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/

1. Chapter 1: Infestation

a/n: Hello! Yes, I am still alive! It's been 2 years and I don't even know what the hell happened. I just haven't been able to finish anything. I've got a/n's just like this on a bunch of other stuff I started but then just lost any life for (Eureka, Fast & Furious, VD/TO, Naruto, Grey's Anatomy) and you'll 99% probably never read. But I finished this and it's real. So real, that you should go and read it right now!

Title taken from: Tripping Daisies - Piranha

Summary: AU/canon-divergences | Maggie has a twin brother named Marshall.

/Marshall suddenly snickered. "Ah, that sounded rather ominous." He cocked his head, "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." Both Maggie and Glenn were staring at him. "What? This is the apocalypse—not a movie!"/

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: AU, Canon-typical violence, Canon-typical blood and gore, hurt/comfort, injury, slash,

...The walking DEAD...

---

Piranha

Chapter 1: Infestation

The quiet of the farmhouse kitchen was filled with background noise of whatever disk was last occupying the battery powered stereo that sat on the kitchen counter. By the sound of the pop music, it belonged to Beth. They'd long since lost any radio station signal more than a month ago.

The young woman idly twirled the spoon as the teabag steeped in the steaming water before she plucked it out and dropped it into the waiting pitcher with the other used teabags. She'd use the later to make a pitcher of iced-tea.

Maggie stirred in a sparing amount of sugar before she lifted the cup to blow on the hot liquid. She paused as she thought she heard something outside. She frowned and turned off stereo. There was a beat of wary silence, she knew her father, younger sister, and Patricia were all somewhere in the house, but it was nothing but her quiet breathing. So when the sudden, desperate scream from outside shattered the silence, she jumped, her cup shattering on the tile in an explosion of porcelain shards. She hissed as the hot liquid splashed across her bare feet.

There was more yelling outside, the sound turning into understandable words the closer the man got. The word that stood out the most was help!. It quickly prompted her into action, ignoring the mild pain in her feet, she used the counter as leverage to jump over the mine field of shards and rushed to the door.

"Daddy!" she shouted back towards the back of the house. "Come quick! Someone's hurt!" Maggie's first thought was of her brother at the male voice, the second was Otis, but it was a stranger's scream and the two unfamiliar figures she saw racing through field toward the house through the window proved that. "Daddy!" she shouted again, snatching up the shotgun that was propped against the front door in wariness.

"Maggie? What is it?" Hershel rushed towards his eldest daughter, eyes catching the gun in her hands. "The sick?"

"No." She shook her head. "There are two strange men running up to the house, screaming for help."

"Alright, we'll see what's happening." Hershel went to the front door. "If someone's hurt, it's only proper to help."

"Be careful, Daddy."

Hershel stepped out onto the porch. Maggie followed a step behind and to the side, the shotgun ready but pointed towards the ground. With her brother out, she was the first line of defense. She hadn't seen any other human since Hershel decided to isolate them at the farm, so she was understandably wary of two strange men—until she registered what was in the first man's arms.

She gasped. "Daddy?"

"Please! You gotta help." The blue-eyes man pleaded, collapsing onto his knees in exhaustion, pale as a ghost, sweating something fierce, the blood covering him standing out stark but even paler than a ghost was the bloodied boy clutched in his arms.

"Was he bit?" Hershel asked.

"Shot. By your man Otis. You Hershel? He said to find you." His voice was cracked hoarse with fear and desperation. "Said you could help."

"Get him inside." Hershel turned back into the house. "Quickly now." He called for Patricia.

The man's companion quickly helped him up when his knees faltered and he rushed through the screen door she held open for him. "Where's Otis?" Maggie questioned the guy's friend before he could pass her into the house.

He silently hooked his thumb over his shoulder and Maggie looked in the direction back across the field. Then squinted at the dark speck in the distance. She quietly sighed but made no comment, turning into the house after the stranger, the door smacking shut behind her.

"Maggie!" her dad called from the bedroom off the front room as she set the shotgun aside. "Pain meds, coagulants—I need everything. Clean towels, sheets, alcohol."

"Yeah!" Maggie rushed off deeper into the large farmhouse to grab the requested supplies. While Hershel was semi-retired before the sickness hit, and Patricia was his assistant, Maggie wasn't qualified like her brother but she sure wasn't oblivious. She'd been raised here on this farm by her father's hip same as her twin. So, she wasn't exactly thrown into the deep-end in the bloody chaos that proceeded, even if the boy wasn't her father's usual patient.

…

"What a time for your brother to be gone." Hershel sighed as he dried his clean hands. The boy was stable for now.

"It's not his fault." Maggie replied, her arms crossed where she leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. "None of us could have expected something like this to happen. Why? You need more hands than Patricia?"

"He's had more experience working on people than me." Was all her father said as he hung up the hand towel before leaving to check the boy's blood pressure.

Maggie could only sigh, puffing out her cheeks. That was about what she expected in response when it came to interactions with her father and brother—whether they were even in the same radius or not.

…

"Rick?" Maggie questioned, having learned the man's name and his friend's earlier. The man was fresh off his blood donation and had yet to regain any colour, if he ever had any to begin with. He seemed like a natural pasty white boy to her. "You need to drink." She refreshed his glass of fresh peach juice. "And eat, even if you don't got an appetite. Your boy's gonna need more blood so you gotta replenish yourself. Can't have you bed ridden, too. That won't help anybody." That finally prompted him to take action; periodic sips of his juice and bites of the sandwich that Beth had made for him. Looks like her sister had cleaned up the mess she'd left on the floor earlier, too. "Your group, your wife... where are they?" Maggie poured herself some juice as she questioned the man. "Where can I find them?"

She saddled up Boomer, her brother's grey-speckled stallion. It was his first solo birth that he'd done as a teenager. The foal was born sick and weak, and the mother mare had abandoned it, refused to nurse it... he'd bottle the foal himself. So, he was understandably protective and possessive of the stallion he raised—so what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It was his fault he wasn't here to do it himself. Or go to the FEMA Centre at the high school with Otis.

Looks like he was missing all the excitement here while he was out in the woods doing the same mundane things he did while he was out there.

[tWD]

Marshall kept an eye on the girl from the corner of his gaze as he kept watch on their darkening surroundings, sat straddled on the fallen tree in the soft glow of the dim lantern light.

When he'd gone out on his little hunting getaway, the last thing he expected to come upon when Athena had darted off with a bark, was a child. The three piranhas that said girl was trying to flee from, but was quickly cornered by, not so much.

Athena barked, barked and growled louder than the girl's sobs and panting, drawing their attention away as she danced around them, drew them away. Two of the three, at least. The last one, a female, by the looks of it, was more interested in the girl as she scrambled back across the ground, kicking at the piranha to try and keep it at a distance, hands scrambling at the ground to grab anything she could to throw at it. It did absolutely nothing to deter the fixated piranha, only obscure her already tear-blurred vision with the sting of dirt.

The girl gave a startled cry, her chest heaving when the walker suddenly stopped, falling towards her. She managed to jolt back before she was crushed under it. Stared with confused hope when she caught the bright, neon fletching sticking out the back of its head.

Marshall immediately loaded another arrow into his compound bow, aimed and waited for the target shot on either of the pair that were falling, literally it seemed, as the blue-faced Belgian Malinois danced between the legs of the lunging forms, making them crash into each other. One tumbled to the ground. Marshall quickly released on that one as Athena grabbed the torn pant leg of the other, taking the leg out from under it with a few aggressive jerks.

It met its second and final death facedown in the dirt.

Marshall squatted between the two dead piranhas as he took a cautious second look around the area to make sure they had no more fashionably late dinner guests, and pulled out the two arrows. He petted and patted Athena as the dog panted and sat by his side, looking at the little girl. Friendly, but not overly friendly—he didn't want to come off as a creep.

The girl had pressed herself back against the trunk of the nearest tree away from the dead piranha, hastily trying to wipe the tears and dirt from her face, attempting to catch her breath. Her gaze was understandably wary as she caught his eyes.

"Hi. I'm Marshall. This is Athena." He ruffled the dog's pointed ears. "Dumb question, but... are you okay?"

"I'm S-Sophia." The girl mumbled, sniffling. "I'm not b-bit."

"That's good." He said. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"I'm lost..."

Marshall nodded in understanding. "You got a group nearby, searching for you? Parents?"

Sophia stared a him for a long moment. "My mom. They'll be looking for me."

"I don't doubt that. Were you all camped in the woods?"

"Where are you from? Do you have a group?" she didn't answer.

Marshall chuckled quietly; good girl, don't know who you could trust these days. "Here. Grew up in these woods, all these acres of it."

"That's a lot."

"It's a family farm."

Sophia chewed her lip. "We were driving on the highway, but the RV broke down... then the walkers came." Marshall assumed that's what they called the piranhas as her nervous gaze darted to and from the rotted bodies around them. "They chased me into the woods." She whimpered. "R-Rick came after me. He used to be a cop. He told me to h-hide and led them away. I waited but he-he didn't come back and when I tried to get back to the highway I..." she tried to swallow the cry, curling in on herself. "I got lost again!"

Athena gave a low whine and he patted her flank, clicking his tongue and nodding his head toward the scared girl. The dog was slow on approach, cautious but non-threatening as she scented the girl. Sophia gave a jolt at the wet nose and stared cautiously into amber eyes. Athena nudged her hand again until the girl started to carefully pet her head.

"Her name's Athena," Marshall repeated again, in case the girl was too frazzled the first time to remember, "Like the-"

"Greek goddess!" Sophia chirped. "We learned that in school."

Marshall smiled. "Yeah."

"She helped you kill those walkers," she said after a moment.

"She's combat trained. She's one of many I helped train in the Army. I was her handler for three tours. When I left, I petitioned for her retirement and adopted her." Marshall was silent for a moment, stowing his clean arrows in his quiver. Sophia's eyes instantly darted to him, following him warily as he stood and slowly approached. He squatted by the third piranha. He pulled his arrow free and cleaned it off with an old rag. "It's getting dark out. My family's farm is closer than the highway, but we won't reach it before dark. We'll make camp and head there in the morning. Then we'll take a car to the highway and I'll get you back to your family." He offered. "Or if you're uncomfortable, I can give you supplies from my bag, a weapon and point you in the right direction."

Sophia watched him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her fingers scrunched in Athena's thick fur. Her gaze darted down to the dead walker that lay between them. She'd almost died—again—while in these woods and it was with skin-of-her-teeth-luck that she didn't. She was hungry, exhausted, terrified. She didn't want to be alone anymore, she couldn't survive alone. "Is it okay if I come with you?" she croaked

"I offered, didn't I?" He assured.

And that was how a girl named Sophia came to be under his and Athena's charge.

They'd moved to a spot with better scenery, easier for him to defend. She sat huddled on the ground, back protected against the fallen tree, wrapped in the wool blanket from his pack, devouring the water and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches stored in his cooler bag courtesy of Beth.

Her short blond hair was dirty, tangled, and matted; he wondered if she was a sunshine blond like his baby sister. Her shoes and bare ankles were caked in mud. Her blue rainbow shirt was torn, dirty, and worn. He'd helped her clean up her arms and legs, which, other than the typical nicks and scrapes that running through the brush unprotect bore, was the splotchy rash. She must have scurried her way through some poison oak without realizing it. Luckily, Marshall had just the medicated cream that was called for in his first-aid kit.

Hunger and thirst finally sated. The downgrade of the excess adrenaline, the exhaustion was hitting. Her chin nodded to her chest before it jolted up again with a sharp inhale. She was fighting it, which wasn't surprising to him. Marshall knew she was safe, he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't let a piranha get her—but to her, she wasn't, he was a stranger, she didn't, couldn't trust him inexplicably like that. Even with Athena's extra protection where she laid in guard against the girl's curled up form.

Marshall hummed quietly under his breath, not loud enough to draw any unwanted attention as breathing. She jolted with a quiet whimper at first, at the sudden intrusion, before it became an anchor to drown out every little leaf rustle in the great darkness beyond the warm halo of lantern light when he didn't let up. It was a relief when her mind and body finally gave up the fight and gave in to sleep.

When sunrise finally came and light broke through the overhead foliage, Sophia jolted awake with startled cry, disoriented and panicked. The press of Athena's wet nose snapped her back to the present, as good as a glass of water to the face, Marshall would know. When Sophia finally got her bearings, Marshall gave her more food and water, also watering Athena, before handing the girl a TP roll to do her business out of sight with her new guard dog.

They got a move on. Athena took point, Sophia not straying far from her flank, with Marshall covering the rear. Athena could usually sniff out the rotting copses before he could hear them and he knew all her tells, so every tail twitch, ear flicker, head swivel, and minute pause that wound Sophia up tighter and tighter, the stress suffocating her already overloaded system, trapped in the torrent of her hyper-awareness—he wasn't so worried.

She was like a frightened rabbit, terrified. Trembling, curled in on herself. Tense. Her gaze darting all around, craning her neck back to make sure he was still there before snapping back to Athena's form with relief. Tensing right up again like the next inexplicable snap or rustle in the woods beyond was finally going to break her. But Sophia was stronger than a rabbit that dies from the stress. She bit back the whimpers and cries that he knew must be pleading to be released, to be voiced. And though her instinct was to either freeze or bolt in panic, she kept moving. This girl was really impressive—she had to be to survive two nights in the woods in this climate with no supplies or weapons or food and water. When they got to the farm, he expected nothing less than the cry of the century once she felt safe enough, then more than that when she finally made it back into her mama's arms. And Marshall was sure as hell gonna make sure that she got there.

"Athena, heel." Marshall called softly.

Athena stopped and Sophia instantly froze, frightened. "What's wrong?" she barely breathed.

"Nothing." Marshall promised, giving her a small smile. "Perfect time for a break—and I spotted wild raspberry plants. Come on." He waved her forward and lo and behold in the brush...

"Raspberries!" Sophia gasped in astonishment when she squatted down beside him. "Are they safe to eat?"

"Of course. Just be careful, the leaves are prickly. Here," Marshall handed her the plastic bag that had previously held the peanut butter sandwiches from his pack. "If you're worried about dirt, we can spare some water." They spent the next ten minutes picking the plants clean, Marshall humming and Athena laying behind them, guarding their backs.

When all was said and done, Marshall took a handful for himself and a handful to Athena, leaving the rest to a happy Sophia. This might be the first time he'd seen any sort of smile on her.

"So, tell me about your group?" Marshall voiced as they rested. Sophia paused for a second, a frown tugging at her lips before she popped the raspberry into her mouth, chewing slowly, watching him. He still couldn't help the little smirk at her response. "It's good to be cautious, Sophia. The world isn't what it used to be, and even than it's always better safe than sorry. There's my daddy Hershel." He said. "He's a vet. My twin sister Maggie, we were born minutes apart. My baby sister Beth, she turned 16not too long ago so she'd probably only a handful of years older than you. My step-mom and step-brother died close to the beginning. Otis and Patricia, they're married, I've known them practically since I was born. Otis is a farm-hand and Patricia my daddy's assistant; they're live-in, even before all this started. And Jimmy. Jimmy's Beth's boyfriend. He made his way to us after his aunt got bit."

