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/

13. Chapter 13: Prepare

Start: Feb-06-2025
Finish: Mar-19-2025
Word Count: 18,356

a/n: You would think it would be easier to write with a provided episode template... you would be wrong. LOL. A bit of a shorter chapter here, which will be explained more in the end-notes.

Anyway... Hope you still enjoy!

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Chapter Summary: /Daryl stared. The muscles in his cheeks jumped as his jaw flexed. Why... did the other man always trust him with this shit? Hadn't Daryl told him time and again? And yet, he kept receiving that same plea in those damn green-eyes. "Fine. Let's go. Hershel's awake and I gotta take a piss." Daryl grabbed a fistful of Marshall's stained shirt and pulled him from the fence. "Keep up. I'll cover you 'cause I sure as shit don't trust you enough to cover me."/

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, piranha action, blood & gore, angst, injury, field surgery, amputation, , medical inaccuracies, character death(s), PTSD, The Prison(ers). Family drama, family angst.

...The walking DEAD...

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Piranha

Chapter 13: Prepare

The sky was a soft clear blue with gentle wisps of white; clouds of little substance with no affect on the glaring white-yellow sun. Some small birds twittered gently in the trees near the run fence. The eager rasps of hungry piranha was accompanied by the gentle rattle of the courtyard fence. Marshall sat around the corner of C Block, back pressed against brick as his arms hung over his knees.

One might even consider it a safe, quiet, peaceable moment—until they cottoned on to the few incongruous artefacts that shaded the picture a completely different tone:

The sky was blue—

The clank of Carl turning the key in the gate to lock it behind them was a little unnerving. Not even 10-feet down the stretch of corridor and the sunlight leaking from the rec. room was already inadequate, leaving each of them to click on their flashlights. They moved down the empty hall in a tight group, their tension ratcheted upward at their first corner: Rick cleared it sharply, kukri knife ready for anything in the narrow space, only to be met with more empty corridor. Glenn shook the spray can to put down the first arrow, it rattled loudly in the dead silence, making them all cringe and look around warily.

Marshall was right. This was a damn haunted maze and the anticipation of something scary happening only continued to build the further they went and the longer nothing did happen. Any bodies they encountered, were already dead and the conditions they were all in, it was difficult to discern at first glance which of them were actually walkers or just people before they were left to rot on the floor.

The clouds were white—

"Am I gonna have to be the one to say it?" Maggie whispered as they paused once more for Glenn to paint the wall. "Is it just me or is it-"

"Don't say it," T-Dog hissed. "That's like asking for trouble!"

"Makes sense if you think about it." Daryl commented, focused on the left corridor of the T-junction while Rick had the right.

"You think they're all dead?" Glenn asked.

Daryl muttered a scoff. "They ain't ever gonna be all dead. Nah, it's dark, isolated, quiet in 'ere. No stimulation. They've gone dormant. They'll slowly start wakin' up, though, especially with that damn spray can echoing around like the dinner bell."

"You sound like Marshall." Maggie mused.

Daryl cast a disgruntled look back at her, briefly shinning his flashlight in her eyes. "Shut up." Maggie had to swallow down her amusement.

"Which way should we go?" Hershel questioned Rick.

Rick inhaled deeply. "You tell me—think should we head toward the heavier scent of decay, or away from it?"

One would assume heavier scent meant more bodies and more bodies meant cells. They didn't want cells, they wanted amenities. So, they turned toward what would constitute 'less dead bodies'.

The sun was yellow—

It didn't matter in the end.

With the stagnant air-flow, the scent had no other choice but to hang in the air, whether it had been a pocket of 'cleaner' between bodies, or the stirring their own movement caused—they stumbled into a group of walkers waiting around the corner.

"Back! Back! Go back!"

It was a mad scramble backward, tripping over their feet, each other. Light beams bounced disorienting around dark corners.

"Come on, this way!"

Dead eyes reflecting back as more walkers appeared from different passing sections of corridor, forcing them to double back or charge through.

"Shit. No, go back!"

"Maggie?!"

They threw themselves through the first solid door that they could find, cramming themselves in the dark, unknown confines. They huddle together, tense, trying to keep their erratic breathing quiet. They could hear the scuff of dead feed scraping dully against the concrete floors and walls as the crowd moved passed their hiding spot, the aroused rasp and groans that grated on nerves. They scrambled to repress their gags at the fresh putrid perfume that wafted through the air vent on the door from cracked and oozing mummified skin.

Finally, Rick took stock of his unit, his flashlight shinning chest-level and- They weren't all there! "Where are Maggie and Glenn?!" Marshall had asked him to keep his eye on his dad, yet here Rick was missing his twin sister instead.

"We have to go back for them!" Hershel panicked.

"But which way?" Daryl questioned lowly. "We don't even know where we are, let alone where we lost 'em."

"Either way, we need to wait for these walkers to pass." Rick decided. "We can't find them if we're dead."

"On the bright side," T-Dog pointed out, "We haven't heard any screaming. They must have found somewhere to duck into just like us and are waiting for the walkers to pass before they try to find us."

All they could do was endure in darkness and silence to wait for the walkers to pass. It was an excruciating 20-minutes of tense silence, and another 5 of not hearing a groan, rasp or shuffling step through the slot in the door before Rick gave them the nod. They cautiously exited, the corridor was indeed empty, the walkers leaving nothing but scuffs in the layers of dust on the floor, brown streaks on the walls and their 'fresh' scent lingering in their wake. They attempted to backtrack, killing a few walkers that had fallen behind.

"Maggie?(!)" Came Hershel's hushed call as he fell to the back of the group. After pausing, straining to hear, he called again, "Mags?(!)"

"-ddy?(!)"

"Mags(!)" Eager to find his daughter, he forgot to call out to the others before he took a different turn, splitting from the others. "Maggie?" He stepped over the sprawled body slumped against the wall. "M-!" His next hushed call for his daughter was cut off as his leg was grabbed. He fell. Before he could get his bearings, react in any meaningful way-

He screamed.

Pain.

Fear.

Realization:

He'd been bitten.

The birds chirped—

They converged on Hershel's screaming. All of them—Rick, Daryl, T-Dog; Maggie and Glenn—To their worst nightmare.

"No! No, daddy! No!" Maggie screamed.

The bang of Rick's Colt Python was like a concussive grenade in the echo chamber of windowless concrete walls. There wasn't time for delicacy; every walker in this entire Block would have already been drawn back to them by Hershel's screaming. They needed to move.

Rick grabbed Hershel's arm. "Glenn, help me!"

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Hershel moaned, babbled in pain and terror as Glenn grabbed his other side and they hauled the old man up.

"Daryl, get us the hell out of here!"

Daryl and T-Dog took head of the charge, with Hershel in the middle leaving a blood trail across the floor, and Maggie skittering at the rear in panic.

"No, no. This way!" Daryl was forced to redirect them again after seeing more walkers down the hall. "T, the door!"

"Got it!" T-Dog used the bolt cutters. "Get in, get in!"

None of them thought of the consequences of the doors being cuffed closed from the outside could possibly mean. Just that the door was the only thing in front of them and walkers were the only thing behind them, with a bitten, bleeding Hershel in-between.

The only form of safety was the path forward.

They had found the cafeteria but there was no form of celebration.

Daryl and T-Dog quickly slammed the double-doors on the oncoming walkers, T jamming his crowbar through the handles to bar the door from the inside. Rick and Glenn laid Hershel on the floor, Maggie taking his head into her lap.

"Daddy!" Maggie sobbed.

"What are we gonna do? We're trapped in here!" Glenn said.

"There's too many of them out there," T-Dog reported sadly, back pressed as extra reinforcement against the juddering doors. "We'll never make it back."

Rick shook his head, mind racing. He wasn't going to let this happen, he couldn't! This wouldn't be the end. Amy had been bitten on the shoulder; Jim his stomach. There had been no way to save them, but maybe- "His leg." Marshall always said it was the bacteria, the infection that killed a person. They'd tried to save Annette by pumping her full of antibiotics, but the wound festered. But... Hershel was literally just bitten and maybe- "We gotta- We gotta cut his leg off!"

"Are you crazy?!" Glenn asked. "You'll kill him!"

"He's already a dead-man. This- This'll at least give him some kind of chance. Cut the source of the infection off and maybe-"

"No-no. He's right!" Maggie spoke up frantically, desperately. There was brief confusion whose side she was taking until she quickly started to undue the tourniquet-belt from Marshall. "Here! Here! You gotta tie-tie below the knee, above the b-bite."

Rick scrambled to do as instructed; out of everyone present and with Hershel down for the count, she was the next best expert for medical knowledge. The bite was pretty low on Hershel's leg, above his Achilles tendon but Rick was still forced to target mid-shin. "Now what?"

"Don't miss." Daryl said, braced against Hershel's other hip and leg.

Rick pushed up Hershel's trouser leg to clear the field, left-hand braced on his knee. He raised his hatchet. His hand shook. He told the Greene Daughter, "Don't- Don't look." Maggie bowed over her father's head, trying to suppress her sobs. He brought it down. Hershel screamed and thrashed. "Hold him!"

One might think it would be the same to chopping up a walker's body for camouflage—it was not. There was too much distinction between walker and human. The sludge brown walker blood and vibrant red human blood; repugnant decomposition and thick copper. Humans were wetter, squishier, messier, louder. And, oh, God, the bones- Rick's muscles seized for a second, he faltered. He managed to bite back the retch, grit his teeth and forced himself to follow through. It took 10 too many to get through it, for the hatchet blade to tink(!) into the floor beneath—the ringing in his ears was no longer the lingering echo of a gunshot.

"Pst." He heard Daryl at a distance, yet the other man was only a few feet away across from him. "Duck."

It was the consequences of those cuffs barring the door from outside, but right now Rick was left to stare at two separate pieces of one man. There was a gap where there shouldn't be. The sent of blood was cloying in his nose and throat from where he was hunched over the severed limb.

"He's bleeding out." Rick mumbled, but there was nothing to staunch the flow but clothing soiled in walker and sweat. It looks like the cross-section of a shank roast, the observation made him ill.

Daryl stood, crossbow trained to the 5 unknown variables.

Maggie quickly filled his spot. She yanked down Hershel's pant leg, twisting the material tightly over and again until the material looped in on itself and pressed against the open wound. Blood instantly soaked through. She tightly pressed her hands over the stump, turning her face away into her shoulder with a shudder, swallowing against the retch.

Hershel groaned despite having passed out by the third swing.

Glenn scrambled to his feet, boldly and blinding shoving passed the stunned prisoners into the back kitchen. Daryl kept his crossbow trained on them, a particularly keen eye on the one that pulled out a small revolver as loud crashing ensued from the back.

Glenn ran back out moments later pushing a steel food trolley. "Here, here."

"Help me get him up." Rick said. "One, two, three, go!"

They hefted Hershel on top of the trolley, Maggie's shaking hands guiding more gently. His whole leg hung limp and bent over the edge, the other- She swallowed the bile.

"T-Dog, get the door." Rick ordered.

"We got this, y'all." T-Dog declared, he kept his shoulder braced against the door as he removed his crowbar from the handles.

"Daryl?"

"I got the back."

The piranha hungered—

T-Dog led the run back toward C Block with the most protective gear out of all of them, only pausing in his stride long enough to shove the walkers he killed out of the way for the cart; Glenn would dart in as back-up was needed with Rick as the main driving force of the trolley that carried Hershel's unconscious form. Daryl took-up the rear, frequently turning back to keep an eye on the following prisoners; they didn't have time to deal with this shit!

