Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lights flicker back on, the TV rebooting, the same warning message plastered on the screen. Daryl’s phone buzzes several times in quick succession in his hand, and he checks the incoming messages.

(9:09p) ^signal is spotty i dont think a call will go thru but listen yall need 2 leave asap.^

(9:09p) ^u seen the warning? atlanta aint safe no more u gotta leave come home 2 my place n we’ll figure out a plan from there.^

(:09p) ^take supplies but only wut u need idk when ull get 2 go back home shits crazy plz b safe^

“Is that Merle again?” Carol asks, sliding onto the floor and scooting over beside him. Daryl holds the phone out and lets her read it. Her eyes scan the screen before she pulls back, shaking her head. “I don’t understand,” she says.

“Me neither,” Daryl says. To the rest of them he explains, “Mere’s sayin’ that whatever that shit they got blaring on every channel is legit, and that Atlanta ain’t safe.”

“Safe from what ?” Michonne asks.

“The message warns us not to go outside,” Maggie points out. Daryl can offer nothing, as he’s just as lost.

(9:12p) -msg says it aint safe 2 leave the house-

It takes more than twenty seconds for the message to decide to send, but Merle’s fast reply makes up for the lag.

(9:1p) ^dont listen 2 them listen 2 me u need 2 get out now get those babies safe n DONT GET BIT!^

At the mention of his kids Daryl feels fear seep through his confusion for the first time. If Merle is to be believed, does that mean his children are in danger?

“Why don’t they give any details?” Glenn asks, nodding at the TV. “They say we’re supposed to avoid people who are infected, but how are we supposed to know who is and who isn’t if we don’t even know what they’re infected with?”

“I’m gonna see what I can find online,” Carol says, whipping her own phone out. While she does that, Daryl turns to Rick.

“What do you think?” he asks him. Rick pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb, thinking hard. The fact that he’s uncertain is enough to worry Daryl. A man of the law, Daryl would assume it would be Rick’s immediate instinct to go with what the government orders are over hearsay. 

“Oh my God,” Carol says then. They all find her staring unblinkingly at her phone, eyes wide, mouth partially agape.

“What is it?” Daryl asks. In response, Carol situates herself so that everyone can see over her shoulders. She restarts a short fourteen second video.

It takes a moment for it to play, the internet connection spotty, but when it does Daryl instantly understands Carol’s alarm.

It’s a shaky video, filmed on a phone camera. There is a man yelling something, gesturing frantically for people to flee. All around him are people running and yelling and then, out of nowhere, a person collides with him, and with no preamble, takes a bite out of his neck, just like that. The video cuts off right as the blood begins to spout.

“Where’d you find that?” Daryl asks quietly. None of them seem capable of moving.

“It was in the comments of a news article,” Carol says, voice flat and distant. They all startle at the rattling vibration that suddenly fills the room.

“That’s you, Glenn,” Maggie says, grabbing Glenn’s lit-up phone off the coffee table and handing it to him.

“It’s my sister,” he says, checking the caller ID. He swipes up to answer and puts the phone to his ear. “Grace…?” He frowns, shaking his head, confused. “Grace, slow down, I can’t understand... What? No that’s not...Grace…? Gracie, you’re breaking up. Grace? Gracie, hello?” 

Glenn tries to get her back on the line with a few more hellos and desperate attempts at saying her name, before conceding defeat and letting the call drop. He lowers his arm down to his lap and looks at the others with a carefully neutral expression.

“What was that about?” Rick asks. Glenn takes a steadying breath.

“That was my sister,” he says slowly. “She just said that my brother-in-law is dead.”

There’s a ringing silence.

“Are you sure, babe?” Maggie asks quietly. Glenn shrugs, face vacant.

“That’s what she said.”

“How?” Carol asks, trying to sound gentle while still probing for more information. 

“I’m not sure,” Glenn says, cringing as he’s forced to recall the conversation. “She was hysterical, I could barely understand her, and the connection was bad. All I could really make out was her saying, ‘Dan is dead,’ and then repeating ‘he was bit, he was bit, he was bit.’” 

Bit. Like the TV warning said. Like Merle’s instructions said. Like the man in the video was.

“Briar?” Daryl asks of Glenn’s nephew. Glenn gives him a helpless shake of the head.

“I don’t know.”

“Your sister doesn’t even live in Georgia, she lives in Birmingham,” Rick says, a crease in his brow.

“Do you think this is a national thing?” asks Michonne.

“If Alabama is affected then we at least know it’s not confined to here,” Carol says. She’s looking at Daryl, speaking silently to him. He nods in understanding.

“We gotta make sure our kids are safe,” he says to the others, voicing their quick, nonverbal conversation aloud. 

“But what does that even mean?” Glenn asks. He’s pale, shock overtaking him. “Do we listen to the CDC message and stay, or do we listen to your brother and go?”

Daryl swallows, turing to Rick again.

“I’m up for suggestions,” Rick says. Daryl chews on a cuticle, mind racing through all the options and trying to pick the best one.

“My brother ain’t the most educated man, but he knows survival,” he says slowly. “If he says it ain’t safe then he means it. And look at it this way—if this really is some disease that’s passin’ person-to-person, don’t it make sense to go to where the people ain’t ?”

“Everybody within driving distance is going to be trying to get to Atlanta,” Carol adds. “People are gonna think the big city must be a refuge and will flock to it in a mad rush. Daryl’s right—if whatever this is is contagious then the last place we wanna be is stuck in a crowd.”

Rick clicks his tongue, considering the argument.

“But if you’re wrong then we’ll be miles away from where the resources are,” he says.

“But we’ll have Merle, and between him and me we got enough survival trainin’ to find the resources if we gotta,” Daryl says.

“And worst comes to worst, we turn around and come back,” says Carol.

The group exchange unsettled, uncertain looks. 

“We go?” Rick asks finally. The question, though said to the room at large, is directed at Daryl.

“Yeah,” Daryl says with more confidence than he feels. “We go.”

*

Daryl and Carol go into the kids’ room, the flower shaped nightlight in the corner giving everything a dim, golden hue. Daryl goes to Jesse’s bed and scoops him up into his arms, trying not to wake him, but he fails when the little boy blinks his bleary eyes open and squints at Daryl.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. He glances at the window where outside it’s dark. “It’s not morning yet.”

“No it’s not,” Daryl says softly, rubbing his son’s back. “But we gotta go for a ride.”

“Why?” comes and equally sleepy voice, and Daryl looks over to where Carol has Josie held close in her own arms. Josie’s long hair is tangled and she rubs her tired eyes with her fists. 

“Something’s going on so we need to go to your Uncle Merle’s house for a little while,” Carol whispers to Josie, who frowns.

“What something?” she asks, never one to miss a trick. 

“Nothin’ y’all gotta worry ‘bout right now,” says Daryl, adjusting Jesse on his hip. “Everything’s okay, but we gotta get goin’ here right quick, alright?”

“I’m sure your Uncle Merle will be glad to see you. He’ll be able to give you late birthday hugs,” Carol adds.

“Will Auntie Barb be there too?” asks Jesse, resting his head on Daryl’s shoulder.

“We’ll go see her,” Carol says.

“Is Henry coming with?” Josie asks.

“Yep, and he can sit in the backseat with you, how’s that sound?”

Jesse, taking his parents at their word, yawns and snuggles in closer to Daryl, hardly even awake. Josie, on the other hand, while just as sleepy, isn’t so easily convinced.

“You said Uncle Merle couldn’t come visit for our birthday ‘cause he’s got lots of work,” she says, pushing messy strands of hair out of her face. “Won’t he be too busy for us to go to his house?”

“He doesn’t work at nighttime,” Jesse reminds his sister, his eyes closed. The crease in Josie’s brow deepens. She asks,

“But won’t he be sleeping if it’s nighttime?” 

“Baby,” Carol says gently to Josie. “I know you have a lot of questions, and we’ll answer them, but first you just gotta trust momma and daddy, okay?” 

