Travelling through the multiverse starting with: The Walking Dead

The crackle of dry leaves and the soft snap of a branch underfoot were the only sounds breaking the stillness of the woods. The night had fully settled, draping the forest in darkness. The air was cool, carrying the damp scent of earth and foliage. From between the towering trees, a lone figure emerged.

Elliott stepped into the clearing, his posture relaxed but deliberate, as if every movement was measured. In one hand, he carried three lifeless rabbits by their hind legs, their limp bodies swinging slightly with each step. In the other, he held a knife, its blade still gleaming with fresh blood.

A few feet away, Shane stood waiting, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. They had met only a couple of hours ago, and while familiarity had yet to settle, the presence of another person in the wilderness was grounding. Shane had spent the last moments listening to the quiet of the forest, waiting for Elliott's return with an impatience he masked well.

Elliott glanced at him as he closed the distance. "Three's enough for tonight," he said simply, lifting the rabbits slightly as if in explanation.

Shane hesitated before speaking. "Will it be enough?"

Elliott didn't pause. "Yes."

There was no embellishment, no reassurance—just a fact. Shane exhaled, accepting the answer but feeling the weight of responsibility press against his chest.

Shane nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "You used my knife."

Elliott tilted his head, considering. Then, with no fanfare, he wiped the blade against his pant leg before slipping it into the sheath at his own belt. "I'm keeping it."

Shane blinked, his lips parting slightly. "It was mine."

"Was," Elliott corrected. His voice was calm, like a pond undisturbed by wind, but there was something sharp beneath it. Not a threat—just a certainty. "I like the weight of it."

Shane swallowed back his protest, watching as Elliott moved his focus to the woods around them. There was no room for argument. Not really. But the way Elliott did things—so effortlessly, so assuredly—it only made Shane more confident in his choices.

"We need to start heading back," Shane said, standing up. "It's already dark. We don't want to draw anything out here."

The journey back to camp was silent, save for the rhythmic crunch of their boots against the forest floor. The night stretched wide around them, thick with unseen movement and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Elliott hadn't met the people at the camp yet, but he didn't seem in a hurry.

Shane glanced sideways at him, debating whether to fill the silence with conversation, but before he could, Elliott's posture shifted slightly. His grip on the knife at his belt tightened. "Your people are really loud," he murmured. "They're going to attract something from the woods."

Shane barely had time to register the warning before Elliott veered off the path, moving with a swift, silent precision. Shane tensed, unsure of what he'd sensed, but Elliott's instincts were sharper than his own.

Without hesitation, Elliott closed the distance between himself and the figure in the dark. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed the knife and struck from behind, the blade slicing clean through.

The body crumpled, its head nearly split in half. The scent of blood thickened the air.

Shane staggered back, breath catching in his throat. His mind reeled. "Elliott—" he choked out, unable to process what had just happened.

Elliott straightened, unfazed. He wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes before turning back toward Shane.

"That could have been anyone," Shane whispered, horrified.

Elliott met his gaze, unreadable. "It wasn't."

Shane exhaled shakily, a cold dread settling in his gut. They still had a camp to get to. But now, he wasn't sure who he had brought with him. Besides his concern for Elliott's quick action, there was an unmistakable trust in all he did. He could feel that Elliott wouldn't hurt people without a reason.

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The fire crackled softly in the middle of the quarry camp, flickering light casting long shadows over the gathered survivors. Tents and makeshift bedding lined the perimeter, a weak sense of security keeping the group tethered together. The low murmur of conversation drifted in and out, but it all died the moment Shane stepped into view, Elliott following close behind.

Lori spotted them first. Her eyes flickered toward Shane, then to the stranger beside him. Her expression remained unreadable—neither wary nor welcoming, simply indifferent.

"Shane," she started, voice clipped. "Who's this?"

Shane shifted slightly, but Elliott remained completely still, his gaze sweeping the camp, absorbing every detail, every potential threat.

"Elliott Everett," Shane answered, tone neutral. "Found him out in the woods. Thought it was better bringing him back than leaving him out there."

Lori raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. "That supposed to mean something?"

Dale, perched near the RV, rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Well, that depends. You got any reason we should be worried about you, son?"

Elliott met his gaze with a steady, unreadable expression. "No."

One word, direct. It should have been reassuring. Instead, it only deepened the tension in the air.

Rick wasn't here yet. That much was obvious. Shane was the one holding authority, even if it was tenuous at best. The others—Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn—were all watching carefully, waiting for some kind of confirmation that this wasn't a mistake.

"He's staying," Shane said firmly, cutting through the tension. "For now."

Lori shrugged, clearly disinterested in the matter. "Fine. But he sleeps away from the others."

Elliott's smirk was subtle. "I prefer that."

Shane clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a slight push toward an empty spot near the tree line. "You can set up over there."

Elliott said nothing, just turned and walked, the weight of every pair of eyes following him as he moved.

That night, as he sat on the outskirts of the camp, listening to the quiet murmurs of conversation and the crackling of the fire, Elliott tilted his head back to look at the stars.

The world had already begun rejecting him. He could feel it in the air, in the way the shadows stretched a little too far, in the way the wind carried whispers he couldn't quite make out.

His time here was limited.

But for now, he had a role to play.

And he intended to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's staying," Shane said firmly, cutting through the tension. "For now."

Lori's face twisted slightly, frustration flashing across her features. "That's it? You found him out there, and now he's just here? You don't trust people, Shane. But you trust him?"

Shane's jaw clenched, but before he could respond, Lori's gaze flicked to the side, landing on Carl, who had wandered closer to the conversation. Her frustration redirected instantly.

"Carl, stay away from him," she snapped, motioning toward Elliott as if he were some kind of wild animal. "You don't need to be around strangers."

Carl hesitated, looking between his mother and Shane before instinctively moving closer to Shane's side. "He hasn't done anything," Carl muttered.

"He's a stranger, Carl!" Lori's voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it—exhaustion, irritation that had been building long before this moment.

"Carl," she called, her voice tight. "Go to bed."

"No," Carl muttered, pressing himself against Shane's side.

Lori inhaled sharply, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "Carl, now."

Carl didn't move. His small hands clenched at Shane's sleeve, his chin jutting forward stubbornly.

Carl's voice wavered but held firm as he latched onto Shane's arm. "I don't want to go to bed."

Lori sighed heavily, rubbing her temple. "You're going. Now."

Carl didn't budge, gripping Shane tighter, eyes set in a stubborn glare.

The tension hung thick in the air as Shane glanced down at Carl, then back at Lori. For a moment, no one spoke.

Dale spoke up, his tone measured but firm. "Enough of this. Everyone needs to get some rest. Some of us are heading out early for a supply run, and we don't need people exhausted and making mistakes."

The tension didn't dissipate entirely, but it was enough. Slowly, the group began dispersing, murmuring amongst themselves as they moved toward their respective tents and sleeping areas.

Lori's gaze flickered to Elliott once more, and in that moment, her mind was made up. She didn't like him. Didn't trust him. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get close to her son.

Elliott, who had been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, simply smirked before turning toward the tree line. He had no intention of interfering.

But Lori had just decided something important.

She didn't trust Elliott Everett. And she never would.