"Hold-up, hold-up!" T-Dog faltered with indecision at a T-junction. "Which way, man? Which way?"

"He's loosing too much blood!" Maggie cried. "We're not gonna make it."

"We will! We will!" Rick countered sternly. "T! Go right!" It was fine. Everything would be fine. They just had to get Hershel to Marshall. Marshall would know exactly how to handle this, he'd said it himself that he dealt with this sort of thing when he was in the Army. Marshall would fix it!

"Yes, there!" Glenn exclaimed, pointing out the white painted arrow on the wall. "We're back, we're close!"

They picked up the pace, easily making headway ahead of the trailing prisoners down the familiar, empty corridors. And there it was, the last stretch, the sunlight at the end of the tunnel!

"Carl? Carl!" Rick shouted. "Unlock the gate, quick! It's Hershel!"

Forced to slow down to turn through the door without jarring the injured man, Carl managed to unlock the door. He yanked it open and scrambled out of the way, gaping as Hershel was rushed passed.

"Lock it up, Carl." Daryl ordered the boy gruffly.

Confused, but compliant, Carl closed the gate and turned the key. His eyes widened and he jumped back, startled, as instead of the expected walkers to accompany the scuff of footsteps it was people!

"What's the deal? Let us in."

"Not a chance." Daryl scoffed. "You're fine right where you are." He posted up at the table, foot up on the bench to use his knee as a support brace; T-Dog stood as his back-up, crowbar abandoned in favour of his pistol.

"What's happening?" Lori exclaimed as they rushed into the cellblock.

"Daddy?!" Beth cried out in absolute dismay and horror, dropping Marshmallow from her arms.

"He was bit." Glenn delivered the devastating news.

"His leg-" Carol uttered in horror.

"Help me get him onto the bed!" Maggie was forced to remove her numb grip on the stump so Rick and Glenn could carefully transfer Hershel from the trolley into the closest, cleanest cell—Beth and Marshall's. "Where's Marshall? We need Marshall!"

Carol quickly yanked the rumpled sleeping off the top bunk and pressed it against Hershel's leg with a cringe. "He-he's outside—He's was getting ready to go out!"

"Glenn, go, now!" Rick ordered and the 23-year-old bolted.

The fence rattled—

"MARSHALL!" Glenn screamed from the steps outside of C Block, catching sight of the father-daughter duo heading for the front gate. "Come quick! It's Hershel!"

And Marshall's hands were painted red with his daddy's blood. The taste of bile in the back of his throat, and blood on his lips. The scent of iron filled his nose as the fence rattled and rattled and rattled.

[tWD]

By the time Marshall had come down from Lori's cell on the second level, the others had already departed for their mission to track down the cafeteria. Carl lingered in the cellblock door way, having just enough patience for the man to stow his medical kit back into his and Beth's cell.

"Is my mom okay? The baby?"

"Your mama's fine, the baby, too." Marshall gently knocked the brim of his hat. "She needs a minute to just let herself relax and unwind. Now, back your post, go on." Lips pressed in a line, Carl nodded, going back into the rec. room to wait for their return.

Carol stopped him before Marshall could leave, watching him carefully. "Is that true," She murmured quietly so her voice wouldn't carry to either Grimes at opposite ends, "Or were you just sugar-coating it for him?"

"No sugar-coating needed." Marshall replied. "She's just exhausted, stressed, and hungry. Frightened, but not wanting Rick or Carl to see it."

"She's stubborn, but it's gotten her this far. I don't think I could have in her position."

"Mothers are the strongest people in the world." Marshall simply stated.

She gave him a short fond look. "I was worried when she told me she thought-"

"The baby's fine." He promised, hand on her arm. "I found the heartbeat, she just needs to eat something, get her energy back."

She exhaled, momentarily slumping a little in relief, before straightening and nodding. "Good. I'm glad everything's alright—relatively speaking. I'll stick close by in case she needs anything, check on her in a bit."

"I'm glad you think that," Marshall told her. And she eyed him with suspicion as he grabbed the seed packets off the table and made for the exit. He flashed her a smile before he dipped out, "'Cause I kind of already told her you'd already be sticking around!" He closed the stair-cage gate and headed for Sophia who was camped out on the top of the 3-tier bleachers that lined with basketball court with Marshmallow. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He mentally frowned at the amount of riot gear that still remained abandoned on the benches.

"It's okay." Sophia rose to her feet. "Are Lori and the baby okay?"

He smiled softly at her. "Yeah. Now, c'mon, my farm girl apprentice," He opened his arm to her and she leaned over her papa, letting him haul her over his shoulder. "I'm gonn teach you how to sow now and then reap the rewards in two months." He cut across the field and dropped her back to her feet. "Alright, let's see what we got here first." Sophia crouched down next to him, tugging Marshmallow's leash to keep him from the garden as Marshall laid out the seed packs: "Strawberry, carrot, sweet pea, green bean, soybean, cucumber, cherry tomato, Roma tomato, loose-leaf lettuce." He arranged the packets in in the grass in a simulation of the garden's layout. "Alright. This is how we're going to plant them. Cucumber, sweet pea, green bean and cherry tomato are climbing plants; we'll need to make trellises or cages for them to climb so they grow up instead of spreading out over the ground. The best sun comes from the south, so these get planted on the north end of the garden so the won't block out the light for the other plants." The 12-year-old nodded, expression almost coming out stern as she listened to him studiously. "They have simple instruction printed on the back of the packet, but I'll show you first."

He demonstrated the first few for her (not that it was really rocket science or anything), how deep to go, how far apart; comparing her tiny little finger to his fully-grown one, he showed her the mark she was aiming for. He started on the next row over just to keep an eye on her, but just like with milking, she was a quick study.

"Papa?" Sophia wondered, and he hummed in acknowledgement. "That song, about the fox... could you finish it? I mean, what do foxes sound like?"

He looked up at her with a grin. "Oh, Butterfly, you're in for a good education here."

dog goes "woof"
cat goes "meow"
bird goes "tweet"
and mouse goes "squeak"

cow goes "moo"
a frog goes "croak"
and the elephant goes "toot"
duck say "quack"
and fish go "blub"
and the seal goes "ow-ow-ow"

but there's a sound
that no one knows
what does the fox say?

'ring-ding-ding-ding-dingringding!
gering-dingding-ding-dingringding!
gering-dingding-ding-dingringding!'
what the fox say?
'wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!
wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!
wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!'
what the fox say?
'hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!
hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!
hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!'
what the fox say?
'joff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff!
tchoff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff!
joff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff-tchoff!
what the fox say?

Sophia squatted there, opening gaping at her papa. "Papa?! That's not-!"

He held up a finger, amusement dancing in his eyes and she quieted:

big blue eyes, pointy nose
chasing mice and digging holes
tiny paws up the hill
suddenly you're standing still

your fur is red, so beautiful
like an angel in disguise
but if you meet a friendly horse
will you communicate by
mo-o-o-o-orse?
mo-o-o-o-orse?
mo-o-o-o-orse?
how will you speak to that
ho-o-o-o-orse?
ho-o-o-o-orse?
ho-o-o-o-orse?

what does the fox say-

"Nothing!" Beth shouted, finally driven to making an appearance from her little hiding spot behind the bus. "The fox says nothing!"

Athena bow-wowed at Marshmallow in the grass, bowing at the cat playfully; Marshmallow eyed her with utter suspicion.

"What do you have against foxes?"

Her red-rimmed eyes glared at him. "If they sounded like that, I would personally hunt them to extinction so I would never have to hear a sound like that again!"

"I'll warn them the next time I see one." He quipped. "Are you going to help with the garden?"

"You gonna finish that quote-unquote song?" She challenged him, hands on her hips. He gave a one-shouldered magnanimous shrug. Beth huffed. "Then I'm going inside!"

"Is she going to be okay?" Sophia questioned after a moment of watching the teen trudge up the hill.

"Yeah. Sometimes, you just have to sort things out yourself instead of having someone else do it for you."

Chewing on her lip, the girl went back to planting and nodded. "Are you going to finish the song?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Is the rest of it weird?"

"Dunno," Papa shrugged again in teasing as he kneaded his hand for a moment. "I'll have to sing the rest of it for you to be the judge of that."

Sophia squinted at the dirt in contemplation, filling in her seeded hole. "Okay..." She jolted as he didn't waste a moment:

'jacha-chacha-chacha-chow!
jacha-chacha-chacha-chow!
jacha-chacha-chacha-chow!'
what the fox say?
'fraka-kaka-kaka-kow!
fraka-kaka-kaka-kow!
fraka-kaka-kaka-kow!'
what the fox say?
'a-hee-ahee ah hee!
a-hee-ahee ah hee!
a-hee-ahee ah hee!'
what the fox say?
'a-oo-oo-oo-ooo! woo-oo-oo-oo!
what does the fox say?

the secret of the fox, ancient mystery
somewhere deep in the woods
I know you're hiding
what is your sound? will we ever know?
will always be a mystery
what do you say?

you're my guardian angel hiding in the woods
what is your sound?
(wa-wa-way-do wub-wib-dib-dum-way-do wa-wa-way-do)
will we ever know?
(bay-budbud-dum-bam)
I want to
(mama-dum-day-do)
I want to, I want to know!
(abay-ba-da bum-bum-bay-do-la)

Sophia eyed him suspiciously in the following silence, waiting for another outburst. "Is that it?" She questioned cautiously.

"I can sing it again-"

"No, no!" She told him quickly, eyes wide.

He giggled at her reaction. "I take this to mean that you don't like it?" He pouted with exaggerated hurt, "Was it my singing, Butterfly?"

She floundered with wide-eyed panic at the thought that he thought that she thought that he had a bad voice. "No, papa, no! I swear I-!"

"You're adorable! " He cooed at her. "I know that's not what you meant. I was teasing!"

She huffed, puffing out her cheeks. "That's mean, papa!" She crossed her arms.

"Aw, I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me, Butterfly." He gave her a little poke.

She quickly grabbed his hand. "Don't tickle me and I won't be!"

"Ever?" He gaped when she looked thoughtful. He quickly interceded before she could seriously contemplate the idea, "It's a one-time deal. I won't tickle you in the garden and you'll stop being upset at me for teasing you."

"Okay." Sophia finally relented under his puppy-eyed imploration.

He squished her to his chest for a brief moment across the aisle. "So, you really didn't like it, huh? Well, I think it's a fun song, but to each their own. Beth hates it, if that didn't quite come across as clear."

"I wouldn't say 'hate', maybe annoying if you kept singing it." She mumbled. "And it didn't even answer my question!" The girl declared in annoyance, jabbing her finger in the dirt.

"You'll just have to one day meet a fox yourself, then, so you can find out just 'what the fox say.'"

"Okay." Came the agreement. They continued planting, "Foxes are cute."

"That they are."

"Is it true that they smell like skunks?"

"Oh, yeah."

Sophia cringed. "Then I don't think I want to meet a fox."

Marshall chuckled. "Foxes may have a similar musk, but that's mostly just because of their urine. They don't spray defensively like skunks do." Her expression scrunched further to his amusement. "Avoid skunks at all costs, Butterfly. Just the mere threat of that spray will have a man run toward a piranha hoard as the lesser of two evils."

"That's what happened to you and Athena." Sophia mumbled.

"And we survived both." Marshall told her; Athena woofed. "Maybe you'll be strong enough to face the spray—and then we'll just have to burn your clothes, shave your head, and quarantine you outside for a few weeks."

"My hair?!" She exclaimed, her dusty hands going up to her strawberry-locks in horror.