Josie twists her mouth and looks at Daryl.

“Daddy?” she asks. Daryl merely nods and that’s good enough for her. “Okay then,” she says, granting them permission. “I want teddy, though.”

“Mm, me too,” Jesse mumbles against Daryl. In response, Daryl reaches down to Jesse’s bed to snatch his ratty teddy bear with a big number two plastered on its belly. Carol does the same with Josie’s number one teddy, and both kids cling to their stuffed animals like safety blankets, placated for now. 

Outside seems like any other night—nothing seems amiss from the few hours ago when they were celebrating birthdays and shooting the shit—but there’s now an uneasiness among the group of friends as they loiter by their respective vehicles.

“Maybe I should go to the station,” Rick says, fiddling with his keys. “Make sure they don’t need my help. Michonne could ride with one of you guys, and I could catch up with you later.”

Daryl would never be able to explain where the following feeling came from, but like a punch to the gut he gets the most intense intuitive sense he’s ever had, and is instantly convinced that if Rick leaves them now they will never see him again.

“No,” he says, sharply enough to startle the drowsy kiddo in his arms. Daryl presses a reassuring hand on the small of Jesse’s back before saying, calmer, “You gotta come with us. We all go or none of us do.” 

For a moment there’s nothing but the jingling of Rick’s keys and the rhythmic cadence of the last of the season’s cicadas in the trees. Rick then gives a solid nod and the knot in Daryl’s chest loosens by a degree.

“Do you have…” Daryl starts and then pauses, frowning down at Jesse, not wanting to raise any alarms. “Are you packing?” he amends, hoping it’s cryptic enough.

“Does he need to be?” Glenn asks with his eyebrows raised. Daryl shakes his head.

“I dunno, but I’d rather not find out in a situation where we really wish he was.”

“I am,” Rick confirms, gesturing at his car with his head. “And maybe...maybe you should be, too.”

Daryl chews on his lower lip. He exchanges a glance with Carol, who’s stroking Josie’s hair. She gives a miniscule nod.

“Let me get the kids situated,” Daryl says. “Then you and Glenn can come give me a hand out back.”

“Don’t forget Henry,” Josie reminds her parents as they buckle them into the van.

“Oh!” Jesse says then, suddenly alert. He puts a hand on Daryl’s forearm. “I forgot Stew.”

Daryl huffs a small laugh as he adjusts Jesse’s seatbelt. He gives his son a kiss on the forehead and promises, “No pets are gettin’ left behind, alright?”

“Okay,” Jesse says, relieved. He rests back and holds his teddy bear close to his chest. Daryl gestures for Carol to follow him.

“We’re right over here,” she tells the kids. “We just need to make sure we have everything before we go.” She pats the roof of the van and, leaving the door open to give the twins some air, walks out of earshot of them with Daryl.

“You okay?” Daryl asks her before anything else, running a thumb down her cheek.

“I’d be better if I had some answers,” she says. Daryl hums in agreement. “I tried messaging Auntie, but she hasn’t responded.”

“Try not to worry yourself over it; could be for a whole lotta reasons. Maybe her reception is fucked, too. Or hell, maybe she’s already in bed. We’ll check on her once we talk to Merle and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Mm,” Carol says. She glances over to where Glenn and Rick are talking and says in an undertone, “Do you really think Glenn’s brother-in-law is dead?”

“I dunno why Grace would say sometin’ like that if it ain’t true,” Daryl says with a grimace.

“ Dead , though?” Carol asks, hugging herself, shoulders tense. 

“C’mere,” Daryl whispers. He tugs her to him, tight as the kids’ grip on their teddy bears, and rubs her back for several seconds. “Whatever’s goin’ on we’ll figure it out. ‘Sides, it might end up bein’ nothin’, who knows?”

“I dunno, Daryl,” she mutters against him, and he can feel her shiver and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the autumn chill. “I got a feeling in my gut that it isn’t nothing. I’m afraid that it might actually be a really big something.” 

Daryl doesn’t say anything, because he isn’t one to lie, and he doesn’t think it’ll help anything to tell her he’s feeling the same way.

*

“Dear lord, it’s a good thing you aren’t a homicidal maniac,” Glenn says when Daryl unlocks his shed and opens it to reveal his several rifles, knives, and crossbow. He snorts.

“I hunt, remember?” he says, pocketing his keys and doing a mental debate on what all he should take.

“Would it be overkill to suggest you take all of it?” Rick asks, clearly on the same wavelength.

“What exactly do you expect us to encounter that would require us to be armed?” Glenn asks, eyeing the weapons warily, as though they may attack him on their own accord.

“Hopefully nothing,” Rick says.

“But if there’s really people out there takin’ chunks out of other people’s necks…” Daryl trails off. Glenn grimaces.

“We’re taking these so we can shoot people ?” he asks quietly. A heavy beat passes between the three of them.

“Now without warrant. Obviously I’m not suggesting anything illegal, but it’s perfectly within our rights to defend ourselves if it becomes necessary.” Rick says this like it’s meant to sound reassuring, but if anything Glenn appears even more doubtful.

“I gotta keep my kids safe, man,” Daryl says to Glenn. They exchange a significant look, and Glenn finally relents with a sigh. 

“Okay,” he says, defeated. “Load up, I guess.”

“You should take some for your truck,” Daryl says to Glenn. “In case we get separated and...I don’t even know. That’s why you should—’cause we don’t know.”

“I don’t have a concealed carry permit,” he says.

“Maggie does,” Rick says. “I signed it myself.”

Glenn twists his mouth, wringing his hands. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles.

“You ever shoot a gun before?” Daryl asks, lifting out one of his rifles and handing it to Rick.

“Guess,” Glenn says flatly.

“Well hopefully you won’t have to,” says Rick. “You take a rifle, let Maggie be in charge of it, and we’ll give you a couple knives. That good?”

“Not a damn thing about this is good,” Glenn says, sobering Rick’s optimistic tone in an instant.

“We don’t know any details about this, and your conversation with your sister got cut short. Maybe there was more to the story than what she said. Nothing is confirmed,” Rick says. Glenn sets his jaw, kicking dirt with the toe of his tennis shoe.

“You didn’t hear her voice,” Glenn says. “You didn’t hear what she sounded like.”

“What’d she sound like?” Daryl asks, running a hand along the handle of one of his knives absently. Glenn keeps his head down for a long moment before forcing himself to meet their eyes. He says,

“Terrified.”

*

Daryl skims every room in his house, trying to figure out what should be considered “essential.” Some water, juice, and snacks from the kitchen for the kids; Henry’s kibble and leash and his favorite ball, of course; he snatches a few changes of clothes out of the laundry room in case they don’t get home right away. In the kids’ room he stuffs a few books and toys in a bag, along with some crayons and paper for Jesse, and Josie’s binoculars she uses to look at the stars. A pang goes through Daryl’s chest, knowing his kids haven’t had a chance to fully enjoy their new birthday gifts, but this will have to do for now. They’ll get the time, he tells himself, they won’t be gone forever.

(It’s a reasonable enough thought, so why does it feel like a lie?)

Daryl is about to step out of the room when he notices the small, red carrying case sat on Jesse’s bedside table. 

“C’mon, Cap’n BS,” Daryl mutters to the tiny salamander as he picks up the cage in one hand. “I got a lil’ boy whose heart would break into a thousand pieces if you got left behind.”

Daryl’s last stop is his and Carol’s bedroom. It’s much bigger than the one they used to have before they moved to Atlanta; much nicer and well-decorated, with Carol’s good eye for design evident between the walls. There is a creeping feeling of homesickness welling up in Daryl’s belly that he can’t seem to justify. They’re just going to his brother’s house until whatever this is blows over, and then they will come back to Atlanta, and he and Carol will curl up together in bed—maybe will even let the twins and the dog and maybe even the damn salamander up on it, too—and then they’ll go on with their lives. This is their home , and it’s going to remain that way.

