Beyond The Oath- Pt. 4: Paul
Healing hands. A broken world. A love that means surviving together.
Paul (Callahan) TWD The Oath x OC Doctor Liz Prescott
Warnings/Tags: 18+ | Mature Themes | Gore & Blood | Fear | Loss | Language | Slow Burn Romance | Hospital Setting | Survival Horror | Assault | Kidnapping | Zombie Violence
Summary: Paul does what he does best, he helps people. Unfortunately, this world has a way of punishing good intentions.
a/n: I did originally have this to be apart of the last chapter but I had a few things to finish with Paul’s, plus it felt right to seperate the two chapters.
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Doctor Morrow led the way, pushing an empty wheelchair down the dim corridor, its wheels whispering over the tiled floor. Paul followed close behind, axe gripped in his hand, the weight of it familiar now in a way he didn’t like thinking about.
He’d already had to put down a few of the dead to get this far, clean, brutal swings that still echoed faintly in his arms, but they’d made it to the small cluster of rooms off the ER where Morrow had stashed the patients.
Two of them waited inside. An older woman sat stiffly on a gurney, her leg wrapped in a thick cast that ran from her knee to her foot. Her hands trembled in her lap, knuckles white, eyes glassy but alert. Beside her stood a young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty, an IV drip still taped into his arm. The bag hung from an IV pole he dragged along with him, its wheels rattling softly every time he shifted his weight.
“You’ve got the axe, stay with him.” Doctor Morrow said, gesturing toward the young man. His voice was steady, clipped, the way people sounded when they were holding the panic at arm’s length. “I’ll follow with her.”
Paul nodded and moved in without hesitation, slipping his arm around the young man’s back, feeling how unsteady he was, how much weight he leaned into him. Paul adjusted his grip, axe still in his other hand.
“We’ll head back out the way we came and take my ambulance,” Paul said.
Doctor Morrow nodded once, already helping the woman into the wheelchair. A few moments later, they were moving, slow and careful, toward the exit, every sound amplified in the hollow quiet of the hospital.
Paul led the way, the young man half supported at his side, Doctor Morrow following behind with the wheelchair. Somewhere down a branching hallway, a scream tore through the air, high, raw, and abruptly cut off. Paul didn’t look toward it. He didn’t let his pace change.
Another corridor ahead was blocked with abandoned stretchers and overturned carts, metal tangled together like a barricade made by panic. They veered away from it, retracing their path toward the ER.
They were almost there, close enough that Paul could picture the ambulance bay in his mind, when they rounded a corner and ran straight into a cluster of them.
Former patients. Staff. A nurse in scrubs, her face slack, blood dried dark along her collar. A man in a hospital gown dragging one bare foot behind him, skin torn open along his calf. Their movements were wrong, jerky and hungry, mouths opening as one when they saw them.
Paul swore under his breath.
“Wait here,” he said sharply, guiding the young man back a step. He shifted him against the wall, making sure he could stand, just barely, then stepped forward.
The axe came up and down in a brutal arc. Bone cracked. A body dropped. Paul shoved another back with his shoulder, then swung again. He didn’t linger, only cleared their way.
He grabbed the young man again, hauling him along as Doctor Morrow followed after them, pushing the wheelchair quickly. Paul angled them down a side hallway, away from the ER, away from the bay, toward the cafeteria. He didn’t love the choice, but it was clear, and clear mattered more than ideal right now. He’d have to figure out another way to get to the rig. To get back to her.
They reached the cafeteria, breathless and shaking. The lights inside were low. The heavy double doors were locked.
Paul slammed his palm against the glass. “Hey! Open up!”
Movement stirred on the other side. Faces appeared, wide eyed and alive. After a tense moment of recognition, the doors cracked open just enough to let them through.
Inside, Damon, a security guard that often worked the main lobby, stood front and center. Broad shouldered, jaw tight, keys clipped to his belt. People clustered behind him. Some visitors, a few doctors with patients, a nurse with blood on her sleeve, all huddled together like prey.
“We came from the ER,” Paul said, breathless, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “I was trying to get them to my rig.”
“Those people are everywhere,” Damon said grimly. “We couldn’t get through.”
Paul swallowed, nodding once. His eyes flicked instinctively around the room, taking in the exits, remembering the layout of the surrounding hallways.
“I have someone waiting on me, Doctor Prescott.” he said. “I’ve got to get back to her.”
Damon studied him for a moment, then nodded in acknowledgment.
“We sent someone out,” the guard said. “He’s looking for a clear path. Just sit tight, catch your breath.”
Paul didn’t like it. But he nodded anyway.
