Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

They lost T-Dog. Carol, too.

He had seen them go for the gate. He had let them, and now they were dead. It didn't make sense in his head, they were there and now they're gone and-

His friends, his family. They lost so many, in one day. Lucas can't grasp it. They can't be gone, they can't be.

He used to think that the shit-start of the apocalypse was a clear reminder that karma existed. That civilization was getting punished for the wrongs they committed.

But the virus didn't choose between the innocent or guilty. It takes anyone. And now it's taken people they call family.

That's not karma. That's not fair.

They were good people.

After everything they've been through, this is what they get? So much death in one day like it was all just some- some sick joke?

Lucas stares, unblinking, at the wall in front of him. The thin blanket doesn't do much for warmth, but it acts like a layer of protection.

He couldn't find anywhere else to go. Daryl, Maggie and Glenn drove out to find formula, refusing to let Lori's sacrifice be in vain. Rick was gone. Carl was in mourning.

A knock at the wall has him flinching, but he does nothing more than that. It could only be one of two people and he couldn't hear any baby babbling. Not Beth.

"Lucas." Hershel's voice echoes in the empty building.

Tightening his hands into fists, Lucas closes his eyes. "What?"

"Rick is still inside." For a moment, that's all he says. But then he adds, like he's trying for humour, "I would go myself, but I don't think I'd make it far."

Breathing slowly from his nose, Lucas heaves himself up and twists around to look at Hershel. He wants to snap a refusal, wants to get angry like every other time he's been hurt by something that's out of his control. 

But he can't. Not to Hershel. He's better than that now, isn't he?

"I'll go." He says, under his breath.

Hershel sighs, like it's a weight off his shoulders. "Normally, I'd get Glenn."

"'s fine." Lucas drags his machete from the end of the bed, ignoring the red that's stained his fingers. "Can you keep an ear out for Carl?"

Nodding, Hershel glances out the door, "He's with Beth right now."

With his head ducked and feet moving towards the exit, Lucas doesn't notice Hershel reaching out for him until a hand grasps his forearm and forces him to stop. 

His chin trembles, and he chews on the inside of his lip to keep it in check. I can't talk about this right now. Don't make me. I don't want to think.

He's so far out of it that he didn't realise Hershel had hobbled away and come back in the span of a few minutes. A wet cloth smoothes down his hand, and he flinches at the abrupt change in temperature, cold against his palms and through the gaps of his fingers.

Diluted blood - Lori's. He's got Lori's blood on his hands - splatters in droplets against the floor, and Hershel doesn't blink at the mess. His concentration remains on cleaning freckled hands, and the remaining stains up his forearm.

Hershel doesn't mention the shake to Lucas's shoulders.

He squeezes one of his hands when he pulls the cloth away for good, and waits for Lucas to look up at him. A first since he got out of bed.