Even as he forces himself to think this, Daryl runs a hand over the rumpled comforter neither he nor Carol bothered to make that morning. He ponders over the family photo in the frame sitting on the dresser, remembering how he never used to understand families that had group photos, and wondering if it’s considered essential enough to take with them.

No, he tells himself, if he gets hung up on every little sentimental thing his damn bleeding heart will have him packing everything they own. Still, he can’t leave all of it behind.

He goes to the closet. On the top shelf, shoved in the very back, behind mismatched winter gloves, a few rogue hangers, and a random empty shoebox, is his locked safe. He pulls it down and sits it on the bed, entering the combination and popping it open with a click.

There used to only be one thing inside it, and that was his singular picture of his mother. Over time, however, other items have joined it. There is an ultrasound picture of the twins, a marble the color of fire, a letter Carol wrote him one Valentine’s Day, a small, leather bound notebook full of letters he’s written to his kids, and three coins. 

Daryl pushes around the other items and plucks up the coins into his hand. He examines each one. He hasn’t given a thought to them, maybe for years.

The first one is an ancient Greek coin with the face of the goddess Athena carved into it. It belongs to his headstrong, intelligent daughter.

The second ancient coin originates from Crete, and has a pattern engraved in it, making a labyrinth. It belongs to his creative, distinctive son. 

The third coin isn’t actually a coin at all, but a pendant—one that he had found on a dusty shop floor by chance. The face on it is ugly, with bulging eyes and a wide mouth, its hair wild and angry. The Gorgon. When Daryl picked up the pendant in Santorini and the shopkeeper told him it was to ward away evil he had laughed about it over dinner with his wife. But now? Now, after threading it between his fingers thoughtfully, he sticks the pendant into his pocket. He doesn’t believe in it—of course he doesn’t—but, well...what could it hurt? 

Daryl puts the other two coins back in the safe and shuts the box, screwing up the numbers to lock it again. He grabs it by the handle and carries it with him to the door, where he casts a final glance at his bedroom, his stomach still doing flip flops, and heads out to meet the others.

Outside, his friends are finishing dividing up what goes in whose car. Daryl walks in on a debate about whether or not they should make pit stops at the other two pairs’ houses. 

“We aren’t going to your place, you live in Atlanta proper, it’d defeat the whole purpose of avoiding the city,” Carol is telling Michonne. Michonne crosses her arms and sets her jaw, but concedes the point reluctantly. Daryl is sympathetic—if she’s feeling at all like he is, he understands why she’d want to go sort through her and Rick’s things—but Carol is right. They have very little information, but the one concrete thing they do have is the agreement to get the fuck away from Atlanta.

“What about a quick stop at our place?” Maggie asks. She must see Carol open her mouth to protest, because she quickly adds, “We’re only a few miles out of the way, and we’re further from the city than you are. We’ve got things there that may be useful. A few containers of gas, clothes that could fit Rick and Michonne since we can’t go to their apartment...more weapons.”

Daryl glances at the open door of his van and sees Jesse fast asleep with Captain Beef Stew’s cage sitting on his lap, and Josie nearly there, her fingers threaded through Henry’s short fur while the dog rests his chin on her knees.

“Why is everybody acting like we’re walking into a war zone?” Glenn asks, rubbing his face. Daryl—wired toward survival instincts at a young age—knows that her personally feels better with the weapons, and Rick, being a cop, obviously sees the merit. Maggie’s rural upbringing most likely parallels Daryl’s in that she’d rather be safe than sorry if they’re pulling away from the more populated areas. It doesn’t matter that they don’t know what the threat is—what matters is that there is a threat at all, and it seems to be a big deal, and while Glenn’s discomfort is understandable, Daryl isn’t willing to take the risk.

“No one’s shootin’ anything if we don’t gotta,” he tells his friend.

“But you want to be prepared in case we do,” Glenn finishes for him, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.

“We’ll stop at Maggie and Glenn’s,” Carol says authoritatively, cutting off any further discussion about whether or not they should be lugging around a goddamn arsenal. “Then we get on the road towards home.”

Again, Daryl searches out Rick, who’s already looking his way. Daryl nods in agreement with his wife, and Rick nods in acceptance of Daryl’s decision.

“Let’s go,” Rick says to the group at large. “And don’t lose each other, especially with reception being spotty. Whatever’s going on, I have a feeling we’re gonna want to face it together.”  

*

(10:29p) -so gd tired omg-

(10:29p) -kids r finally in bed i thot they was nvr gna go 2 slp-

(10:29p) -thnx again 4 all ur help 2day-

(10:31p) >Not a problem, brother.<

(10:31p) ~it was our pleomorphism.~

(10:32p) -uhhh wut?-

(10:33p) ~er... pleasure. sorry, that one was especially weird.~

(10:34p) -rite-

(10:34p) -anyway-

(10:34p) -ig i live in atlanta now?-

(10:35p) >Yeah you do! Finally Team Groupchat is all in one place!<

(10:36p) ~it's been literal years since we've all lived in the same town. it's surreal that we can just like...see each other whenever we want.~

(10:37p) >Definitely. Of course you two had to go live out in the boonies so it's still a twenty minute drive to get to your place.<

(10:38p) -beats an hr n a half-

(10:39p) ~tru dat. how are you and the fam settling in, daryl?~

(10:40p) -lol carol passed out like the sec she hit the bed-

(10:40p) -after yall left we looked @ all the boxes n then said fuk it n ordered pizza n havent touched shit xcept essentials-

(10:41p) >You'll get there.<

(10:42p) ~the kids doing any better?~

(10:44p) -kinda? jojo said "mb we shud go back home bc auntie barb n uncle merle prolly miss us" n jj told her "we have 2 live here now bc momma n daddy brought all our underwear 2 this house"-

(10:45p) ~sound logic as always.~

(10:45p) >Rofl, the kid is wise.<

(10:45p) >I'm sure they'll get used to it. Kids are adaptable, right? That's a thing?<

(10:46p) ~depends. briar was totes fine when my sister and brother-in-law moved to alabama, but he once threw a two hour long tantrum because i gave him a blue cup instead of his usual red cup, so like…?~

(10:47p) -been there-

(10:47p) -but yeah idk i hope they r ok w/ it soon bc i feel bad 4 uprooting them-

(10:48p) ~it's part of life. you're both still great parents, so it's not like this is gonna scar them forever.~

(10:49p) >How are /you/ feeling about it?<

(10:50p) -honestly? p gud-

(10:51p) ~yeah?~

(10:52p) -yeah better than i thot i wud feel. i miss our old place obvi but this feels more like a home u kno?-

(10:52p) -like a place the kids can grow up n carol n i can call ours 4 a long time-

(10:52p) -idk i like it i like the feeling-

(10:53p) >So you aren't regretting the move yet?<

(10:54p) -nah im thinking it was a gud idea-

(10:55p) ~that's good, because i'd be annoyed if i helped you move and you ended up turning right back around.~

(10:56p) >You carried like, pillows and all the light boxes.<

(10:57p) ~i have a supple, delicate frame.~

(10:58p) >Just say you're weak, Glenn, it's okay.<

(10:59p) -lmfao-

(10:59p) -on tht note im goin 2 bed cuz i actually did carry heavy shit n im tired af-

(11:00p) ~fair enough. goodnight, friend.~

(11:00p) >Night, brother.<

(11:01p) -gnite-

(11:02p) ~welcome home.~

*

They hit I-75 shortly after stocking up at the Greene-Rhee household, and it quickly becomes evident that their earlier assumptions had been correct. On their side of the interstate, as they drive in a caravan with Rick and Michonne in the lead, the stretch ahead and behind them is vacant. Across the median, however, there’s a traffic jam that belongs on the I-405 in Los Angeles at rush hour. The problem is that it’s eleven PM in Georgia. Cars are bumper-to-bumper, and horns are blaring to no avail, all of them stuck, moving by the inch.

