CHAPTER ONE, 001
❝ MY DEAD BROTHER ! ❞

SILAS blinked rapidly as he dropped the bucket of potatoes and rushed forward, his feet moving faster than he had been attempting to push himself. His eyes widened as he reached the man, who had rushed onto the farmlands, a bloody boy nearly falling from his arms.

It didn't even register who was standing in front of him. He just saw the blood, and the limp child who hung from his arms. He reached out, grabbing the child and hoisting him into his own arms.

"Hershel!" Silas yelled out loudly, his voice scaring some of the nearby birds. He could see Beth, who was standing beside his daughter, both shocked expressions on their faces. "Beth! Malie! Go get Hershel!"

By the time he had reached the porch, where the swing creaked with each movement, Hershel was standing there and ready to help where he was needed. "Bring him inside, into the guest bedroom, now." Hershel directed them through the house, despite Silas knowing where to go, it was his and his children's room.

They placed the boy on the bed, letting him sink into the white sheets. Hershel was already moving the pillows off the bed, pulling the comforter off and making sure that Malie's newly sewn blanket was away from the blood — he couldn't have Patricia's hard work go to waste, because they knew they'd never be able to get the blood out of it.

"Patricia, I need my full kit," Hershel tells the older woman, who instantly runs out of the room, her feet moving quickly as her heart hammers in her chest. "Maggie—"

"Yeah?" Maggie looks up at her father, her hands that are putting pressure on the wound that soaks the lines in her fingers still. "Dad?"

"Painkillers, coagulate... everything." He turned towards Silas, who was standing awkwardly in the room, his eyes never leaving Rick. "Silas, clean towels, sheets, alcohol."

Rick, the man who brought the boy, stammered with a red face, "Is-is he alive?"

Hershel, working quickly, dismissed his question and looked towards the pillowcase that was covering the fluffed pillow that had been pushed off the bed. "Pillowcase, quick."

Rick repeated, desperation in his voice. "Is-is he alive?"

Hershel, focused on the task, instructed Rick in what to do, "Fold it — make a pad. Put pressure on the wound. I've got a heartbeat, it's faint."

Patricia returned with the kit, her voice steady, as if this was something she was trained for. "I got it ... step back."

Hershel continued, looking up at his eldest daughter. "Maggie, IV."

"We need some space." Maggie spoke as she gave him a small nudge to the side of the room.

Hershel turned to Rick, his focus on the older man now. "Your name?"

Silas, finally glancing at the man, took in his features and who he was. "He's Rick. Rick Grimes."

Hershel, having listened to Silas tell him his life story over a sunrise once, acting as a father figure, looked away from the boy. "The Rick?"

"Yes, yes, I'm — I'm Rick."

Hershel reassured him, "Rick, we're gonna do everything we can, okay? You need to give us some room. Now."

"Move!" Someone yells and Silas comes face to face with his younger, presumed dead, brother. His heart beats a little faster, and he blinks rapidly at the man who pushed his was through the crowd and towards Rick.

THE sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the farm for all those who now resided on the land. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of earth and crops which had a special Glenn Rhee grinning at how amazing it truly was. Inside the house, the atmosphere was tense but filled with a sense of relief as they focussed on Carl making it through the night. The crisis had passed, but the aftermath was still unfolding, as no one truly knew how life could play out for the young boy.

Silas stood in the hallway, his hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline he still couldn't shake. He glanced at Rick, who was slumped against the wall, his face pale and streaked with blood. Rick's eyes were distant, lost in the everything from the past hours. His wife, Lori, was curled up on the bed, her son wrapped in her arms.

"Rick," Silas said softly, stepping closer. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Rick nodded numbly, allowing Silas to guide him to the bathroom. The small room was dimly lit, the single bulb casting a warm glow, like a candle in a dark room when the power would go out. Silas turned on the water, letting it run until it was warm. He grabbed a clean washcloth and soaked it, wringing out the excess water before he turned the water off, letting the water sit in the plugged sink.

"Sit here," Silas instructed, helping Rick onto the edge of the bathtub. He began to gently wipe the blood from Rick's face, the cloth turning crimson with each pass.

The water in the sink swirled pink as Silas rinsed the cloth repeatedly. Reminding him slightly of the time he crashed his bike and needed stitches at the hospital.

Rick winced as Silas cleaned a particularly deep cut on his forehead. "Sorry," Silas murmured, his touch becoming even gentler. "I know it hurts."

Rick managed a weak smile. "It's okay. Thank you."

There was something funny about this. The man who arrested Silas all those years ago, was now being treated by the one whose life he ruined.

Meanwhile, in the guest bedroom, Hershel was tending to Carl. The boy laid asleep on the bed, his breathing shallow but steady. Hershel's experienced hands moved with precision, cleaning the wounds and checking for any signs of infection.

Silas's son, Luke, stood in the doorway, his young face set with determination. "What can I do to help, Mr. Greene?" he asked, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes that he would hurt the boy only a few years younger than him.

Hershel looked up, appreciating the boy's actions. "Luke, I need you to get some clean water and more towels, please. We need to keep these wounds clean."

Luke nodded and hurried out of the room, returning moments later with a bowl of water and a stack of towels. He set them down beside Hershel and watched intently as the older man continued his work. Fascinated by his still his hands were and how he managed to clean the boy up without waking the mother beside him.

"Here," Hershel said, handing Luke a clean cloth. "Gently wipe away the blood around the wounds. Be careful not to press too hard."

Luke took the cloth and began to clean Carl's chest, his movements careful. The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of their work and the occasional murmur from Hershel as he gave instructions.

Back in the bathroom, Silas had finished cleaning Rick's face and was now working on his hands. The blood had dried in thick layers, and it took several minutes to get them clean. Rick watched silently, his mind still processing everything that had happen, everything he had seen.

"How's Carl?" Rick asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence that surrounded the two.

Silas paused his actions, looking up at Rick. "Hershel's with him. He's doing everything he can to help him through the night, the hard part is over. Your boy's strong, Rick. He'll pull through."

Rick nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "Thank you, Silas. For everything."

Silas squeezed Rick's shoulder reassuringly. "Of course."

Rick focused on his hands, the blood that was slowly being washed away. "I'm sorry, for what I did. To you and your family."

STANDING on the porch, staring out into the darkness, Silas's was finally calm, and collected over everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. He wasn't an anxious person, but watching people from his life he thought were gone, was giving him a bit of anxiety. The door creaked open behind him, and he turned to see Shane stepping out, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief.

"Silas," Shane said, his voice breaking the silence. There was a moment of hesitation before he stepped forward, pulling his older brother into a tight embrace. "It's been too long, brother."

Silas returned the hug. "Too long," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

Shane pulled back, his hands resting on Silas's shoulders. "I heard what you did for Rick and Carl. Thank you. You saved their lives."

Silas shook his head. "No, what you did saved his life."

The two brothers moved to the porch swing and sat in silence for a moment. Despite the danger that surrounded them, there was a sense of comfort in knowing they had each other.

"Remember when we used to play out here as kids?" Shane said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We'd stay out until Mom called us in for dinner."

Silas chuckled, the memory flashing in his head when he blinked. "Yeah, and we'd always try to sneak back out after dark. We thought we were so clever."

Shane laughed, the sound a welcome break from the day's reality. "Those were simpler times."

Silas nodded, his smile fading slightly. "Things have changed, but some things stay the same. We're still family, and we'll get through this together."

Shane's expression softened, and he pulled Silas into a side hug. "I missed you, brother."

"I missed you too," Silas replied, his voice barely above a whisper.