Sophia looked confused. "Why did you tell me that? I thought it was good to be cautious? B-better safe than sorry."

"Athena's a great judge of character." Athena raised her head at the sound of her name. "Ain't that right, girl?" the dog gave a quiet woof in response, tail briefly thumping the ground. Marshall chuckled and tossed her the last raspberry; she snapped it up out of the air, Sophia giggling at the display.

Sophia quieted abruptly, like she was startled by her own laugh, gaze darting around warily. When she finally settled, it was to stare into her lap, fiddling with the plastic bag. "There's eleven of us." She said quietly. "There used to be more of us... but they all died. My dad, Jim, Jacqui, Andrea's sister Amy, Daryl's brother Merle. Elise and her family decided to leave the group; she gave me her doll but I lost it crossing the creek." She admitted with shame.

"I'm sorry about your dad."

Sophia sniffled. "I'm not." She admitted bravely. "He always hit mom and me. He didn't have a nice bone in his body, especially towards girls." She raised her blue gaze to him defiantly. "I'm glad he's dead!"

He wasn't sure exactly what kind of response she was expecting of him, but it probably wasn't a smile. "Well, it looks like some good came at the end of the world after all."

She stared. "You're weird." Sophia suddenly declared.

Marshall chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment. So, there's you, your mom, Daryl, Andrea. Rick, you mentioned him before. Got any friends after Elise?"

"Carl. He's the only other kid besides me. We're the same age, but I'm taller than him! But he's got freckles, too. Rick's his dad. I thought Shane was his daddy in the beginning. He and his mom thought he was dead, but he showed up a camp one day." Marshall nodded along, sounded dramatic, as Sophia continued to chat now that she found him trustworthy for whatever reason that was. Maybe she was just naturally chatty but just never got to be with a violent father looming around and now she was coming out of her shell in the apocalypse. "Lori's Carl's mom, she's nice. Dale owns the RV. Then there's Glenn and T-Dog."

"Sounds like a good group."

"I think so." She agreed.

"Ready to start on again?" Marshall questioned, rising and shouldering his pack again, taking his compound bow in hand.

Sophia nodded, climbing to her feet. "Yeah. I think I'll save the rest for my mom," She carefully sealed the bag and stowed it in her capri pants pocket.

They took the same formation as previously, Athena in front, Sophia following, and Marshall in the rear. They weren't walking for more than ten minutes when the silence was suddenly broken by a fast approaching ruckus. Athena tensed and crouched in guard, growling low, Marshall quickly pulled a frightened Sophia behind him. Marshall didn't think it was piranha, it was too fast approaching and much louder.

A moment later a hulking figure broke through the obscuring brush, Athena barked and Sophia let out an involuntary scream even if she couldn't see what it was from behind the man.

"Whoa, Nelly!" Marshall called, startled himself at the presence of one of the Greene horses, recognizing the white marking on the mares face instantly.

The mare reared, whinnying, front legs kicking in the air at the sudden presence and obstacle. She was saddled, but rider less. Clearly terrified; her sides heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat. There was foam at the corners of her mouth from exertion and her eyes were wild.

"Athena, back!" Marshall commanded, dropping his pack, the dog's movement making the horse more nervous. There was a reason why she was named Nervous Nelly, why she was only ridden on-farm, so what the hell was she doing out here?! "Whoa, girl. It's okay, you're safe." He hummed, trying to calm her, trying to edge forward to grab her reins. "Easy. Easy." But she only reared up again. He managed to jolt from the path of her deadly hooves, falling on his ass. He rolled out from under them as she thumped back onto all fours—and bolted a second later with a neigh, disappearing as quick and sudden as she appeared. Athena nudged him with her wet nose with a whine as he sat up. He patted her.

"Are you okay, Marshall?" Sophia asked nervously, dropping to her knees on his other side.

"I'm okay." He promised.

"Was that your horse?" the girl asked.

"Yeah. Nelly. She spooks easy so we don't usually take her out into the woods."

"She was alone. Maybe she got scared and lost like me." She looked around. "Are you going to go after her?"

Marshall chewed his lip for a moment. If it'd just been him, yeah. If it's just been Nelly, yeah. But she was saddled up, her rider was missing. That meant his family. "No," he told her. He stood, spotting something colourful amongst the fallen leaves on the ground that didn't belong. "I'm sorry, Sophia."

She looked confused as she climbed to her feet. "What's wrong?"

"You're gonna have to wait to be reunited with your mama just a little longer." He bent over and picked up what looked like a faded red pocket rag. Nelly must have dropped it. He looked to her, "Something happened to Nelly's rider, that's my family. They could be hurt, I gotta find 'em."

Sophia chewed her cheek nervously as she looked back. As much as she wanted to be with her mom again, Sophia was safe here with Marshall and Athena. As much as Sophia knew that Carol was desperate to find her, she was safe with the rest of the group even if the woman didn't know either of those things. They were both safe, but that rider wasn't. "It's okay." She decided. "You saved me when you didn't have to. I was a stranger. But this is your family, so you gotta."

"Alright." He shouldered his pack and picked up his bow in his free hand. "I know you're exhausted, Sophia, but we gotta move fast, okay?"

She nodded. "But how are we going to find them?"

"Athena, come!" Marshall commanded and the dog was at his side in an instant. "I told you that Athena was a military dog. She trained for this kind of thing. Scent, Athena." He held out the found rag to the dog and she started nosing and sniffing it. "Seek. Athena, seek!"

Athena started wandering the space, sniffing the ground, before she paid particular attention to the brush that Nelly had appeared from. She paused, her tail straight, gave a quite woof and then she was on the move.

"Come on, Sophia." Marshall ushered the girl into movement. "In front of me. Keep her in sight."

It wasn't a run, more like a bit of a jog. Marshall kept his green-eyes peeled for any piranha as their quick steps rustled the fallen leaves underfoot loudly. Sophia panted in front of him, but she didn't complain and kept on. There were pauses as Athena lost the scent trail, which was understandable, such a small sample in the rag that hung off the smelly large bodied horse, but she'd pick it up again. Marshall could spot the physical trail Nelly left in the denser brush from her bolt.

Marshall could hear the trickle of water and knew they were close to the creek, which was proven correct when Athena paced the ravine edge, water running down the rock wall face.

"Whoa," Sophia voiced, looking down what couldn't have been less that a 40 foot steep decline. "That's far."

"Be careful. Don't get too close to the edge." Marshall warned, freeing one shoulder strap of his pack and pulling it to his front, keeping an eye on Athena as the Belgian Malinois was lingering. He handed a grateful Sophia the bottle of water stowed in the side pocket, and took the bundle of rope that he kept clipped to the outside of his pack for easy access. He wasn't liking the indication of Athena's lingering at the ravine edge; he hoped to God that Nelly hadn't thrown her rider over the edge because that would mean the high possibility of finding them dead instead of alive.

Athena's ears twitched back, stilled for an instant, before she barked and suddenly darted away on the path along the edge. They ran after her. When they caught up to her, she let out a quiet woof, belly to the ground, she crawled to the edge—just as a grasping hands stretched up.

Sophia jolted at the scare, but Marshall knew when Athena licked the dirty fingers that it wasn't a piranha that had somehow managed to claw its way up the steep wall. That was a person! Proven verbally as they let out a startled yelp, then curses and shouts as they started to fall. Marshall's body leapt into immediate action, dropping all dead weight and diving for the edge.

"Marshall?!" Athena jumped out of the way and Sophia let out a cry of fear as his body disappeared over edge.

For a heart stopping moment, Marshall was following the stranger's downward path as he scrambled futilely to regain his foothold, blinded by raining dirt and loosened debris. Marshall didn't even think the guy realized there was another person, or if he did, probably thought Marshall was a piranha. Marshall twisted forward, closing that gap that was small but gapping at the same time, managing to grasp the man's wrist before it was swept out of reach again and managed to hook his leg around a thin tree in the same moment.

Their combined, descending weight came to an abrupt, painful halt. The tree juddered, shifting, more dirt raining down on them, its roots loosening—but ultimately held. Marshall let out an explosive exhale staring up into the canopy above, having ended up on his back which was ultimately the better position to be in, and the man below him let out a low groan, face in the dirt. The fall hadn't even lasted 10 seconds, but those seconds had been filled with panic and desperation. That adrenaline surge took ten years off his life.

"Marshall!" Sophia shouted down to him, worried more about him than she was walkers at the moment as Athena paced the edge.

"We're good!" Marshall called back, the man jolted at the sudden voice. "Keep a lookout. Athena, guard!" He got a low woof and whine in response. He twisted his head back to see the man. "Hey, buddy?"

"Don't need your help." A muffled, gruff voice rasped.

"Clearly we're of a difference of opinion." Marshall commented. "C'mon! Hey, look at me!" The man's head slowly rose and Marshall was met with glassy blue eyes, there was an abrasion on his forehead, the right side of his face painted in blood. "Shit. Do you have a concussion?" He was looking right through him.

"Shut up. I c'n do it m'self!" he grumped.

"Fuck. Alright." Marshall licked his lips and then barked, "C'mon, then! Do it! Or do I have to haul your ass myself?" The man growled and his free arm aggressively reached up, digging into the dirt by Marshall's face. "That it?"

"Shut the hell up!" his foot dug into the dirt, pushing.

Marshall grabbed the shoulder of his shirt with his free hand, helping pull him up over him. He gripped his elbow, then armpit. He could feel the strain in his leg wrapped around the tree. The guy was grunting and growling as he climbed over him, Marshall a better handhold than the loose earth, which was the former soldier's intention. The guy's grip slipped, Marshall's shirt ripped, his weight came right down. The guy growled in exhausted frustration, panting into Marshall's thigh. Marshall grunted as he got the full weight of the man's pelvis to his face.

Marshall might've been interested another time, but he was kinda busy with something else right now. Maybe later. Marshall smacked him ass like he was a horse or cow. "You taking a break now?"

"No!"

A sharp elbow to the thigh, turning his head from a kick to the face, and a hiss as his ear was clipped by an errant swing of the tethered crossbow. Finally, the man was reaching for the top again. Marshall grunted, his muscles tensed as he sat himself upright on the slop, grasping a nearby tree and finally freeing his anchoring leg. He used that tree as a foot hold, its already loosened hold wavering under the weight as he pushed at the back of the guy's thighs, finally getting him over that final hump and onto flat land. Giving himself a few seconds, to gather himself, he adjusted, braced, and shoved off just as the tree's roots finally gave and it tumbled down nosily into the creek below as he scrambled over the top edge.

Sophia gave a startled jumped back as the stranger suddenly came up over the edge, skittering back a few steps and he collapsed face first into the ground. She felt relief when Marshall followed a minute later, just as sweaty and dirty as the other man. She could see his shirt was torn and he was covered in scratches, his earlobe bloody.

"Look who made it, champ!" Marshall snarked, slapping the guy's thigh. The man growled something under his breath, Marshall didn't quite catch it, but it sounded something like 'Better run'. Marshall stood over him, grabbed the shoulders of what used to be a red plaid shirt and hauled him away from the edge and turned him over in the process.

Sophia gave a sharp gasp as she finally caught sight of the familiar face. Marshall reacted instantly dropping one of the man's shoulders, hand reaching back to the large knife clipped horizontally to his belt at the small of his back, eyes darting around in search of a threat. But Athena was silent and when he looked to Sophia for an explanation, the girl's gaze was locked on the man at his feet, who was trying to swat at him—ineffectively with his arm tethered by the heavy crossbow.

"Daryl?" she trembled. She dropped to her knees for a stunned moment before she scrambled forward on the ground to the man when Marshall finally released him. "Daryl?!" she shook him frantically.

The now named Daryl—he must be the Daryl from her group that she talked about, and now that Marshall had time to think about it, he was the one that was riding Nelly, did that mean Sophia's group found the Greene Farm?—turned his head and blinked at the girl dazedly.

"Sophia? Been lookin' for ya, girl. Your mama's been worried sick. Where ya been?" Sophia suddenly burst into tears. Panicked confusion flashed through Daryl's eyes, and he flinched when the girl fell forwards and sobbed into his chest. "Whaddya cryin' for?" Athena gave a quiet whine and stuck her head under the crying girl's arm in comfort. "What th' hell?!"

Marshall reached and dragged his pack over to them. The rustling leaves set the hunter on instant alert and he tried to rise, reaching for his weapon, expecting a walker, but he was weighted down by more than just the girl crying on his chest, grunting in pain.

"Whoa! Human here. Alive and breathing. Easy." Marshall said, but that did nothing to ease the man, Daryl tense and squinting at him with suspicion. "Sophia?"

After a moment Sophia lifted her head, sniffing snot and rubbing at her face with the wrist that wasn't hugging Athena. "That's Marshall, he found me yesterday. He saved me from w-walkers."

Daryl's jaw tensed as he squinted from her to the man. He gently nudged the girl off him and strained to sit up, hand pressed to his side. "Well, I got 'er from here. Ya can go."

"We got you." Marshall corrected, unbothered by the rough reception as he started pulling the needed items from his pack. It wasn't like he saved Sophia for the thanks.

"I was fine till that damn dog tried t' bite ma hand!"

"Athena saved your ass. She tracked you over a mile from nothing but a little rag that smelled more like horse than you. She brought you Sophia and I left Nelly to her fate." Daryl looked confused. "I know that horse. You steal that horse?"

"Didn't steal it."

"Then your group found the farm. My family's farm. So we're headed to the same place. Sophia spoke about y'all like you were good people." Marshall stared. "Are you? Good people?"

"We're just tryin' to find Sophia and wait for Carl to get better." Daryl muttered.

"Carl?" Sophia perked up at the mention of her friend. "Was he hurt? Is he okay?"

Daryl chewed on his thumb, looking at the anxious girl. "He's alright. Doin' better. Healin' quick." He gave Marshall some side-eye, "He was shot, by your man—the big one."

"Otis." Marshall replied. Hershel must've felt obligated to help them then.

Daryl grunted. "He's gone." It wasn't exactly said harshly, just factually, Daryl had no emotional attachment to the man after all, nor did he to Marshall.

Otis had been with the family since Marshall was a baby. He knew his and Maggie's mom. Was there when she died. Was Hershel's best friend. Was the best man at Hershel and Annette's wedding. Was there when Beth was born. Otis was with them when they lost Annette and Shawn. He was like the Greene siblings uncle. Otis was family and now he was dead too.

Marshall's expression steeled. He needed to focus. Otis was gone, but Sophia and Daryl were right and Daryl was wounded severely enough to need a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the bleed. "Let me see your side."

"Don't touch me!" he growled, knocking the man's hands away.

Annoyed at the uncooperativeness, the green-eyed man was done being passive. "Hey! The sooner I take care of you, the sooner Sophia gets back to her mama. So, what's it gonna be, tough guy? Your pride? Or the girl?" Marshall barked sternly, staring the man down, unflinching.