“Jesus,” Carol breathes, careful not to wake the sleeping twins (and dog) in the backseat. “What the hell is happening, Daryl?”

Daryl’s hands clench around the steering wheel on their own accord, his knuckles white. The alarm bells in his head that started ringing ages ago are only getting louder with each passing second. Instead of answering, he says,

“Mess around with the radio, will you? See if anybody’s sayin’ somethin’ worth a damn.”

Wordlessly, Carol fiddles with the knob in front of her, turning the volume on low. The first few channels are only static. She then lands on a station with a voice that’s cutting in and out.

“Continuing to give live updates...we haven’t...more information...blanket statements from the CDC...more reports are...of bizarre attacks...body count is up to the...looking like we may...the worst epidemic...go the way of the dinosaurs...only advice...don’t...bit, and make sure...go for the head.”

Carol clicks the radio off abruptly.

“Might be better to leave it on,” Daryl says, casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Carol drops her head in her hands.

“Not with them in the back,” she says, voice muffled. “It’s too much hearing that with my babies right here, totally oblivious.” She peeks up between her fingers. “What if this is serious, Daryl? What if we can’t protect them?”

Daryl reaches over and rests a hand on her knee.

“We’ll protect ‘em, sweetheart,” Daryl whispers. “‘Tween you and me it’d take a goddamn meteor crashing on top of us to keep us from making they’re safe.”

“You mean if we were to go the way of the dinosaurs?” Carol asks ominously. Daryl fixes his gaze on the white lines in the middle of the road flying past.

“Ain’t nothin’ happenin’ to you, me, or those babies in the backseat,” he says, squeezing her leg. “Swear on my life that’s the only thing that matters, and I’m promising you now, Imma keep you safe.” 

In his periphery Carol gazes out the window.

“Don’t make promises until you know what we’re fighting against,” she says. “Loving fiercely might make us strong, but there’s not a damn thing in this world that’ll make us immortal.”

“Don’t need immortality to keep my family safe.”

From the backseat Jesse mumbles in his sleep, and Josie shifts around to find a more comfortable way to rest her head.

“They’re so small, Daryl,” Carol whispers, watching the twins in the rearview mirror. “How can we protect something so small from something so big?”

Daryl remembers the day they brought the kids home from the hospital; how terrifying it felt to take his tiny children out into the big kid world. He bounces his left leg up and down, a twinge in the bone flaring up like it does now and then, especially when he’s stressed.

“It’s our job, darlin’,” he tells her quietly. “So we do it. We just do.” 

*

About forty five minutes into the drive they all take the off-ramp from the interstate and make a few twists and turns in a random small town until they reach a deserted one-lane highway. It’s a shortcut home they’ve all used at one time or another during a commute to or from Atlanta, and Daryl thinks he’s only ever seen a dozen or two other cars drive down this road in all these years. 

Their main light source are the headlights on their vehicles, and the abundance of stars they can never see in the city. They pass by a big, meaty chunk of roadkill. They go by quickly, but Daryl still gets a good look at it, but can’t immediately identify it like he usually can. It wasn’t a possum or raccoon or cat or anything that usually gets plastered to the asphalt. 

He thinks of the teeth sinking into that man’s neck and forces the image of the roadkill from his mind.

There is a single gas station on this stretch of highway; the only one for miles. When they happen upon it, Rick slows down and turns his blinker on with plenty of time for Daryl to get the message. He flips his own turn signal on for Glenn and Maggie, and, one-by-one, they pull into the parking lot, where the only two gas pumps smack dab in the middle have a single, empty car sitting next to it, the keys still in the ignition. The open sign on the window is flashing, fluorescent lights inside are shining, and a piece of paper on the door with a message written in Sharpie is advertising 24/7 service, but there is no one else around. 

Rick pulls up to the open gas pump. There aren’t designated parking lines, so Daryl and Glenn stop just ahead of Rick and turn off their cars. Daryl sees Rick get out of his car and head over to his and Carol’s van. 

“You good in here for a sec? Want anything?” Daryl asks Carol.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, giving his hand a little squeeze. Daryl squeezes back and hops out of the van, closing the door behind him gently. It’s chilly out here, and he hugs himself, rubbing his arms that aren’t protected under his thin flannel. 

“Wsup?” he asks Rick. Glenn joins them a moment later.

“We’re a little low on gas—could probably make it the rest of the way, but I figured we could make a quick stop. I tried calling you guys, but my calls weren’t going through,” Rick says. “I wasn’t sure how everyone was doing, or if the kids needed a potty break, or anything like that.” 

“Kids are still asleep, but I could take a piss,” Daryl says. Rick and Glenn snort.

“Are you and Maggie alright?” Rick asks Glenn.

“I’m assuming you mean in terms of our situation and not like, in general, right? ‘Cause in general I’m still shitting myself.”

“Shoulda said somethin’; coulda took a potty break earlier,” Daryl says, laughing when Glenn smacks his arm. “Whatever, I’m gonna go inside. Use the pot and maybe grab a soda or somethin’.” 

“I’ll go with, the pump’s on prepay only,” Rick says. They look at Glenn who shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, and the three of them walk the short distance across the parking lot, and Daryl holds the door open for the other two. 

The first thing Daryl notices once inside is that aside from them the place is totally empty, despite the other car at the pump. There isn't even a cashier. There are rows of sweet and salty snacks, a wall in the back full of cold sodas and juices and even some trash beer, and up front by the door there’s a small shelf with travel packs of pain meds, caffeine pills, and Five Hour Energy shots. One of the light panels is flickering, and there’s a staticy hum coming from the bulbs. 

“Do you hear that?” Rick asks then, and it takes Daryl a second to realize he’s not talking about the random white noise of the empty shop. After he strains his ears, Daryl hears a wet, sloshy sound that’s like an exaggerated version of the way Carol’s aunt smacks her gum between her teeth. 

“What the hell is that?” Daryl asks, knitting his brows together.

“Uh, guys,” Glenn says, taking a few steps forward and then stopping in his tracks. 

“What?” asks Rick. In lieu of a response, Glenn raises a hand with a slight tremble and points at a spot on the floor.

“Fuck me,” Daryl breathes. Up ahead of them, trailing in a smeared track around and behind an aisle is what surely can’t be…

“Is that blood?” Glenn asks, his voice cracking. Both he and Daryl look to Rick, who grimaces in confirmation. “What do we do?”

In response, Rick starts tentatively towards the line of blood. Daryl falls in step behind him, and he hears Glenn huff before following as well.

As they get closer, Daryl examines the scene like he would if he were tracking in the woods. The blood is starting to dry and crust around the corners, but the majority is still wet and red. The way the marks are laid out have the clear signs of something—someone?—being dragged. With a twist in his stomach, Daryl thinks he can even make out some gristle in the puddles. The trio pauses right before the curve the trail takes them to. Then, like ripping off a bandaid, they step around the aisle and are met with a horror scene.

They’ve found the source of the blood; it’s in the form of a limp man, soaked in red and torn apart, his shirt ripped clear through and the skin of his stomach clawed open, his innards reduced to slop on the ground.

Above him is another man, this one dressed in a uniform with a nametag pinned to his shirt that reads, “Hello, my name is Chad! How can I assist you?” But this is no gas station employee. He’s bent over the dead man, hunched like a monster, hands gripping clumps of flesh and organ and bringing it up to his mouth as he sloppily chews and swallows. 

“Oh my God,” Glenn breathes. At the sound, Chad the Helpful Employee lifts his head and stares at them with milky, clouded eyes. His skin is grey like the man he’s making his supper, and his mouth hangs open, a wet, gaping maw, his lower jaw moving ever so slightly in a biting motion. He makes to stand, and that’s enough for Daryl.

“Go,” he says, no room for discussion. “We’re going now.” 

Glenn doesn’t need to be told twice, but Rick hesitates.

“We should do something,” he says, still staring at the scene in horror while the monster struggles to its feet.