"Yup. The smell clings to everything, Butterfly. Everything. And just getting wet makes the smell worse—like when you fart in the bathtub. I'll tell you this, I'd rather get peed-on by a fox than sprayed by a skunk any day of the week!"

"But what about tomato juice? Isn't that how you're supposed to wash it off?"

He shook his head. "That might mask the smell temporarily, but it'll just come back. You gotta neutralize the sulphur compounds, so... hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, dish soap."

"Do we have any of those things?!"

"Are you planning on encountering a skunk?" He mused.

"Life isn't planned, it just happens!"

"True..."

"Papa!"

"Mm. Dish soap."

"That's it?!" She cried in dismay.

"Well, vinegar is a good alternative. Good ol' vinegar." Sophia heaved a sigh of relief; they had vinegar! "Don't worry, I'll still love you even when you stink to high-heaven."

"That's only fair," She informed him. "After I stuck close to you no matter how you stunk."

"Aren't you just the sweetest?" They finally moved to the last rows. "Now go and find me some small rocks to mark these seeds so we'll know where the trellis' are supposed to go."

Sophia ran off to the dirt road going up the hill to do just that. She came back with a couple handfuls of stones. "What is a trellis?" She dropped to her knees next to him, marking as he planted.

"Just a lattice work (like the chain link fence) for plants to cling to and climb up. And a cage for the tomatoes is just a little bit of a wire barrier to encourage them to grow up instead of out." He demonstrated with his hands. "Now, you lay out the mulch over the rows and I'll rig up a watering can."

Sophia grabbed the bucket of grass clippings and Marshall went to the truck in the front gate holding area. He found the 5 gallon bottle of water waiting for him in the truck bed, and a roll of duct tape in the storage box. He replaced the bottle cap with a double layer of tape and poked through it to slow the flow so the pressure didn't destroy the rows. After laying the mulch and getting a nod of approval, Sophia sat back with dog and cat and watching him lug around the large bottle, watering the garden.

"There!" The man declared, straightening with relief from his bent position with a nearly empty bottle. "The seeds are planted and fed. Now, we're not leaving this place no matter what until we can pick this garden clean of its bounty." He circled the garden over to Sophia. "Hands." He told his spirit-daughter after he finished the garden. When she held them out, he poured some of the last remaining water over her dirty hands and then his own.

"Are you and Athena going to go hunting now?" She asked him.

"Mm." While he did want to get some hunting done on the chance that the others did not come back with a feast of non-perishable food like he'd told Lori, he didn't think he'd be able to focus properly until everyone was back first. "No." Marshall decided. "After everyone gets back I will. In the meantime, we got out and gather the supplies for the trellis'. It'll be more proficient to wait for the others to go out and refill on water, despite the creek being so close. Then I'll go hunting and you can get Beth to help you cat-proof the cellblock. You up for that?" Sophia nodded. "Alright, let's go tell your mama and drop-off Marshmallow."

Carl was playing with a guard baton when they went in and he froze when he heard the gate behind him, turning around with a flush. "Uh."

Marshall chuckled, setting the bottle on table seat. "Don't mind us."

"Everything okay?" Carol asked, hand stroking Sophia's head as the girl passed to hand-off Marshmallow to Beth in her cell.

"Yeah. We finished the garden."

"That's good." Carol smiled. "Now the wait."

"It'll be worth the reward. Tears will be wept, I'm telling you." Marshall said. "While we wait for the others to get back, I was gonna take Sophia out to gather materials we need for trellis' for the garden." Carol nodded her acceptance. "Figured it's better to wait for everyone to get back before going off hunting, and to have more hands-on-deck for water before even that. But we shouldn't be out long. Won't be going far, just to the tree line for branches and such."

"I've got your bow, papa." Sophia returned, holding said bow and quiver carefully in her arms. "And your jacket." Said leather duster was draped over her shoulder yet still drug on the floor.

He shared an amused look with the grey-haired woman. "Thank you, Butterfly." He took his the quiver and laid it on the table, then shrugged on the jacket over his sweaty long-sleeve shirt and strapped the quiver across his chest, before taking his compound bow.

"Listen to your papa." Carol kissed her daughter's forehead. "Let him handle any walkers." She fixed the collar on the girl's own donned jacket.

"Okay, mom."

"Alright, c'mon you two." He had the girl Athena proceed him, closing the barred gate to C Block behind him, then the cage gate.

"So, what exactly are we getting?" Sophia questioned.

Marshall slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his side as they passed the bleachers, Athena a few feet ahead of then. "Straight branches, not too thick," He held up two of his own in example. "At least 4-feet tall for the frames. And thin, long ones to make up the lattice." Sophia nodded. "We can use fishing line to keep it together." They hit dirt. "It doesn't look like too many piranha hanging out there, but they'll start coming one way or another once we're are. I'll take the head, you follow, keep an eye out, don't let any come in behind you. I know you can, but don't engage unless you have to. Leave all that mess to m-"

"MARSHALL!"

Marshall stopped short for an instant at the call—the desperate cry—of his name, before his body jumpstarted to automatic reaction, turning on his heel and bolting back toward the prison. He didn't even need to hear the rest of it (Come quick It's Hershel) to already know something terrible happened to someone in the search party, just by Glenn's tone of voice. It was like at the farm all over again—almost. Glenn would not be this scared if Hershel had just fainted like Beth had. That theory was backed up by the fact that Daryl and T-Dog were guarding one of the gates... that had living people behind the bars.

"Athena, unknowns, guard. Orange." Marshall ordered without pausing, following Glenn into the cellblock. Athena barked and stayed behind and Sophia followed him, scared. "What happened?" He barked out the demand, green gaze sweeping the gathered people around his and Beth's cell, discarding his bow, quiver, and duster on the floor. Glenn frantic, Lori pallid, Carl wide-eyed, Beth crying and Maggie's hands bloody.

"He was bit." Rick explained shortly; Marshall's step faltered. "I had to cut off his leg."

That quick follow-up had Marshall continue forward an instant later instead collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. He pushed passed into the cell. He yanked open his kit. "I need any water we have, anything clean to use as bandages, I need fire, a flashlight, vinegar from the car-" Glenn ran for the vinegar, Sophia the water, Carl upstairs for clean towels. "Keep the pressure." He told Carol; the woman looked shaky and scared, not the he blamed her. He used his knife to separate the rest of the soiled pant leg below the tourniquet (the reason he hadn't bleed out and died yet), and injected him a shot of painkillers. Carl clambered back down the stairs with the bag. Sophia rushed back in with the water and various clean bowls. Glenn's return shortly followed. "Fire." Marshall told Glenn, sending the breathless man off again.

"Are- are you sure you want to cauterize?" Carol questioned. "The shock could kill him."

"He'll bleed out first, if I don't seal off these arteries and capillaries." He stated bluntly, hearing Beth's whimper. He ignored it and quickly sorted through his kit, using Hershel's rising and falling chest like a surgical tray. They didn't have nearly as much supplies as he wanted, but more than he could have hoped for. He didn't want to know what their current situation would be like if he had never gotten that infection, forcing them to find medical supplies. He had dissolvable sutures which was a godsend, otherwise he would have to risk cauterizing the whole stump instead of just partial, and the pain from that- "How?" Marshall demanded of his Partner, not sparing him a glance.

"I-I didn't have a choice, M-"

"Facts! What did you use?" Marshall cut through the man's flounder. "Someone hold the light." Lori seemed to have claimed the job, slightly trembling hand shaking through the bars. "Switch with me." Carol shuffled over and Marshall took her place at the stump.

"Hatchet." Rick answered like a confession.

"Covered in piranha?" Marshall readied with forceps, prepared to immediately clamp the arteries as soon as Carol removed the sub par sleeping bag barrier.

"Nothing recent."

Marshall grunted, nodding at Carol to remove the sleeping bag. He supposed that was better than if it had been covered in rotting blood and flesh; either way daddy was getting the leftover antibiotics, thanks.

Nothing was left to the imagination here; exposed for all to see. Fat tissue, muscle fibre, protruding bone. Not to forget the blood, so much blood despite the tourniquet. It looked like any other slab of meat, because that's all any of them were. Meat. Lori made a stressed, ill sound, the flashlight wavering. "Steady." Marshall uttered, reacting immediately. Ah, see? He only needed to worry about the great saphenous veins and the popliteal artery.

There was shouting from the rec. room and Athena's answering warning snarl. "What was that?!" Beth exclaimed, jolting in Maggie's hold.

Marshall focused on his task, paying attention to everything else with half a ear as he started closing to arteries with internal dissolvable sutures.

"Prisoners." Rick said. "Survivors."

"What?!" Came multiple exclaims this time.

Thank God for the animal shelter/clinic, otherwise Marshall really would of had to do a complete cauterization of the stump and that would not be pleasant for anyone involved, especially Hershel who would have to live with all that painful scar tissue. Not to mention Lori's very possible caesarean, he couldn't very well use fishing line to close her uterine wall and muscle back up.

"Don't worry about it." Rick assured them, calm and firm. "It's alright, everybody just stay put. Don't go wondering around. Glenn," He grabbed the younger man's arm, pulling him close. "I need you to stay here," He muttered lowly, "Keep an eye on Hershel. If he dies-" Rick stopped at the click of a tongue from the cell. "Marshall-"

"Go." Marshall didn't even glance up, hands steady. "Deal with that. There's nothing you can do here. I've got this."

Rick lingered for a beat, but what could he say? Nothing could make this better. He promised Marshall he'd look out for Hershel, yet this was the situation. All he could do was try to prevent more trouble caused by the prisoners. He turned on his heel and swiftly strode out of the cellblock and into the rec. room.

"I've got the fire." Glenn announced, from over a tin bowl. "A knife, right?"

"Yeah. Give me a towel. I need the water and vinegar. I can't tell if the arteries are bleeding through the sutures with all this other bleeding." The true test would be when he loosened the tourniquet, gave the remaining limb back its proper blood flow. "Fill the rubber bulb from my kit." He took the towel he was passed and tucked it under the stump, he needed a clean playing field to see the new blood, his bedding beneath already soiled and forfeit. He needed to make sure the great saphenous veins and the popliteal artery sutures held under complete blood flow first before he could tuck them away and shift and secure the muscle tissue around the end of the remaining bone ends for cushioning-

"I got it." Carol carefully (so as not to contaminate everything else in the kit) but quickly found the bulb, slipping out behind him for the bowl of water and vinegar. "Here." Carol went to put it into his waiting open palm but paused for a moment as his hand cramped up, fingers involuntarily spasming. No one said a word.

Shoulders stiff, he clenched his hand for a moment, whole fist trembling before it opened, fingers going lax and still. "Okay." Carol gave him the filled bulb and he gently squeezed the water-vinegar over the open flesh, clearing away the excess blood.

"Will the towels be enough?" Lori questioned quietly.

"For now, but no."

"Why didn't Rick go for the infirmary first instead of the cafeteria?" Her low tone implying she was mostly talking to herself. "Maybe we wouldn't even been in this situation if he had. At least we'd have better supplies. More pain killers, antibiotics. Sterile gauze."

"Crutches." Carol added optimistically.

While Marshall would get on his knees for some iodine, fresh gauze, and more absorbable stitches- "It doesn't matter. It's happened, there's no changing it. We just have to deal with what we have in front of us now." He handed back the empty bulb. "Moment of truth, here we go." He muttered. He started loosening the tourniquet in increments. Fresh blood seeped from the capillaries around the tissue of the exposed stump, but it was easily ignorable for now with a rolled facecloth. Another inch released, another. The belt lay loose below Hershel's knee. Bated breath as they watched and waited, the seconds ticking. Just as Marshall was about to give himself the green light to move on, blood spurted, painting him. "Shit!"