They gathered near one of the long cafeteria tables. Doctor Morrow stayed close, hand resting on the wheelchair handle. The young man slumped into a chair, IV pole beside him. For a moment, just a moment, there was a collective exhale.
Time dragged on and the lights stayed dimmed. Outside the windows, shadows passed. Paul found himself staring, watching as the silhouette of one of the dead wandered up, thumped clumsily against the window, then drifted away again. He checked his watch.
Too much time had passed.
At least twenty minutes since he’d left her. Maybe more.
Liz’s face kept intruding into his thoughts, the way she’d looked when he’d found her, bloody, in shock. He’d have given anything to spare her from that pain. She’d trusted him though, enough to follow him, to stay hidden in the rig.
He’d pictured her there, alone, how scared he knew she was and she was trusting him to come back.
He’d never told her he’d loved her. So many times he’d wanted to. He always held off for ‘someday’. He knew this wasn’t the time, but the realization had hit him. That there wasn’t going to be anymore ‘someday’, only now.
He’d tell her. Once they were out, when she was finally safe. He would. He rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight, forcing himself to breathe.
A knock sounded suddenly at one of the front cafeteria doors. Everyone jumped.
“Hey, guys? I’m back,” a man’s voice called. “Open up.”
The guard motioned and a couple of people braced the door as it opened. A man stepped inside, mid-thirties, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked exhausted, but alive.
“There’s a shuttle bus waiting out front, I convinced the driver to wait but he won’t stay long.” he said quickly. “Front entrance is clear, for now. We can get everyone out.”
The room stirred with nervous movement. People grabbed bags, clutched hands, whispered prayers.
He turned to the guard, then to Doctor Morrow. “Liz is waiting for me,” he said again, firmer this time.
Morrow met his gaze, something knowing passing between them.
“We need you.” Damon said. “Wheelchair, IV, we’ve got people here that can’t protect themselves.”
Paul closed his eyes briefly, jaw flexing. In this moment her was almost torn, hating how much he cared.
“I’ll help you get there,” he said. “I’ll get them out and into the bus. Then I have to back.”
Doctor Morrow gave a tight, almost nod.
Paul adjusted his grip on the axe.
They moved as a group once the cafeteria doors opened, not running, but no one slowing down either. Shoes scuffed against tile, the wheelchair rattled, the IV pole clinked softly with every jolt. Someone whispered a prayer under their breath. Someone else was crying quietly, trying not to draw attention from the dead.
Paul took the rear instinctively, axe still in his hand. His head stayed on a swivel, every hallway mouth a threat, every shadow suspect.
The main lobby opened up ahead of them. The parking lot lights illuminated the dark outside. At the far end of the lobby, movement caught his eye, two of the dead, maybe three, dragging themselves toward the sound of the living. Too far to matter yet. Too close for comfort.
“Keep moving,” Paul muttered. “Don’t stop.”
They pushed through the front doors into the open air. The shuttle bus idled near the curb, engine rumbling, exhaust thick. The sound drew the dead like a beacon. Shapes were already converging from the edges of the lot, silhouettes staggering out from behind abandoned cars.
“Go!” he shouted, covering the last few people as they exited. “Get on the bus!”
The group surged forward. Damon went ahead, where he helped people up the steps. Doctor Morrow struggled with the wheelchair, the front wheels catching awkwardly.
“I’ve got her,” Paul said, already moving.
He’d handed the axe to Morrow, bent, and scooped her up carefully. She made a small, fearful sound, fingers clutching at his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless. “Just hang on, I’ve got you.”
He carried her up the steps and into the bus, the interior instantly overwhelming. It smelled like sweat and fear and diesel. People were packed into the seats and standing in the aisle, bodies pressed too close, voices overlapping in sharp, frantic bursts.
“There… put her there,” someone said, pointing toward the back.
Paul pushed deeper into the bus, every step heavy. He eased her down onto an open seat near the rear, making sure she was stable, that her leg wasn’t twisted.
Then he heard it. The pneumatic hiss of the doors closing.
Paul spun around. His stomach dropped as the engine revved higher, the vehicle starting to roll.
“No, no, no, no,” he breathed, then louder as he pressed through the crowd to the front. “Wait! Stop!” panic blooming fast and hot in his chest. “Stop the bus! I need to get out!”
“I can’t!” the driver shouted, eyes wild, glancing in the mirrors. “They’re coming, we have to go!”
“Open it!” Paul yelled. “You have to let me out!”
Paul reached the door, attempting to open it but Damon stepped in to stop him. Outside, the dead were close now, hands slapping against the glass, mouths opening wide as the bus began to pull away.
“Don’t you dare open that door!” Damon shouted, moving between Paul and the door.