“Like what ?” Glenn asks, sounding hysterical. “Dude, now is not the time to go vigilante on us. This is way above your pay grade, so come on .” He gestures hurriedly towards the door.

“Rick,” Daryl says sharply. Rick debates for another second before nodding absently and walking backwards towards the door. His slow steps turn into hurried ones, and he turns around and the three of them make a beeline for the exit.

“What do we do now?” Glenn calls out to the other two as they run towards their respective vehicles. Rick’s phone is already in his hand, but it’s only up to his ear for a second before he swears and stuffs it back into his pocket.

“Calls aren’t going through, I can’t reach 911,” he says.

“The fuck is 911 gonna do about this?” Daryl asks. “We need to just fucking go .” 

“Daryl, what’s going on?” Carol says, stepping out of the passenger side and looking at him in bemusement.

“Get back in the car now,” he says, snapping his fingers at her. She reels, taken aback by his tone. She opens her mouth to say something when a loud slam startles all of them. They turn to look at the front door and through the glass they see the monster slamming itself against it, until the door pushes open and it stumbles out.

“ Shit ,” Glenn yells. Michonne and Maggie’s voices are added to the mix, and Henry starts barking.

“Shut up all of you,” Daryl says, watching the monster amble its way towards them. “Get in your cars and don’t stop driving until we’re at my brother’s house.” There’s a beat where no one moves. “ Now! ” 

Sense seems to return to everyone at once. They pile back into their cars, slam their doors, and peel out of the parking lot with squealing tires. In his side mirror Daryl can see the monster holding its arms out, still walking after them even as they get further and further away.

“Who’s that man?” Josie says from the backseat, staring out her window, jolted awake from Henry’s barking. She wraps her arms around Henry.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” Carol says.

“Is it a bad man?” Jesse asks. 

“Listen to your mother,” Daryl snaps, and both twins startle quiet. Daryl sighs and tries to control some of his adrenaline before he amends, “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’m sorry. You either,” he adds to Carol. Carol looks like Daryl snapping at her is the absolute last of her worries.

“What happened in there, Daryl?” she asks, eyes wide. He shakes his head.

“Later,” he says. When Carol starts to object he gestures his head at the twins and she shuts her mouth, her lips in a thin line.

“Daddy?” Jesse asks tentatively, clearly unsure if Daryl is going to go off on him again.

“Yeah, baby?” Daryl says, gripping his hands into fists around the steering wheel and willing them to stop trembling, but the sight of that man splayed out on the linoleum floor won’t leave his mind.

“Is everything okay?” 

Daryl swallows hard, his pulse thumping in his temple like a drumbeat. He exchanges a glance with Carol.

“‘Course,” he tells his son. He looks in the rearview mirror, and while Jesse is nodding in acceptance, Josie is looking back with her brow furrowed. 

“Promise?” she asks him. Daryl wets his lower lip and tears his gaze away from Josie, not able to look at her when he says,

“Promise.”

*

They speed the rest of the way to Merle’s and make it there in record time. They pull up to his little plot of land around his shitty shack of a house and pile out of their vehicles. Rick and Glenn don’t appear to be feeling any better about what happened than Daryl is, and the women are shaken, too, but more confused than anything.

Daryl and Carol scoop a kid into each arm, and Henry jumps out and sniffs the ground. It took nearly ten full minutes for Henry’s hackles to lower and his growls to subside. The group of them head to Merle’s door and Daryl bangs on it with a fist.

Merle pulls open the first door and peers out at them through the screen one. He’s got a severe look on his face and is holding tension in his shoulders. He eyes each of them suspiciously, as if they were strangers.

“You bit?” he asks.

“What?” Daryl asks, exasperated.

“Are any of you bit?” Merle asks, enunciating each word clearly.

“No, man, the fuck are you talkin’ about? In fact, what the fuck is goin’ on at all?”

Merle does a once over all of them again, before letting out a long exhale through his front teeth. He opens the rickety, screen door and pulls both Carol and Daryl—and the twins by extension—into a crushing hug.

“C’mon inside now,” Merle says, taking a step back and addressing the lot of them. “Lotta shit’s been goin’ down and you gotta get caught up. In you get—” He steps aside and gestures for them to file in. “—Imma fill you in.” 

Chapter Text

The inside of Merle’s house is as predictable as always. He has secondhand furniture, and old carpet with stains that have been there probably since the turn of the century. Daryl knows his brother tries to smoke his cigarettes outside specifically for when the twins are over, but even still there’s a faint scent of stale smoke that is embedded in the walls. There is no sign of female influence at all. When they come inside, Merle shoves a few soda cans and old pieces of mail off the couch, and moves a few dirty plates off the armchair. That being said, there isn’t any sign of anything nonkosher—not even a stray bottle of beer is in sight. He does the best he can, his brother, and those efforts never unnoticed by Daryl. 

“Uncle Merle, why did you want us to come to your house at nighttime? Aren’t you sleepy?” Josie asks, arms looped around Daryl’s neck. The little girl is heavy with exhaustion, but is refusing to let it curb her curiosity. 

“Maybe he had a bad dream, like when I dreamed about that really, really big chicken and momma and daddy let me sleep in their room to make me feel better. Do you need us to make you feel better, Uncle Merle?” Jesse asks, snuggled up against Carol.

“Seein’ y’all always makes me feel better, Double Trouble,” Merle says, ruffling Jesse’s floofy mess of hair. “And a very happy birthday to the two of you. Wish I coulda come and partied.”

“There is still leftover cake at home,” Jesse says with a yawn. “You will hafta ask Joey if you can have some though, ‘cause she don’t like to share chocolate all the time.”

“He can have a little,” Josie allows. Merle smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mighty sweet of y’all to share, I’ll have to think on that. Tell you what, though, your uncle’s gotta have a grown up talk with the other adults, plus it’s way past your bedtime. Why don’t the two o’ you go lay down in my bed and try an’ get some shut eye so you ain’t cranky in the mornin’, alright?”

“Won’t you be cranky if you can’t go to sleep in your bed?” Jesse asks.

“Psh, you know me, I’m always cranky. Don’t worry none about that.”

“Is the grown up talk about that man at the gas station?” Josie asks. Merle falters.

“Er...what man, doll?” he asks.

“The man who walked funny that made daddy all shaky and yelly.”

Merle moves his gaze up from her to meet Daryl’s eye, who sets his jaw and doesn’t elaborate.

“We just got a lotta grown up things to talk about, but you don’t need to go worryin’ your pretty lil’ head over them. Everythin’s alright, okay?”

“But what about that man?” Josie insists.

“Baby,” Daryl says softly to his daughter. “You and JJ need to go get some sleep. You can ask more questions in the morning, but we ain’t got time right now.”

“I think that man was a alien from outer space and that’s why he was trying to chase us,” Jesse says to his sister.

“Why would he wanna chase us?” Josie asks, her tone the vocal equivalent of an eyeroll.

“‘Cause maybe he needed our car ‘cause his spaceship got stolen.”

“That’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“No one’s dumb,” Carol interjects. “But you two are going to go to sleep. Josie, I’m sure Uncle Merle will let Henry up on the bed with you,” she says, directing that last part to Merle expectantly. 

“Sure thing. Ain’t gonna smell no worse than that Craigslist bed already does,” he says.

“Can Stew sleep on the bed, too, Uncle Merle?” Jesse asks.

“Uh...who?” Merle asks, furrowing his brow. In response, Jesse holds out the red carrying cage he hasn’t let go of since they left Atlanta.

“Uncle Glenn got me a pet salamander and his name is Captain Beef Stew, ‘cause he’s a captain on my pirate ship like me.”

Merle blinks.

“Ah...yeah, man, Cap’n can join y’all. Best keep him in his cage, though. Salamanders don’t like bein’ held none. He can sleep in that, and that way he’ll be happy and won’t get squashed by y’all rollin’ all over the bed like you do.”

“Okay, I’ll keep him safe in his cage,” Jesse promises.