"You got to save him, Marshall. He can't die, not like this!"

Marshall instantly yanked the tourniquet tight and secure again, and clamped the vein above the broken stitching. "I'm trying, Sunny."

The thing was—Marshall was not a medical surgeon. His job as a field medic was a stopgap. His purpose was delaying; especially in amputation cases. Apply the tourniquet, clamp the arteries, pack and wrap the wound for transportation to the field surgeon back at base camp. He was the band-aid for a bullet hole. While he may have assisted when things were hectic and short-staffed, his purpose had never been remedy and treatment, it was duct tape. He'd never had to see an amputation case through to the end, he knew the steps, of course, probably better than any injury, it would just his first time seeing it through.

He'd honestly thought he'd left this part of his life behind when he left the Army. He shouldn't have though because the definition of Life was The Unexpected. Perhaps it some sort of karmic justice on his daddy's behalf—after all the times he'd put Hershel in this same horrible and unasked for situations, teetering on Death's Fence like it was a game throughout his childhood. If this was just 1/4 of what Hershel went through, Marshall didn't know daddy stood back up after so many times. With just Sophia leg and Athena's bites he was already gone!

But like he said; it was best to just focus on the Here and Now. He cut out the faulty stitches and trimmed away the torn vein tissue with a scalpel. "Knife, Glenn. I'm gonna have to cauterize it."

"R-right. Here."

Marshall looked up just long enough to take the handle presented to him. He held the clamp carefully in his left hand, presenting the end of the delicate vein—and pressed the small, hot, pointed tip of the knife to it. The quick sizzle of it being seared closed couldn't even be heard over everyone's breathing. With the blade already in hand, he moved away the rolled cloth and pressed the flat of the blade to tissue that held the heavier bleeding capillaries without any forewarning.

Carol, Maggie, and Beth had some experience for when Marshall did Athena's ear, but it was one thing for something so small and brief on a dog, compared to a human, their father. The sound of the burning tissue and blood was audible this time around, not to mention the aroma it produced. It was just burnt. They were meat, after all-

Beth sobbed, turning into her big sister even as Maggie jolted, before her face buried in her little sister's dirty hair. Carl and Sophia had to turn away even though they were behind everyone else and couldn't really see into the cell and what was happening, they could hear it and smell it, and they were reactively reacting to everyone else. Glenn was unfortunately transfixed as it smoked and seared.

Lori retched, jerking back. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry." She tried to reorient the flashlight, while also stuffing the lower half of her face into the crook of her elbow.

"It's fine." Marshall flipped the blade, using the last of the heat. "Switch with someone else, go sit down." He handed it back to Glenn, who stuck it back into the small fire—which did nothing to alleviate the smell now that blood and flesh clung burnt to the blade, and burnt further.

Her insistence was muffled behind her arm. "I can-"

"I- I can do it." Beth's trembling voice spoke-up, pulling away from Maggie.

"Oh, sweetie, no."

Either way- "No." Marshall agreed. "You're daddy's blood type, I need you in here for a transfusion. C'mon. I'll set you up before I check the blood flow again. And set up the antibiotics while I'm at it."

"O-okay."

"Carol, can you keep pressure?" Carol nodded, folding another towel and applying pressure to the stump, careful of the remaining clamp. Marshall dipped his hands and tried to scrub them clean with another towel.

Beth edged into the back of the cell by the toilet and sink, resolutely not looking at daddy's missing leg even though it was covered at the moment. After a dubious look into the dried out tin toilet, she perched carefully on the edge.

With a swipe of vinegar-water at the inside of her elbow, Marshall easily found a vein under her pale skin and inserted the needle. With it taped in place, he untangled some tubing and connected it to the needle port. Making sure the line was closed on the other end, he let it fill quickly with Beth's blood, before inserting the other end into a needle in Hershel's arm and opening the valve, using superior pressure to dictate the channel of flow. Marshall glimpsed his watch; it took 8-10 minutes to transfuse a pint of blood. He hung the antibiotics bag off the bunk post, and inserted the IV into his opposite arm. Before Marshall went back to the stump, he checked Hershel's pulse. Still breathing, obviously, with his pulse was unsurprisingly weak but as Beth's blood worked to replenish what was lost and he worked on plugging the leak, that, along with Hershel's blood level should rise—hopefully staving off shock.

"Alright, Round 2." Marshall retook his place at the end of the bunk. There was blood on the towel, but it wasn't nicked artery amounts. He removed the clamp from the vein and slowly started loosening the tourniquet by increments. Fresh blood seeped through the tissue he hadn't cauterized, and the cauterization on the great saphenous vein was holding, and the sutures in the popliteal artery stayed stable. "The major artery and vein are secure." He reported and a collected breath of relief travelled through the group.

"Yo, Carl, come open the door, little man. We got us some food, y'all!" They heard T-Dog call, Carl ran off to the rec. room passed Athena to open the locked gate.

"That means you stopped the bleeding, right?" Maggie asked, having no interest in food right now whatsoever, her hands still sticky with her daddy's blood. "Does that mean you're done? You're going to wrap him up?"

"What d'you got?" Carl questioned the man with heavy boxes under each arm.

"Canned beef, canned corn, canned cans! And there's a lot more where that came from!"

Rick followed after carrying sacks and Carl closed the gate when he spied no one else behind his dad. "We'll store it in one of the cells for now until we can sort through everything properly." He told T-Dog. "Grab the cart on the way out, make this easier and faster."

"Not yet, Maggie." Marshall said. He cast a look to Carol and the woman went back to putting pressure on the stump with the tourniquet left loose around Hershel's leg.

"What do you mean?" Maggie absently shifted out of T-Dog's way for him to get passed the stairs. "What else is there to do? You stopped the bleeding."

"Mags..." Marshall sighed. He dipped his hands, managing to scrub most of the blood away.

"What?" She insisted, the dried blood on her hands pulling as her fingers curled into trembling fists.

Rick passed his bags off to T-Dog and looked between the twins. "What's going on?"

"Is this really the-"

"It's daddy."

"I'm aware."

"What if this happens to somebody else and you're not around to fix it!"

The others flinched, but Marshall merely stared back at his sister unaffected by the outburst. "Deep breath. I am here. It's not rocket science, it's mostly just common sense. I need to tuck away the great saphenous vein and the popliteal artery so they're protected, then I need to shift around the muscle tissue so it covers the open bone and suture it into place. It should heal cohesively and over and that way there will be a kind of 'cushion' for him to tolerate wearing a prosthetic down the line." He thought it was better not to mention if either the artery or the vein burst after he moved the muscle into place, he'd be forced to cut through the sensitive tissue anew and by the time he fixed all the new damage, the likelihood of Hershel being able to tolerate putting weight on it lessened significantly. Maybe he should have just cauterized the artery as well in precaution- No, better not to second-guess himself. Marshall rose and turned his attention on to his little sister, "How you doing?" He checked her pulse rate.

"Fine." Beth promised quietly.

"Maybe you should take my handcuffs—just as a precaution." Rick broached carefully; able to read what Marshall wasn't saying, or maybe just knowing just enough as a cop.

"Sorry, both his arms are occupied at the moment." Marshall dismissed. He turned from Beth for a moment, checking Hershel's stats. His breath was laboured but his pulse seemed to have come up a bit with the fresh blood. He turned to the IV line, closing the valve and cutting off the flow of blood from daughter to father.

"None of us want to think of the unthinkable," Rick reasoned gently, "But no matter how capable you are, Marshall, sometimes things happen that you just can't prevent-"

"What do you think is going to happen?" He removed the needle from the teen's arm, pressing a beige band-aid over the bloody prick; Beth pressed her fingers against it, bending her arm. "I learned my lesson with Annette and Shawn." He disconnected the catheter, but left the port in his daddy's arm for future transfusions. "If he does... die," Beth sniffled behind him. He tossed the bloody tubing into the sink out of the way; it would need to be flushed out before reusing but he was distracted by other things. "I won't hesitate this time." He finished quietly, sincerely.

And that was exactly the thing that Rick didn't want here. Marshall had tried to warn him, what killing Shane himself would do, but Rick had persisted, insisted he do it himself. Even when he was given the opportunity in the end to fob it off onto the other man, he still did it himself. Marshall had already killed his step-mother and step-brother—Rick sincerely did not want him to add father to that list. To have that wound, that scar forever scored into his psyche. If Hershel did die and he was cuffed, then maybe Marshall wouldn't be forced to react immediately and maybe Rick would be able to- He owed that to Hershel, at least, to not lay this burden on his son.

"I'll leave them here on the top bunk just in case." Rick murmured, reaching behind and undoing the snap that held his cuffs. He leaned over Carol to do just that; he didn't linger when Marshall's gaze didn't even flicker up to acknowledge the action. "Carl, Sophia, do you two think you could start doing an inventory of the food? T-Dog will be coming back with more."

"Okay, dad." The glint in his eyes was hidden in the shadow from the brim of his hat.

"Okay." Sophia echoed quietly, staring distractedly at her papa.

"C'mon, Sophia." Carl took her wrist and gently tugged her back towards the rear of the cellblock.

Lori turned off the flashlight, standing it on the crossbar of the door and turned to Rick before he could leave again. "Hey."

"Hey. You feeling okay? You should get something to eat."

"I'm alright, and I will." She promised. "I know I'm not the one that you actually want to talk to about this with... but what's happening with those prisoners?"

Rick's gaze automatically went to Marshall. He watched the man cup his sister's head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Heard the murmured words of 'food' and 'lay down'. Beth sniffled and nodded. When she stood, she paused at Hershel, choked back a sob and bent to press a kiss his own forehead. She lingered there for a moment, a tremor in her small frame swallowed by her brother's large Army jacket, before finally pulling away. She brushed passed Maggie and Glenn without a word, gaze down. Marshall took a moment to finally divest Hershel of the riot vest, making him more comfortable. "We made a deal. They give us half the food, we help them clear out a cellblock of their own."

"You mean living beside each other?"

Rick looked at her. "They'll be there and we'll be here; no interaction between us. I'm not giving up this prison. Not after Hershel- and Marshall made it clear he won't leave until he can pick that garden clean. This is it; this is Home now. The baby will be born here. We're not giving it up."

"Okay, okay." She conceded. "And you're sure they're not going to be a problem? I mean-"

"They've been locked in the cafeteria since before winter. They don't know anything-" He shook his head.

"Maybe, but it's not about what they don't know now." Lori said. "It's about them being in prison for a reason. We know nothing about them, why they were locked up. They managed to survive in here, why-?"

"You're right." He agreed with her. "It's Marshall's job to take care of Hershel, it's mine to figure this out so he can focus on that, so everyone can be safe. I just have no idea if it'll work out like that. If they were walkers, it would be more simple. But they're people, and people are unpredictable at the best of times."

"Well, what are your other options? Kick them out?"

Rick shook his head almost immediately. "What would stop them from sabotage and retaliation? Wouldn't you fight to stay instead of having to go back out there?"

"I see your point." She murmured warily. "Well, what else-"

"Kill them." Rick said bluntly.

Lori froze for a moment. "If that's what you think is best." She finally said.

"Right." Rick was unable to stifle the soft scoff. "You say this now..."

"Look, I-I know that I was a shitty wife and-and I'm not going to win the 'Mother of the Year' Award, but I- I need you to know, that not for one second do I think there is malice in your heart. Not here, whatever you decide to do. And not-" She swallowed, unsure how he would react but knowing that she needed to say it to him, even if it was just the once. "And not with Shane. You were never a killer, you've always been a protector. I know that and so does everybody else. So-so, whatever you need to do, to keep all of us safe, we all trust you to do that and do it with a clear conscious." She waited, a tense anticipation holding her as she held his intense blue gaze.