Daryl glared for a moment, before he heard the quiet whimper from Sophia and rasped impatiently, "Get on with it, then!"

Marshall cut the soggy tourniquet off with a small pocket knife before the other man could react. So, that's where the sleeves of his flannel went. He pulled up the damp flannel and undershirt.

"You know what you're doin'?" he grunted, keeping a close eye on him.

Marshall hummed distractedly at he inspected the wounds. Plural. A through and through puncture. After some careful poking, the wounds still weeping blood but not bleeding openly and heavily, he decided nothing important had been skewered. "What caused this?"

"Crossbow bolt," Daryl admitted this some embarrassment, head ducked.

"You shouldn't have pulled it out. Ass backwards by the look of these torn edges."

"Didn't have a choice. Needed the bolt."

"It needs stitches, staples at least—which will have to wait till home. Tape will have to do for now. But first..." Marshall opened a bottle of alcohol. "Gotta sterilize. Try not to scream too loud," was all the warning he gave before upending a generous amount over the wounds. The guy was swimming in the creek with this thing, it was needed. Daryl grunted, knuckles white, flinching, but didn't scream. Marshall used a gauze pad to clean up the wounds—they bled a little more freely at the attention—then finished by carefully pinching the edges together with steri-strips. He taped gauze pads over the wounds and managed to wrap an ace-bandage around Daryl's waist for extra support and protection that he'd found forgotten in the bottom of his pack.

"Here." Marshall handed the man a full bottle of water and a protein bar. "Drink that. Eat that." He gave Sophia the bottle that they'd been sharing and another protein bar—and Athena's small metal dish. "Give her some water, would ya?" He pulled out a crinkled pack of gum from his pocket and popped the piece in his mouth before he started to pack up, absently cruising their surroundings.

Sophia's gaze kept pinning Daryl as she ate in silence, like if she look away he would disappear back down that ravine as fast and as sudden as Marshall had. It was making Daryl twitchy to be under the scrutiny, even if it was from a little girl and resisted the urge to snarl at her to stop staring at him like he was a damn car wreck! He knew it was 'cause she was just a kid, scared out of her mind out here for days and he was the first thing that was familiar to her. So, he scrutinized the other man from the corner of his eye as he ignored the pounding in his head.

Daryl couldn't be sure, he'd never seen the man upright on his feet yet, but judging by his medium built, the broadness of his shoulders, he had to be at least 6'2", but he didn't look lanky with it like Rick did. He had green eyes and brown hair in what looked like an over-grown military cut. His tan was almost golden, under the dirt and sweat. He had a light stubble starting from however long he'd been out in these woods. There was the white line scar on the left side on the bridge of his nose. There was a more obvious scar under his chin at his jaw, almost like someone had tried to cut his throat open. There was a thin chain around his neck, but whatever was at the end of it was tucked under the cover of his thin, dark grey long-sleeved shirt. He had a pair of dark green cargo pants tucked into a pair of boots. Daryl watched him hook the quiver that went along with the compound bow to his belt at his right back hip; the trigger band peeking out from his right sleeve cuff. Spotted the large knife at the small of his back, a right thigh holster for a handgun, a left holster that looked like one for some smaller knives. He even thought he saw the hilt of a dagger sticking out from his boot.

Marshall suddenly popped a small gum bubble, making Daryl flinch a little. "It's not drugged."

"What?"

Marshall's green gaze flickered to the untouched bottle and protein bar in his hands. "The food and water. Why would I risk myself to save you, just to give you food and drug you? We're not far enough into the apocalypse for me to consider cannibalism... yet." He teased. "You need to eat and drink," he said a second after, suddenly serious. "You're lookin' a little anaemic and I know you have a concussion. You need to hydrate so we can get a move on."

"I had squirrel earlier." Daryl blurted gruffly.

Marshall's gaze shifted to his mouth, looking at the blood smears around his thin lips. "While squirrel giblets are good and all... did you drink the creek water, too?"

"Liked it better when ya didn't talk." Daryl grumbled but after a minute, he drank the water and ripped open the protein bar to tear off a chunk with his teeth. Marshall just gave him a smirk and hummed, turning his attention back to their surroundings. Daryl's eye twitched imperceptivity; he wanted to snap at the other to shut up, that it was annoying, was he stupid? but it was so low it was like it was on the edge of his hearing. It didn't clash obnoxiously with the natural sound of the woods, like it belonged on the wind, so Daryl noticed immediately when Marshall's humming abruptly cut off and the man went still. He body automatically tensed, eyes darting to search for what had caught Marshall's eye, ignoring sharp pain that went through his side, but couldn't find it. Sophia instinctively stilled herself, even afraid that swallowing her mouthful would disturb the silence, her heart beating loudly. The girl twitched when Athena perked her head up, her pointed ears twitching.

Daryl watched his fluid movements as he pulled an arrow from the quiver at his hip to nock in the bow, he drew, torso turning, shirt stretching to define his chest. His right palm drew to his ear, the left straight and steady in front, unwavering. A moment later, his fingers drew down, soft, releasing the trigger. The arrow disappeared in a blink.

"Athena, fetch." Marshall ordered, lowering his compound bow, relaxing back into his crouch. The dog gave a low woof and darted into the trees.

"What was that?" Daryl questioned gruffly, eyes narrowed.

"Rabbit," Marshall replied coyly and Daryl tsked. Sophia finally gulped with relief. Athena trotted out of the trees to him a moment later, skewered rabbit held carefully in her maw. She set it at his feet. "Good girl!" he cooed in praise. He cut the arrow from the small body, put the rabbit in the sac clipped to his pack with his other kills, and wiped his arrow clean before stowing back in the quiver. He glanced at the thick strapped watch on his left wrist, "If you're done, we should get going." He packed up Athena's dish and the water bottles, and absently grabbed the protein bar wrappers and stuffed them in his pants pocket.

Marshall wasn't surprised when his helping hand was rejected and Daryl dragged himself off the ground with a quiet, pained grunt, hand held against his side. He fiddled with the leather strap on his crossbow and shrugged in onto his right shoulder.

"Sophia." Daryl said, gaining the girl's attention. "'Ere." He reached behind him to pull it off his belt and held it back out toward her.

Sophia stared, lips parted, almost uncomprehending. "My doll?" And then her face lit up. "You found it!" she took it from him, hugging it to her chest despite its dirty and wet appearance, and beamed a bright smile right at the hunter. "Thank you!"

Daryl shifted, uncomfortable under the direct weight of it. He grunted and turned on his heel. He glared when he spotted the small grin on Marshall's face and stalked off.

"Athena, home!" the dog darted in front of Daryl to lead the way. Sophia quickly jogged to catch up and walk beside the hunter, hugging the still damp and dirty doll to her equally dirty shirt with content. She was gonna see her mommy and Carl soon! Pack shouldered, Marshall took the rear.

There wasn't any conversation, just the quiet rustle of leaves underfoot. Athena zig-zagged up front as she patrolled, taking in scents on the wind as she led the way back to the farm. All the while, Marshall's gaze started to linger longer and longer of the gruff hunter's back as he kept an eye out at the rear, and soon became apparent that Daryl was regressing.

Whatever adrenaline rush that had spiked through the man's concussed mind when he laid eyes on Sophia, whatever energy the water and food provided him was waning. It was in the hand that stayed lingering on his injured side. It was the tense hunch of his broad shoulders. The pained tilt of his head. The sure, quiet steps that slowly, but surely degenerated into laborious shuffles.

"No!" Daryl snapped in irritation when Marshall called for another break, smacking the proffered water bottle from his hand with a snarl. He was sick and tired of the stranger trying to baby him with frequent breaks. Daryl made a promise to Carol to bring her little girl back and this asshole! was delaying them at every turn. "No more damn breaks! If ya can't keep up then your ass is gettin' left!"

Marshall didn't give the man very impressed look. He only broke eye contact when Sophia tried to shyly hand the bottle back to him. He shook his head and told her to drink before turning his narrowed gaze back to the injured hunter. "You're the one that's gonna get left behind." He responded coolly. "Lucky for you, that's not the type of guy I am. So... you're either gonna take a break, or... you let me help you. Difficult choice, I know. So—take a minute." Daryl grit his teeth. Marshall sighed, the breath released hissing through his teeth. "I'm sorry." He said suddenly, and Daryl blinked at him. "I was a real condescending asshole just then," the hunter scoffed in agreement, "We don't know each other well—or at all—but the thing is... the world broke and while the sun will always keep shinning... none of us can survive alone anymore. Is it really such a bad thing to rely on someone as you're making it out to be? I rely on Athena to keep me alive so I can always come home to my sisters. Your group relies on you. A member of your group is relying on you right now." He nodded to the blond girl. "And you... you can rely on me to help you do that, Daryl."

Daryl stared, blinking, quiet. And when he couldn't take the direct stare of those imploring green eyes anymore, they flickered away to land on Sophia—who already looking back at him. Watching, waiting, wondering as she scratched at her arm. He'd never gotten the chance to really take her in, too busy keeping a wary eye on Marshall. She was cleaner than he expected her to be, of course there was nothing to do for her clothing and shoes, and her hair was an absolute rat's nest. There was the typical gleam of Georgian heat sweat but there wasn't the layer of grime that was typical of the past two months—every scrape, scratch, and bruise was clean. And he realized that must have been the other man's doing.

"Don't scratch." Marshall chided her and she immediately stopped. "I know it's itchy, but the last thing you want is to pick and made it bleed."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's okay. You'll feel better once you had a proper bath to clean up and then you can lather yourself in cream."

Daryl grunted, drawing the attention back to him. "Liked the asshole better." He knew asshole; he didn't know nice.

"You know, I'm starting to think there's a lot of things you like about me. I get it. I'm a complex guy. Lotta layers—like an onion. I may even make you cry." He teased.

"Shut up." Daryl glowered and Sophia stifled her giggle; he looked a little pink.

"That mean you made a decision?"

"It has nothin' to do with ya." He jerked his head. "Let's go."

"You should drink first, Daryl." Sophia insisted shyly, the water bottle outstretched. He did under her watch. Sophia also somehow managed to convince Daryl to let her carry his crossbow before they started off. It was a little funny, seeing as once she had help with adjusting the leather strap, the weapon was nearly as tall as she was.

Daryl had his right arm slung over Marshall's shoulders, Marshall's hand on his forearm in support and his left around the hunter's waist, hand gripping his belt. It was a little awkward as Marshall had several inches in height on the other man

"We're not far from the main land." Marshall commented.

"Is it really true that you have running water?" Sophia questioned, walking on Daryl's injured side.

"Yup. Got six wells on the property. And we have a generator, which means electricity and hot water."

Daryl snorted, chin to his chest tiredly. "Pampered."

Marshall was quiet. He supposed it would appear that way to an outsider, to this group. Shelter, food, water. Sustainable. Secure apparent. But they didn't know the history. As the saying went... Look beneath the underneath. The Barn. The dark underbelly of the Greene Farm. Filled with family, friends, neighbours, and even strangers. It was a black hole of grief and ignorance and danger. It was a stain. A rot invading paradise.

"Just lucky, I guess."

Daryl side-eyed him at the wooden tone, narrowing his blue-eyes at the slight frown at the corner of the man's lips; wondered why the man seemed to despise the comment so much. Sophia had fallen quiet again and a step behind them, unused to the weight of Daryl's crossbow, but stubborn and unwilling to voice a complaint.

"Almost there."

They stepped out of the tree line, feeling the full force of the sun shinning down at their backs. Athena was the first to bolt forward, darting into the overgrown grass of the disused paddock, the blades shifting in a continuous, ominous wave. Marshall chuckled as he hummed a short verse of the Jaws anthem for his own amusement.

There was distant yelling. Marshall looked up toward the house and saw the huge eyesore of an RV parked up by the copse of trees that the Greene's had used as a little camp ground for when they were all little kids so Hershel could keep an eye on them all. Then people scrambling towards them.

"Friends of yours?" though his tone was flippant, he still tensed a little at the sight of so many strangers. Comfortable strangers by the looks of things.

"I wouldn't exactly call 'em that. But a'ight enough." Daryl rasped.

The group of four men reach them armed in under a minute and they faced off. A pickaxe, a bat, a steel hatchet, and a Colt Python. Marshall was sure to muse on the impracticality of that gun in the apocalypse later when he wasn't pointed at his face. Athena had stopped her prancing around in the grass, standing off to the side, growling low and wary at the group of strange people and scents, but not attacking.

"Is that Daryl?" baseball cap asked as they all stared.

"Alive and kicking," Marshall snarked. "Your welcome."

"Who the hell are you?!" the bulldog with the pickaxe demanded.

"I live here. What's your excuse?" Marshall eyed the man back.

"This is the third time you've pointed that thing at my head." Daryl snarled. "You better shoot me now 'cause there ain't gonna be a fourth!"

"If this is your reaction to Daryl I'm almost afraid to show you the butterfly I caught." Marshall commented, mostly to himself as he glanced at the hunter.

Before anyone could voice their confusion and wariness of his crazy, there was the loud, echoing gunshot. It all happened in a second. Daryl's head jerked to the side and he was down, abrupt deadweight that dragged Marshall right down with him. Sophia screamed, collapsing halfway under the hunter. She'd managed to at least shove away the crossbow so the man didn't brain himself further and became the physical cushion under his head that prevented more brain damage to the concussed skull. She was so petrified in that moment, her vision was greying out, thinking he was dead right on top of her. And Athena became the violent weapon she was trained to be, barking, snarling, spit flying as she got between the two groups.

There was a lot of noise, a lot of panic. But the loudest was Mr Tall Pale Blue-Eyes Colt Python himself, shouting back across the paddock toward the house where the shot appeared to have come from. Athena would lunge threateningly any time any of the men tried to approach, causing them to scramble back. Marshall used the opportunity to check Daryl, make sure he was still a man and not a corpse. They better God damn pray the hunter wasn't a fresh corpse laid up in Sophia's lap!

"Daryl!"

"Sophia?!" was the shocked consensus as the sobbing registered in their jumbled brains. The missing girl they had been searching for, for the past three days.

Marshall could have collapsed with the aching relief as he examined the furrow at the hunter's temple. "Oh, God. It's a graze. Thank God. It's just a graze! Daryl?" he cupped the man's cheek, lightly tapping it. "Daryl?" he got a low groan in response and he gave a breathless laugh, before his expression turned deadly. "Athena, Orange. Orange!" he commanded his partner.

Athena was still growling, but not actively lunging, paws planted, ears and lip pulled back. They had a colour threat assessment system—white was friendly, yellow was wary, orange was on guard and ready, red was bloody, and black was death. As long as they didn't try anything, then there was no reason for the colour to elevate at the canine's discretion. And so help them if they harmed a hair on the Belgian Malinois's blue-pigmented head...

