Chapter Text
Ben waits in that field just outside Savannah, surrounded by nothing but empty plain. In the distance, all he can see is the outlines of buildings, the bell tower standing tall above the rest. He presses a hand hard against his stomach like Kenny told him, ignoring the stickiness of his own blood between his fingers and the pain when he does so.
Somehow they had found a building for a moment of shelter, a moment long enough for Kenny to tear into the bed sheets and drapes he could find, anything to make the bleeding stop.
Ben thinks he must have passed out at some point, because he remembers Kenny pulling the fabric tight, and then he remembers stumbling behind Kenny, walkers at their heels. Kenny looked… scary. Terrifying. Covered in Ben’s blood and always yelling something - encouragement, maybe - as they scrambled their way out of Savannah.
But they had gotten separated. A wrong turn, another alley, and Kenny had shoved him toward the exit while Kenny kept yelling at the walkers, holding them back long enough for Ben to hobble out. His vision had gone black around the edges, but Ben pushed forward until Savannah was far behind him.
So he waits in that field like Kenny told him. ‘Look for Lee and Clementine.’ And Ben does, constantly waiting for the shadow of a man and a little girl coming over a hill for him. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he fell, how much time he lost wandering through Savannah alone, but he waits anyway. For the last two people in the world that still want him alive, because the third had given up his life for him.
Omid and Christa are the ones that find him, and Omid somehow manages to crack a joke at Ben’s state. He laughs, even if it hurts.
They find Clementine, later, a gun in her shaking hand, and Ben holds her as she tells him Lee is dead because of her.
Ben understands having someone’s blood on his hands, even as they’re coated in his own. He wipes the blood off on his jeans, and Clementine takes his hand as they follow Omid and Christa away from Savannah.
-
They make their way north slowly, and Ben’s untreated injury helps little. He suffers through the night, body wracked with shivers and shakes and nightmares. Even Omid looks somber the next morning, barely able to look Ben in the eye, especially every time Clementine takes his hand. No one mentions it, but Ben’s sure he’s going to die this time. He tries his best to keep up with the group, determined not to hold them back. Not again.
It’s a strange blessing when he watches Clementine run up to Omid and Christa after she finishes scouting out a new building. The two of them practically carry him into the building in their haste, and once he’s inside he sees why.
There are cabinets filled with medicine and supplies, and it’s like the station wagon all over again. Ben wants to reference it in jest, but Omid and Christa weren’t there and Clementine hadn’t been in favor of them stealing in the first place. But now she rummages through the bags, finding the items Christa calls out to her.
When the needle and thread hit the table they laid him out on, Ben desperately wills himself to pass out again. Christa tells him to keep calm, to try his best not to make too much noise, and it’s all he can do not to let out a startled whine just when she removes the blood soaked bed sheet wrapped tight around his stomach.
He grips the sides of the table as hard as he can and closes his eyes just as much. But the moment the needle hits his skin he tries to bolt upward, only for a pair of hands to push him back down.
"Man, you're like our cat when we try to give him a bath. Try to relax, okay? Christa will fix you right up."
"I'm going to try." Punctuated by another sharp pinch in his stomach.
"Well, at least I've got the bedside manner."
Ben grits his teeth and chances a look to his right. Clementine’s hands are balled into fists held close against her mouth, and her eyes are locked on Christa’s hands slowly sewing him back together. When she notices him staring at her, she rushes to his side.
"I'll be all right," he tells her, as if they've never heard it before, like it's never gone the exact opposite.
She nods resolutely, mouth set in a hard line, and she places her small hands over one of his. "You will. Christa will fix you."
He lets himself lean back, and counts the seconds until everything stops hurting so much.
He wakes up the next morning feeling noticeably less like he’s about to die, more like he’s been run over by that train. But still, he’ll take the soreness over Clementine having to see another person die in front of her.
Walking, however, still presents a problem. Putting weight on his legs and actually having them carry him forward keeps them at a snail’s pace, and when Omid tries to offer his shoulder they stop almost instantly. Ben tries not to tease Omid about being too short (he has to bend forward to actually lean on Omid’s shoulder, which stresses his wound), but Omid beats him to it.
Clementine finds a long branch for him to lean on and, considering it gets them moving, it’s better than nothing. She stays in the back and keeps step with him; even injured, his strides are still longer than hers.
"Lee's dad used to have a cane, too,' Clementine says. "I think it makes you look pretty cool.'
The group can only a manage a slow pace with him there, but still Ben’s spirits rise. Even if he suddenly feels like he needs to step into shoes too big for him to fill.