"Okay." He murmured. He'd know more once he saw the prisoners in the thick of it, saw them in an environment that was too hectic for them to try and pretend. For now, being ignorant neighbours was still the best option, even if it left the road ahead unstable and uncertain.

"Okay." She echoed, watching him leave.

"He's right." Marshall's voice snapped her out of her daze. She turned her attention to find the man's back as he stood at the sink, flushing out the IV tubing. "You need to eat something, Lori. And you're supposed to be off your feet. You, too, Maggie. You look little shocky. Go find Beth; I told her to get something to eat but I know she didn't do that. You don't need to watch this; holding me down while daddy digs out a bullet in an entirely different situation. Glenn can hold the flashlight."

"Me?" Glenn asked in surprise.

"Marshall-" Maggie started.

"I can-" Lori added.

Marshall cut them off, his tone was final, "I'm not looking for arguments here. When I'm done, you can come back, Maggie, and give daddy another round of blood—so you better have eaten."

Lips tight, Maggie finally nodded in agreement. "Alright." After a hug from Glenn, him murmuring some words in her ear, and one last look at daddy, she left looking for her errant little sister.

"Thank you, Lori, really." Marshall said. "But go and find that can of fruit we were talking about, alright?"

Lori sighed. She was tired, her feet hurt, her back ached. "I'm going, I'm going. But I'll be close-by in the kids' cell if you need anything."

Glenn rubbed his hands nervously. "So, what do you want me to do exactly?"

"Just hold the flashlight, doll. Find my sweet spot and then you can look away. Just keep it steady."

"R-right." Glenn picked up the flashlight from the bar where Lori left it, rolling it between his hands as Marshall got ready to finish the surgery on stump. He had to wait for Carol to pull back the towel before he could, though.

With hands and tools scrubbed clean with vinegar, Marshall retook his position on his knees, ready to get his hands once more blood-stained. He had Carol tighten the tourniquet again, then nodded at her ready at his side, the rest of the towels within close reach waiting to be used. Carol removed the towel, Glenn flicked on the light, pressed against the bars to keep himself steady.

"Oh, God!" Glenn gagged shortly after Marshall started the delicate process of handling the artery and vein.

"He said don't look." Carol admonished quietly, the tendons in her neck taut as she fought to keep her own composure.

"I'm not! I can- I can still hear it."

"Keep it steady!" Marshall ordered.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Glenn white-knuckled the flashlight.

"Didn't you watch a bloated piranha bisect itself at the well?" Marshall questioned, not looking up. He carefully traced the edge of the bones for any sharp chips or shards before he took up the scalpel.

"That was a walker. I'm- I'm used to walkers. This is different. It's a person. It's Hershel; someone I know and care about. How- how are you so composed?" Glenn uttered, not accusing, just confused. He watched the man's face, the edges of his expression were tight, but that was all the 23-year-old could discern. "I know you used to do this kind of stuff in the Army, but- He's your father. When Athena was attacked and bit, you... you were more freaked out."

Marshall didn't know how to respond as he separated the muscle tissue. He could excuse that he had been in the thick of it with Athena, whereas he only came into it with Hershel after the fact. Technically Athena's hadn't been immediately life-threatening, and Hershel's was. He could claim experience from the Army like Glenn said, but as the other man pointed out: Hershel was his father. . He'd already lost 4 of his parental figures; 3 of them in the span of just a few months. Hershel was the last and here Marshall was, hands steady as the lines in his skin filled with Hershel's blood, breath even, no lump in his throat or tears burning the back of his eyes. He took a deep breath, it probably indicated something defective in him that he was more steady and in control now with his own father than he was with his dog.

Glenn never got his answer and didn't press for it. A bad son, Marshall came to his own conclusions.

It was a slow, delicate process, separating the connective fibre holding the muscle tissue in place, stretching and pulling it over the bone, careful not to have too much tension that it would tear—like pastry dough. It was the same with placing the sutures. Not anchored deep enough: tear. Too taut: tear. Too few: tear. That precious sweet spot needed to be found with very little room to err. Until finally, he tied off the final suture and cut the thread.

"Finished." It took a second to get his seized fingers out of forceps' ring holes.

"That looks... better." Was all Glenn could think to say after a chanced glance.

"So, that's it then?" Carol murmured. "It'll heal over like that?"

"Yeah. Can you fill the bulb?" Marshall massaged his hand. He glanced over at the sound of approaching footsteps to find his sisters. "If we were in a hospital, they'd close it over with skin grafts. It'll just take more time to heal over like this. Be more susceptible to infection and tearing." Carol passed him the vinegar-water bulb and he carefully trickled it over the closed, exposed tissue. "We'll have to keep an close eye on it, clean it and change the wrappings frequently. Keep him in bed for at least 5 days, give it time to clot and stabilize."

"Does that mean he's okay now?" Beth asked, arms hugging herself tightly.

"He's stable." Marshall answered, accepting one of the few remaining clean towels from Carol to wrap-up the stump. Next port of call; the infirmary.

"When will he wake-up?"

"Don't know." Can't know, might not, Marshall didn't say. "Grab something to eat, Mags, and then come back so we can do the next transfusion." Maggie nodded; looked like she managed to get her arms cleaned up. Marshall merely raised an eyebrow at the teen.

"I know, I will this time, I swear. I just figured-"

The clang of the gate at the backend of the cellblock had the rest of them in various degrees of startled, looking back—to see Carl and Sophia stepping through and closing the gate, laden with bags.

"Weren't you two supposed to be organizing the food?" Glenn wondered.

"What's going on?" Lori appeared in the doorway of the kids' cell, hair a bit ruffled, one hand resting on her stomach, the other rubbing away the lingering tiredness. Marshmallow meowed from the bottom bunk.

"We thought that this was more important, that sorting through the food could wait." Carl announced, chin up almost defiantly as the two 12-year-olds approached, their bearings weighed down.

"What did you do?" Lori frowned at her son.

"Check it out," Carl announced with pride, shouldering through the Greene Sisters to drop his backpack at the entrance of the cell showing its contents eagerly to Marshall. "C'mon, Sophia." He urged the girl. Sophia edged nervously forward, and showed her silent parents her own filled bag. "We found the infirmary! Isn't that great?"

"The infirmary?" Lori repeated; Beth, Maggie, and Glenn quickly scuttled out of the upset mother's way. "By yourselves?"

"We went together." Carl corrected. "We stuck together, watched each other's back. Just like we were told."

"Are you crazy?" Lori was incredulous with rising anger. "That's not some excuse for you two to sneak off on your own. Do you not see what happened with an entire group?"

"There were only two walkers, it wasn't that big of a deal. Sophia's even better at taking them out hand-to-hand than I am."

"That not the point."

"You have bandages and iodine in there?" Marshall questioned.

"Uh, bandages, yeah. There were drawers full of them." Carl bent over to rifle through the bag. "What's iodine?"

"An antiseptic. It's usually in a brown glass bottle."

"Um... Sophia, the bottles are in your bag."

"R-right." Sophia started carefully searching through her pack. "There was a bunch of locked cabinets and stuff, so we just grabbed whatever was out in the open." She unrolled a towel, "Papa, is this...?"

"Yes!" Marshall gave a short cheer. "This is great!" He took the bottle, and after a quick check of the date, carefully poured it over the stump. Lori cast him an incredulous, angry look. "Bandages, Carl... Thank you!" Carol quickly took over breaking the package seals for him as he found two pads to cover the stump.

"Carl, we're not finished here." Lori said sternly

Carl straightened and turned to her. "We needed this stuff. For Hershel, and-and for you and the baby! So why are you-"

"I can appreciate that you are-"

"Then get off my back!" Carl snapped in frustration.

"Carl!" Beth exclaimed. "You can't talk to her like that. She's your mother!"

"You talk to your dad worse than that." Carl pointed out and Beth looked like she'd just been sucker-punched. He turned back to his mom, "Why can't you be proud of me like M-"

"He is not your parent!" Lori snapped. She paused for a second. "Listen," She started, more controlled, "It's great that you want to help-" But Carl was already storming out of the cellblock. Lori watched him go with a grimace, rubbing her belly.

Sophia was left frozen to the spot, shoulders to her ears under her mom's stare. "Sophia Grace," Carol said in a low tone, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I-" Sophia swallowed and looked up under her lashes. "Papa said that sometimes you just have to do things yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to."

He cast her look. "This is not exactly what I had in mind when I said that, Sophia, and you know that."

"You promised that you wouldn't sneak off again." Carol pointed out. "You swore that you knew better."

"I do!" Sophia's head snapped up. "I-"

"You lied." Carol stated. "To me and to your papa. We trusted you, and you broke it."

Sophia's expression dropped in shame because that was the truth. Marshall and Carol exchanged a look. Sophia watched them anxiously, her fingernails biting into the skin of her palm. She wanted to cry but knew that it wouldn't solve anything and she didn't want her parents to think that she was somehow trying to get out of being punished.

"Go find Carl. Rick trusted you with a job, you better go finish it." Marshall sent the girl away. "And don't think for one second that this subject is dropped."

"I know. I'm sorry." And Sophia ran to find Carl, willing to drag him if he continued to throw a tantrum. Marshall had taught her to take down people 5x her size—she was taller than him, she could do it.

"Food, you two." Marshall dismissed his sisters next. "Go." He went to finish wrapping Hershel's stump.

"Are you kidding me with that?" Lori hissed through the bars at him so her voice wouldn't carry. "Proud?" Marshall let her rant, listening to her points of contention as he finally pinned the end of the wrap in place. "Him sneaking off is not something that should be rewarded. You're encouraging bad behaviour! You're sending mixed signals. It's not your approval he should be seeking. You are not his father, you're not his parent."

"I can respect their want to help-out. We do need these medical supplies, for both you and daddy. While I'm not happy about how they went about doing it, and despite the fact that they're the ones that put themselves into that dangerous situation, I am proud that they were able to handle themselves." Marshall attempted to wash the blood off in the already brown water-vinegar. "I taught Sophia, not because I wanted her to have to do things like this but so if she did get into a situation, she would be able to get out of it. That's all. So my reaction was not intended to be encouraging, but what's done is already done and while happy with the positive outcome, like I warned Sophia: our conversation isn't over, just that medical issues take precedence."

Lori was left in silence as the kids returned. Sophia strode past with a determined stride while Carl petulantly trudged after shoving the laden cart that T-Dog had left in the rec. room, refusing to even look his mother's way as he passed even as her hazel gaze followed him. Lori sighed heavily.

"It's puberty." Carol said, taking her turn washing her hands. "It's like a seesaw. He'll be an ungrateful little jerk and then he'll want you to kiss him goodnight."

"So, this is how it's gonna be until he's 18?" Lori lamented.

"That's optimistic." Carol teased. "Sure, let's go with that."

Lori snorted before sighing. "Is it horrible to hope for a girl?"

"Course not—and then you remember what you were like at that age." Carol finally stepped out of the cell for the first time since this all began, drying her hands. She was amused by the face the other woman was making.

"I want to say I was a well-behaved respectful little girl—don't tell my son that's not strictly true."