After what happened to his first K9 partner—after what happened with Rocky... it was his first tour of duty, K9s and their handlers were high-value targets. One would think that he learned his lesson about becoming overly attached, but when he returned and got Athena, he held on even tighter. When his enlistment was finished and he decided not to re-up, he superiors wanted to assign Athena a new handler. With no intention of leaving her behind without him at her back, he begun the long, arduous process of petitioning for her own retirement and adopting her out into civilian life. He hadn't even been back home at the farm for a year before the ghouls started rising up. Marshall had killed to protect her, she had blood in her teeth saving his ass. If something happened to her here, at home, he'd go ballistic.

He sat up, quickly shrugging off the excess weight of his pack, and even put aside his bow to have access to a better weapon as he saw two more figures rushing across the field towards them. Marshall shifted onto his knee, subtly putting Daryl and Sophia at his flank in a protective position.

This was Sophia and Daryl's group, in theory, they should be safe. But right now, all Marshall had witnessed was a little girl lost in the woods with only one man in search of her, and said man getting gunned down by his own people. Marshall had only known Sophia for a day and a night, and Daryl even less than that but he had saved their lives, patched them up, took care of them, brought them home. They were in his custody, he was responsible for them and they would be until Sophia was delivered safely into her mama's arms and Daryl was stitched up nice and neat.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Is he dead? Is he okay?!" the approaching blond woman panicked.

"Easy, easy!" Colt Python held out cautioned hands, one towards Marshall, the other to his approaching people. "Whoa. Andrea, Dale, stop, just stop!" he seemed to be the only one to currently notice Marshall's hand resting on the grip of his sidearm.

"Rick? What-?" she questioned. "Daryl. Wait, who are you?" before she gasped, "Oh, my God! Sophia?"

"No!" Marshall barked lowly when she went to step forward and she jerked to a halt when her gaze dropped to his gun out of the holster even if it wasn't pointed at her or them.

"Easy, now." Dale spoke up. "There's no need for violence here. We clearly know them. Are concerned for them. But we don't know you."

Rick narrowed his eyes at the man. "Hershel's son. He mentioned you. M-Marshall, right?"

"Right. Here's the thing... this is my farm and right now, I don't trust any of you for shit. Sophia said you were good people. Daryl, too—in not so many words. Heh." Marshall didn't waver, gaze sweeping over them, noting pickaxe subtly shifting his grip on the handle, before staying on Rick. "I haven't seen a sign of that yet. So, the only one touching Sophia is her mama, and the only one who's gonna be patching Daryl up again is me."

Pickaxe scoffed. "There's one of you and six of us."

"You're forgetting Athena. She was trained to go for the vital areas, like the throat, and well," Marshall's green gaze flickered pointedly to the man's groin, "You should probably hope she goes for the throat."

"Enough." Rick said. "Back off, Shane."

"You." Marshall said. "Rick." Rick raised a brow. "You're gonna help me carry Daryl to the house. Just you." From Sophia he knew the man was the group leader, and Marshall was basing his trust on the man's visceral, emotional response when Daryl had been shot. "And everyone else can part like the Red damn Sea."

"Alright. You got it." Rick nodded in agreement. "Your dog gonna go for something vital?"

"Athena, yellow. Guard Sophia." He gestured to the girl. Athena gave a snort but backed off, going and pressing herself protectively against the scared girl. "Sophia," he turned his attention to the girl behind him, his entire demeanour softening, but still firm. "Daryl's gonna be fine, okay? And we're gonna find your mama right now. Just hold onto this strap right here on Athena's vest and she'll guide you right along. Okay, butterfly?"

"Okay." Sophia sniffed and quickly wiped away the tears on her cheeks—smearing blood on her cheek that she had gotten on her fingers from all the fresh blood that coated the side of Daryl's head. She blinked at him when Marshall quickly wiped it away with the cuff of his sleeve.

"No need to scare your mama more than she already is," he explained wryly, though there was nothing he could do about the fresh blood on her formally white pants. Marshall carefully took control of the hunter's head, letting Sophia climb shakily to her feet. Doll tucked under her armpit, the girl struggled a little to adjust the crossbow comfortable again on her slight body.

"We can help carry all that," Dale offered Sophia.

"No!" Sophia jerked away even though the man hadn't exactly stepped closer, but Athena's ears went back and she emitted a low warning growl. "Daryl gave it to me to carry!"

"All right, sweetie. That's fine." He calmed.

Gun back in its holster, Marshall jerked his head at Rick. "Let's go." Rick nodded and approached cautiously, a wary eye on the dog, posture open and non-threatening. Standing between him and the girl, Athena simply watched him and nothing else.

"Rick-" Shane started in protest.

"It's fine. Everything's fine." Rick took Daryl's uninjured side, nodding across at the other man in ready.

Marshall supported Daryl's head as they sat him up, then lifted him to his feet, arms around shoulders to take the weight. Daryl grunted, rousing briefly enough to meet Rick's eyes and mumble, "Was kiddin'."

Marshall whistled, "Athena, lead."

Athena nudged the exhausted girl, leading her by the harness, keeping her body constantly between her and the group of strangers. The three men followed on their heels, the rest shadowing after. Marshall gripped Daryl's belt again to take the weight off the wound and prevent too much drag of his feet on the uneven ground; Rick mirrored the position. Baseball cap hooked ahead of them to fumble momentarily with the latched paddock gate, swinging it open to the group of six people that were gathered on the front lawn by the gunshot. Marshall was familiar with all but for two women.

"Sophia?" the short, grey-haired woman looked like she was seeing a ghost as her eyes locked onto the dirty little girl when baseball cap stepped out of the way. "Oh, my God! Sophia!" realization struck and she was in a rush.

Sophia brightened up at the sight of the woman. "Mommy!" she let go of Athena, her doll met the ground, and she ran forward to met her mother. They practically collapsed into each other onto the grass.

"Oh, my baby! Daryl found you! I thought I lost you!" Carol struggled briefly with the crossbow strap before she dropped it into the dirt; Sophia was too distracted to protest. And she then she was hugging her daughter with desperate relief, both crying. "You're safe! You're safe!"

"Marshall, you're back!" Beth blurted in relief.

"Always, Sunny." Marshall smiled at his baby sister.

"Are you hurt, too?"

"No. But Daryl'll be right-as-rain soon."

Hershel's gaze swept across the group, briefly meeting Rick's eye before they landed on his wayward son as they trudged passed to the house with the injured man. "What happened?"

"We thought it was walkers," Rick answered, sending a guilty glance toward Marshall. "Andrea shot against strict orders not to."

"Is that how Daryl was injured?"

"No. Thankfully that was just a graze at his temple." Marshall answered his father. "Through-and-through puncture from his crossbow bolt." Rick tried to come to terms with the logistics of that.

"And you pulled it out," Hershel criticized, looking at his bloodstained side clearly lacking a penetrating object

"He pulled it out before I got to him, daddy. You know I know better than that." Marshall said as Beth hopped up the porch steps ahead of them to get the door. He addressed his baby sister, "Run up to my room and grab my med bag? Make sure the striped kit is in it." Beth nodded as Hershel ushered them inside with a sigh, and running up stairs.

"In here," Hershel said. "The other spare room's occupied."

"I heard. You treatin' humans now, daddy?" Marshall commented lightly, knowing all the medical and human anatomy books Hershel owned, as he and Rick manoeuvred through the doorway. Hershel had dreams to become a doctor, but with the family farm it just wasn't practical of the times.

"You weren't exactly here, now were you?" Hershel pointed out.

Marshall clenched his jaw just once before relaxing it. They settled Daryl on the bed. "I'm not just 'screwing around' out there, daddy. I hunt, I-"

"Otis does that just fine!"

Marshall was flooded with momentary confusion as he looked down at the senseless man on the bed, had Daryl just said that Otis was dead in some sort of second-hand retribution for the farmhand's accidental shooting of that boy? But when he looked up at his father's stricken and pallid face, he knew. "So, it's true?" Marshall questioned quietly. He ignored the guilt in Rick's eyes and focused on his dad. "Uncle Otis is dead? How?"

"We can discuss that later." Hershel said curtly.

"Daddy-"

"Marshall Elijah," his daddy said in a tone that only fathers could.

Rick shifted in his cowboy boots, feeling very awkward watching father and son. They stared at each other, green against blue. The former Sheriff's Deputy figured it was a trait that Marshall and Maggie must have inherited from their mother.

"You're right." Marshall finally lamented. "I'm sorry, daddy." He sighed quietly and turned away, sparing a glance at Rick as he passed to the bathroom. He washed his hands and filled a basin with warm soapy water, grabbing a clean cloth and towel. He set the basin on the end table when he returned and pulled out his pocket knife. Without preamble he cut away the soiled and ruined flannel and undershirt completely, the material splitting easily under the sharp blade.

"Did you have to cut it off?" Rick questioned.

"I'll give him one of mine," Marshall commented distractedly as he proceeded to give the hunter's upper body a sponge bath as he waited for Beth to return with his med bag. Washing off layers of grime, sweat, and blood, not commenting or reacting to the scars that littered the man's torso. Marshall was used to scars, on others, most soldiers he knew had scars in one form or another. Hell, he had his own share, his own war wounds. "Help me turn him on his side." Rick leaned over the bed and helped him roll the man onto his uninjured side, gripping his hip and shoulder to keep him steady. Daryl grunted but wasn't ready to rouse yet, probably wouldn't until Marshall started pricking him with a needle.

"So, you're a doctor?" Rick asked as Marshall washed his back, avoiding the ace bandage. "Or a veterinarian like Hershel?

"The Army took care of my veterinarian education, but I'm field trained. Bullet wounds, shrapnel, and traumatic amputation were my typical ilk." Marshall replied. "My work didn't typically have to be pretty, as long as it got my people to the trauma surgeon alive." He was patting the damp skin dry when Beth finally returned hauling his med bag, cheeks a little flushed from exertion.

"Sorry that took so long, this is heavier than I expected it to be." Beth explained, carefully setting in on the floor. "I also grabbed some old sheets just in case."

"Don't worry, you're not late to the party. Grab some pillows and prop Daryl on his side, Beth? I think Rick's back will appreciate it soon enough." Marshall opened his bag and started laying what he needed on the foot of the bed as the pair propped Daryl on his side.

Marshall pinched a roll of flesh at Daryl's flank and hit him with a jab of field-ready morphine shot. He cleaned out the gory crease in the man's temple, the unconscious man flinching. Fresh blood coated the side of his face. Marshall tasked Beth to put pressure on the wound to staunch the bleeding; she perched at the head of the bed with a gauze pad. Marshall tucked the folded, old sheet that Beth brought under his side. He irrigated the wounds properly this time, the saline running pink with blood down his back to soak into the sheet beneath him. With his field stained yellow and sterile, Marshall ignored Hershel who he was practically breathing down his neck as he watched over his son's shoulder, and opened the suture kit. He had it, so he might as well use it. He wasn't under fire or threat, he didn't just need to throw some haphazard stitches in to hold a soldier together long enough to get them back to the field surgeon. Plus, he supposed he subconsciously wanted to show off to his father.

"How come you didn't use any of this to operate on Carl or stitch up T-Dog?" Rick questioned the old vet.

"Because I didn't know he had any of this," Hershel remarked with a frown.

"This is my field kit from the Army," Marshall added as he snipped off the last stitch, cleaned them up and taped on a large pad. Beth stood back next to their dad so he could get to the graze and Daryl decided that this was when he was going to rouse as Marshall pulled the suture through flesh.

Daryl grunted, face scrunching in discomfort. He eyes flickered open, blurry, to unfamiliar surroundings, and a shadowed figure close out the corner of his eye. While in pain. And his first reaction was to come up fighting. Rick managed to redirect the elbow as Marshall ducked out of the way while managing not to yank the suture line.

"Hey, hey. Daryl. Daryl." Rick ducked and managed to catch the hunter's gaze. "You're safe. You're safe. You're back at the farm. Sophia, she's safe, too. You brought her back, Daryl. Alright? You were hurt. Your side, and-and a bullet graze to your head. Marshall here's just fixing you up, alright?" he nodded to the man in the corner of the hunter's vision.

"Still here. Still alive." Marshall voiced his presence.

Daryl still flinched. His jaw tightened in annoyance at his reaction and therefore the man. He ignored Marshall and narrowed his eyes at the former deputy. "Who th' hell shot me?!" he growled.

Rick sighed, understanding the anger 100%. "Andrea. She thought you were a walker." Marshall clicked his tongue without realizing it in irritation at the entire snafu; Rick's gaze flickered to him, but didn't address it.

Daryl himself didn't seem overly impressed with the explanation or excuse at the moment. "She shouldna shot even if it was just one walker. Even if there were just three. What th' hell was that woman thinking?"

Rick didn't particularly have a worthwhile response to that other than the woman shot against direct order to do otherwise. Thankfully, the sun had been in Andrea's eyes, otherwise, who knew how that shot might have landed? It could have hit Daryl dead-to-right, or strayed to Sophia or Marshall. It could have hit any of four that were stood between her and the three. Too many horrible scenarios to voice out into the world.

"Hold still so I can finish this. I gave you a shot of morphine so you shouldn't feel it." Marshall ordered and Daryl grunted his assent. He leaned forward again and resumed stitching.

Marshall didn't comment on the minute flinches that crossed the man's face; he knew it wasn't pain, it was having a stranger so close with something pointy and the flashing glint of the forceps in the sunlight streaming in from the farm window.

"Should I even bother to ask what happened to my horse?" Hershel finally voiced when Marshall snipped the last thread, wiped up the fresh blood and wrapped the hunter's head in bandage.

"Yeah, that one that almost killed me? Left the damn country if it knows what's good for it." Daryl quipped gruffly. Beth tidied up the soiled gauze in the small wastebasket as Marshall cleaned up his tools.

"Her name was Nelly. As in: Nervous Nelly. If you'd bothered to ask before taking her, I could have told you she would throw you."

"I came across her in woods." Marshall informed his dad. "She was in a right panicked state—wouldn't even let me near her and I had Sophia and Daryl to worry about. If she hasn't found her way back by morning, I'll go looking for her."

"No."

"Daddy-"

"I said no, Marshall. No more going out for days on end! No more going out like it's a casual weekend doing God knows what! You belong here, this is where you're supposed to be. Taking care of this farm, protecting your family!"

"Daddy, I don't know what I'm supposed to do about Uncle Otis! I don't know what happened, but I regret not being here. Maybe if I was..." he cut himself off and gave his head a shake. "But I do know that if I hadn't been out there, Sophia would be dead right now. She had three piranha on her already when Athena found her!"

Hershel scoffed in disgust, "You know how I feel about you calling them that."

Marshall choked back the shout that they weren't 'sick!', not once they died and the only cure there was, was eternal sleep. That what was sick, was locking them up in the barn and feeding them chickens, but he didn't. They had an audience, so he just continued as if his father hadn't said anything, "God only knows what might've happened to Daryl." He ignored the hunter's sneer and challenged pride. "And you saved that boy just fine," was added a little softer. "But if you're so worried about antibiotics and medical supplies, then I can hit the FEMA Centre at the high school-"

"No!" was shouted at him from three sides: Rick, Hershel, and Beth. Marshall was understandably startled and confused.

