Hotel: Ash D & Shane A
[Shane returned to the hotel once Clementine woke up in the hospital, not wanting to make her see him there, not after everything. He still had two assholes to take out anyway, and as his and Graham's search for Alexander had ended fruitlessly, Shane came to lie in wait yet again.
He's reclining in the lengthening shadows, back to his door, when another, down the hallway, spews someone out. It takes a few minutes of squinting to make out the shape of a girl, dark hair fanned out, something darker beneath it. Blood.
It's spreading, too.
Slim wrists wrapped in soaked-through bandages, countless injuries, Shane stares down at the girl, but only for a second. He recognizes her, from Neil's basement. Ashleigh Donovan. The girl he swore he'd kill if she endangered his family more. Shane has always been good in a crisis. He squats, his gun tucked away, and he presses two fingers to Ashleigh's throat for a pulse. Those fingers then lightly, gently knead at the knobs of her spine where it meets the base of her skull. He's checking from fractures, for anything to tell him she's not to be moved.
She's still unconscious.
Shane smells like leather, sweat, and cigarettes, like a bar. He hasn't showered in days, but he doesn't give a shit. Quietly, leaning closer:] Wake up, little girl. Come on.