"He's just fighting against the yoke a little." Marshall remarked, finally having his own look through the infirmary bags the kids had brought back as he waited for his twin's return. "You'd probably given him a lot more personal autonomy Before; going to the park alone with his friends, walking home from school by himself, staying out later on the weekends..." The sheer amount of useful supplies probably laid more heavily on Sophia's shoulders merely based off the fact that's he'd given her first aid lesson during winter. "So, he's just bucking against the sudden restrictions. This is probably one of the better places for him to try pulling stuff like that. Safe-"

"Safe?!" Lori exclaimed. "How can you say that when not even a minute ago you were treating your own father?"

"Safer than if we were out on the road." Marshall finished. "I know you want to wrap him in bubble wrap, but even that has it dangers-"

"You're barely even a parent! You've known that girl for 5-minutes, what do you know about raising a child?"

"You want to say that Ed was more of a parent because he provided the sperm that created my daughter?" Carol refused to stay silent. "You've seen Sophia with both Ed and Marshall... now look me in the eye and tell me that my bastard husband was a better influence on my daughter than this man." She gestured at Marshall. "Tell that it was right that she was afraid to laugh, that she folded in on herself around every man, that she never stood up straight or made eye contact or spoke louder than a whisper. That she would wet the bed from nightmares; that she should be a little shadow. Tell me that she shouldn't walk with her shoulders back and head held high with confidence, that she's not the most beautiful thing when her eyes are bright with excitement, that she shouldn't laugh with freedom, that she shouldn't be like any other kid that loves animals, and that can just be unapologetically herself like any other kid. Tell me." But Lori couldn't. "Who Marshall is to my daughter is not for you—or anyone else—to decide, Lori. That's between myself, Marshall, and our daughter."

"You're right," Lori murmured after the silence rang for a few second between them. "You're her mother, it's your decision who you allow into her life." She looked to Marshall, who had a tight frown, but otherwise was like looking a wall. "I should not have said or implied that your feelings regarding Sophia were valid or not on that fact that you hadn't raised her from birth or are related by blood." That would be hypocritical of her, wouldn't it?

"Everyone has a right to their opinion." Marshall informed. And I'm gonna fight tooth-and-nail to make sure that you, daddy, and Andrea never get in a room together to express them, he silently vowed with 100% hypocrisy. "You should get off your feet, there's nothing much to do but wait, really." He went back to the bags. Lori watched him for a moment before she left, silent. "Hey, spirit-baby-mama?" He uttered before the older woman could also make her leave.

"Yes, Pumpkin?" She made a brief smile flicker across his flat lips.

"Thank you for saying that. It means..." He involuntary glanced at Hershel, "A lot to me. Your trust with the most precious thing in your universe. Even though I know it was more about your right as her mama."

"We've had this conversation before, didn't we? No one else's opinion on the subjects matters but the three of ours." Carol informed him, soft but firm. "I know that if anything ever happens to me, she'll be in the best possible hands—A Papa Bear that will move Heaven and Earth to make sure she's safe, happy, and healthy."

"Of course." Marshall's green-eyes sharpened on hers. "But nothing will happen to you like getting bit and losing a limb until you're at least daddy's age, right?"

She gave him an indulgent smile. "Of course."

"Good." He watched her leave. The next blood on his hands better be Lori's from her giving birth and that was it. If anybody around here got more than a scraped knee in this place from then on, Marshall was not going to be swayed from the rope-solution this time and he might as well just see how effect bubble wrap was while he was at it. "Why couldn't you have listened to me for once and worn the damn arm and leg guards?" He muttered at his father's unconscious form. Am I such a disappointment in your eyes that you couldn't just take my word for it for once?

Maggie made her appearance a minute later, Glenn at her side. "Hey. Any change?"

"No. Did you eat something?"

"Yes."

"Beth?"

"Yes."

"Where is she?"

"In daddy's cell, distracting herself with a little project."

Marshall stared a minute. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay..." Glenn chipped in awkwardly and they glanced at him with the same look. "Y'know," He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometimes I forget that you two are actually twins—and then you do something like that."

"How could you forget? We look exactly alike!" Marshall pouted. "Especially from behind."

"Gross! We do not!"

"I was trying to be nice—we both know my ass is better than yours."

"You're a bigger asshole, you mean."

"Just for that, come sit on the throne, sis." Maggie's nose scrunched but she manoeuvred her way around the bags and brother to the back of the cell. "And look who get's herself the VIP treatment," Marshall cooed, opening a little alcohol wipe.

"Lucky me." She rolled her eyes, extending her left arm for him to swab her inner elbow. A minute later, there was a needle taped into place, and tubing filled with her blood connecting her to her daddy. "Can I be alone with him for a minute?"

"Yeah." Marshall checked his watch before he left. "I'll be back in about 10-minutes to disconnect you."

"You, too, Glenn." Maggie said to her lingering boyfriend.

"Are- Are you sure? I'm mean, what if-?" She caught his gaze flicker to Rick's cuffs sitting so innocently on the top bunk.

"You think he should be cuffed. You think he's going to die?"

"No! No." He repeated calmly but no less emphatic. He knelt by her, taking her right hand. "But like Rick said, it might be a good precaution to take. If something did happen, if it's just you alone with him, I don't want you to have to do that to your own dad. Maggie, please, just-"

"Fine." She sniffed.

"What?"

"I said 'okay'. C-cuff him."

"A-alright." He stood and grabbed the cuffs, but then froze staring at the old man. "How? He has needles in both arms..."

"Can you- Is there a way to hook it on the bottom frame?"

"Let me..." Glenn bent and reached under. Curled fingers carefully felt along the bottom frame... only to yelp and pull his hand away. They both stared almost dumbly at the blood that quickly welled from the slice on his pinkie finger. "I cut myself."

Maggie leaned over, right hand digging through one of the bags, careful not to pull at the IV in her left arm. "Give me your hand." He offered the bloody appendage, wincing with a hiss as she cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe. "It's not deep, a band aid will work fine." She wrapped a band aid around it, leaving him unable to bend the short digit, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

"Thanks."

"What did you even cut it on?"

"No idea. Hang on." Glenn gave her his baseball cap and laid on his back, shimmying on the dusty and dirty floor under the bunk. He clicked on his flashlight, tracing the beam along the frame and- "Holy crap!"

"What?" Maggie demanded. After a moment of fiddling around, he squirmed back out from under the bunk bed, sitting up.

"Check in out, it's a legit prison-shiv!" He examined it with bright-eyes. "Looks like its made out of a toothbrush, dental floss, and a razor blade."

"Jeez." She took it from him, setting it safely out of harms way at the back of the sink. "Let's hope the dirtiest thing on that was dust."

That sobered the 23-year-old. "Right. Well, I also found a notch that should fit the cuffs." He ducked back under the bed with his flashlight and the cuffs, "There." Then sat up to put the other cuff on his girlfriend's father's wrist. He grimaced each time the clicked tighter. He didn't want to cut-off circulation or anything, so it was still pretty loose. He laid Hershel's hand back flat, giving it a gentle squeeze before pulling away. "Okay." He climbed to his feet, ruffling the clinging dust from his hair as he accepted his cap back. "I guess, I'll leave you." He kissed her cheek before leaving.

Maggie sat in a minute of silence staring at her daddy's cuffed wrist. Was that like admitting she didn't think he was going to make it? Beth called her eager but it was just being... realistic of the situation:

"What are you doing out here, Beth? Rick said not to wander and Marshall told you to get something to eat."

"I'm not wandering and I'll get something to eat in a second when I go back inside, I just wanted to grab my feathers. I figured out what I'm gonna do with them—I'm gonna make a pillow for daddy's leg. I know it won't make-up for me being an asshole to him, I just- It's doesn't matter. I'm gonna make him a pillow. I was thinking about using the material from his pant legs' 'cause, you know... he doesn't have a leg anymore. I mean, what if he trips on it or something? Is that too morbid? Like: 'Here's a leg pillow to rest your missing leg on, I made it from your pant legs' because you no longer need the pant leg... material because you... don't have a leg anymore...' I'll work shop it. I want to get it ready for when he wakes up."

"Beth, he- there's a good chance that he might not wake-up."

"Why would you say that?"

"It's the truth. Even if Marshall didn't outright say it. I just want you to be prepared-"

"Prepared?! God, you're just like him, so eager to just give up. Daddy didn't even sit for a minute before he was ready to give up on Marshall, and here you are, already ready to give up on daddy. Can neither of you just have a little faith in Marshall?!"

"Beth, this isn't about Marshall-"

"Marshall will fix daddy's leg, he did this kind of thing in the Army all the time. Daddy will wake-up and get better. Marshall will help Lori deliver a healthy baby. The crops will grow, and everyone will be happy and safe. How about you prepare for that? You know, I think I will use his pant legs'. I mean, waste-not-want-not, right?"

Maggie shook she shook her head, turning her burning gaze to his pale face as she dropped to her knees from the toilet to his bedside. She didn't want to be realistic, not about this, so... She would just get these thoughts off her heart for God to hear, and then she could move on—prepare for daddy to open his eyes, because he would.

She settled the IV so the tubing wouldn't get kinked, her left hand petting the top of his head like she always did for Marshall when her twin needed comfort sick in bed, her other taking his cuffed hand. "Daddy, I don't know if you can hear me, I just- I want you to know that you don't have to fight anymore, okay?" Her chin trembled. "I don't want you to go, but if you do... You don't have to worry about us. You raised us right, we'll always look out for each other. So if you can't fight anymore, it's okay, daddy. Go to The Spirit in the Sky." She pressed her lips to his wrinkled forehead. "Be peaceful. I love you. Thank you for everything. I love you, daddy." Maggie sniffed hard, softly laying her head on his gently rising chest as the tears fell hotly from her eyes. She had trouble keeping her breaths even, to prevent herself from succumbing to her sobs, because Beth was right, daddy wasn't dead, he-

She froze and held her breath.

Hershel's chest wasn't rising and falling anymore.

.

Marshall decided that it was his time to take the chance to get his own bite of food, then check-up on Athena. He didn't think it was exactly necessary to still have her on guard; he knew Rick would never let the prisoners passed him to get back here, but Marshall might just keep her in play while they were all distracted, until Rick and the others returned to confirm everything was ship-shape. He stretched the kinks out from spending the majority of time either squatting or on his knees as he made his way to the back of the cellblock.

There was a racket coming from said cell and Marshall stopped to watch the two 12-year-olds struggle to get the vinyl covered mattress off the bottom bunk and out the narrow cell door. He silently pulled the cart out of the way.

"Look at you two, hard at work. Good."

Carl silently scowled at his shoes.

Sophia was the one to explain. "I thought we should put all the dry goods on the bunk off the floor to stop them from getting damp or-or attracting rats. Do you think there are rats here?" She wondered warily.

"Possibly. Haven't seen any signs, though. The piranha might have cleared out the population or sent them into hiding into the dark bowels of the prison. It's summer now, and with us clearing out the piranha... we'll just have to keep an eye out." She nodded. "Think you can find me something to eat, Butterfly? You're pretty good at that."

The girl started looking through the boxes of cans scattered around. "Did you see the flour, papa? And there's powered milk, too!"

Marshall nodded. "I did see the flour on the cart. We can probably make some bread tomorrow when things have settled down a little." There was a beat of silence in which his green gaze settled onto the boy; Carl studiously avoided his gaze. "I didn't just come here for the cuisine... I think we need to have a little chat, Carl."

"About what?" The boy finally mumbled at the continued weight of the man's gaze and the stretching silence that followed.

"I may not be your parent, but I am Sophia's and as an adult, I hold a responsibility towards you as well.

