Rating: M for disturbing imagery
Pairing: Little hint of Rick/Shane if you squint.
Short coda to 18 Miles Out.

"It's time for you to come back," Rick says. He hands Shane his Glock, textured grip and metal like a frozen sun.

He takes it and, for a moment, he thinks.

The splatter of Rick's brains across the pavement. The recoil, sharp, a tremor, as it runs up the length of his arm. The sound it would make, the bang that would echo through the trees, crack and silence. The smell of it, Rick's piss and Rick's shit and Rick's blood. Body empties its bowels first thing. That's something the academy never tells you. That's something you find out for yourself.

Shane remembers, twenty-three and leaning over to throw up. Rick choking on his lunch beside him. Wet gasp and bile. They'd been young then.

Just like that time in the woods, he reconsiders pulling the trigger.

"You ready?" Rick turns to him sounding like he's got blood caught in his throat.

Probably does. Shane swallows and tastes it, copper and that salty tang—old pennies. His heart thuds dully in his split and cracking lip. The cut across his palm reopens when he clenches closed his fist. Rick's waiting for an answer, fingers resting on the Python on his hip.

He wouldn't, Shane knows. But he's not so certain. Not enough to bet his life. The life Rick saved, again. First time in a long while. Not since before the world was different. Before him and Lori and Carl and the things that pulse inside his chest.

He's ready now. Ready to put his faith in Rick.

"Always, brother," he says, nodding, and he almost means his smile.