Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Hershel is, indeed, at the only bar in town. Solemnly sitting on a dusty stool, a singular glass of god knows what in his fidgeting hands. He doesn't even turn around when the door slams shut.

"Hershel?"

"Who's with you?"

Rick glances between the two youngest, "Just Glenn and Lucas."

Hershel lifts his head by an inch, "Maggie sent him?"

"He volunteered. He's good like that." Rick abandons Lucas and Glenn at the door, striding up to the bar to sit down. "How many have you had?"

Still reeling from Sophia's death, Lucas keeps his hands busy. He goes behind the bar, wipes his finger across dusty bottles of alcohol to read the labels and check the percentage, numbers and letters swimming in his head.

Rick leans into Hershel's space, "Let's finish this up back at home." He ducks to meet the old man's eyes to convey the severity, "Beth's collapsed. Is in some sort of state. Must be in shock. I think you are too."

"Maggie's with her?" Hershel drops his eyes again.

Lucas answers, "Both her and Patricia. But Beth ain't reacting to either of them. She needs her dad, Hershel."

"She needs her mother. Or rather . . . to mourn. Like she should have done weeks ago." Hershel looks at the roof for guidance, "I robbed her of that. I see that now."

Lucas ducks, opening and closing cupboards for anything useful. He finds plates, cups, tea-towels - he shoves the latter into his bag. Could be used for rags. He takes the napkins too, with a shrug.

"You thought there was a cure. Can't blame yourself for holding out for hope."

"Hope?" Hershel almost scoffs. "When I first saw you out in that field with your boy in your arms, I had little hope he would survive."

Rick tilts his head, "But he did."

"He did."

Lucas pokes around through the draws near the checkout, rifles through paperwork after paperwork. The bar belonged to a man named Gerard, who was terribly low on funds. He nosily reads through missed bills, doubling over a few months. Gerard was going to lose the bar whether he wanted to or not.

"Even though we lost Otis." Hershel continues, eyes low. "Your man Shane came back and we saved the boy. That was the miracle that proved to me miracles do exist."

Folding the stacks of paper and scrambling for the sign-in notepad sitting untouched on the counter, Lucas tucks them both into his bag's side pocket and rifles further. His fingers latch around a pile of pens and pencils.

He should be happy about this. Pens and paper for the kids.

But Lucas tightens his fingers.

Kid.

Not kids.

Lucas steals a glass from below, cleans it out with a dry cloth. He tugs down the most popular vodka - judging by the number of bottles - and pours it into his cup.

He takes a sip. Swishes it around in his mouth.

Lucas dribbles the vodka back into the glass.

Hershel leans forward, elbows heavy against the old wood of the bar. "Only it was a sham, a bait and switch. I was a fool, Rick. And you people saw that. My daughters deserve better than that." He gestures for Lucas to hand him his tequila.

Still wincing against the burn of Vodka, Lucas obliges him. They watch him fill his cup to the brim.

Rick pulls away and sidles up to Glenn.

"What do we do? Just wait for him to pass out?" The latter asks, leaning against the open doorway.

Lucas joins them, no longer interested in the Vodka he'd attempted to drink.

"Just go!"

Rick turns at Hershel's yelling and shakes his head, "I promised Maggie I'd bring you home safe." He takes a few steps back inside, boots making a thud with every move.

Hershel laughs, something sad and malicious. "Like you promised that little girl?"

Rick's face drops, stone cold. Glenn glances at him.

Lucas calmly rounds the bar, says, "Her name's Sophia. And you have no right to ridicule someone for trying their darn best to help. What do you think you're gonna do, Hershel?" He gestures towards the bottles. "Come stumbling out of here in the middle of the night and get taken down by walkers?"

Rick strides up behind, his voice harsh, "Drink yourself to death and leave your girls alone?"

"Stop telling me how to look after my family!" Hershel pushes from his seat, rounding on them, "My farm. You people are like a plague. I do the Christian thing, give you shelter and you destroy it all!"

Rick steps chest to chest with him, meeting his eyes, "The world was already in bad shape when we met."

"You haven't been out there. Not like we have." Lucas shakes his head.

Hershel continues as if they hadn't spoken a word, "And you take no responsibility! You're supposed to be their leader." He jabs a hand at him.

Rick loses his cool, raising his voice to match Hershel's shouting. Like a brick wall, he isn't backing down, "Well, I'm here now, aren't I!?" He glances between the old man's clouded eyes.

"Yes. Yes, yes you are." Hershel gives up, settling himself back in his stool.

He tells them that he'd wanted to stay ignorant. Chose not to believe Rick. Not until Shane shot the walker in the chest and it kept coming like there was no tomorrow. That's when he realised they weren't sick, no, his wife had been dead long ago.

He thinks that there's no hope.

"And when that little girl- Sophia came stumbling out of that barn. The look on your face-" Hershel shakes his head slowly, meeting Rick's stare with an unblinking one of his own. "I knew you knew it too. Right? There is no hope."

Rick glances between Glenn and Lucas, both looking up to him like they're hoping for a different answer.

And Lucas wants him to say he does have hope. So that maybe he'd have some too. Maybe they could share that one, fraying thread of hope to keep everyone from falling down that dangerous cliff of no return.

Rick drops his head, and something in his head clicks.

"You know what the truth is? Nothing has changed. Death is death, it's always been there. Whether it's from a heart attack, cancer or - or a walker. What's the difference. You didn't think it was hopeless before, did you?" Rick leans on his chair, pointing at Hershel's face, "Now there are people back home that need us. Even if it's just for a reason to go on, even if we don't believe it ourselves."

Lucas takes the stationary. Carl's still alive, there's use in these pencils, even if there's a body missing.

Rick swipes a hand across his stubble, "You know what? This isn't about what we believe anymore." He points at the door. "It's about them."

Hershel looks up at him, his stony gaze fraying into something more understanding. He thinks about his girls, Patricia, Jimmy - and he finishes his drink, slamming the cup upside down on the counter. He's done with his own pity.

Rick pats him on the back.

Lucas exhales slowly and sends a pursed smile Glenn's way when the boy smacks him joyfully on the shoulder.

Then the door squeaks open.

Two men, eyes searching the group with curious but wicked smiles. "Well, would you look at that? They're alive."