Daryl and Carol proceed to have the kids tell everyone goodnight. They take them to the bathroom, and get them situated on Merle’s lumpy, queen-sized bed. Jesse sits Stew’s cage on the bedside table, and Josie pats the mattress for Henry, who leaps up, walks in a circle, and lays down with his chin on her belly. Through the whole routine, Daryl channels his Dad Override, because during every second of putting his kids to bed he’s remembering what it looks like to see a person dig his hands into the stomach of another person and eat his guts like it’s nothing.

“I know everything’s kinda wonky right now, but try and rest, okay sweethearts?” Carol says, brushing hair off of both of the kids’ foreheads.

“Are we gonna see Auntie when we wake up?” Jesse asks, head already burrowed deep in his pillow and eyes closed.

“Yeah, we’ll go see her,” Carol says.

“What if something’s wrong with her?” Josie asks, not giving in to her exhaustion until she gets a few more questions in.

“Why would you think something’s wrong with her, sweet potato?” asks Carol.

“‘Cause everybody keeps acting funny and won’t say why, and Uncle Merle was scared that something was wrong with us. He asked us if we was bitted, remember? Why did he ask that? Why would something have bitted us?” 

Carol sighs at Daryl.

“Angel, listen to me,” Daryl says to Josie, cupping her face. “There’s stuff goin’ on, I know you’ve figured that out, but the grown ups got it handled, so I need you to trust us. Can you do that?” 

Josie chews on her lower lip in a mirror image of the way Daryl does when he’s thinking hard.

“Auntie Barb?” she asks finally.

“Auntie Barb will be just fine,” Daryl says. He leans over and presses a long kiss to her forehead. “Now sleep, baby girl, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Reluctantly, Daryl finally gets a nod from his daughter, and he and Carol finish tucking her and Jesse in. They leave the closet light on and the door cracked. In the hallway, Carol takes hold of Daryl’s wrist, stilling him.

“I still haven’t heard from her,” she whispers to him. “Nothing.”

Daryl runs his thumb over her knuckles.

“Try and stay positive,” he whispers back. The dead man in the gas station drips blood onto the floor in his mind as he says the words. 

“‘Try and stay positive?’” Carol snorts. “Have you met me?” 

“Fair. I’ll hafta stay positive for the both of us, I guess.”

“Wow, we’re fucked.” 

“Shut up,” Daryl says, smiling. He kisses her sweetly and rests his forehead against hers. “C’mon, let’s go find out what Merle knows. Maybe we can get some goddamn answers.”

“Alright,” Carol says. “But I’m not gonna lie—I’m kind of afraid of what those answers are gonna be.”

*

(1:51p) *You hunt right?*

(1:54p) -havent 4 a while but ya-

(1:54p) -y?-

(1:57p) *We're practicing debating in history class and one of the topics is the morality of hunting and I was wondering what your thoughts were.*

(1:58p) -i mean i do it so ig im 4 it?-

(1:59p) *Sound argument, as always.*

(2:00p) -lmfao stfu u kno im bad @ tht kind of stuff-

(2:00p) -wut do u wanna kno? like do i think killing animals is bad?-

(2:04p) *Yeah, or like, how would you justify it? As a hunter, what do you think about the moral aspect?*

(2:06p) -uh idk ig i think its p normal 2 kill 4 food-

(2:09p) *So like we're predators and animals are prey and that's just how it is?*

(2:14p) -more like i dnt think its wrong 2 eat meat and hunted meat is better anyway cuz animals tht r slaughtered live real fucked up lives-

(2:14p) -id nvr hunt 4 sport or nything like tht tho-

(2:17p) *Explain.*

(2:20p) -like i dnt get y ppl kill animals 4 fun i aint nvr gonna kill nthn unless i got a reason-

(2:22p) *So you're pro hunting for food, but not like, shooting pigeons bc you're bored, is that what you mean?*

(2:25p) -mhm-

(2:25p) -i respect wut im hunting does tht make sense?*

(2:26p) *Yeah I think I get it. I like that. It makes me less concerned that you're secretly a serial killer.*

(2:28p) -not sure y tht was a concern in the 1st place but ok-

(2:31p) *Lol!*

(2:31p) *I've never shot anything before.*

(2:34p) -it sounds creepy whn u say it like tht-

(2:36p) *Lmfao, well I haven't! I don't know how I'd feel if I did. I haven't even seen a gun in person.*

(2:37p) -guns r w/e but i prefer using my dads crossbow whn hes gone-

(2:39p) *Are you a good shot?*

(2:40p) -im a gr8 shot-

(2:42p) *You must be, bc you're not usually that confident.*

(2:44p) -¯\_(ツ)_/¯-

(2:46p) *Lol.*

(2:46p) *Can I see you shoot?*

(2:48p) -if u want-

(2:48p) -u staying over 2nite?-

(2:49p) *That was the plan, yes.*

(2:50p) -i'll show u my hunting stuff when u get off work if u still r interested-

(2:50p) -dnt feel like u gotta b it aint 4 everyone-

(2:52p) *Tbh I have this morbid curiosity about the whole thing. Maybe if you teach me it'll be less "omg scary guns", you know?*

(2:53p) -k well lmk im happy 2 show u-

(2:54p) *Thanks. :)*

(2:55p) -mhm. have a gud shift-

(2:56p) *Unlikely!*

(2:56p) *Later, Pookie. ;)*

(2:59p) -jfc-

(2:59p) -stop-

*

In Merle’s living room everybody is spread around. Rick, Michonne, and Maggie are on the couch, Merle is leaning on his forearms on the back of the couch, and Glenn is on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest. Daryl leads Carol to the armchair and has her sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around her waist and she places her hands on top of his.

“So what’s the deal?” Carol asks.

“We were waiting on you,” Glenn says.

“Well we’re here, so get on with it then,” Daryl says to his brother.

“Kids asleep?” Merle asks, glancing towards the hallway that leads to the bedroom.

“Yeah, they ain’t listenin’, so Imma need you to start talkin’, ‘cause I watched a dude eat a guy’s intestines like he was at a goddamn buffet and I need to know what the fuck that was about.”

“You what ?” Carol asks, shifting in his lap to see his face, her eyes blown wide. “At the gas station? What do you mean you saw him eating someone?”

“He means it exactly how it sounds,” Rick says. “The cashier, he’d killed this customer—I think that’s who he was; some normal guy getting gas like us—and he was just...ripping into him.”

“It was like a horror movie,” Glenn says, staring out at nothing, his voice distant, and Daryl knows that the same scene that's playing on repeat in his head is haunting his friends as well.

“So that is what really happened? Glenn didn’t just...I dunno, see things?” Maggie asks, her fingers clenching the couch cushion like a life preserver. 

“That’s what happened,” Daryl mutters, playing with a springy curl on the back of Carol’s head. To Merle he asks, “ Why did it happen, though?”

Merle swallows hard, scrunching his nose like he’s smelling something foul as he rubs the nape of his neck. He says, quietly,

“Went to the town over to meet with my sponsor—Bob, I mentioned him once or twice, yeah? Ex-military, a drunk, kinda obnoxious with the whole ‘glass half-full’ shit? But he was alright to talk to and he invited me over for supper now and again, so I was like, what the hell, right?

“So I get out there and know there’s trouble right from the jump ‘cause I roll up onto his property, and the first thing I hear when I kill the engine is this moanin’. Not no fun whoopie-type moanin’, neither, but like somebody's hurt. I get off the bike and go up to the house where I find Bob lyin’ on the floor of his porch just drenched—I mean, drenched —in his own sweat, and he’s there moanin’ and groanin’ and graspin’ at his leg, and that’s when I notice there’s a big ol’ chunk taken outta it. Clean through his sweats like someone came up and just bit on him he was a T-bone steak.

“I helped him inside and sat on his couch, and it takes a lil’ while to get any sense outta him, right? Not his fault, his brains had to of been boilin’ with how high his fever was. Coulda fried an egg on his skin, dude was a fuckin’ furnace.

