening the packed dirt. She dropped to her knees and started the excavation with the small camping shovel as the others kept watch. Daryl wandered a bit away from the ruckus to get a better bead on some dinner. Maggie was already sweaty and tired by the time she had dug deep enough that she should have uncovered something, and was a minute away from throwing in the towel and convincing the others they were digging in the wrong place, when she had pay dirt. "Thank God!" She was more than happy to hand the shovel off to Rick and sit back to watch the man finish uncovering a large sealed cooler, and beneath that, a large plastic-wrapped bundle.

"What's in there?" T-Dog wondered at the plastic bundle.

"We'll find out after we get back." Rick wiped his dirty hands off on his dark jeans. "The cooler's heavier than expected, so I could use a hand."

"I got the bag." Maggie said.

"That leaves me, Carl, and Athena as lookout—just in case." Beth finished.

They weren't that far out into the wooded area from the rest stop and they hadn't encountered any piranha here, but Beth was more than happy to not have to lug anything through the woods other than her bat. Maggie handed the camp shovel and flashlight to Lori and hauled the bag over her shoulder with a grunt, as Rick and T-Dog took up either side of the cooler. The trek was short and uneventful, though Carl did take his role seriously. Their new-found supplies were set with relief on the nearest bench.

"Damn, man!" T-Dog wiped the sweat from his brow. "And your brother hauled that heavy-ass thing out here and buried it by himself?"

"T-Dog, Maggie, can you head back to cars, get the others?" Rick requested. "Find somewhere to hide the cars out of sight."

"Should we bring anything back besides those water jugs?" Maggie wondered.

Rick glanced around the desolate rest area. "Since we're spending the night... grab any camping gear we have, and some food to fill out whatever Daryl manages to bring back."

"We're really just gonna camp out here?" T-Dog sighed.

"Wouldn't we just be better off and safer sleeping in the cars?" Maggie worried her bottom lip. "That way, if another herd blows through our asses won't be completely hanging out like last time."

"I don't exactly like the idea of camping out of tents after what happened at the farm," Lori agreed from where she sat on the bench. "But it's been pretty quiet and we didn't see any walkers on the road the last few miles getting here..."

"The farm was pretty quiet, too—until it wasn't." Maggie returned.

"They were drawn-in by the gunshots." Carl said, stabbing the dirt with a stick he'd picked up as he glanced around at the trees. "That what I think at least," he mumbled under the weight of the stares.

"You're probably right, son." Rick nodded. "Though we can never know for sure." He looked to T-Dog and Maggie, "Get the others before you lose anymore light. No more arguing, we're camping here tonight." He added firmly for good measure. "Carl, gather some firewood for the pit? Don't wander too far into the trees, just stick around where we can see you, alright?" He patted his shoulder.

"Okay, dad."

Rick watched his kid for a moment, Athena sniffing around nearby, before carding fingers through his curls and turning his attention to the blue-haired teen. "Beth?"

"Yeah?" Beth answered absently as she focused on working her own KBAR knife from Marshall through the duct tape that her brother had used to seal up the large cooler of supplies.

Rick inhaled deeply. "With Marshall... currently absent," he worded carefully, "Will Athena be a problem?"

Beth paused, blinked, and looked over at Rick with confusion. "What?"

"She's a military dog, Marshall's her handler. With Marshall not here..."

"No." Beth set her knife on top of the cooler and turned her complete focus onto the worried and floundering man. "She's not just going to suddenly go independent and not listen to commands. When Marshall brought her home, he made sure that if push came to shove and he wasn't there, that me and Maggie would be able to control her. She'll listen to my voice over Maggie's because I've trained with her more, and Marshall ordered her with me. I might not be able to do that secret-handshake connected-sprits thing she and Marshall have, but she'll listen to all the standard commands. I also know that Marshall made Carl and Sophia priority-protection, so he's as safe as me and Maggie when Athena's around."

"Thank you." Rick uttered. That was definitely a weight off his shoulders, especially to know that his son had an extra guardian angel looking over his shoulder.

"You can thank Marshall when he finds us." Beth picked the knife back up and returned to her task. "Come on. Open Sesame! Abracadabra!" Beth muttered in frustration. She got Marshall's need to use what felt like but probably wasn't actually a full roll of duct tape, but this was getting ridiculous! "Mirror, Mirror! Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! Boo-yah!" She let out a cheer when the seal gave. "And we are in."