Paul’s vision tunneled. The noise inside the bus swelled, screaming, crying, someone begging him to stop, someone else shouting. The city roared outside, sirens in the distance, glass breaking somewhere nearby, the wet, unmistakable thud of bodies hitting metal.
“I told you,” Paul snarled, stepping forward until he was face to face. “She’s waiting for me.”
“You could kill us all if you open that door!” the guard shot back.
Paul shoved him aside and went for the door again. The dead were on top of them now, faces smeared against the glass, teeth clicking.
Hands grabbed at Paul from behind, one, two, three people trying to pull him back.
He felt like he felt like he couldn’t breathe. She was waiting. Trusting him. He couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.
“I have to go,” he said, voice breaking, raw and animal. “Let me go!”
Then without warning, pain exploded at the back of his skull.
The world tipped sideways. Sound collapsed into a dull, underwater roar. The last thing Paul remembered was dropping to the floor… and then everything went black.
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The first thing Paul registered was the sound of sobbing.
It seeped into him before consciousness fully returned, ragged, broken cries layered over low murmurs and the occasional sharp inhale of someone trying not to fall apart. His body felt heavy, almost pinned in place. Cold pressed against his back, it helped to ground him as he came to.
Light crept in through his eyelids as they cracked open, too bright at first, the world swimming in and out of focus. For a moment he didn’t move. He just lay there, breathing shallowly, letting the ache in his skull announce itself in dull, pulsing waves.
The ceiling came into view and he’d realized it’d been real, he was still on the bus.
Paul turned his head slowly. The bus was empty now, doors yawning open to the pale morning light. When he turned, he’d seen Doctor Morrow already on one of the bench seats, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Paul’s axe lay across the doctor’s knees, both hands resting over the handle as if he were guarding it.
Paul groaned softly and brought a hand to his head as he pushed himself to sit upright on the floor. Pain flared, sharp enough to make him hiss.
“Careful, son,” Morrow murmured. “You took quite the hit.”
“Wouldn’t have had to,” Paul muttered, voice rough. “If they’d just let me off.”
Morrow exhaled, slow and heavy. His fingers traced the worn grip of the axe before his gaze lifted to meet Paul’s.
“You know why we couldn’t let that happen.” he said, firmly but not unkind. “You scared them all back there, Paul.”
“You know I had a reason.” Paul shot back. He turned his gaze toward the windows, toward the road stretching away from the city. “Where are we?”
“Outside city limits,” Morrow said. “People needed to breathe. It’s been…” He paused. “a hell of a night.”
Paul glanced at his watch.
His chest tightened. He’d left her there all night, alone, afraid, with nothing but trust and hope to cling to. His pulse began to race, panic clawing its way back up his throat.
“I have to go back,” he said, already shifting forward. “I have to get back to her.”
Morrow shook his head, sorrow weighing down the motion.
“Paul… the place was swarmed when we left,” he said carefully. “There’s nothing in that city to go back to.”
“Fuck you! There is! She’s still there. She had to be.” Paul snapped, the words tearing out of him before he could stop them. His hands came up to cover his face, fingers digging into his temples. “God, if I hadn’t…”
“What? If you hadn’t tried to help?” Morrow finished quietly. “Could you have done anything else?”
“You’ve always had a heart for helping people,” the doctor went on. “I’ve seen it. That’s who you are. You did what you thought was right.” His voice softened. “I’m so sorry, Paul.”
“I need to get back, I have to find her,” Paul whispered. The thought sat like a stone in his neck. “I need to know.”
“And if she’s gone?” Morrow asked gently. “If you risk your life going back and she’s already…” he trailed off. “What then?”
Paul swallowed hard. His voice wavered. “I… I have to know. I need to know if she’s alive.”
“We can’t survive this if we don’t stay strong together. For each other.” He paused, choosing his words. “I know you love her, Paul, but those people out there, they’re alive and they need us.”
Paul stared at him, unblinking. He knew he was right, but that didn’t make his anger or fear fade.
“If one lives, we all live, right?” Morrow said.
The words settled into Paul like a weight he wasn’t sure he could carry. His heart ached with the image of her alone, or worse and the not knowing gnawed at him mercilessly.
Voices drifted in from outside the bus, growing closer. The other survivors. People just as terrified, just as lost. People who, whether he liked it or not, needed him too.
He sighed and rubbed at his head, the dull ache still pulsing beneath his skull.
“One lives, all live…?” Paul questioned quietly.
Doctor Morrow gave a somber nod. Handing Paul the axe.
She had to be out there. He clung to that thought with everything he had. Fragile hope, stubborn and irrational, was all that kept him upright. With it, he could endure. With it, he would survive long enough to try.
He didn’t know how he’d get back to her yet.
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