The barn door creaked softly as it closed behind them, the sound quickly swallowed by the silence of the night. Outside, the air was colder, heavy with the dry scent of earth and the old wood of the farm.
Maggie walked beside Jason, their steps almost synchronized by habit, her hand lightly brushing against his. They moved quickly toward the house, since the "situation" was somewhat complicated.
The lantern on the house's porch remained lit, its yellowish light flickering like a solitary beacon in the middle of the night. The Asian guy was sitting relaxed in a wooden chair on the porch, his body slightly leaning forward, arms resting on his legs.
As they got closer, Jason could take a better look at him. He had soft yet well-defined facial features, fair skin, and a youthful appearance. His eyes were dark and slightly narrow, directed toward the two approaching figures. His eyebrows were subtle, matching his neutral, almost introspective expression. His hair was black, short, and simply combed, with a bit of volume on top and the sides more trimmed. No beard or any visible facial hair, which reinforced a clean look. He wore a casual short-sleeved T-shirt, mostly blue with gray sleeves and striped details near the edges. Well… he really did look like the actor from that TV series, which made him instantly recognizable to Jason…
As they climbed the wooden steps, which creaked slightly under their weight, the guy in the chair lifted his gaze a little more, following their approach with silent attention.
Jason was the first to break the mood.
"Hey…" he said in a casual, almost carefree tone, raising his hand in a simple greeting, as if he were arriving on any other ordinary night.
The guy responded with a slight nod, not standing up right away, his eyes lingering on Jason for a second longer than necessary.
Glenn, beside him, hesitated for a fraction of a second before imitating the gesture.
"H-hi…" he murmured, raising his hand too, but without the same ease.
Unlike Jason, Glenn's gesture carried obvious tension. His shoulders remained slightly rigid, as if his body were ready to react to any sudden movement, and his gaze… well, his gaze gave everything away. The moment it landed on Jason, one single thought formed, clear and immediate: that guy is tall. It wasn't just the height itself, but the whole presence that came with it was hard to ignore.
The man in front of him wasn't just big; he was imposing. Broad shoulders supported an extremely defined physique, muscles that stood out even under the dirty shirt stained with dried blood. There was a solidity there, a sense of contained strength, as if every movement was calculated and efficient. The heavy backpack still hung on his back, suggesting endurance and preparedness, while the compound bow slung diagonally across reinforced the impression of someone used to surviving outside any safe zone.
And then there were the pistols—well-maintained, reflecting the yellowish lantern light in an almost out-of-place way, like jewels in an environment where nothing should shine like that. It didn't match the simplicity of the farm, and that's exactly why it drew even more attention.
Glenn, who had never considered himself particularly short, felt something rare in that moment: the clear sensation of being smaller.
Jason took one more step forward, closing the distance naturally. Without any apparent hurry or tension, he extended his hand.
"Jason Vellgrace…" he introduced himself, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his tone friendlier than before. "Nice to meet you. You are…?"
Glenn blinked, clearly caught off guard by the change in atmosphere. For a moment, he seemed to process the situation, as if he had expected something more… intimidating. He quickly wiped his hand on the side of his pants, almost reflexively, before extending it too.
"Ah, nice to meet you… I'm Glenn… Glenn Rhee." He replied, shaking his hand. Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes now analyzing Jason with more curiosity than before, and asked: "You're the doctor everyone's been talking about…"
Jason released his hand calmly, giving a small shrug as if it were no big deal.
"Yeah…" he answered simply. "We can talk more later… right now I have to do my job."
Glenn nodded immediately, stepping aside without question.
"Sure… go ahead."
Jason was already turning, pushing the house door open with his hand while Maggie entered right beside him.
The inside atmosphere was completely different from the outside.
The smell hit first: blood, sweat, improvised antiseptic… and tension. Having a sharp sense of smell in that moment wasn't exactly helpful…
Leaning against the side wall, almost sliding down to sit on the floor, was T-Dog. He had a robust build, a broad and naturally strong body. His face was wide with well-defined features. His skin was dark, even, and slightly shiny with sweat. His eyes were deep and alert; he was bald and had a small beard. His shoulders were broad, supporting strong arms, but at that specific moment there was a clear contrast: the bandaged arm was carefully held against his chest, yet it was obvious the injury still hurt quite a bit. He wore a long-sleeved shirt in a faded brown or maroon tone, already well-worn, the fabric slightly loose on his body. Over it was a kind of poncho or dark gray blanket thrown loosely over his shoulders, without any adjustment. The piece looked thick, almost like an improvised cover, with heavy drape and no defined structure. Below, he wore olive-green pants, also simple and practical, likely durable and suited for constant movement…
He lifted his gaze as soon as he noticed the movement.