"Just because I'm proud that you two were able to take care of yourselves in the dangerous situation—that you put yourselves in, let's not forget—doesn't mean that I approve of your actions of sneaking off." When Carl opened his mouth to try and protest, Marshall didn't let him. "It doesn't matter that we needed the medical supplies. It doesn't change the facts. You snuck off without telling anyone while we were all distracted. You did so not knowing that there would only be two piranha; in fact, after what happened, it was a stupid thing to assume there would be anything other than a mob waiting in those tunnels. Actions have consequence-"

"We're not kids-!"

"Yes, you are." Marshall countered sternly and factually. "You are 12-years-old, Carl. I don't care that your birthday is next month or that Sophia's is in 3-days. 12, 13 it'll equal the same: child.

"What you don't seem to grasp is that actions have consequences, so here are yours: You owe your mother one hell of an apology. She was worried about you, as she has every right to be. It doesn't matter that you already made it back safely. The two of you got lucky. It's quiet until it isn't—You should know that better than anyone, Sophia, after what happened in Allie, to Boomer and Hopscotch." The girl's head bowed in shame. "What happened to your leg; you were almost where my daddy is right now."

He let his spirit-daughter think on that, found can white-knuckled in her grip as he turned his attention to boy-Grimes, "When your father returns from sorting out those prisoners, you're going to hand him back those keys that he trusted to you and you're going to tell him exactly what you did. That you snuck off behind everyone's back without a word because you knew you would never have been allowed to otherwise. That you took advantage of his trust in you. This is not a game. I don't care if cataloguing the food is boring. While it may have been a noble cause, your actions have proved that you can not be trusted to act responsibly when left to your own devices. By trying to prove that you're 'not just kids' and are contributing members of this Group, you have in fact, proved the opposite. That you are reckless, that you don't listen to your parents or other responsible adults."

Marshall couldn't see the boy's face, his head ducked and the brim of his hat shadowing his expression. Upset and angry, no doubt. Perhaps frightened at having to confess to his father more than at the prospect that he'd talked back to his mother. "Do you understand, Carlton?" While Marshall was sympathetic, his tone was still firm. It wasn't until he got a jerky nod and rasped 'Yes' that the strawberry-blond spoke-up tentatively.

"Here, papa." Sophia uttered quietly, holding out the can and the can opener. "There aren't many single-serve cans, I hope its okay?"

Marshall took the can and read the worn, dusty label falling off: artichoke hearts. "Yes, thank you." He set the can on the large bag of rice on the cart and engaged the can opener. He kept the cut top in place with a finger and lifted the can to his mouth, draining the contained liquid in a few gulps. It wasn't exactly refreshing, but it made him realize how thirsty he was.

The tangy flavour set his palate off, but it settled after the third heart. He powered through the rest within minutes. He dropped the top back into the now empty can, and barely finished swallowing the last of it down when Maggie's terrified and panicked scream reverberated through the cellblock.

"Help! Oh, God, daddy. Marshall!? He's not breathing! Marshall!"

The tin can hit the floor with a clatter as Marshall turned and bolted back towards the other end of the cellblock; he wasn't the only one flocking to the call. It didn't even take him 10-second to reach the cell but Lori was already inside, Maggie watching anxiously as she preformed chest compressions.

While Marshall arrived with the others he didn't interfere as they crowded his back at the mouth of the cell. He wasn't exactly keen on the heavily pregnant women exerting herself like this, but her form was correct; the placement of her hands, her pace, when she moved to mouth-to-mouth. He didn't interfere, almost observing clinically—until Hershel gasped, jerking up, hands grabbing.

Lori shrieked as her loose hair was grabbed before she could reared back as she'd been leaned over him doing mouth-to-mouth. Maggie grabbed the woman trying to pulled her back while Marshall lunged forward and took control of Hershel's free hand tangled in her hair. Once she was free, he pushed the two women back in the corner, Hershel suddenly going limp just as fast as he'd come up swinging.

There was a panting beat of silence. "M-Marshall? Is- Is he-?" Maggie clung to the breathless pregnant woman, a red tube of blood still connecting them.

Marshall checked Hershel's carotid pulse (present). "He's alive." Peeled his eyelids back and flashed a light in his eyes (still blue). "He didn't turn." The stethoscope to his chest and lungs (clear). "He'll probably wake up soon." A collective heave went through the present group. Marshall turned his attention to his twin, "Sit down for a minute, Mags." Maggie lowered herself shakily onto the toilet, Lori left the cell in a similar condition, and Marshall gently removed the transfusion line from both Greene's, a beige band-aid marking the needle's place. "Breathe. Daddy's okay. You're okay." He stroked her arms comfortingly.

"He... stopped breathing." Maggie muttered, horror in her tone. "I said it was okay and he stopped breathing."

"It was just the shock and trauma finally catching up to his body, Maggie. Not because of anything you said. He's 65-years-old. The only reason it probably didn't happen sooner was because of the blood transfusions. The disorientation after resuscitation is normal. He's okay now. Alright?"

Maggie could only shakily nod, sniffing, her breathing a little jerking as she swallowed back the cries convulsively, tears dribbling from her green-eyes. "He's alive."

"Yes. So, you and Beth sit with him, hold his hand." Marshall also took out the antibiotic IV. He pressed kisses to his sisters' heads as they huddled by Hershel's bedside.

"Does he still need to be cuffed?" Beth asked.

"We can uncuff him..." Maggie gave her brother the keys. He unlocked Hershel's tender wrist, but left the other hooked to the bed frame. It was a good thing that Maggie had decided to be cautious and cuff daddy when Marshall hadn't. He checked the bandaged stump. Even though daddy hadn't turned, he could have really hurt the pregnant woman in his disorientation had he had both arms free and that would have been on Marshall. Marshall found the pregnant woman. "Lori?" The woman looked up. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." She brushed tangled hair from her face. "Just... shocked when he grabbed me, that's all—but I'm okay now."

"Good."

"Oh!" She was startled when the younger man suddenly embraced her.

"Thank you." Came the grateful utter.

And before she could even react or respond, he was gone, just as suddenly as he had appeared.

[tWD]

When the trio returned to the main cellblock, their energy was silent and subdued. Instead of calling for his son and causing a ruckus, Rick reached through the bars with Daryl's set of keys. The rec. room was empty and silent with not even Athena on guard to clock their return. With the door secure behind them, they breathed more easy.

"The quiet can only be a good thing, right?" T-Dog remarked. "Means nothing crazy's going down."

Daryl scoffed. "Calm before the storm."

T gave him an unimpressed look. "Be positive for once, man."

The hunter merely swung his crossbow off his shoulder and laid it down on the table top, rolling his shoulders. The two followed after Rick into the cellblock; the others were all gathered around Beth and Marshall's cell in vigil.

"We're back." Rick spoke up, drawing eyes.

Carol eyed them in short assessment. "You all look exhausted—and hungry. I'll scrounge up something for you to eat. Come help me, Sophia." The girl nodded, following on her mother's heel.

"Everything been okay here?"

"Hershel stopped breathing, but mom saved him." Carl reported.

Rick's gaze turned to the exhausted woman, sat on the steps. "I did CPR, managed to get him back."

Relief swept through Rick. "Well, we found the laundry room." He nodded down at the stack of towels and sheets both he and T-Dog were in possession of. "Knew we would need more bandages so we grabbed the cleanest of the bunch."

Lori made a small grunt as she pulled herself to her aching feet, one hand gripping the rail, the other under her belly. "That'll be good to have just in case, but unnecessary at the moment... we have bandages from the infirmary."

Carl shuffled silently on his feet.

"Ah, that's good, then." Rick's first thought was Marshall, but no, Marshall would be too busy actually tending to his father. "Maggie and Glenn...?"

"No." Rick's brow crinkled, so his first assumption was correct? Lori's expression was severe, she took the stack of towels from his hands; T-Dog quickly took them in turn in his free arm as he and Daryl edged passed the splash-zone. "You need to have a conversation with your son."

"Carl?" He looked down his son in confusion, watching Carl's energy turn on a dime; hunched in on himself, avoiding eye contact. Guilt. "What did you do?"

Carl was silent for a second, struggling to look his father in the eye and confess. While what Marshall had said echoed in his head, he didn't regret actually doing it. He stood by his actions, so while he might be scared of his dad's reaction, he rose his chin, looked the man in the eye like an adult and said: "Me and Sophia went by ourselves and found the infirmary without telling anybody."

"You...?" Rick was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He had to hack off a person's leg, nearly died, killed two people in the span of a few hours... all he wanted to do was come back to good news—that Hershel was okay and everything was alright. Instead, he got this. "You what?"

"Hershel needed the supplies-!"

"No. Stop." Rick held out a palm; Carl silenced. "Give me the keys. Don't speak, think." He turned his hand, palm up. "Hand them over. Now." Carl did. "I trusted you with these. I thought you could handle the responsibility-"

"I can-!" He clamped his mouth shut at the cut of his dad's eyes.

"Don't speak, listen. I trusted you with the responsibility of having these keys, and instead you used it to go sneak off and pull another one of your dangerous stunts. What is it going to take for you to realize how dangerous it is to keep sneaking off on your own? Was Hershel not enough? He slipped away without notice, without telling the rest of us—and he got bit! Is that what it's going to take for you to see, Carl? Am I going to have to cut off your arm, too, one day because of your reckless behaviour?"

"Nothing happened! There were only two walkers, me and Sophia handled them just fine. We didn't get bit or scratched. We got the supplies that we really needed, for Hershel and mom—at least Marshall said thank you!"

"Is that what you're after here? Praise?" His tone lowered; his disappointment expanded.

Carl bit his lip. "No." His shoes scuffed the concrete floor. "But we helped and now we're being punished. If it'd been anyone else-"

"You are 12-years-old! If I find out you had this same attitude towards your mother..." The sudden ratcheted tension in the boy's shoulders gave him all the answer Rick needed, the stone-wall expression on Lori's face from the corner of his eye was just the cherry-on-top. "Apologize. Now, Carlton Benjamin Grimes."

Carl gulped under the quiet fury in his dad's tone, the deep frown and disappointed gaze. He turned to his mom, "Marshall said you were just scared and worried about me. I just wanted to help, but I never should have talked to you like that, no matter how upset I was. I'm sorry, mom."

Lori's mouth was tight. "I was and I am. Just because you and Sophia got lucky this time, doesn't mean you will be next time. Last time when the two of you snuck off, Sophia ended up separated from the Group for 4 months. That's harmless in comparison to what happened to Hershel." Carl wanted to protest; because they'd 'snuck off', he ended up saving Marshall from getting bitten by that walker. Instead, he pursed his lips and clenched his hands, and didn't speak. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

Rick questioned, "Have you and Sophia even finished sorting through the food like I'd asked you to?"

"We're almost done." Carl mumbled.

"If I can't even trust you to complete a simple task like that without having to watch you like a hawk, how am I supposed to trust you with anything else?" Rick shook his head. "You're on lockdown. No more going out. I'll let you keep your gun for safety, but the cellblock, courtyard and field are as far as you go." Carl opened his mouth in indignant protest. "This is not a debate. I suggest you go and finish what I asked you to before it gets dark. Go on."

The two parents watched their son walk off.

"I should've been watching him." Lori spoke-up softly. "I was distracted."

Rick shook his head. "You were doing something important. He shouldn't have needed to have a babysitter to make sure he did as I asked. He should know better, yet he keeps pulling the same stunts." He scrubbed at his brow with the heel of his hand. "I thought if I took him out with me, gave him some responsibility... showed him-" Marshall was right; Rick turned his back for a second and by the time he looked back, Carl was already metaphorically poking a walker corpse with a stick. "Damn it."

Lori laid a hand on his upper arm. "He's still just a 12-year-old boy—there's only so much we can do."