"What? It's been more than a month since it was overrun. The horde is bound to have thinned some. We should at least check it out. Maybe I could take some Rick's people," he glanced at said man, "Seems like you got more fighters than just Daryl here. Pickaxe looked pretty eager to cave my head in and Country Barbie seems awful trigger-happy."

Rick didn't even consider it. "No. That's not a good idea."

"Don't!" Beth dropped the wastebasket and grabbed her big brother's arm, causing him to look down at her. She hugged his arm, desperate. "You can't. Promise you won't, Marshall!" she had no intention of letting go until he swore that he wouldn't. She didn't care how childish it seemed.

Marshall cupped her face with his free hand, green gaze darting across her face in concern, her blue-eyes brimmed with tears. "Bethy, don't go looking like your gonna breakdown on me."

Beth couldn't stop the small whimper. "Marshall."

None of this was explaining anything, why it felt like they were already looking at him like he was a ghost. "Daddy, look. I know there's a risk, there's always a risk, but-"

"Otis." Hershel said, grief tightening his throat.

When Hershel didn't—couldn't continue, Rick spoke up, "Carl, my son, he wasn't doing too well. There was a-a lot of internal bleeding. He needed- he needed surgery. But he wouldn't be able to b-breathe on his own, so he needed-"

"A ventilator," Marshall supplied. "But we don't have one... The FEMA Centre would." He spoke slow, realization dawning as he stared at his father.

"Otis felt so guilty for shooting that boy." Hershel finally spoke up, drawing his son's gaze again. "He volunteered to go with Rick's man Shane. He died there, son."

"You're right. I should have been here." Marshall admitted guiltily.

"Or you could be dead, too. It's done now. It cannot be changed. Otis cannot be brought back. You're not going and that's the end of the discussion, Marshall." Hershel told him.

"Okay, daddy, I won't." He hugged Beth to his chest and kissed her head. "I promise." Rick looked awkward and Daryl uncomfortable at the private family moment.

"Good." Hershel nodded. "You should get cleaned up—we have company."

"I will after I skin and clean some rabbit first."

"Before dinner." Hershel looked his son up and down before he left.

"And you, Sunny?" Marshall played with the end of her braid. "You helping out with this dinner thing?"

"I was." She said, still snuggled into his chest, uncaring how dirty he was. "It's been a while since it's been so crowded like this."

"Yeah." He mumbled softly in agreement, his cheek resting on the crown of her head. "Wanna sneak away and gut some rabbits with me?"

"Really?" Beth tilted her head back to look up at her, biting her bottom lip.

"Yeah. Turn your hair red yet." It was a bit morbid but she still gave an angelic giggle, like tinkling bells. He could feel the stares of the two men. "Beth, can you grab Daryl some water and peach juice? A snack from the kitchen to tide him over till supper? Please and thank you. I'll meet you in the surgery? I gotta grab my pack and bow."

"Your stuff's out on the porch. T-Dog brought it up." Beth told him, jumping up to smooch his dirty cheek before she practically skipped out the bedroom door.

"Ah. Alright. That was nice."

"I don't need no fussing!" Daryl complained.

Marshall rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the bedridden man. "You want me to stop fussing? Then do it and get better. Otherwise I'll be on your ass until you do—and it's a nice ass." He winked. Daryl scowled and Rick chuckled.

"Just listen to the man, Daryl, so you can get back on your feet." Rick said.

"Whatever." He scoffed.

"Before I go..." Marshall took a moment to sort through his bag before pulling out a jar. "Give this to Sophia's mama?" he handed it to Rick.

"I thought you said she was fine?" Daryl demanded.

"It's just poison oak." Marshall calmed both men. "Maggie probably already showed her to the bath. So, pat-dry not rub, then put the cream on the rash. Twice daily. Most of it's on her arms and legs, some on her face and neck. No scratching or picking. The cream will help with that. If she picks, I'm gonna have to wrap her up like a mummy and no one wants that in this heat."

"I will." Rick nodded. "Thanks, Marshall."

"No problem." Marshall hefted his med bag over his shoulder. "The only reason you have to be out of that bed is to piss, hunter." He issued over his shoulder before he disappeared out the door.

Marshall grabbed his pack, bow and quiver by the front door, able to slip in and out unmolested by the strangers that outnumbered his family in his own home, taking the stairs two at a time to his room, clicking the door shut. The med bag was set on the chest at the foot of his bed, a twin from his teenage years. The bow and quiver went to their designated rack. He sat with a quiet groan on the hardwood chair at his desk. His unclipped kill bag sat by his booted feet. He drained the rest of the water from the bottles in bag and set them aside to refill later.

And then... there was just quiet.

Alone for the first time since he got the news about Otis, his sorrow tried to wash over him. A wave that climbed higher and higher the more he resisted it. His jaw trembled and he clenched it in response, gulping down the sob that wanted to rise. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose and hummed the familiar lullaby in comfort to keep the grief temporarily at bay. His home was overrun with strangers and as crude as it sounded—he was busy, he had things to do right now and maybe he just didn't want to accept it. No matter what Hershel said, or how Beth and Rick reacted.

It didn't matter that he was a grown man. Didn't matter that he'd been to war and seen men, women, and children die. Had killed many himself. Had been at death's door a handful of times in his life already. Had killed piranha that wore the grotesque faces of old school friends, neighbours that he saw at the market square every Saturday and in church every Sunday. He dove wilfully into the bliss of ignorance—Uncle Otis was still out in the woods trying to bag that buck. There was no little boy shot, no group of strangers camped on the properly, no little girl or hunter that needed to be found.

So, it was with a guilty conscious that he left via the second floor corner porch with his kill bag like he was a sneaking teenager again, because he knew that as soon as he laid eyes on the woman who was like an aunt to him in all but blood... that wave of grief would come crashing down and that tide would pull him out to the dark abyss.

Thankfully, there was no one around to witness the childish act. He spotted his baby sister already at the surgery, her back to him, her blond hair glowing even lighter in the sun. "Hey, sunshine." Beth jumped when he was suddenly beside her. "Don't let daddy hear you curse like that." He mused.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, then!" she swatted at him as he grinned. "Here, I grabbed you something from the kitchen, too. Incase you wanted to nibble of somethin'." Beth held out a tupperware container of plain carrot cut to snack-size.

Marshall smiled. "I have the sweetest lil' sis in the world, don't I?" he unlocked the padlock and swung the door open.

"That might actually be true now, instead of the weird big brother brag it used to be."

"Don't sell yourself short." She stuck her tongue out. "Here, fill these up with water." He gave her two metal buckets that sat on the floor at the inside of the door. She took them and disappeared to the pump at the back of the shed and he organised a bit inside while he waited for her to return. The shed served a dual purpose—a surgical stage and a butcher shed. Contradictory. It was really only used for butchering nowadays.

Beth returned, carefully caring two filled buckets so as not to slosh and waste the water. After getting her kitted up in the protection of a plastic apron and cleaned hands, they were ready to start, standing on opposite sides of the table facing each other.

Four rabbits and two partridge.

Didn't seem like much for two days in the woods hunting, but animals weren't the only things he was hunting while out there. Piranha. They wondered the woods. Whether they were people fleeing on the highway and got overrun by a horde, and something in the woods caught their attention. Or it was people who thought it was a good idea to try and hideout and ride it out in the woods, and didn't make it. Marshall had come across quite a few campsites that looked like scenes straight out of some kind of horror movie.

So, really, working in a grid, Marshall, under the guise of hunting to his daddy, patrolled for piranha and the animals that he came across were just the bonus to sell to his dad, because one way or another, one day or another, the piranha wandering in the woods were going to be coming their way. They had 60 head of cattle, 7 horses, a dozen chicken that didn't know it was for their own good to be quiet. And not to forget the occupation of 17 people and 1 canine. It was one appetizing dinner bell ringing in the wind. Other than Annette and Shawn, every piranha in the barn were the ones that slipped through Marshall's net—he was only one man (and dog) after all—the ones that got too close to home.

Beth was still a new-hand at this.

It always fell to Otis—the hunting and the gutting after. Otis was the one that taught Marshall hunting and the cleaning and prepping of the animal that came after. Between the two of them, it was covered, so no one else needed to or wanted to learn. It fell back solely onto Otis when Marshall was serving for those seven years. Now, this was a skill set that was a valuable survival talent in the end of the world. Beth was the only one that had shown any interest in learning—but he also knew it was more than that.

Almost a decade separated the youngest Greene child from her elder twin siblings. Marshall was already gone, enlisted at 18 before Beth even reached her first year of high school, hell, the blond girl had only been 9! That was practically half her life that he'd been gone for extended chunks, most of the year at a time, only returning for short periods of leave, the longest being when he was home for 4 months on medical leave and he didn't think that counted. There was only so much letters could do to bridge the gap for physical presence—and he had shoeboxes of letters under his bed. Therefore, when he finally came home for good, she was understandably like an attention-starved baby sister. Any other big brother might have become very annoyed, very quickly but Marshall had an utter adoration for his baby sister. The timing of his retirement from the military couldn't have been at a better time—he knew if he was still active duty when the pandemic struck, he would likely have already been killed or turned into a piranha like all the other servicemen and women.

So, if Beth had to shove her hands into animal corpses to scoop out their guts and peel off their skin like some kind of budding serial killer—then what was a bit of blood to spending time with her big brother?

Her cuts were still messy, either too hesitant or too aggressive. The gags were hard to repress when she dug the gut bag out. Marshall typically liked to save the kidneys, liver, heart and even the lungs to give to Athena as a treat. She didn't even try to hide her expression when she pulled off the skin in one go like a bad sock—it never not made Marshall snicker so she can't really be mad about it. And maybe she liked wielding that big cleaver...whenever she tried in the kitchen it always got taken away.

As they were butchering, Marshall absently munched on the carrot sticks with mildly bloody fingers, not that he noticed nor did he really care when he did. Dipping them in the bucket of water for a little bath and wrapping them up for the freezer afterward was always the easiest part. Then, came the clean-up, which was mostly done by vinegar from the large barrel in the corner.

Marshall hunted for meat now because he was a firm believer of perishables when possible, non-perishable's when needed. If they had access to fresh meat and vegetables and fruit, why open a can of tuna or spinach or peaches? They had woods to hunt, they had a garden to pick, they had peach trees in their backyard! Why kill their own animals? Cans and tins were for the time when they didn't have that readily like winter or... if they, God forbid, ever lost the farm. For that worst-case scenario, he had not that long ago, and with a helping hand from Otis and even Maggie, buried little hidden caches of supplies in the acres of farmland and woods, some were into or along the highway. They held canned food, bottled water, some first aid supplies, even extra ammo and generic clothing. A copy of the treasure map to all these little nuggets of apocalyptic gold was pinned to the kitchen fridge by the magnetized clip of a sparkly rainbow!

"So, what was all the fun stuff that I missed?" was the question that was answered between the cleaver, gags and grimaces, and rabbit fur tube socks. It was a lot packed into two days.

The household peaceful and quiet—until Maggie was screaming for daddy. Rick, running up to the house in heat exhaustion, only still on his feet by sheer will—Carl bloody and limp in his arms like Sophia's rag doll. All the frantic screaming and activity to save the boy. Shane and Otis speeding away to the high school for the ventilator and other medical supplies Carl needed for surgery. Maggie riding off on Boomer to bring back Rick's wife Lori and lead the rest of the group back to the farm. Shane returning with needed supplies just when they were all about to give up hope for the boy's survival—without Uncle Otis. Daddy waiting until after the surgery to tell Patricia about her husband—Marshall couldn't say he was surprised about that tidbit; Hershel could be so bloody practical it was cruel, other times it was denial as big as the barn that housed their grief stagnant. Maggie and baseball cap, Glenn, coming back from a run into town—Glenn making obvious heart googly-eyes at Maggie when they got back and Beth was adamant that they had sex. And finished off with Marshall's dramatic return with an injured Daryl and the lost girl everyone was trying to find.

Beth demanded that he tell the tale of his walk in the woods and his return as hero. He did—it was certainly not as dramatic or as busy as her retelling. Until he got to the part of diving over the side of the ravine after Daryl with zero hesitation. She called him a stupid hero while waving the curved, wicked sharp skinning knife at his nose—at least it wasn't the cleaver she had looked way too delighted and wicked to have in hand, like an angel with devil wings.

Marshall clicked the padlock shut and Beth was already taking his hand hanging at his side, interlacing their fingers together. They walked side-by-side in silence as she lead him to Otis' memorial grave—a pile of stones was what marked the man's life because his body was back at their old high school, upright and ambling around without a soul. Marshall's hand unconsciously tightened around his sister's as he stared, but all he saw was Otis surrounded and terrified, the piranha rending flesh from bone with dull, rotten teeth, and broken nails.

Marshall was broken from the horrifying thoughts by Beth pressing slightly trembling lips to his dirty and stubbled cheek before she broke away. He only had a second to comprehend her breaking away before another, more weathered and calloused hand was sliding into his again. He looked down into the dull blue eyes, already glassy with tears of the older blond woman as she continued to grieve for her husband, her best-friend, her high-school sweetheart, her one-and-only—her soul mate. Handholding wasn't nearly enough and he immediately pulled the woman to his chest, his arms enveloping her comfortingly and protectively.

Patricia cried against his collarbone, her grief hitting her again, anew, her shock breaking apart in the safety of her pseudo-nephew's arms. Her hot tears soaking into his shirt, her sobs the only source of sound around, the wave he'd been ignoring—crashed. It crushed him. A sob choked his throat. With his cheek against her crown, his hot, fast tears soaked into hay-blond hair. Her fingers fisted in his shirt in reaction. Their shoulders shook, the only thing keeping them on their feet was each other.

"I'm so sorry, auntie!" Marshall finally managed to choke out, and it sounded just like when he was a toddling little boy. She trembled. "I should have been here. If I was here, Otis never would of had to go-"

"No." Her voice was quiet but hoarse with her tears. It was muffled against him. She pulled back, lifted her head just enough to be able to look up into his sad, blurry green eyes. "No. Otis would never forgive himself if you took his place, Marshall." She reached up and cupped his wet face with both hands. "You saved that little girl and Otis saved that little boy. You were two peas in a pod. Your the son we never got to have but prayed for. You were his Little Sparrow. You weren't here for the memorial to do it, but could you sing for him again, one last time? You know the one." Patricia requested.

Marshall sniffled, giving his head a little nod as she still held his face. He took a shaky breath, licked his lips and sang:

when I die and they lay me to rest
gonna go to the place that's the best
when they lay me down to die
goin' up to the spirit in the sky

His voice was low and raspy. He cleared his throat before he continued:

goin' up to the spirit in the sky
that's where I'm gonna go when I die
when I die and they lay me to rest
I'm gonna go to the place that is the best

His voice cracked and tears continued to dribbled down his chin:

prepare yourself you know it's a must
gotta have a friend in Jesus
so you know when you die
He's gonna recommend you
to the spirit in the sky

Oh He'll recommend you to the spirit in the sky
that's where you're gonna go when you die
when you die and they lay you to rest
you're gonna go to the place that's the best

Her eyes stayed locked on his, her tears as silent as his to listen to him sing her husband to rest. His chin quivered but he didn't stop:

never been a sinner I've never sinned
I go a friend in Jesus
so you know when I die
He's gonna set me up
with the spirit in the sky

His voice softened as he hit the final chorus, his hands stroking the older woman's back comfortingly as they said good-bye and her voice joined his:

oh set me up with the spirit in the sky
that's where I'm gonna go when I die
when I die and they lay me rest
I'm gonna go to the place that's the best
go to the place that's the best

There was nothing but the sun shinning down on them, and the wind brushing against their skin like a caress as they both stood within each other's arms after saying a final farewell to the man that they both loved.