His eyes landed on Jason.
And for a second, he froze too.
Then he let out a small huff through his nose—something between exhaustion and acknowledgment of the situation.
"Hey…" he murmured, voice hoarse.
Jason tilted his head slightly in greeting.
"You'll be fine," he said directly, quickly assessing his condition with a clinical glance. "I'll take a better look at that later."
T-Dog nodded, accepting it without argument.
"I'll hold you to that, man…"
A tiny hint of a smile passed over Jason's face, almost imperceptible.
Maggie didn't waste time.
She lightly touched his arm, guiding him.
"This way."
They crossed the living room quickly, and the atmosphere grew even denser as they approached the bedroom.
When they entered, they found the injured patient.
Carl lay on the improvised bed, far too pale for someone his age, his small body contrasting with the gravity of the situation. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and there were already dried bloodstains around the makeshift bandage.
Beside him, leaning with absolute focus, was Hershel. The stethoscope pressed against the boy's chest, his expression serious and concentrated, every small sound being analyzed as if it were the only thing in the world at that moment…
In front of the bed, sitting in chairs placed too close, were Rick and Lori…
Rick was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands tightly clasped. He was an older man with fair skin and well-defined facial features. His face was elongated, with a strong jawline and subtly prominent cheekbones. His beard was short and uneven, covering his jaw and chin, with a slightly unkempt look. His hair was dark brown, medium length, combed back simply but with stray, somewhat greasy-looking strands. His eyes were light, a grayish-blue, under relatively thick, straight eyebrows. His nose was straight and proportional to the rest of his face. His body was lean, with defined musculature but no excessive bulk. He had proportional shoulders and firm arms. He wore a beige button-up shirt, dark pants, and a utility belt. His gaze was fixed on his son, but loaded with something more: fear, guilt, helplessness…
Lori was beside him, more rigid, her hands trembling slightly in her lap, eyes red but still steady. She was also an older woman, with white skin, an oval face, and delicate features. Her cheekbones were subtly defined, and her chin was soft and rounded. Her lips were medium-sized, well-defined, with a natural outline. Her eyes were brown, medium-sized, slightly almond-shaped, framed by thin, neatly arched eyebrows. Her nose was straight and proportional. Her hair was dark brown, shoulder-length or a little longer, usually worn loose or tied simply. The strands looked natural, without elaborate styling. Her body was slender, with balanced proportions and no pronounced musculature. She wore a plaid shirt and plain jeans, showing signs of wear and dirt…
The arrival of the two immediately drew everyone's attention.
They all looked at once.
Hershel was the first to react.
His eyes widened slightly, and he pulled the stethoscope from Carl's chest, rising partway.
"Finally…" he said with a sigh heavy with relief. "You're back, my boy. Maggie was worried something had happened… she wouldn't stop talking about it, even though I told her you knew how to handle yourself…"
His gaze then dropped and landed on the weapons.
His eyebrow rose, inevitably.
"Looks like you found some interesting things…" he commented, his tone mixing observation with mild disapproval.
He was, above all, a man of principles—someone who believed in preserving life even in a world that seemed to have forgotten what it meant. His eyes lingered on the weapons a second longer than necessary, with a certain practical concern left unspoken. The more someone relied on weapons, the closer they were to the kind of situation that required using them—and that was exactly the kind of life he tried to avoid for himself and, especially, for his family. He wasn't naive enough to deny the reality outside, but he refused to embrace it without resistance.
So his mild disapproval didn't come from shallow judgment, but from something deeper: the fear of watching yet another person drift, little by little, from what little humanity remained…
Jason understood Hershel's mindset very well, but he paid no mind to the disapproval. He slipped the backpack off his shoulder with a simple motion, setting it in the corner of the room along with the bow.