She resheathed her knife under her jacket and opened the lid to the treasure box. Rick watched over her shoulder, taking mental inventory as everything was laid and sorted on the picnic tabletop. There were the obvious things, like a first aid kit, flints, various boxes of bullets, can opener, various canned goods, a spool of fishing line, a mini collapsible fishing reel, a small tackle box, rope. Things that felt excessive while in survival mode like: toothpaste, soap, 2-in-1 shampoo, bug spray, sunscreen, pads and tampons, wet wipes, and toilet paper. Then there were things like:

"Vinegar?" Rick questioned, moving the jug aside.

"Dilute it in water and you got yourself a cleaner. Marshall uses it all the time in the surgery." Beth said.

"And what about these?" Rick commented wryly, looking at various large coffee cans. "For a man that doesn't drink coffee, your brother sure stashed away an excessive amount."

Beth chuckled. "Y'all are going to be so disappointed when you open those." She'd helped distribute all the goods around all of Marshall's supply caches so she had a general idea of what went into all the cans. Eyebrow raised with intrigue, Rick picked up the nearest can and pried the lid off. He was left staring at white powder instead of brown coffee grains. "It's flour. Add water and voila! you got campfire bread in the apocalypse. There's also rice, pasta, powdered milk, powdered eggs, protein powder, trail mix for a treat..." she shrugged. "Here's your instant coffee." She pulled out a small sealed can of instant.

Rick absently took the can from her, sitting down on the bench. "Your brother's thought of everything, hasn't he?" He was feeling particularly wanting in the leadership department right now; these were Marshall's supplies, this was his escape plan, Rick was just riding on his coat-tails.

"Probably not, but he's given us a good leg-up." Beth smiled softly, sitting down beside Rick, both watching as Carl got distracted from collecting firewood with throwing a stick for Athena to fetch. "I think he always knew. I mean, that something like this would inevitably happen down that line—losing the farm somehow—whether it was piranha or people." She snorted derisively, hugging a knee up to her chest. "Turns out it was a bit of both, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Rick uttered guiltily. If they'd never ended up on the Greene Farm, would the family be happily there, oblivious to the passing herd? A herd that was drawn in by gunfire that never would of happened. Marshall wouldn't be MIA right now and- Rick jumped at the sudden jab to his tender ribs. He looked over at the teen.

"I was born in that house, you know." Beth told him. "So were Maggie and Marshall, though that was because their mama's water broke early and there was a blizzard going on so they couldn't make it to Grady Memorial in the city. It's where daddy lost both his wives. But it's just a house, Rick, just... things. It's still just a house whether daddy wanted to go down with the sinking ship or not. And if Marshall isn't there, than I don't give a rat's ass. The memories, they stay with us wherever we go."

"You have a point." Rick admitted, straightening and setting the coffee can down. "Still, I-"

"You're as bad as Marshall." Beth huffed, both fond and annoyed. She told him straight-up, "You're not the one that shot Marshall. You're not that one that killed Jimmy. Or Otis. You put the asshole that did into the ground. Still... sorry you had to kill your best-friend." She added. "He was a complete dickbag, but he was still your friend."

"You're just like your brother." Rick shook his head in marvel.

Beth smiled. "Well, we're awesome so it just translates."

"Thank you." Rick said sincerely, a hand on her shoulder. He stood, "I'm gonna get the fire started." He grabbed one of the flints from the table before heading toward Carl.

While the Grimes Boys cleaned out and prepped the fire pit, Beth turned back to the supplies and started to sort things that they wouldn't need immediately back into the cooler. She left out things like a roll of toilet paper, the can of rice to go along with whatever meat Daryl brought back, a couple cans of beans that she knew Marshall would be more than happy to miss out on.

After demonstrating to Carl how to use the flint, and leaving the boy to have a go at sparking up the kindling, Rick found an abandoned grill for the fire pit that Lori took to cleaning at her table a few over as the sun set. Beth heard noise and glimpsed over her shoulder the others finally returning from the highway, and hoped her sister had grabbed the cook-gear from the truck. Athena came to her and Beth pet her head, giving her a jerky treat from the baggie stowed away in one of the pockets in her brother's jacket.

"Beth!" Maggie called sharply, marching over to her sister, her green eyes wild with anger and fear.

"Yeah-?!" Maggie grabbed Beth's arm and pulled her around, uncaring of the attention she was drawing as Athena let out a startled woof. "Ow!" Beth exclaimed, pulling her arm free. "What?"