"One day, we'll all go the Spirit in the Sky." Marshall murmured. "We'll all be together again. Mama, Shawn, Uncle Otis, they got each other and right now, that's enough. And right now, down here... you, me, Beth, Mags, and Daddy, we got each other. We'll all be together again someday, just not today, okay, Auntie?" and there he was again, sounding like a little boy.

But Patricia nodded. She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, clearing away the salty tears that had washed away most of the grime that had coated his cheeks, before she tilted his head down and pressed her lips to the space between his brows. "Someday, but not today, Little Sparrow." When she stepped back, it looked like a little bit of the sadness had eased from her eyes. "We'll be together someday, my love." She whispered to the spirit in the sky. And when she turned and headed back toward the farmhouse, she didn't look so small and frail anymore.

Marshall wasn't ready to head back quite yet to the house full of strangers, instead, he turned back to the memorial. Hand in his pocket, he pulled out the light brown rabbit's foot, stroking at the already worn fur. The first foot Otis had made him was when he was a teenager, after he perfected his skinning technique. It had been destroyed his first tour when he was injured at 20 and Rocky was killed. Otis had made him a new one from the first rabbit he'd hunted when he was back home on medical leave to recuperate. He intended to make Beth her own when she perfected her own technique.

He searched around for the perfect stone. When he found it, he pressed a kiss to it before placing it on the memorial. "I know we all feel safer with you still watching over us, if not in body than in spirit. I'll miss you, Uncle. It will be bittersweet when we meet again. I love you."

When he returned to the house, with the sun setting, it was the same way that he'd left it. Up the second floor corner porch. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, and after grieving so freely for Otis back there, he was raw and not in the mood to play nice. Hershel might not have exactly wanted the guests that they had, but they were here, and it may have been the apocalypse, but manners and impressions still existed. So, that meant being clean, courteous hosts.

He still needed to shower and shave, even though what he was really craving was a relaxing bath. He wasn't looking for the extravagance of a bubble bath, with soft ambiance of scented candles, and bath salts of the good old days before the quality of the planet took a nosedive. That had never been the point. In the dessert showers were a privilege and baths were an extravagance that didn't exist. Now, the best he could do was a pitch black bathroom, the rhythmic plip of a dripping faucet. Lukewarm water at the bottom of the claw foot tub that didn't even reach his navel. But it wasn't a pity, it was the point. His own little deprivation tank. When the world got to be too much, the noise too loud, he would lay naked in the tub of shallow water, just him and the lullaby—but they had company, so a five minute shower and a shave it was.

He was halfway over the old wood railing, when he noticed that someone else was already on the porch. He froze, straddling the railing. He was expecting to be scolded for acting like a teenager in these times when he met the green-eyes that were a mirror of his... his twin just hugged him, pulling him clumsily the rest of the way over the railing so they momentarily stumbled. He braced his hand out so they didn't crash into the panelled wall, before quickly enveloping her in his arms.

"You're such an idiot." Maggie mumbled.

Marshall sighed into her neck. "Sorry."

"Some things you just can't change in a person." Marshall snorted and she smacked the back of his head because it was kind of gross, before she went back to clutching the back of his shirt in her fingers.

They were quiet for a moment as they just held each other, before his hold on her tightened a little. "Daddy's angry at me." He whispered in admittance.

"He's just upset about Otis, like we all are." Maggie tried to reassure him, just as quiet. "He's not liking all these strangers around. He was worried about you."

Marshall scoffed. "He scolded me like I was some little brat who decided to play out in the woods instead of looking after his family... but then again, maybe if I hadn't been playing out in the woods, Otis might still be alive."

"Shut up," Maggie told him immediately, pulling back to look at him sternly. "You can't think like that. Otis wouldn't let you think like that. Neither will I, or Beth, or Patricia. And Daddy didn't. He already said it, if it wasn't Otis, it might have been you... but what's done is done and it can't be changed."

"Ah, so the whole house heard us, then." He commented wryly. "I'm sure making an impression on these people!" He heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face. "I know. Okay? I know. I just... I can't help but wonder- but the one thing I do know, Mags, is that Sophia would be dead for certain if I hadn't been out there. Daryl... I already got the feelin' that man is stubborn enough that he would have dragged himself back here alone by sheer will and spite."

"Yeah, but then he wouldn't have had you snarling protectively over him like a dragon with its horde of gold and treasure." Maggie teased.

"Ugh!" Marshall groaned and rolled his eyes. He sat back against the railing, making it creak under his weight. "That was perfectly justified. They shot him! After all the trouble I went through to pull him up that ravine wall, patch him up, and drag his stubborn ass back here—and they shot him!" he knew he was hung up on that, but God damn! "Anyway, I figured we got to know each other pretty well when he body-climbed me and slipped crotch-first into my face." He added to distract from his irritation.

Maggie snickered. "What?"

"Speaking of all the fresh dick around here," Marshall smirked at her, making her raise her brows, "Beth caught me up on some of the things I missed—like your new apocalypse boyfriend! and the sex-capades she's positive the two of you've had!"

"Ugh!" Maggie groaned herself this time and leaned back against the flaking, panelled wall, her arms crossed over her chest like when she was an annoyed teenager. "She's such a gossipy little brat!"

"I'm taking that reaction as Sunny being a 100% right." He gave her a little smirk. "Does daddy know?" he teased.

"Shut up. I hope the railing collapses under your fat-ass."

"Oh-ho! He probably has his suspicions, then. Why are you being so bitter? Sex is supposed to relax you." Maggie straightened and stepped to him, just to cuff him on the head again. "Glenn, right. The baseball cap guy? He's cute!" His expression turned serious a split second later, "Is he causing you trouble? Expecting more just 'cause you said 'yes' once?"

"No. No," she repeated more firmly. "Not like that." She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed defensively. "He's just... sweet and cute and nerdy and walker bait." Marshall's brows furrowed in confusion at that last bit but she continued before he could question it, "He wants to be girlfriend and boyfriend. He wants a relationship. He say's life is too short, but... what's the point if it's so short? He's so stupid! What if he dies or I die? And then what? That's just preventable pain, is what that is!"

"Damn, sis!" Marshall crowed. "You've fallen for this guy hard and fast. Like bruised and battered, hard!"

"You never listen!" she complained. "I've already told you a bunch of times to shut up about that stupid crap."

He just grinned, and mouthed 'so hard!'

"I will push you off that railing—no regrets." Maggie threatened him like only sisters could do.

"Does Glenn know how violent you really are?" Maggie gave his shoulder a little warning shove. The railing groaned and wobbled a little, making her gasp and grip his shoulder tightly in contradiction to her threat. "I'm like a cat, baby, I got nine lives."

"By my count, it's a little less than that by now." Maggie ground out.

"Hm." Marshall grew thoughtful for a second and started silently ticking off his fingers. Thumb, index, middle, ring finger. "Five miracles left in the life-and-death chamber by my calculations."

"Yeah." Maggie pulled him off the railing. "Let's save those for an actual crisis, okay?"

"Hey," he said softly, cupping his sister's cheek, pushing the short hair from her face and drawing her green gaze from the height to the ground. "Like I told Auntie: One day, we'll all go the Spirit in the Sky. We'll all be together again. We'll all be together again someday, just not today, okay, Rebel?" Maggie was quiet as she searched his gaze for a moment with a little sniffle, his thumb swept away the stray tear that dribbled from her eye before she finally nodded. "I love you." He pulled her into a hug, hand cradling the back of her head as he rocked them a bit.

"I love you, too." Maggie told him. "You stink."

"I gotta shower still, get all dolled-up for our guests." He released her. "You, you don't got to do a thing. Seems you inherited all that effortless-beauty from mama." He booped her on the nose and left her out on the darkening porch for his bedroom.

There were very few things that he remembered about his birth mother. Some of those things were her green eyes that stared back at the twins in the mirror's reflection, her dislike of peaches (the irony), the lullaby she always used to sing or hum, and that she was so in love with magnolias that she named her daughter after them. She got sick when Marshall and Maggie were 5, and succumbed when they were 6. Hershel had met Annette in the church bereavement group, and they married 2 years later. Annette already had Shawn, who had been four when Beth was born.

Maggie hit her rebellious age at 14, smoking and shoplifting and dying her hair outrageously. Marshall's was 16. He hitched a ride into the city, found a tattoo parlour, passed himself off as 18 and got a beautiful shaded magnolia on his right forearm with his mother's name in a petal; Josephine. Of course, Hershel found out pretty early on, it wasn't hard to miss it when Marshall's typical upper-wear in the Georgia heat was t-shirts, sleeveless or no shirt at all. It wasn't like Hershel could make him remove it, but he sure as hell could remove everything from his bedroom but his mattress, alarm clock, and the clothes in his dresser. Could forbid him from hunting with Otis, and riding the horses. Make him quit the track team, the baseball team. The only places Marshall had been allowed to go for three months was home/work the farm, school, and church.

He closed his bedroom door with a click behind him after taking off his boots and making sure to clear out each and every pocket in his cargo pants, which varied from his pocket knife, a roll of wire to the empty wrappers from the protein bars he'd given Sophia and Daryl, then grabbing clean clothes and his kit. To his luck, his intended bathroom was free and after he made sure he had a clean towel, closed that door, too. This was the bathroom he designated for his baths. It had this big, old deep, claw foot tub with the sloping back and spigot faucet, a big rain showerhead, and a curtain that went all the way around.

His stripped, kicking his soiled clothes into a pile, in nothing but dirt, grime, blood, his scars, tattoo ink and his dog tags. The metal tags tinkled lightly against each other as he moved, no longer held silent under the material of his long sleeve, their was two small attached loops the carried Rocky's and Athena's tags to accompany his own. Marshall sighed as he stared at the tub, wanting nothing more than to sprawl at the bottom, but instead turned on the showerhead and stepped into the spray. He only stayed in long enough to scrub his body clean and wash his growing out high and tight crew-cut from his time in the Army last year. 5 minutes in lukewarm water all-in-all before he was stepping out onto the bathmat and drying off.

Damp towel hanging around his shoulders, he put on his briefs and a pair worn blue jeans, not bothering with his shirt just yet as he went to the sink and mirror with his kit. As he filled the sink with steaming hot water, he did a quick swipe of deodorant to each pit. He squirted shaving gel onto his fingers and smeared it into foam over the lower half of his face and top of his throat, blanketing the coarse stubble he'd grown while in the woods for three days in a thin layer. He dunked and dried his hands and picked up the smooth wooden handle from his kit, he carefully opened the cutthroat razor. The shaving implement was aptly named—it was how he got the scare on the underside of his jaw, after all.

Marshall warmed up the blade in the sink before he angled the blade against his skin in the reflection of the mirror and drew the blade across. The blade scraped away foam and hair, to leave clean, smooth skin in its wake. His movements were fluid, but steady, even, no hesitation. One mistake and he'd slice his face open—or his throat! The rasp made him breakout in goose-pimples, without fail, every time, though it wasn't in the shuddery, chilly kind... but with satisfaction. He just found the feeling pleasing. Marshall with his straight razor was probably something akin to a woman with her vibrator, though there was nothing sexual about it. It was always so disappointing how fast the process was before he was wiping the blade clean and folding it back up to be put away—but there was always tomorrow and the mornings after that!

He patted his face dry and slipped on a yellow shirt with a faded graphic of Pac Man on it—what could he say, he was a fan in his kid and teen years and the shirt still fit! He didn't bother with socks or putting his boots back on. He finally left the bathroom, his soiled clothes and towel bundled in his arms, his kit tucked under his arm. He dumped it all in the laundry hamper in his room, re-pocketed his pocket knife and grabbed the wire brush from his dresser before he headed for the stairs—and casually slid down the polished railing. Marshall hopped off before he could crash into the baluster, bare feet slapping in the hardwood floor as he landed.

"Aw, look who decided to finally grace us with his presence, and all cleaned up, too!" Maggie teased. She grabbed his chin, turning his face this way and that. "You know, I hardly recognized you with that dirty scruff on your face." He stuck out his tongue. "Don't let daddy catch you doing that. Don't you remember the fit he threw with you and Shawn doing that and Shawn broke his arm—and that table—when you were kids?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mags." Marshall told her, straight-faced. "I don't slide down balustrades because I'm lazy and it's fun—I'm a halfway grown man!"

Maggie hummed in amusement. "Don't I know it!" she poked his nose before going back to setting up the collapsible table in the dinning room.

Marshall turned away from that and caught a glimpse of Sophia sitting in the front room alone and headed that way. "There's my girl and the butterfly on her nose!" he announced his presence.

Sophia gave a jolt, head whipping around before she slumped in relief at the sight of him, a tentative smile on her lips. Athena perked up with a quiet bark where she sat at the girl's feet being pet. Marshall dropped cross-legged to the floor and Athena broke away from Sophia to be overly affectionate. He petted and scratched her behind ears and smooched her muzzle.

"Who's the best girl!" he cooed. "My little soldier. Such a good doggy. Guess who's getting a treat after supper?" Athena yipped excitedly, tail wagging rapidly. He hands moved down her torso and she quite squirming around as he unclipped her vest and pulled it off over her head. She gave a full body shake. "Wanna brush her?" he asked the girl.

She perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah." He offered her the dog brush. "With the grain of the hair, not too hard." He instructed. Sophia nodded and at the sight of the brush, the Belgian Malinois sat up straight and still, tail swishing across the floor. Marshall was content to just watch them, Athena looking pleased as a peach as Sophia found a good brushing rhythm, and Sophia with a concentrated expression pouting her lips. Turned out the girl wasn't a sunshine-blonde like his baby sister and was strawberry blonde instead. "Careful around her ears," he advised. "And her tail's a little tricky; it gets knotted the most and she can't stop moving it for the life of her—she likes getting brushed too much!" Sophia giggle at that and Marshall smiled. "Those barrettes," he gestured to the ones that pinned her chin-length locks from her face, "My little sister has ones just like those."

"She gave them to me." Sophia told him. "Your sister's so nice!"

Marshall was pleased. "She's the best little sister, I'm glad you like her."

Sophia's brows furrowed. "But... she's blond."

"Yup. Remember when I was telling you about my family?" Sophia nodded. "Well, my mama got sick and died when Maggie and I were only 6. My daddy re-married to my step-mama who already had Shawny, so he became my baby-step-brother. And later, they had Beth. But you see, the interesting thing is... both mama and daddy when he was younger were brunettes, so it's a recessive gene from one of them that made her a little blondie. So, she just shines a bit brighter than the rest of us around here."