Rick blew out a heavy sigh. "Yeah." He dropped his arm and she reluctantly took back her hand. Before anymore could be said upon the subject of trying to raise a kid in the apocalypse-

"Daddy?!" Beth let out a sob of relief as Hershel's eyes finally fluttered open. They'd been dancing under his eyelids for a while now as everyone had been rooted into place as The Grimes Family Drama unfolded.

"Daddy," Maggie coaxed softly, stroking his head. "It's okay, we're here. You're safe."

Drawn by his daughters' voices, Hershel's gaze managed to focus—and the first thing he laid his gaze on was a... voluminous, red-headed, lingerie-clad woman beckoning him with a sultry smirk-

"Daddy?"

Hershel turned his head and his gaze fell onto his two beautiful daughters. "I'm here," He murmured, voice laden with pain and exhaustion. "I'm here."

"Yeah, you're here." Maggie pressed a teary-eyed kiss to his forehead. "We're all here. You're not allowed to do that again."

"Didn't plan it in the first time." Hershel murmured. "I'm tired. Bethy?"

"Yeah, daddy?"

"Can you sing Paddy Reilly for me? Please, Doodle-bug? Just a verse... I wasn't sure I'd see you again. Hear you again..."

"Of course, daddy. Whatever you want." The teen took in a shuddering breath, shifting on her knees; Is it worth it in the end? She heard her big brother.:

dear face that holds such a sweet smile for me
were you not mine, how dark this world would be
I know no light above that could replace
love's radiant sunshine in your dear, dear face
give me your smile, the love light in your eyes
I could not hold a fairer paradise
give me the right to love you all the while
my world forever the sunshine of your smile

"Where is Marshall?" Came Rick's belated realization. Any ease in the tension of his shoulders at the older man awakening racked right back up.

"He left a little bit ago." Carol murmured, having returned from the pantry with an eating Daryl and T-Dog, having left the kids behind to hopefully finally finish their job of sorting out the food. She saw the deep frown on his face as he absently accepted the bowl from her. "He just stepped out," She corrected herself. "He didn't want to go off hunting or anything until the rest of you got back. I think he just needed a minute to himself."

"Of course."

"I'll get him, tell 'im the old man woke up." Daryl said, shovelling the rest of the food from his bowl into his mouth. "Need to take a piss anyway."

"Alright." Rick agreed after a moment. As much as he wanted to go and find Marshall himself, talk to the man... he remembered the fact that Marshall hadn't even looked at him once. He'd taken the man's father into danger, hacked his leg off for Christ sake. Maybe it was better to give his Partner space for now.

shadows may fall upon the land and sea
sunshine from all the world made Him be
but I shall see no cloud across the sun
your smile shall light my life till life is done
give me your smile, the love light in your eyes
life could not hold a fairer paradise
give me the right to love you all the while
my world forever the sunshine of your smile

"Mm." Daryl handed his bowl to Carol and headed for the rec. room to grab his crossbow. This place might be fenced up but he still wasn't taking his chances, not since they found living prisoners in this place of all things. His tongue picked the food stuck in his teeth and as Beth gentle singing softened, Athena's yips and whines became more prominent.

She didn't sound in danger or pain, nor was it her warning signal, but it sure didn't sound happy either. He quickly stepped out the exit of C Block. "The hell-?" Athena was locked in the caged stairs. She gave him a bark before turning back to whining and yelping, pawing at the gate frantically and pointedly. Maybe she also had to pee? He stepped down the stairs. But where was Marshall? He opened the gate latch, the gate barely opened a foot before Athena rammed through. "Hey-!" He stared after her, dumbfounded for a moment as he watched her race through the courtyard toward the rec. yard gate like a greyhound at a racetrack, before his gaze alit upon the figure wandering down the dirt road to the front gate of the prison.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Daryl was running after them. Athena barked as she caught up to her handler. Daryl didn't even clock a twitch from Marshall as he closed the distance, crossbow swung around his back and shoes thumping against the ground. Athena danced around the man but when that still didn't garner a reaction, she abruptly laid down at his feet. Marshall tripped over her loosely bandaged form, stumbled briefly, then tumbled down onto his hands and knees. Daryl snorted. Athena quickly jumped up and went around to nose at his hung head with a wet nose and a whine. Instead of reaching up to her and hugging her like Daryl expected, Marshall nudged the Belgian Malinois away with his forearm, got up and continued to walk for the gate. The little pause on his hands and knees had allowed Daryl to close that crucial distance so before Marshall could duck around the overturned bus, Daryl managed to grab him.

The chain link fence rattled as Daryl shoved the other man back against it, forearm barred against Marshall's chest to keep him in place, hand fisting material at his shoulder. The mild commotion drew attention of the walkers outside, but there were 2 fences between them so it wasn't even a worry with only the 7 he could spot offhand. "Where th' hell do you think you're goin'?"

But he got no response; typically stupid or otherwise. And when Daryl looked up into the younger man's eyes- All the hunter could think was 'nobody's home'. Marshall's pupils were pinpricks, the surrounding green dim and murky. Even walkers' eyes were emotive than this. Panic attack, just like in the swamp at the farm; but the heartbeat beneath his forearm, the rise and fall of Marshall's chest was too steady and even. His hands hung steady and loose at his sides. Daryl snapped his fingers in front of Marshall's face—not even a flinch.

Flashback? He'd seen Merle suffer those when he came back from his own stint in the Army, losing his anchor on reality as he swam in booze and drugs. Guy just fixed up his dad's stump for Christ sake, that would fuck with anyone's reality.

Daryl's first and immediate thought was smack him, but Daryl remembered the bruises and cracked ribs and broken noses when he hadn't known any better with trying to snap Merle out of it. Though Marshall hadn't reacted aggressively yet when Athena tripped him up or Daryl threw him against the fence... it was best to leave that as a last resort. A glance at the whining, anxious dog at their feet just solidified that plan. Her reaction the last time Daryl had gotten aggressive and physical with her handler... if Marshall was too disoriented to call her off, well, Daryl had seen what she'd done to Shane.

"It's always somethin' with you, isn't it?" Daryl scowled, Shoulda just let Rick come for his boyfriend.

Daryl stared at his aggravating lifeless face. If anyone's middle name should be 'Trouble'.

'One of the guys in my unit offered me a cigarette-'

'I started to rely on them heavily after disarmament, to come down-'

'Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, you know, to do what you gotta do.'

"You just can't help yourself." Daryl dropped his arm and took a step back. Marshall didn't move to try and continue to leave like he had after Athena tripped him.

The hunter fished out the pack and lighter from his back pocket. Daryl lit a cigarette in his mouth, puffed as the tip ignited. He took out the cigarette, blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, flipped the stick around in his fingers. He pressed the filter against the other's lips. No reaction. Daryl squinted. His knuckle brushed against skin as he decided to pull away—a bitch-slap it was- Green-eyes flickered, lips closed around the filter. Daryl dropped his hand away, thumbnail scraping roughly over his middle finger knuckle, observed the other pull on the cigarette, watched his pinprick pupils dilate.

Awareness light in his dead fish eyes.

Smoke streamlined from his nostrils.

Athena whined, barked.

Marshall stared down at the dog, the heat beating down overhead, unrelenting like a pulse, dust covering every surface like a liberal coat of seasoning- he blinked, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. He wasn't over there anymore. Marshall didn't realize how badly his hand was shaking until he held the cigarette back to its owner—Daryl, Hunter, not Mitch Dolgen—which was odd because he could have sworn they'd been rock-steady a minute ago. Was it nerve damage or just nerves? And... how did he get down here, anyways? Last he recalled he was in the courtyard, thinking about the blood that covered his hands but didn't cover his hands but did- an endless fucking loop. His heart steady, his breath steady, his hands steady, his ears clear, yet his thoughts getting away from him. Steady, steady, steady—just like the scent of iron that clung to him; in the fibres of his clothes, clogging his skin pores, lined his nails. The taste of it on his tongue. Daddy loves you, daddy bled for you. How was he supposed to get it off short of skinning himself- He would just get the water himself. He told Carol he'd be a shout away, and he was, huddled around the corner, but the creek wasn't that much farther than the front gate and Glenn's scream had reached- He was already walking. Athena barked and whined, locked within the stairs cage, but he was fine; his breath was even, his hands steady, see? The water wasn't just for him to try and wash away his mistakes, it was for the whole Group, it was-

"What was the plan then," Daryl's gruff raspy voice pulled Marshall from his retrospective. "Follow in the old man's footsteps?" He flicked the cigarette towards the little gaggle of gathered, groaning walkers at the outside fence behind them, ash breaking off and falling to the ground.

"It should have been me."

"And what if it had been you?" Daryl challenged. "What then?" He didn't even let Marshall try to get a word in edgewise. "You think that's what your old man is thinking'? It shoulda been you? Get over yourself. It doesn't fucking matter. It was him. He survived. What more do you want?"

He's alive, what more do you want, you selfish sonovabitch? "I should have stopped him-"

Daryl snorted derisively. "I'm having a hard time picturin' strong-arming th' old man." Marshall's expression tightened. "Little daddy's-boy like you."

Marshall throat was tight, his mouth dry. "You don't have to be so me-"

"What was the plan?" Daryl ground the smouldering butt under his heel.

"I- we need water."

"Yeah?" He questioned sarcastically. "And how were you gonna do that, with the hokey-pokey?"

Marshall's face scrunched in confusion. "Daryl..." He couldn't connect his thoughts right. "I'm not in the right mindset for you to be cracking jokes right now."

"The only joke here right now is you." Marshall flinched. "Carl and Sophia are catching shit right now for sneaking off to the infirmary, yet here you are, pulling the same shit when I bet you can't even deal with a mosquito right now. Don't you think your sisters and everyone else has got enough on their plates without you going out and getting yourself torn apart by walkers, too?"

"I-" Marshall struggled for a minute, fingers curled roughly into the chain links behind him, the ruckus of the gathered piranha an insufferable background noise. "Can't... I just need to... get his... b-blood off...!" He choked. "I need it... off me!" The fence rattled he was shaking so hard. Athena barked. His chest felt tight. "Can you p-please just... H-help me...?"

Daryl stared. The muscles in his cheeks jumped as his jaw flexed. Why... did the other man always trust him with this shit? Hadn't Daryl told him time and again? And yet, he kept receiving that same plea in those damn green-eyes. "Fine. Let's go. Hershel's awake and I gotta take a piss." Daryl grabbed a fistful of Marshall's stained shirt and pulled him from the fence. "Keep up. I'll cover you 'cause I sure as shit don't trust you enough to cover me."

[...tbc...]

---

...The walking DEAD...

Ylvis - The Fox
Paddy Reilly - Sunshine of Your Smile

.

The chapter kind of end abruptly, but then again… Daryl. So, there you have Daryl being kind to Marshall... abrasively. Abrasively-kind? Anyway…

My Original plan for this chapter (which you get a little taste of in the beginning) was to start off in the post-Hershel-treated-leg (with Marshall's dissociative episode) with flashbacks to Hershel losing his leg/Marshall treating it, until it all caught up into the present of Lori/Judith—but besides just making shit overly complicated for myself, even just writing this linearly, it's too much content to have both events occur simultaneously (plus adding several more months before posting it [because my particular-ass won't let me break it into 2-parts, thus, you just get [spoiler] two normal chapters for the two events.

P.S: I decided to middle-name Carl—thus: Carlton Benjamin Grimes. I'm mean, when parents throw in the middle-name you know it's time to stop fucking around. Such a power-move. I have 3 middle-names so it's like a 'how much trouble am I actually in' meter. I may have had all 3 dropped once or twice LOL.