"Did you think I wouldn't see the back window?" She demanded. "That you could just hide it? There's blood all over that window, Beth, human blood! You lied! T-Dog told me what happened at the farm."

Beth's expression tightened and she scowled. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She glared at the dark-skinned man. "Shows the faith you have in your own twin brother. They don't know him like us, and you-"

"It's not about faith, Beth. It's about being realistic—and this is about as realistic as it gets. Marshall was already injured, he was outside the car when those walkers reached you, the window and door is covered in living blood." Maggie shook her head, tears brimming her eyes. "Okay? He's not- augh!" Everyone gaped in surprise. Maggie rose a hand to her cheek. "Did you just punch me in the face?" Maggie questioned in disbelief.

"Yeah." Beth agreed without an ounce of remorse. "A bitch slap was too polite."

"Beth-Anne!" Hershel tried to step in, only to have both daughters glare at him for the interruption.

"Stay out of this!"

"You little fucking brat!" Maggie exclaimed, turning back to her little sister.

"Yeah. And?" Beth challenged. "Did it knock the stupidity out of you, or do I get another go? It's Marshall, Maggie. Marshall."

Maggie stared at her for a moment longer before sighing and nodding. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? That dumb idiot with 5 more lives to ride home on. We're gonna kick his ass for making us worried, right?"

"Totally." Beth agreed. "Hug him and then knee him in the ball."

"Christ!" Daryl announced his return. "Here, I got dinner so y'all can shut up and keep your mouths occupied for a while before another cat fight breaks out an' you draw a crowd."

Carol was more than happy to take the offered game, keep her attention on task instead of worrying herself sick about Sophia. Beth was more than happy to chip in and help butcher the squirrel and rabbits, tossing bits to Athena while others set up their temporary camp for the night. There were 2 tents, one from the truck, one from the Pinto, but only one was brought to the rest area. It was a large family tent, so it would hold 6 occupants comfortably, with a need for posted watch throughout the night, it worked out all fine. And while it was getting colder as December came upon them, one night in a sleeping bag under the patio roof by the fire wasn't going to give anyone pneumonia.

Maggie did, in fact, remember to grab the cook gear, and to accompany the fried rabbit and squirrel, boiled water from the brook cooked the rice as the beans were heated in their opened cans. With a mixture of plates, bowls and tin mugs, everyone was served with some watered down instant coffee.

It was peaceful, almost normal around the crackling glow of the fire—until, like that first dinner at the farm, Glenn had to break the silence in the only way he knew how... by setting off a landmine:

"Hey, um... Dale was a walker when you found him, right?" Glenn glanced over a T-Dog and Daryl.

"Yeah." T-Dog answered after a moment.

"But... Shane killed Dale. So, how...?" If Glenn's first questioned didn't have everyone's attention, this addition sure did. "Guys?" He questioned seeing the look T-Dog shoot a look at Rick. "Rick?"

Rick cleared his throat and set his plate aside. "There's something that some of you already know, and the rest of you don't. There's no easy way to say it, other than to simply say it: You don't need to be bit in order to turn after you die—you just have to die." There were some shocked exclaims and silent stares amongst the remaining 5 of the group that didn't know. "We're all infected, that's what Jenner told me before we left the CDC. It doesn't matter how we die, as long as the brain is intact, we'll always come back as a walker."

"You knew this entire time and you didn't say anything?" Carol questioned angrily.

"I didn't k- I had no proof that what Jenner said was true. Not until Marshall realized that Dale was never bit." Rick explained.

"And you decided not to tell us? I told the group about the walkers in the barn." Glenn rose to his feet, upset. "Do you think that was easy for me?" He glanced at Maggie. "But I did it—for the safety of the group!"

"I had bigger concerns!" Rick snapped before he reined his frustration in. "Shane was the bigger threat at the time." That reluctantly quieted them.

"Well, what does that mean for us?" Carol said.

"Simple." Daryl spoke up. "You get shot in the head before we put you in a hole in th' ground."

"Jesus, Daryl!" Lori exclaimed, pulling Carl close.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Don't know why y'all are so shocked an' confused about it. It doesn't even change anythin'." He turned from the group, shoulder leant against one of the support beams as he stared into the darkness.

...