"My daddy had dark hair," Sophia told him quietly.

"Your mama had better genes than him, then. You looked just like her from what I saw." Sophia seemed rather pleased with that comment. There was content silence between the two as Marshall watched over the girl as she continued to carefully brush the dog in front of her.

The floor creaked a little, alerting Marshall to the tentative presence behind him. "Sophia, baby?"

Sophia glanced up behind Marshall and smiled. "Hey, mom! Marshall let me brush Athena!"

"That's nice. She looks like she likes the attention."

"Oh, she does!" Marshall agreed. He rose to his feet easily, turning to the older woman.

"I guess that makes you Marshall."

"And you're Sophia's mama."

"Carol." They shook hands. "It's nice to finally meet you. Sophia's been telling me about how you and your dog swooped in, in the knick of time like a couple of superheroes!"

"Mom!" Sophia protested, making Marshall chuckled quietly with his own embarrassment.

"I just wanted to thank you," Carol continued, quieter, fiddling with her fingers but maintaining eye contact. "Thank you, Marshall. You can't know what it means that you brought my baby back!" her blue eyes grew the shine of unshed tears. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be a mom anymore."

She flinched a little, startled, when he reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks so tenderly. "C'mon, now. There's no need for tears. She's here now, right there. Safe... happy." And then it was Marshall's turn to be a little surprised when she hugged him. Before she could pull away as abruptly and apologize, he held her back in comfort. He murmured in her ear, "I know a mama always worries, but I don't think you need to worry so much. You should know just how brave of a little girl you got there, Carol. She's a survivor, that one. She survived two days on her own out there. It was frightening, but she came out the other side—you both did." They finally separated and Carol stepped back, clearing her face. "Sophia's one of the bravest kids I've ever met, she got a warrior's spirit—and I have no doubt that she get's that from her mama."

"Well, aren't you a sweet boy." Carol mused, and Marshall gave a boyish grin.

"Mom, are you okay?" Sophia questioned worriedly, having risen from the couch and approached, fiddling with the full brush of dog hair.

"Of course, sweetie." She cupped her daughter's cheek. "Go wash-up, alright? Dinner's almost done."

"Okay." She nodded and turned to Marshall, handing him back the brush. "Here, Marshall. Thanks for letting me brush her."

"Oh, a thank you?" Marshall teased. "For what's essentially a chore? Your mama certainly lucked out with you, butterfly."

But Sophia made a face, flabbergasted. "No! Chores are boring! How can anything with a dog be a chore?"

"Well, then, you won't mind doing it again then? If that's alright with your mama?" He looked to the woman.

Sophia spun to her mom, hands clasped together with excitement. "Can I, mom? Can I?"

"If it's okay with Marshall then I don't see why not." Carol finally answered, happy to see her daughter, well, happy. She couldn't remember the last time that Sophia was this openly excited about something, that there wasn't a shadow of fear dogging her every action, afraid to draw Ed's attention.

"When does Athena need to be brushed next?" Sophia asked.

"Tomorrow." Marshall said promptly. "And the next day... I try to brush her everyday when we're not out. She enjoys it, plus she's hairy and she sheds everywhere. She's a pampered queen," he stage-whispered and Athena let out a grumbled woof from behind them. "Hey, I didn't say anything that wasn't true!" he told Athena, making Sophia giggle and Carol give a small amused smirk before they left. "Come on, then." He told the dog, then, "Let's go feed the beast."

Athena enthusiastically led him through to the back of the house, her nails clicking lightly on the hardwood floor, to where the enclosed mudroom lay. It housed the washer and drier, with a small open deck where the clothesline was. It was also where Athena's dishes were located, the outside door, which was a simple screen, had a doggy door in it for her be able to get out on her own. He filled her water dish with fresh water from the faucet, before giving her a measured scoop of dry kibble, with half a can of wet food mixed it. Athena sat there, waiting patiently, even as she watched him like a hawk. She knew better, so she waited for him to put the steel dish down and step back before she dove into it.

Marshall took the newly opened can with him to the kitchen to wrap and stick in the fridge. It wasn't as crowded as he expected it to be. Maggie and Beth were out in the dining room, setting the table. So it was only Patricia and the brunette woman that Marshall didn't know manning the kitchen.

"Smells good, Auntie." Marshall gave the older blond woman a quick peck on the cheek as he passed behind her. "Make sure to save a plate for Daryl." He washed his hands in the sink.

"Carol said she was going to take care of it," the brunette answered. "Hi, uh, we haven't had the opportunity to properly meet yet. I'm Lori Grimes." She wiped her hands clean on a tea towel over her shoulder and held it out for him.

"Rick's wife, right?" she nodded. "I'm Marshall Greene, Hershel's son." He shook her hand. "My daddy talk to you about Carl?" her hazel eyes fixed on him with laser focus at the mention of her son, "About his diet after his surgery?"

"Yeah. He said Carl shouldn't be eatin' all this quite yet, so soon." Lori gestured around the cooking kitchen.

"That's what this is for, doc." Patricia informed him, wooden spoon tapping the side of the small pot simmering on the back burner of the stove.

Marshall peeked over her shoulder at the broth, veg, and rice soup with a pleased hum. "That's good, nothing too heavy after abdominal surgery. Easily digestible." He went to the fridge and started to dig around. "Some cut fruit wouldn't go amiss, either." He started gathering stuff out of the fridge busily, "Peach juice, of course. Oh, score!" he turned to the island with laden arms. "Jell-O! That's a staple after surgery!" he winked at the stunned brunette—who wouldn't be, really? Jell-O in the apocalypse. "A couple of sections of the garden plot is fruit, you know, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, etcetera, etcetera. To offset the peaches. Ooh, and melon!"

And Marshall had 80% of a tray ready for Carl within 10 minutes: a bowl of fruit, a dish of Jell-O, glass of peach juice and water, a waiting bowl for his soup and even some saltine crackers lining the side.

"Thank you," was the only thing that Lori could think to say. She hadn't particularly interacted much with any of the Greenes besides in this little dinner venture, but Marshall was sure an energetic, friendly figure that she hadn't exactly been expecting to descend upon her, especially when Hershel (especially) and the others (some more than others) being a bit tense about the groups presence.

Patricia eyed him. "Are you okay, sweetie? You seem a bit... overexcited. Come drain the potatoes?"

Marshall did, hot steam billowing in his face and briefly fogging the window above the sink. "I didn't sleep last night—too busy watching over butterfly for piranhas. I was flagging earlier but that shave gave me a second wind." There was silence behind him and when he turned, he found himself being stared at by both women. "What?"

They shared a look. "You sound like a crazy person," Patricia told him. "And I'm debatin' whether I should let you carve the roast."

"Auntie!" Marshall whined.

"That's just convincing me to send you to bed early, little boy." The older blonde chucked him under the chin.

Marshall clasped her hand between both of his, bringing it to his chin. He ducked his head a little, dry lips pouting, looking up through his lashes with glossy, green, puppy-dog eyes! Transforming from grown man to little boy in a matter of seconds. "Pwease, Auntie?"

Patricia gave a quiet chuff of amusement, rolling her eyes. "That stopped working when you started shaving."

"Liar," he murmured cheekily. She swatted at him with her tea towel, but relented.

Lori filled the waiting glass bowl with heated soup and took the tray to Carl while Patricia whipped the potatoes up, and Marshall carved up the juicy venison roast in a serving dish. He made sure to set aside one of the thicker cuts onto a plate that Carol was going to take to Daryl.

Soon, the dinning room tabletop was crowded with steaming dishes and the dinner bell was rung. There was awkward shuffling around where people figured out where they were supposed to sit, extra chairs taken from the breakfast table to accommodate the amount of people. The occupation of what would typically be called the 'kid's table' in a gathering like this before the apocalypse, sat Maggie, Glenn, Beth, and Jimmy. At the head of the dinning table, in his usual spot, was Hershel. To his left was Dale, T-Dog, Andrea, and Shane. To his right sat Patricia, Lori, Rick, and Marshall. Book-ending the table was Carol on Shane's side, and Sophia on Marshall's. Carl and Daryl convalescing in their respective rooms with their own dinners.

The proceeding few minutes was filled with murmured 'thanks' and 'pass the' as everyone took a slice of roast, scoop of whipped potatoes, green beans, some gravy, and a bread roll. Before anyone could start eating, Hershel bowed his head for Grace. This was a common, everyday occurrence for the Greene family and they followed suit (with the exception of Marshall, who always tipped his head up toward the Spirit in the Sky instead of away from), and T-Dog, who fell into pace pretty quick. The others shifted self-consciously in their seats for a moment, sharing glances, before following suit politely.

Afterward, all the could be heard was the scrape of utensils against plates. The silence rang in his ears, it made him want to turn on the radio or start humming.

"Am I the only one that thought awkward dinners was one of the things that was supposed to die in the apocalypse?" Marshall voiced into the silence wryly after drinking from his tall glass of milk, amusing himself as well as trying to break the ice. "It's like high school lunch detention in here." The reactions varied to his comment; blank stares, uncomfortable awkwardness, suppressed amusement (Sophia's hand clapped over her mouth to suppress the giggle—she had learned to read the atmosphere over her childhood and knew she'd get reprimanded like Marshall was by his daddy), the most expected being Hershel's reproving stare. "Sophia knows what I'm talking about," Marshall said conspiratorially, smirking at the girl.

"I'm 12!" Sophia reminded him.

"Huh. Well, then—I'd say that's Strike 2 in favour of the apocalypse." Marshall winked. "School is officially out."

Sophia clapped both hands over her mouth this time to stop the huge grin and laugh, ducking her head. The Greene sisters shared quiet snickers at their brother. Rick had to suppress his own amusement, a quiet sound that only the two seated opposite sides of him heard; Lori pinched her husband's thigh out of view under the table, not very amused herself even as Marshall flashed the man a boyish grin.

"Marshall," Hershel said.

"Sorry, daddy!" Marshall held his hands up briefly in surrender, though he didn't look very contrite. Everyone went back to eating. Marshall nudged Rick's cowboy boot with his barefoot.

Rick cocked his head slightly, quirking a dark brow at the younger man beside him, wry amusement in his pretty blue eyes. "You wanna play footsies, Marshall? We just met—I'm a married man."

"Not under this roof," Marshall snickered. "Maybe some other time." Marshall liked Rick, even though they just met. From his reaction to when Daryl was shot, to being the only one from the group to give his remorse about Otis. Not to mention that humour.

"Alright, then. What is it?"

"Just a bit of small-talk. So... where were you guys all headed before your little detour here?"

"That's your small-talk?"

Marshall shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno... how was your last day of work? You're a cop, right?"

"I was shot. Then in a coma." Rick told him bluntly.

"Been there. Also done that. Fun times." Marshall quipped. "Looks like we already got a lot in common. Wanna go for the trifecta? Do you love dogs? If you say yes', then were soul mates."

Rick chuckled quietly, easily able to dismiss the various stares they were getting. They'd only really had one conversion, in a stressful situation no less, but even then while snarling and snarking and arguing, Rick found there was still an easy likeability to the guy. Marshall was one of those guys that you'd talk to once and it felt like you'd known each other for years. "Fort Benning." Rick answered his first question instead.

Marshall stared at him for a blink before he turned his attention back to his plate with a noncommittal sound. Rick caught Shane's eye from across the table, both catching the man's odd reaction. Marshall drained his glass, licking milk droplets from his lips as he pushed back, chair legs scraping lightly against the wood floor.

Sophia straightened from her duck over her plate as she ate her first proper, hot meal in weeks not straight out of a can or heated over a camp fire in the dark, wary to break the silence. Marshall also didn't fail to see Rick straighten back too from the corner of his eye. "Where are you going?" she questioned him.

He gave her a comforting smile. "Relax. I'm just getting a refill. You want one?"

Sophia grabbed her glass and quickly gulped the last bit from her glass to his amusement and held it out to him. "Yes, please."

He chuckled and took her glass. "No problem, be back in a sec." He walked back through to the kitchen and set the glasses on the island, going to the fridge for the pitcher of milk. Marshall might have gotten a little distracted by the carton of juicy strawberries sitting right there.

He froze, strawberry bitten between his lips as someone else came into the kitchen. Before he slumped a little, finishing his bite as he realized it was just Rick and he wasn't about to be scolded. "Don't just creep up on a guy like that!"

"Why?" Rick wondered. "You doin' something you shouldn't."

"Maybe," he returned coyly. "Want one?" he wagged a whole, fat strawberry at him as he finished his own.

"Is that a strawberry?" Rick questioned, staring.

"Uh-huh."

"I can't even remember the last time I'd eaten fresh fruit before we got here," Rick admitted, still looking at the piece of fruit as if it were the holy grail.

"Well, now you don't have to try." Marshall encouraged.

"You tryna buy my silence?" Rick teased.

"Don't sully the moment with semantics," he made the other man chuckle.

Rick hesitated for a second longer, before he accepted the strawberry. "One couldn't hurt."

Marshall smirked. "Welcome to the dark side." Rick couldn't help the quiet groan at his first bite, and Marshall chuckled. "Want some milk to wash it down?"

He nodded. "Sure, thanks."

Marshall got a fresh glass from the cupboard and finally took up the milk pitcher like he originally came for. "As much as I appreciate the key to bribing you later... I got a feeling this isn't what you actually followed me in here for."

"It's not." Rick agreed, finished with the strawberry and chasing the ruminants of its sweet taste from his lips with his tongue. "Your reaction when I mentioned Fort Benning."

"I didn't have a reaction." Marshall pointed out, putting the significantly emptier pitcher back into the fridge.

"Exactly," Rick shifted closer. "That makes me believe that you actually have an opinion on it."

"What do you want me to say? What do you even care what I have to say?" Marshall added after a moment.

"You were in the Army, you'd know better than any of us. Do you think it's worth it? The risk?" Rick questioned. "Is that where you were stationed?"

"No. I did Basic there when I first joined, and it was a way-point over the years when I came home, but I spent most of my time in San Antonio training to become a K9 handler and my veterinarian schooling. 50-50 you find the safe haven you're looking for. Truthfully," Marshall sighed, "I think Benning has fallen and been overrun—just like all the other military bases and safe-zones and FEMA Centres like at the high school. Big groups like that will fall sooner rather than later, it only takes one scared bitten idiot. Groups mean survival, just not big, loud, obnoxious groups like that." Rick exhaled heavily, running a hand down his stubbled face, trying to clear away the sudden exhaustion that wanted to collapse his body. Marshall laid a friendly hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze of comfort. "That's just my opinion." He offered the filled glass of milk, "Milk will help wash that bitter pill down."

"Marshall, you're... you're just... so..." Rick shook his head, unable to find the exact words.

"I'm incomprehensible, I know. It's whatever." He shrugged. "You, on the other hand... I think I got you pinned."

"Oh," Rick raised a brow.