“Finally, after I get some water in him, he gets some of his wits about ‘im and tells me he’d been bit at the convenience store a few miles north, and I’m like, no shit, but by what ? And this mother, he looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘not what— who .’

“Goes on to say he knows the chick—I guess he knew the owner of the store from way-back-when—but when he pulled up that afternoon there was somethin’ wrong with her. He said her face was all pale and her eyes were white like smoke, and when he backed away from her he tripped and fell, and that’s when she sank her teeth into his leg.

“By the time he got away and got home he was already startin’ to sweat. He sat out on the porch ‘cause the cool air felt better, and come two, three hours later when I pulled up, dude’s basically on death’s door.

“Tried callin’ 911, o’ course, but the lines was all busy, until suddenly they wasn’t even goin’ through at all no more. I sat with him—tried to get him to take some meds, or get in his truck with me so I could take him to the hospital—but he was too damn sick to move.

“I was lookin’ up fever remedies online when I got pulled into a million and one breaking news stories about similar shit happenin’. Every second there was somethin’ new. People were talkin’ ‘bout headin’ to Atlanta, ‘cause that’s where the CDC’s at, and then comments under that were people sayin’ the roads were blocked, and under that was people sayin’ they was stuck in the city with no way out and shit was spreadin’ like wildfire—it was hittin’ the fan, man. That’s why the second the official broadcast came on, the first thing I did was tell y’all to run, ‘cause otherwise I didn’t think you was gettin’ out.” Merle rubs his face and blows out a breath. “Thank god you did.”

“What happened to Bob?” Carol asks quietly. Merle keeps his head bowed.

“Died,” he says. “Right next to me on that couch. But then…”

“But then what?” Rick asks. Merle grimaces.

“Then he came back,” he says.

“Came back?” asks Michonne.

“As one o’ them. I had to...he was there, dead as a doornail one second, and I was tryna figure out what the hell to do about it, and then all of a sudden he was lungin’ for me, teeth snappin’, eyes crazy. I didn’t know what to...I broke a leg off a chair and I...Fuck, man, I bashed his fuckin’ head in.” 

Daryl can see his brother’s hands trembling.

“You were protecting yourself,” Carol says. Her grip on Daryl’s forearm is iron tight.

“I murdered my friend,” Merle says. To Rick, he asks, “That was murder, right?”

Rick opens his mouth and then closes it, shrugging helplessly.

“This is outside my jurisdiction,” he says finally, with no hint of irony in his tone, and Daryl doesn’t think he just means the county. This whole situation is way above any of their pay grades. 

“So what then?” Michonne asks, rubbing her temples. “This illness, whatever the fuck it is, is killing people and then making them come back as, what? Bloodthirsty monsters? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I do, but I saw what I saw,” Merle says. “And God knows I wish I didn’t—almost wish I fell off the wagon and this all was some bad trip—but I got clothes sittin’ in my washin’ machine right now that are covered in my friend’s blood, and it didn’t get there ‘cause I went and lost my mind.”

Merle’s face is green, like he wants to throw up, and Daryl can relate, because his own stomach is churning dangerously with the stress of it all.

“It tracks,” he mutters, grounding himself by breathing in the rose scented lotion Carol always wears. “With what we three saw at that gas station. Dude was up and movin’ around, but his eyes…”

“They looked dead,” Glenn finishes for him when he trails off.

“And the bites? That’s how it’s spread?” Carol asks.

“Far as I can figure,” Merle says.

“And there’s been nothing else besides the warning message from the CDC? Nothing to tell us what to do if we come across one of these…?” Maggie asks.

“Signals keep goin’ in and out. Nothin’ official from the government’s been said, big surprise there,” says Merle with a scowl. “Local news and some radio stations been givin’ out advice, but you gotta be able to access it, and my shit’s all cheap and don’t work great even when the world ain’t fallin’ apart. I stopped gettin’ regular updates hours ago. Y’all?”

“We heard a bit of somethin’ on the radio,” Daryl says. “They said there was a death toll, though we didn’t hear the number.”

“And they said something about going for the head,” Carol says darkly. “Was that...do you think they meant that’s how we, you know, kill, or, I mean, stop them?” 

There is an elephant in the room no one is wanting to address—a line Merle already crossed—and that’s the question of what the moral implications are if they come across someone who’s infected and they have to protect themselves. Suddenly those weapons in the back of their van seem a lot more daunting to Daryl now that it’s been suggested they may actually have a use.

“I can’t,” Glenn says then, broaching the subject none of them will touch. “I can’t kill someone. I won’t.”

“You think that now, boy, but I’m tellin’ you, when one of them things start baring their teeth at you like they’s about to make you their next meal, the instincts that kick in are nothin’ but pure primal shit. All you think about is survival. If it comes down to it, you will,” Merle says, and Glenn blanches. 

“‘Them things,’” Maggie repeats, her expression sour. “They’re people . That man was your friend.”

“What the fuck did you expect me to do? Let him kill me? The law allows for defense, lil’ missy, so jump off that high horse. You weren’t there.”

“I’m not saying what you did was right or wrong, but it seems dangerous to go down the path of dehumanizing the infected this early. We know next to nothing. For all we know there’s a cure and everyone that gets a stab to the head is someone who could have made it through.”

“You didn’t see it, Maggie,” Daryl says quietly. “What we saw in that gas station? Merle’s right. That weren’t no human no more. I can’t believe there’s any drug on Earth that could cure what we saw.” He waits for Rick and Glenn to back him up.

“There wasn’t any coming back from that,” Rick confirms with a sigh. Put out, Maggie turns to Glenn as a last resort. Very slowly, he shakes his head.

“I can’t kill them,” he says solemnly. “But there isn’t another alternative either.”

Maggie deflates like a popped balloon. Michonne puts a hand on her knee and squeezes. 

“We’re all scared,” she says, looking at Maggie but addressing the room at large. All we got to go on are crumbs of answers, and a couple horror stories. It’s late, we’re exhausted, and we’re confused. I say we try and get a few hours of sleep and see what we can find out come daylight, because we’re not getting anywhere right now.”

“We need to check on our families,” Carols says, and Daryl knows she’s thinking of Barb.

“We do,” Michonne agrees. “In the morning.”

There’s reluctant acceptance. Daryl isn’t sure anyone older than the age of six is going to get any substantial sleep tonight, but he and Carol get up anyway and help Merle lay out musty smelling blankets on the couch, chair, and floor.

“Do you guys mind if Daryl and I take the room?” Carol asks. “I need to be close to my babies right now.”

They get a chorus of “of courses” and “no problems,” and the two of them step quietly into Merle’s bedroom where both twins are out like a light. Jesse is on his back, breathing slow and deep with his lips parted, and Josie is curled on her side, hands gripping her brother’s pajama shirt, affectionate only in her sleep. Henry, who has moved to the end of the bed, lifts his head at Daryl and Carol when they walk in, the tags on his collar knocking together and tinkling like a tiny wind chime.

“Shh,” Carol whispers to the dog, scratching him behind the ear. “Thanks for keepin’ an eye on them, boy.”

Henry, who may have been claimed by Josie, but has never forgotten his first favorite, leans into Carol’s touch and gives her hand an affectionate nip.

Daryl unties his boots and kicks them aside before crawling into the bed beside Jesse. Carol does the same on Josie’s side. Wordlessly, they reach over the kids and grasp hands, sandwiching their twins between them, as though it will protect them from whatever dangers are lurking outside the bed. 

Daryl knows his wife well enough to know she’s surely sick of platitudes, and so he offers none. Instead, he gives her hand a squeeze and whispers, “I love you,” because that, at least, is one thing he can promise is fact. 

“Love you, too,” she whispers back. She rests her head down on the edge of the pillow Josie’s hogging, and kisses the top of the little girl’s head. Daryl nuzzles in beside his son, resting his forehead against his shoulder. They fall asleep like that, cocooned together, safe.