"Yeah, I got lucky in town, but the stories can wait…" he replied directly, already moving closer. "That's not the priority right now."
The focus shifted completely.
His eyes went to Rick and Lori.
Rick rose partway from his chair, still wary.
"Who are you?"
Jason stopped beside the bed.
"Jason Vellgrace."
Lori was quicker.
"He's the doctor Maggie mentioned…" she said to Rick, almost as if confirming it to herself.
Jason simply nodded.
"Yeah, the one who's going to save your son…"
Without any unnecessary words, he approached Carl, his gaze already changing—colder, more precise, completely focused.
"Hershel, hand me everything…" he requested, extending his hand toward some instruments nearby.
As he spoke, he was already beginning to act.
His hands moved with absolute precision: checking the pulse, gently adjusting the boy's position, analyzing breathing, skin color, minimal response to stimuli.
"The bullet fragmented… multiple shards. Probable internal bleeding. I stabilized him as much as I could, but without equipment—"
Hershel replied immediately, almost relieved to share the responsibility he had been carrying alone since Carl was brought in. Though he had never seen Jason in action before, the theoretical knowledge he had already shown, combined with the precise and confident way he examined the boy, was hard to ignore. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty in his eyes—everything seemed meticulously calculated, as if he had done it countless times. For someone as experienced as Hershel, that said more than any explanation could.
Still, logic resisted. If someone said out loud that Jason had become capable of acting like a doctor in a matter of days, no one would believe it—he himself would have doubted it if he weren't seeing it with his own eyes. It went beyond what he understood as ordinary learning. It wasn't just intelligence or simple talent. It bordered on the incomprehensible.
For a brief moment, an almost absurd thought crossed his mind: could this be pure, unadulterated genius? Because honestly, it was hard to imagine even someone like Albert Einstein achieving that level of adaptation in so little time. Still, he said nothing. He just watched—attentive, cautious… and inevitably impressed.
Jason was already one step ahead.
His fingers pressed specific points, his eyes analyzing micro-reactions, his mind processing everything at an absurd speed.
"Significant blood loss… low pressure… partial respiratory compromise…" he murmured, more to himself than to the others.
The silence in the room thickened even further as Jason spoke quietly, almost as if organizing his own thoughts in real time.
Maggie, Rick, and Lori never took their eyes off him.
The tension was almost palpable.
Maggie was the first to break it.
"Jason…" Her voice came out quieter than usual, laden with expectation. "Do you… know some way to save him without the equipment?"
Rick and Lori said nothing, but the way they leaned slightly forward made it clear the question was theirs too.
Jason didn't answer right away.
He kept his fingers steady on Carl's wrist for one more second, observing the irregular pattern. Then he slid his hand to the chest, following the breathing.
Only then did he speak.
"I do."
He raised his gaze, meeting everyone present.
"His condition is critical, but it's not irreversible yet." He began, voice firm and technical. "The bullet didn't go through. It fragmented inside the body. That created multiple internal damage points, probably hitting muscle tissue, maybe grazing organs… and with a high chance of ongoing internal bleeding."
Rick clenched his hands tighter.
Jason continued without softening.
"The biggest problem now isn't just removing the fragments. It's the combination: blood loss, infection risk, and the fact that each shard could be in a different spot. If one is near a major artery or the lung, any wrong move… he dies on the table."
Lori brought her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back her breathing.
Maggie didn't look away.
"But you said you know a way, right…" she pressed.
Jason nodded once.
"I have alternatives."
Hershel turned his body slightly, giving full attention.
Jason began explaining calmly.
"First: pain and movement. He can't wake up mid-procedure. Can't react. Can't go into convulsions from trauma or shock." He glanced quickly at the items around. "Without hospital anesthesia, we improvise. Strong alcohol, combined with natural sedatives if we have them—something to depress the central nervous system. It's not perfect, but it reduces motor response and pain perception…"
He was already mentally sorting what he could use.
"Second: breathing. If the lung is compromised—and given the irregular breathing, it might be—he could go into respiratory failure during the procedure. So we need an improvised ventilator."
Rick frowned.
"Improvised… how?"
Jason answered immediately.
