TWD: Awakened As Rick

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Being second was never easy.

Especially when you used to be first.

Shane Walsh stood on the south tower at dawn, arms crossed, eyes scanning the treeline like a predator on edge. His rifle was slung across his chest, loaded and ready. He never let his guard down. 

Down below, the camp stirred to life. Smoke drifted from cookfires. Daryl walked the fence with Carl. T-Dog was already at the gate with Joel, checking reinforcement plates. Carol, Clara, and Jacqui were prepping breakfast with the other women.

 Organized.

All because Rick had a plan.

Shane had to admit, The Right Arm worked. It worked better than anything he'd ever imagined. But it still burned him.

Because he was supposed to be the one keeping people safe.

He was the one who led them after Atlanta. He made the calls. He protected Lori. Protected Carl. He was the one who told everyone how to survive when everything went to hell.

And then Rick came back.

Woke up out of a hospital bed, took one look at the world, and started rebuilding it like he was born for it.

People followed him.

Not because he shouted.

Because they believed in him.

That pissed Shane off more than he could admit.

He climbed down the tower and walked the length of the camp, checking weapons storage and patrol rotations. Everything was tight. He ran a sharp unit—Rick may have been the brain, but Shane was the muscle keeping it all from falling apart.

He passed by Glenn and Amy prepping for a scavenging run. The kids smiled and waved. He gave a tight nod. Merle shouted something crude from the machine shed. Shane ignored him.

He didn't have time for games. 

In the mess hall, Rick was hunched over a table, studying hand-drawn maps. His face was tired, eyes shadowed, fingers stained with ink and dirt. Lori sat nearby, sorting inventory sheets.

"Supplies from Riverside came in?" Shane asked.

Rick looked up, nodded. "Three crates of ammo, five of canned food. Some fuel, too. Morales is unloading it now."

Shane crossed his arms. "Scouts said there's a raider gang forming along the northern tracks. Could be a threat."

Rick nodded again. "I've got Daryl watching them. If they cross into our perimeter, we handle it."

"We should handle it now," Shane said, voice tight. "Cut the head off before the snake gets too long."

Rick studied him for a second.

"We don't strike first without cause. You know that."

Shane's jaw clenched. "Sometimes cause shows up too late."

They locked eyes for a beat.

It passed.

Rick returned to his maps.

Shane turned and left without another word.

Later that day, he led combat drills near the west gate. A group of new recruits—strong backs, but no battlefield experience. He barked orders.

"Shoot like you mean it!" he snapped as one of them flinched at the recoil. "A walker ain't gonna wait for you to find your rhythm."

Carl watched from the sidelines. The kid was sharp. Better than most adults.

He reminded Shane too much of Rick.

Still, he was just a kid.

When drills wrapped up, Shane pulled Carl aside.

"You want to help people? You better understand what it means to take a life."

Carl looked up, steady. "I do."

"No," Shane said. "You think you do. But once you kill someone—human or not—it stays with you."

Carl didn't flinch. "I've already killed."

Shane blinked.

He didn't know what to say to that.

So he just walked away.

That night, Shane stood by the fire, alone.

The others were laughing, talking. Merle was doing impressions of walkers. T-Dog had the group in stitches with a story about Carol yelling at a raccoon that stole her bread.

Shane drank from a tin cup, the taste of boiled water bitter on his tongue. The flames flickered, and memories rose with the smoke.

The hospital.

Lori crying in the woods.

The moment he thought Rick was gone forever.

And the moment Rick walked back into their lives, whole and unbroken, like nothing had happened.

Like Shane had never mattered.

He wandered away from the fire and toward the armory. It was quiet there—no laughter, no chatter. Just shelves of tools, ammo, and the soft hum of solitude.

T-Dog found him there an hour later, sitting on a bench, disassembling his sidearm.

"You alright?" T-Dog asked.

Shane nodded. "Just thinkin'."

T-Dog leaned on the doorframe. "You've done good here, man. People respect you."

Shane gave a short laugh. "They respect Rick."

"Rick gives orders. But you make sure they're carried out."

Shane looked at him. "That enough for you?"

T-Dog thought for a second. "It ain't about who's in charge. It's about who's right for the job."

Shane didn't answer.

Because deep down, that was the truth that cut deepest.

Rick was the right man for the job.

Not because he wanted it.

Because he earned it.

Later that night, Shane found himself on the wall again, watching the trees sway under the moonlight. His rifle lay across his lap, cool and silent.

Maybe he'd never be the leader.

Maybe he'd never be the one people looked to when they needed hope.

But he'd be the one with the gun when they needed protection.

And that?

That was enough.

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If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for early access, exclusive chapters, and more:

10+ Chapters

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