The prison yard remained silent, Merle's angry voice lingering in the cold night air long after he'd finished shouting. No one spoke. Most of them were still trying to process what they'd just heard.
Lori, and the child in her belly.
For those who knew Shane, it finally made sense why he'd shamelessly returned. For those who didn't, the dots connected on their own — why Rick had always treated his wife so coldly.
Once a trusted friend. Then an enemy. Now, just a man who couldn't let go of the past.
Michael studied Shane for several long moments, his expression unreadable. He couldn't decide whether Shane's reason made the situation any better, or somehow even worse. Finally he exhaled. "...Take him inside."
Everyone looked toward him. His gaze shifted to two nearby guards. "Lock him up beside that guy. No visitors. And nobody talks to him unless Rick wants to, or I say otherwise. Make sure what happened tonight stays here." He turned to Glenn. "Inform Rick about him first thing in the morning."
Including the guards, everyone nodded immediately. "Got it."
One guard stepped forward cautiously. "...Move."
Shane didn't argue. He lowered his head and let himself be escorted inside, with Glenn following behind them. His hands weren't bound — they didn't need to be. Several eyes followed his every step. If he tried anything, he wouldn't make it past the inner gate.
Merle watched him leave before snorting. "Damn, I just realized something. You're not also gonna throw me inside a cell, right?"
Daryl glanced sideways at his brother. "...Enough."
Merle only shrugged. "What? Just askin', not like there are other proper rooms aside from those cells."
Michael raised an eyebrow, looking at him. "Merle, how have you been, buddy? It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Merle flinched and shut his mouth immediately. No one noticed it with the limited light, but Michael caught the way his hand trembled around another cigarette as he took a drag after hearing his own name called out.
"Y-yeah, and as you can see, I'm still alive and kicking." He forced a smile, turning to look at him. "It's getting late. Shouldn't we be heading inside now?"
His sudden discomfort drew a few curious looks from those around them, everyone silently wondering what history the two men might share. Damn. I only made that as an excuse... Don't tell me this body's previous owner really knew Merle? Michael thought, curious but not willing to dwell on it further.
"Daryl, it's good to see you back. We thought we lost you there, man." The two exchanged a dap handshake, followed by a one-armed shoulder tap.
"I'm actually disappointed to hear you never bothered lookin' for me." Daryl said it in a humorous tone.
Michael smirked. "Even if they'd captured you, the worst they'd do is beat you up and take you hostage."
Daryl snorted and smacked his chest with a grin. "You're a dick, man." Michael chuckled, then turned to Merle. "What's up with him, though? Why'd he come with you?"
"His cover got blown. Shane saved his ass from his pursuers."
"Yeah, right. I could've solved it myself if I hadn't run outta bullets." Merle clearly didn't like hearing it and voiced his disagreement.
"He still saved your ass."
"At first, I was so insanely lucky I thought I was Batman for a second. Then I ran out of bullets.."
"Shut up, man."
Daryl, tired of his bullshit, shut him down. Merle just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled to himself.
CLANG!
The steel door slammed shut behind Shane. The guards gave the lock one last pull before turning away.
"Get some sleep. It's gonna be a busy day for you tomorrow." Their footsteps faded gradually down the corridor.
Shane sat down on the narrow cot and let out a weary sigh.
"...Hell." He rubbed both hands over his face, the night's events replaying themselves again and again.
Then—
"...You sound burdened."
A calm voice came from the neighboring cell. Shane frowned, turning toward the concrete wall separating them. "...Didn't know someone was also in here."
"There usually isn't." The reply came without haste. "It would seem fate has seen fit to grant me a neighbor."
Shane leaned back against the wall. "...Guess so." A brief silence followed.
"If I may ask — what's brought you to this unfortunate accommodation?"
Shane let out a humorless laugh. "...Bad decisions."
A quiet chuckle drifted through the wall. "I daresay that answer would not be uncommon among those confined behind iron bars."
Shane couldn't argue with that. Another silence settled between them, and he found himself suddenly wanting to listen. There was something strange about the man beyond the wall — not the voice itself, but the way he spoke.
Every word sounded deliberate. Measured. Almost refined. Nothing like anyone Shane had met since society fell apart. It reminded him of the way old politicians or nobles talked in those historical movies he used to watch, years ago.
Finally, curiosity got the better of him. "...You always talk like that?" No mockery in it, only genuine curiosity.
A soft chuckle answered him. "I have been informed, on more than one occasion, that my manner of speech is... rather uncommon."
Shane smirked despite himself. "...'Rather uncommon,' huh? Most people would've just said 'yeah.'"
The man seemed to consider that. "A fair observation. Yet I fear altering the habits of a lifetime merely for the sake of brevity would be somewhat dishonest."
Shane let out a quiet snort. "...You're a weird son of a bitch."
"I have received that particular assessment as well."
Shane breathed out quietly through his nose. It wasn't much — just a few exchanged words with a complete stranger — but after everything that had happened tonight, it was the first conversation that hadn't felt like an interrogation, or a confrontation.
Oddly enough, he found the silence here easier to bear than the one he'd shared with Michael and the others outside.
For the first time that night, the corner of Shane's mouth lifted, just slightly.
'But who the fck is this guy, really?'