"Sealed mask with clean cloth, some kind of simple valve, and manual compression. Basically, someone will have to maintain constant ventilation. Controlled rhythm. Without it, he could stop breathing mid-surgery."
Hershel nodded slowly.
He was following.
Jason continued.
"Third: bleeding." He gestured lightly toward the bandage. "We're going to open him up. No alternative. But every cut needs to be minimal and precise. I'll follow the most likely path of the fragments based on the entry point and dispersion. Remove them one by one."
The room was completely silent now.
"Meanwhile, direct compression on bleeding points. If necessary, improvised cauterization." He paused briefly. "Heated metal."
Lori closed her eyes for a second.
Jason went on without stopping.
"Fourth: infection. Everything used needs to be as clean as possible. Boiled water, alcohol, anything that reduces contamination. It's not a hospital, but we can lower the risk."
Then he looked directly at Rick.
"And finally… time."
Rick raised his gaze.
Jason was clear.
"We can't wait for the equipment."
A beat of silence.
"But…" he added, "if they arrive in time, it dramatically improves the odds. Especially the ventilator and proper surgical instruments."
Maggie took a step closer.
"And if they don't arrive?"
Jason didn't hesitate.
"I operate anyway."
Rick took a deep, heavy breath.
"And… will he feel pain?"
Jason answered bluntly.
"Not the way you're thinking." He looked back at Carl. "I won't let him go into pain-induced shock. The sedation will hold that enough. It won't be comfortable, but he won't be conscious either. Convulsions are controllable if we keep the body stable and oxygenation constant."
The silence that followed Jason's words was heavy.
Rick was the first to react.
He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to organize his thoughts, before looking directly at him.
"How much time…?" His voice came out lower but firm. "How much time does he have if they don't come back with the equipment?"
Lori turned her face in the same direction, eyes locked on Jason, as if that answer was all that mattered now.
Hershel answered first.
"If the condition remains stable… maybe a few hours. Four, perhaps five in the best scenario." He said it cautiously but without hiding the gravity.
Jason didn't agree—he didn't even hesitate.
"No. He has two hours."
Everyone looked at him.
Hershel frowned.
"That's a bit extreme—"
Jason shook his head, cutting him off.
"It isn't." His voice remained calm but absolutely firm. "The pressure is already low. The blood loss hasn't completely stopped—just been temporarily contained. Breathing is irregular, which suggests possible lung involvement or internal pain affecting the respiratory pattern."
He pointed lightly at the boy's body.
"His body is already compensating. When it stops compensating, collapse comes fast. Not gradual…" His gaze then lifted to Hershel. "If it were just controlled blood loss, you'd be right. But with multiple internal fragments… the chance one of them is worsening the situation every minute is high. That's why two hours is all he has…"
This time, no one contested it.
Lori brought her hand to her mouth again, eyes welling up despite her efforts.
Rick stayed motionless for a moment, absorbing it.
Two hours.
He swallowed hard.
"And… the chances?" he asked finally, his voice harder now, as if forcing himself to stay in control. "If you operate now… and if we wait for the equipment… what are his odds of surviving?"
Jason didn't answer immediately. He let out a sigh and spoke:
"Without proper equipment… between 45% and 55%. With equipment… functional ventilator, better instruments, maybe more stable transfusion… I'd say I have a 90% to 100% chance of saving him…"
The contrast was brutal.
Rick opened his eyes again.
"Then we wait." He said quickly, almost automatically.
Jason looked directly at him.
"Well, you can wait one more hour. If they come back within an hour… great. We buy time and improve the odds. If it goes past that… I start the surgery without them."
Rick was breathing heavier now.
Lori turned her face toward him, eyes full of tears.
"Rick…"
He ran a hand over his head, completely torn.
____________________
(A/N: I want to leave a quick notice for you all!
The TWD story is progressing well, and starting tomorrow, there will be chapters released Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday on Patreon. On some of those days, there will also be double chapters for those who want to stay even further ahead.
Additionally, [Fate Gacha] has already reached 13 chapters on Patreon, fully rewritten and much better than before—a far more polished and immersive version of the story.
If you enjoy reading ahead and getting access to more content, this is a great time to subscribe to Patreon.
My Patreon: patreon.com/Adam_Kadmon
Thank you so much for your support — you make all of this worthwhile.)