The Lucky One//twd

035. Splinter

Madison's POV

I heard them arguing before I saw them.

Rick, Shane, and Hershel were behind the barn, voices low but heated. I didn't get close — didn't need to. I'd heard enough arguments lately to know how this one would go.

Shane would yell. Rick would talk in circles. Hershel would talk about humanity like we hadn't already buried it next to Sophia.

I didn't want to listen.

So I slipped inside the barn.

The boy — Randall, we finally learned — was sitting up against the wall, pale and feverish, leg still tightly bandaged. He flinched when I stepped in.

"You're not supposed to be in here," he said, voice hoarse.

I sat anyway.

"I'm not good at rules."

He gave a weak smile. "Me neither."

I watched him for a while. He looked so... normal. Not a threat. Not a monster. Just a kid with a busted leg and a bad run of luck.

"You from around here?" I asked.

He nodded. "Small town, east of here. We... we were on the road when we got jumped."

"By walkers?"

He looked down.

"No. By your people."

I stiffened. "Who?"

"Wasn't y'all," he said quickly. "But others like you. Had a truck, guns. Took two of my friends. Left me for dead."

I didn't know what to say to that.

It was easier when the monsters were obvious.

Now I couldn't stop thinking about who we'd become.

⸻

Later, I found Shane sitting by the windmill, alone, staring out at nothing.

"You look like you're about to explode," I said, walking up behind him.

He didn't look at me. "Maybe I already did."

I sat down in the grass, knees pulled to my chest.

Shane was quiet a long time before he finally said, "You shouldn't have brought that boy back."

"Too late."

"You think I'm wrong."

"I think you're scared."

He turned to me then, eyes sharp. "You think this is fear?"

"I think you lost too much, too fast. And now you're holding onto control like it's the only thing keeping you breathing."

He stood up fast. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Mads. I'm not one of your little strays."

"No, you're my brother," I snapped. "But you don't get to own me."

Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or something darker.

"I don't want to own you," he said quietly. "I want you safe. I need you safe."

"I'm not a kid anymore."

"I know," he said, voice breaking. "And that's what scares me."

We were quiet for a long time.

Then he said, "That boy's dangerous."

"You don't know that."

"He knows about this farm. About the layout. About our numbers. If his people come looking—"

"We'll deal with it."

His voice hardened. "Not if Rick gets his way. He'll want to talk it out. Find a solution. That's what Rick does — he solves things with words. But this? This needs a solution with teeth."

I looked at him. And I saw it.

Not Shane. Not the brother who raised me. Not the protector.

Just a man slowly giving himself permission to become a villain.

⸻

That night, I couldn't sleep again.

So I went back to the barn.

Randall was awake, sitting with his head resting on his hands.

"You okay?" I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes raw. "I shouldn't be alive."

"None of us should."

He hesitated. "You know they're going to kill me, right?"

My chest tightened. "We don't know that."

"Shane does," he said. "I saw the way he looked at me."

I wanted to argue. But I didn't. Because he wasn't wrong.

"Why'd you save me?" Randall asked.

And I didn't know how to answer.

So I just said: "Because someone should."