"Yup. You're a Dreamer, Rick. You got a tough road ahead of you, for sure, but the world could always use more of those. Especially now. Don't give up the hope, big guy." Rick could only blink in reaction when Marshall booped him on the nose like he was a child before he picked up the two other glasses and headed back to the dinning room and the continued stifled silence.

"Here you go, Sophia."

"Thanks!" she took a drink of cold milk, giving herself a bit of a 'stash. "You were gone a long time."

"Well, I had to go out and milk the cow." Marshall joked, shifting in his chair, his bare heel braced against the edge of the wooden seat, left knee pulled to his chest as Rick made his own way back to back to his seat. Sophia giggled. "You ever milk a cow?" she shook her head. "Maybe I can show you. Who knows, if you like that, too, maybe I can get you to do all of my chores."

"They don't sound like chores. Anything with animals is fun." Sophia said.

Marshall chuckled. "That's right. I'll make a farm girl outta you yet, butterfly." Sophia gave him a little beam before chipmunking her cheeks with food as she turned her attention back to her plate.

The dinner fell to silence once more. But it wasn't Marshall that fractured the silence this time. Glenn twisted in his seat to hang over the back of the chair and face the dinning table, addressing the room. Marshall would've patted him on the back for having more courage than anyone else did to attempt to break the tension—if the query he voiced was actually as innocuous as it seemed, but it wasn't like the young man could have known.

"Does anyone know how to play guitar?" he was met with his group's indifference, and didn't seem to notice the tension that seem to have strung through all the Greenes. Glenn tried to press forward. "Dale found a cool one. Come on!" he chuckled uncomfortably. "Somebody's got to know how to play."

It was Patricia's quite monotone that broke the silence, and oppression seemed to press down on everyone. "Otis did."

Awkward, uncomfortable silence followed, everyone avoided looking at any of the Greene family and played with food instead. Glenn looked completely dismayed at the faux pas he'd just unknowingly belly flopped on.

"Yes," Hershel agreed, trying to comfort the grieving woman. "And he was very good, too."

And that should have been it, silence descending like a cone of safety... but Marshall snorted in wry amusement instead. He could feel the stares, particularly his father's heavy disapproving one, but leaned forward to look down the row of strangers to catch Patricia's gaze all the way at the end next to his daddy. "Uncle O may have been able to play like the best of 'em, but he sure as heck couldn't sing like one!"

Unexpected to everyone but a few... "That's what you were for, sweetie."

Maggie and Beth chuckled at that, and Marshall put his hand to his chest a little dramatically, mouth open. "Ouch, Auntie! I'm gonna be feeling the sting of that burn for a while."

The older blonde woman blew him a kiss, before the spark that briefly lit her eyes back up faded and she turned her sullen gaze back to her plate, picking at her food. Everyone went back to their food. His own plate clear, Marshall, slumped back in his chair, his glass of milk held close. A rule of the Greene Dinner Table: no one is excused until everyone is finished unless explicitly requested and granted. He laid his head against the back of the chair, catching Maggie and Glenn passing a note like it was middle school from the corner of his eye and absently started to hum as he stared half-lidded at the ceiling.

The three Greene women eased a notch as the muted hum washed over them, filled the morose silence of the dinning room; that sound was a comfort to each of them. Hershel felt his own pang in his chest as he was reminded of his first wife Josephine.

For the last night and most of the day, that was the only thing that Sophia's hindbrain had registered as safe. As long as Marshall had been humming while they were in the woods, that meant it was safe. It had become a background constant. When she'd been trying to sleep, her body and mind warring, that hum had cut through how loud her breathing seemed, how hard her heart pounded against her ribcage. When he'd stopped humming to shoot that rabbit, her body automatically tensed up, went rigid, alert. And now, it was practically putting her to sleep on her plate. Safe, fed, clean—it was an inevitably.

Marshall was on the cusp of sleep himself. He was exhausted, emotionally, physically, he hadn't slept in more than 48 hours, his belly was full of venison and milk. He felt pretty safe between Rick and Sophia, all things considered, even if he was all too aware of pickaxe sitting across from him. There was the clatter of dishes, the scrape of chairs, retreating footsteps, quiet murmurs, but Marshall was content at the moment where he was.

The glass shifted from his fingers and Marshall was immediately alert, even if he didn't snap into the upright position. His eyes opened, clear, and he immediately zeroed in on the slightly startled blue-eyes above him, the culprit to his stolen milk glass.

"Sorry." Rick's voice was low. "Didn't mean to startle you, just didn't want you to drop the glass."

"It's fine. I wasn't asleep. But I'm a learned still-sleeper, for future reference." Marshall took the glass back, draining the last few swallows of warm milk before setting it down.

Sophia's head shot up, her eyes clouded with exhaustion and sleep, looking around frantic when the hum stopped. "Is it safe?"

"You're safe, Sophia." Carol instantly tried to soothe. "Mommy's here. You're safe now."

But Sophia didn't seem to quite register it. In her muddled mind, she was still out in the woods, terrified. Her clouded eyes locked onto Marshall for an answer.

"You're safe, butterfly. You're back with your mama. Nothing's gonna get ya. Your mama, Daryl, you. And Carl. All snug and safe." Marshall reassured her softly and calmly. "I got it, and you gotta get to sleep. It's about your bedtime."

In response, she raised her arms, reaching for him with a quiet whimper. Marshall's green-eyes flicked to Carol in response. The woman hesitated for a second before she nodded. Rick stood by and watched Marshall scoop the girl into his arms without a hitch. It was a practiced move for the Greene son. He used to do this with Beth all the time (now still, even though she was a teenager and could very well get her own butt to bed and tuck her in), even sometimes with Shawn and Maggie years ago.

Sophia's arms went around his neck, burying her face there as she settled. "Marshmallow," Sophia muttered sleepily.

"I'll take it." Marshall grinned to himself. "Marshmallows are awesome. Where am I going?"

"The RV." Carol answered quietly.

Marshall nodded and returned to humming when Sophia started to get twitchy as he followed after the mother, who held open the front door. Carol quickly fell into stride beside the man with her daughter, keeping a close eye. Rick following a few paces behind, blue-eyes curious and assessing as he stared at the back of the man. Carol quickened her pace slightly and opened the door to the RV. Marshall was careful as he manoeuvred up through the narrow doorway and the short set of steps. Rick lingered outside as the three disappeared inside.

Marshall laid the girl in the bed at the back, but couldn't straighten up as she continued to cling to his neck. He didn't panic, didn't try to force her to let go, and he certainly didn't abruptly stop humming, knowing that was a sure-fire way to wake her in a panic. Carol stepped in smoothly, and coaxed her little girl into letting go and settling under the covers. She placed the cleaned-up doll into Sophia's arms and she curled sleepily around it automatically with a quiet moan. Marshall lingered, kept up the hum until Sophia finally settled into deep slumber. Carol mouthed a silent 'thank you' to him as she perched next to her daughter and Marshall backed out, leaving the hum to gradually fade as he left the vehicle.

"Hey." Rick only spoke up after Marshall softly closed the RV door, and quietly in the night even still.

"Hey," Marshall yawned, stepping away from the RV with the man. He stretched his arms back overhead, spine arching as he stretched with a quiet groan, bare toes curling and cracking in the dirt.

"Looks like it's someone else's bedtime." Rick mused, watching him cast in the silver moonlight.

"Mm." A tired grin lingered on his lips. Marshall playfully stretched his arms toward the man with a pout, "Carry me?"

Rick chuckled quietly with a shake of his head. "You're a big boy, I think you'll make it."

"Totally not the point, Rick." Marshall dropped his arms. "Last time I was carried to bed like that and wasn't bloody, I was probably 7."

"You're good at that." Rick nodded back toward the RV in indication.

"I'm a big brother, 'member?" Marshall mused, his toes curling around a twig they'd found on the ground.

"Would have caught you for a father," Rick admitted.

"Nah." He sniffed. "Shawn was 4 years younger than Maggie and me, Beth's 9 years younger. So, Shawny was a lil' twerp while I was in high school, Beth was around Sophia's age when I enlisted. I was barely home for seven years, I come back... my lil' twerp is this adult, buff dude, and my baby sis was a teenager." Marshall raised his foot behind him, the twig gripped in his toes and kicked, throwing the twig into the darkness. He gave Rick a wry twist of the lips. "Your nightmare was waking up in the apocalypse with no idea where your family was, mine was coming home to realize I'd missed out on seven years with mine. But, you know—look where we are!" he held his arms out wide. "You still get to tuck your boy into bed, and Beth indulges my whimsy to do the same... not a bad place to be, is it?" he wondered quietly.

"No." Rick agreed, just as soft, blue drawn to green. "It's not a bad place at all." They just stood in the moment.

"Goodnight, Rick."

"Yeah. Night." The former deputy watched the retreating figure climb the front porch steps before disappearing into the farmhouse, closing the wooden screen door carefully so it didn't slam shut.

Marshall wiped his dusty soles on the inside doormat. He looked up to find Athena sitting in the front room waiting for him, her tactical vest waiting on the floor in front of her. Marshall chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. In a minute." He crouched in front of her and clipped the vest onto her furred body. When they weren't out on their trips into the woods, before they finally turned in for the night, the pair did a perimeter check around the immediate farm property. That meant the occupied cow paddock, the stables, the chicken coop... the barn. He rubbed her neck before standing and heading toward the kitchen where he could hear the faint clinks and clatters. The dining room was cleaned up, the fold table put back away, all the chairs in the proper places, there was no sign that 15 people had just dined there not even an hour ago.

He saw Patricia and Beth cleaning up the kitchen, and Maggie making her way toward him carrying a stack of clean plates.

"Aw!" Marshall complained. "Looks like I missed out on the best part of eating—the dishes. That stinks! Maybe next time."

Maggie snorted at his bland performance of regret, stowing the dishes back on the sideboard in the breakfast nook. "Uh-huh. Oh, yeah." She gave a mocking slow-clap. "I totally believe you, Marsh."

Marshall bowed. "I hate dishes so much, Mags!"

She smirked, leaning her hip against the edge of the breakfast table. "I know—it's one of the few normal things about you."

"Speaking of..." he smirked.

"What?"

Marshall shuffled playfully over to her and started to poke at her. "Guess who I saw passing notes under the table at dinner like it was middle school?"

Maggie smacked his hands away, scowling in embarrassment. "Shut up!"

Marshall snickered, clasping his hands to his chest and fluttering his lashes. "Glenn, do you like-like me? {Check} yes or no."

"Why are you like this?" she complained through her teeth. She pushed his head away when he started to do kissy-face.

"Because I'm your twin, and I loooove you, Magnolia." He swooped forward and gave her a bear hug before she could dodge.

"Don't call me that!" Maggie whined, her arms trapped between them.

"But it's so pretty!"

"No! Go to bed!"

Marshall smooched her hair and let her go with a sigh. "I will—after Athena and I take our nightly walk."

Maggie gave him a light shove. "Go already."

"So mean!" he laughed. "I need shoes first—then I'm goin' to bed early and sleepin' in."

Maggie scoffed in amusement. "That'll be the day I find you dead in your bed. You couldn't even sleep-in when we were kids, you were always up at the crack of dawn, just like daddy."

"Up at dawn and eyes like a hawk!" Marshall stuck his tongue out at her as he backed out of the room. "Guess who I saw passing notes with the new boy at dinner? Oooh!"

"Shut up!" she hissed at him, quickly shooting a look behind her into the kitchen at Beth and Patricia.

Marshall just snickered and spun on his heel. He grabbed a pair of his old shoes that sat on the rack by the side door and slipped them on his bare feet. He stood, holding open the side door and gave a low whistle to call his partner. He heard the click of Athena's nails on the hardwood floor, but he saw his sister sweep down the hall first, flying passed him out the door without a word to him.

"Mags?" he questioned in confusion, looking after her disappearing into the dark. The brief glimpse he got of her as she pushed passed him had been pallid and panicked. Before he could call after her, though, he glanced down at his waiting dog and spotted the crumpled piece of white paper on the runner.

Marshall smoothed it out and read in the dim light. He'd admit that it took him a second to actually comprehend why his twin was in such a tizzy.

Tonight. Where?

Ever do it in a Hayloft?

"Athena, stay!" Marshall ordered as he bolted out the door, jumping down the steps, and then sprinting through the long grass and uneven ground to the Greene's Family's rotten reality.

He wasn't expecting to catch up to Maggie, and he didn't. She was a fast runner, she had long legs and adrenaline on her side. Growing up on a farm made her fit, along with the with being on the baseball and track team in high school, just like him. While he'd joined the Army after graduating, she went off to college but he knew that she wasn't idle then, either.

He vaulted over the barbed fence, managing to clear it and not break an ankle instead of veering to go through the ajar gate. The old fence the only thing that separated the dangers of the barn from the farmhouse. He managed to catch a glimpse of Maggie in the moonlight, scrambling up the outside ladder at the side of the barn that led up to hayloft that overlooked the rest of the barn. The main barn doors were barred, padlocked and chained for security.

Marshall was panting by the time he reached the ladder himself, sweat beading his face, but he didn't pause as he climbed up. He wasn't sure what was going to happen once he got up there, but he knew he couldn't delay it.

"You weren't supposed to see that." Marshall heard Maggie utter ominously as he appeared behind her from the top of the ladder, his face shadowed by the flickering lantern light. Glenn looked both terrified and confused—both understandable given the circumstances.

"You really shouldn't have." Marshall agreed quietly.

Maggie's shoulders gave a little jolt, so focused on Glenn and how she was supposed to fix this, explain this, that she hadn't realized her brother had even followed her, let alone was actually behind her. Glenn visibly gulped, his own face glistening with sweat that had more to do with his current anxiety than the temperature.

Marshall suddenly snickered. "Ah, that sounded rather ominous." He cocked his head, "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." Both Maggie and Glenn were staring at him. "What? This is the apocalypse, real life—not a movie!

[tbc..]

...The walking DEAD...

---

Norman Greenbaum - Spirit in the Sky

Holy shit! First chapter, y'all! I actually finished something in the last 2 years. So, this is exciting! Don't be afraid to leave a comment on what you thought.

Now, as you may or may not have registered, Marshall called Maggie 'Magnolia', so, for this story, my Greene Family Head-cannon is that Maggie's full name is [Magnolia "Maggie" Lynne Greene](who I also aged up to 25 from 22) and Beth's full name is [Bethany-Annette Greene] which can also be shortened to [Beth-Anne], and my OMC Marshall is [Marshall Elijah Greene] if anyone cares, with 'Elijah' being Hershel's daddy's name.

Now, fair warning, I intend for this to be a slash fic, how into that it get's, well, we'll see when it gets there. It's going be Rick Grimes/OMC, Daryl Dixon/OMC, and I have every intention of going Paul 'Jesus' Rovia/OMC when I get that far (which I believe may be my endgame pairing) to get everyone's hopes up.

The title of this story may also be subject to change down the line, I'm not sure right now. But, Marshall does call the walkers 'piranha' and the song (Tripping Daisies - Piranha) is basically his theme song for the zombie apocalypse.