Beth ended up wrapped up in a blanket, sat on the ground at her father's feet, resting back against his legs at the edge of the patio, staring up into the night sky with Athena curled up against her side:

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

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

As unhappy with her father as she was, it wasn't like she wanted him to actually up and disappear. For him to have actually gone out on the farm like he'd seemed to want to. She was so angry and disappointed in him, but she'd be devastated if something actually happened to him, no matter how much he didn't seem to hold any stock in his own children:

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

It was like, with mama and Shawny finally put to proper rest to The Spirit in the Sky, Hershel had just given up on the rest of them. Beth hadn't give up on Marshall so no matter her anger, she knew she could never really give up on her daddy:

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

Beth scratched Athena under her vest, knowing that it wouldn't be coming off her for a bit, not while they were out here on the 'battle field. "All you have to do, Athena, is look up and somewhere out there, Marshall will look up too and see the same stars."

"Beth," Hershel voiced carefully after a moment, tentatively petting her hair. Beth became instantly wary. Athena leaned up, more attentive as she felt the teen's sudden tension. "Your brother..."

"What?" She leaned forward away from his legs, breaking whatever moment of familial intimacy was between them.

"I want your brother to be alright, just as much as you do. I know how capable he is and that he would do everything to get back to us... but he is not immortal or infallible. He was shot, Bethy, in a precarious spot. I already know that he would have tore his stitches open, and an open bleeding wound in the middle of al those... walkers..." He shook his head. "If he breaks his clavicle... he'll be essentially rendered useless. I just want you to be ready-"

"You are unbelievable!" Beth threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet, unable to just sit and listen anymore. Athena followed an instant later. "You're the one that put those shitty doubts into Maggie's head, aren't you? What the hell is wrong with you? You'd rather believe that your own son is dead, than just have a little bit of faith in him. You just don't change, do you? Nothing he ever does is good enough for you.

"He is the most caring and hard-working person in the world, just like you raised him to be. All he ever wanted was for you to feel some kind of pride in him. He graduated veterinary school early, he became a medic like you wanted to be a doctor. He doesn't drink, he doesn't do drugs, he's never been arrested." She scoffed. "You know, most people's family's are proud when they join the military, but when Marshall did, it was a disappointment to you."

Though she wasn't shouting, her voice was raised. She knew her voice carried across the dark, quiet rest area. Everyone would be able to hear the argument, just more of the Greene Family Drama, but it was too late to care anyway. She'd already ripped Lori, Hershel, and Maggie a new one. Beth was sick of all the backtalk and disloyalty to her big brother, all he ever did was care.

"I swear to God," Bethany-Annette declared for the entire group to hear, "If one more of you tries to fucking tell me that my big brother is dead-!"

"I do not appreciate this vulgar language you've suddenly taken to using, young lady."

Beth expression turned to stone as her attention went back to Hershel, her low tone filled with contempt. "And you almost sound like my daddy. But you're not, not really. You're just some ghost of who he used to be. I think you really gave up when we lost mama and Shawny the first time, and you were just lying to yourself, putting on a show for us. But the show's over, the curtain has been pulled, there's just no more bullshit for you to hide behind.

"If Marshall has proven anything to you, it's that he may leave, but he always comes back:

"He fell out of the Hayloft in the barn and was in coma for 3 days with brain swelling.

"He cut his throat open with a straight razor. You had to stick your fingers inside the wound to clamp the artery so he wouldn't bleed out the entire time to the hospital.

"Nelly kicked him in the chest. Shattered his ribs, perforated his lung, and stopped his heart..."

"He got blown up by an I.E.D!" She cried. "He survived through all of that and he's still here, so some stupid mob of piranha isn't going to the thing that takes him out—especially if he has people to protect."

"Don't you see?" Hershel murmured quietly. "I just couldn't do it anymore, Beth. Even before he joined the Army, I'd watched him die one too many times already. Had to hold him dying in my arms. And he willingly signed-up to skip arm-in-arm with Death.

"I couldn't worry myself into an early grave anymore, constantly waiting for that call, that knock on the door. And when that call did come, when he was hospitalized... I felt relief. I thought: 'This is it. He'll be home safe.' But instead of taking the medical discharge—he re-enlisted! So, I couldn't do it anymore. It's just easier to expect it than hope to not...

"He didn't even come into the world breathing! If he hadn't been born first..." Hershel swallowed. "Your sister was born minutes after him, but if she'd been born first, your brother would have died in his mama's womb and we never would have realized until it was too late. He was born serenading Death and he's always lived dancing on his own grave."

"You know..." Beth shook her head. She couldn't even- "I can't even stand to look at you anymore. You want to give-up on Marshall? Fine. Keep my brother's name out of your mouth and don't talk me. You want to go get drunk? Go. You want to sit down and die. Then do it. Like I said before—we don't need you." She turned and walked away from him. "If you want to leave, then just leave already. Just know, Athena and I are staying here, and I'm waiting for Marshall, and auntie, and Sophia."

"I'll stay with you." Carol spoke up quietly but with conviction. The teen knew it was more for that sake of her daughter than it was Marshall, but Beth could never begrudge the mousy-mother that.

"Hey, no one is going anywhere. No one is getting left behind." Rick called out uncompromising to the group before it could go any further. "I know we're all scared and lost, and after the farm it all feels hopeless. As long as we all stick together, it's not. I know there's somewhere out there for us, we may not find it right away but we will find it. Just like before, it's the same now—sometimes you have to fight for the good things in life. And Beth, hey," he said softly, hand on her shoulder. "No one's giving up. No one is abandoning him. But staying here, anymore than another day while we come up with a plan, it just isn't a viable option, Beth. We need to find a place to hunker down in for the winter. You know he would want that. When Marshall gets here, and if we're not, then he'll find another one of your tags and know we were here, that we're okay, and which direction to go to find us. Alright?"

Beth nodded, sniffling. Rick was a little startled when the teen suddenly hugged him, but he didn't try to push her away. He rubbed her back, eyes meeting a grateful Maggie's across the fire pit. She hugged him like she wanted to hug Marshall, like she should have been able to hug her own father.

"He'll come back. He always does."

[...tbc...]

---

...The walking DEAD...

Perry Como - Patricia
Keane - Somewhere Only We Know
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

...

OMG, I don't know how this keeps happening! This chapter just took on a bit of its own life after I switched over to Beth's POV and more and more nuggets just kept getting added. But, we are officially off the farm, alright?! Now, I'm just trying to decide if I want to do a Winter Chapter, or if I want to just fill in that part of the story using Flashbacks...

Anyway, what do you think?

PS: [I want to give a shout out to LowRider200 on AO3 who left a comment for Chapter 2 that ultimately lead me to go on the path of separating Marshall & Sophia from the group, when I hadn't even thought that far ahead at the time. I mean, I saved Sophia so I'm not just going to shove her into the background, you know? I'm going to utilize her character!]

And I'll see y'all next chapter!

...

Isaiah 57:1-2

The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as the lie in death (NIV)

...

Marshall was:
Stillborn: Josephine's water broke early. Marshall (1st) and Maggie (2nd) were born at the farmhouse due to a January blizzard stranding them. Marshall was stillborn but resuscitated.

12-years-old: "He fell out of the Hayloft in the barn and was in coma for 3 days with brain swelling. [12]

14-years-old: "He cut his throat open with a straight razor. You had to stick your fingers inside the would to clamp the artery so he wouldn't bleed out the entire time to hospital. [14]

16-years-old: "Nelly kicked him in the chest. Shattered his ribs, perforated his lung, and stopped his heart..." [16]

20-years-old: "He got blown up by an I.E.D!" [20]

---

Just a little deleted scene that I wanted between Beth & Carl but didn't find a place to stick it, but I still wanted it known:

/"Carl, where are you goin?" Lori questioned.

"I'm fine, mom." Carl shrugged her hold off. "I'm just going over here." He didn't wait for permission before he circled the fire and sat down beside Beth and Athena. The dog had risen her head at his approach, but seeing him as a none-threat, laid it back down again. "She's just... sad." Carl said quietly. "About Shane. They were together. She doesn't know that I know—but I knew."

"I'm sorry." Beth murmured with sympathy. None of this was Carl's fault, after all, and he shouldn't have to be the one to apologize for his mother's actions. She was done making excuses for her own father, after all.

Carl shrugged with a frown. "Dad was dead. He was supposed to be dead. I'm glad that he's not. I'm sorry about your uncle-"

Beth stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "That wasn't your fault, Carl. Don't listen to what that asshole said. He didn't do that for anybody but himself."

Still. Carl could only nod silently. "I believe you." He finally said after long minute of silence. "About Marshall, I mean. I know he and Sophia are still out there, just trying to catch up to us. I didn't give up the last time when I knew Sophia was all by herself, but now it's a sure thing with your brother looking out for her." Beth smiled at the boy. "And I know my dad won't give up on them, either." His shoulders were straight and broad, his rounded jaw squared, his freckled expression firm and his tone so sure. In that moment Beth could see with clarity the man Carl Grimes was going to grow-up to be./