Safe , Daryl thinks, sleep overtaking him, for now . 

*

After a few hours of fitful sleep, Daryl is woken up by tiny voices whispering. 

“What do you think the grown ups were talking about last night?” 

“I think it was about the aliens.”

“It’s not aliens, dummy. There is no aliens anywhere. I saw it in a book.”

“Maybe they talk about aliens in the big kid books.”

“It was a big kid book.”

“Nuh-uh, you only read books that still have pictures. Big kid books only have words.”

“Well my books have more words than yours . You still read the kindergarten books.” 

“So what? We are in kindergarten, 'sides, I like pictures.”

“You won’t learn if your books don’t have lots of words.”

“Did you know stegosaurus's have four pointy things on their tails that they use to fight mean dinosaurs that are tryna hurt them?”

“No. Why do you know that?”

“I saw it in a picture book.” 

“Whatever, you’re being stupid.”

“Ok, fine. If it’s not aliens then what do you think it is?” 

“I don’t know. Something scary I think.”

“‘Cause everyone was being weird?”

“Yeah. Momma and daddy don’t let us get up really late at night unless something important is happening. Like remember when there was that big thunderstorm and there was tornado sirens and they woked us up at nighttime to go to the basement?”

“Maybe there’s a scary animal outside that we’re hiding from.”

“Why a animal?”

“‘Cause people keep talking about bites. Mean animals bite you, right?”

“Mm, yeah, that’s true. But that man at the gas station wasn’t a animal.”

“Maybe he got bitted by a animal and it made him sick. Like how Henry has to get a shot from the vet so he doesn’t get scabies.”

“Rabies.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“You think maybe there are animals with rabies and that’s what people are scared of?”

“No, I think it was aliens.”

“Your brain is so dumb sometimes.” 

“Don’t call your brother dumb,” comes Carol’s groggy voice on the other side of the bed. 

“Oh, hi momma, I didn’t know you was awake,” says Jesse, smiling a big good morning greeting like he does every day. 

“Momma, did you guys all talk about the grown up stuff? Did you fix it? Do we get to go home? How come we had to leave? Will you tell us why? Was it rabies? Was it—omph.” 

“I’ve been awake five seconds, baby, you gotta cool it with the questions at least until I’ve taken a piss,” Daryl says, reaching over and covering Josie’s mouth with his hand.

“Piss is a bad word,” Josie says, voice muffled.

“I’m the dad, I can say bad words,” Daryl says, pulling his hand back and stretching his stiff body out the best he can on the cramped bed. 

“Hi daddy,” Jesse says, smiling at him. Daryl ruffles his hair.

“Hey kiddo,” he mutters.

“Are we gonna go see Auntie Barb now?” Josie asks. At Daryl’s raised eyebrow she adds, “Oh, that was a question, huh?”

“We’ll go as soon as everybody's awake and ready,” Daryl says. He chews on his lower lip and to Carol asks, “Any texts?”

“Uh,” she says, patting around for her phone. “No. But I also don’t have service—oh no.”

“What?” Daryl asks, alarmed.

“I didn’t do any Duo yesterday. I broke my streak.”

“Oh my god,” Daryl says, throwing a pillow at her. “That’s it, I’m goin’ to go see who’s up and take a P.I.S.S.” 

“I know that spells piss,” says Josie.

“My streak was in the hundreds, babe.”

“I need something to feed Stew.”

“Goodbye,” Daryl says. He gets out of bed, rolling his head to ease some of the tension out of his neck. He notices the digital clock on the nightstand is blinking, stuck on “12:00a,” meaning the power must have gone out at some point last night at least once. He pads out of the room and uses the toilet, before going to check on the others.

It’s quiet in the living room. Michonne is curled up in a ball on the chair, with Rick sleeping at the base of it. Daryl walks past the couch where Glenn and Maggie are crammed together and sees that Glenn is awake, stroking his girlfriend’s hair, looking lost in thought, until he notices Daryl. He nods a greeting that Daryl returns.

“Merle?” Daryl mouths. Glenn gestures towards the front door, where Daryl can make out the shape of his brother through the screen. He mutters a thanks and heads that way.

Merle is on the stoop, taking a drag on a cigarette and surveying the yard like he’s waiting for something to pop out from behind the trees at any moment. He doesn’t acknowledge Daryl right away when he sits down beside him.

“How’d you sleep?” Merle asks after their silence has dragged on a few beats.

“Shitty,” says Daryl. “You?”

“Didn’t.” He ashes his cigarette and watches the cherry on it burn. “Couldn’t.”

“What’ve you been doin’ then?”

“Keepin’ watch.”

“That what we do now? Sit up all night keepin’ an eye out for monsters?”

“Don’t got a clue on what we do now. I’m just goin’ with my gut.”

“Yeah,” Daryl breathes, rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them up in the autumn morning chill.

“The kids?” Merle asks.

“Fine. Or fine as they can be. Jojo won’t let up—knows somethin’s goin' on.”

“JJ?”

“Head in the clouds like always. Thinks it’s either aliens or rabies.”

“Rabies?”

“Mhm, ‘cause he keeps hearin’ people talk about bites. He told Jojo it might be an animal biting people and makin’ ‘em sick.”

“Huh,” Merle says, twisting his mouth. “Kid might not be far off.”

“With the rabies or the aliens?” Daryl asks making Merle snort. “Carol needs us to go check on Barb. Me too. We ain’t heard from her.”

“Figured.”

“The others are gonna need to check on their families too.”

“Figured that too.”

“Rick’s parents are visitin’ friends in Minnesota, but Glenn’s parents are up by the school, and Michonne’s momma ain’t too far away. Was thinkin’ we split up, let everyone go check on who they gotta, and then we meet back up and head out to Maggiie’s daddy’s farm. Might be a safe place to hole up for a bit—won’t be nobody but us, you know?”

“You think it’s smart to split up? Phone service’s been off more often than not. Worse than it was last night. Might not be able to get in touch with one another if things go sour.”

“Town’s small, and we’ll pick a rendezvous spot and time. If someone don’t show up it’ll be easy to figure out where they was headed. This way we cover more ground quicker, and we don’t gotta fight over who gets to check on their family first.”

“Aight. I’m game. I’ll go with y’all, of course; follow you on the bike. You got anythin’ to protect yourself with? If it comes down to it, I mean?”

“Yeah. Got enough guns and shit in the back to take down all’a Georgia. Don’t let the kids know or see nothin’, though, okay? Keep all’a this under wraps for as long as you can. We don’t need to scare ‘em.”

“‘Course not. If it becomes necessity, though, you gonna have it in you to explain to them that they might hafta protect themselves?”

“ I’m gonna protect ‘em, Merle.”

“Ain’t sayin’ you won’t,” his brother says calmly, putting out his cigarette and flicking it into the yard. “But sometimes protection means givin’ someone the tools they need to watch their own back.”

“They’re six .”

“And there’s monsters walkin’ around. Normal rules don’t apply no more, baby brother. I just want you to be prepared for that.”

Daryl says nothing, resisting the thought of his kids having to defend themselves from anything, and knowing Merle is right at the same time. Beside him, Merle rustles around for something.

“Here,” he says a moment later. Daryl glances over to see Merle holding a sheathed knife out to him. When Daryl doesn’t reach for it, Merle says, “Take it, keep it on you, just in case. We’ll look at all the weapons we got later at that farm you was talkin’ about, but for now you hang onto that.”

Hesitantly, Daryl takes the knife from his brother and secures it in his belt.

“Do you think I’ll need it?” he asks. “Do you think we’re gonna have to do more of...more of what you had to do?”

Merle is silent at first, opting instead to pull another cigarette from his pack. The click of his lighter sounds as he sucks on the filter until the tip turns red. He lets a long stream of smoke blow out between his pursed lips.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I do.”

*

The drive to Carol’s aunt’s house is tense. In the passenger seat, Carol is radiating anxiety, her knuckles popping as she cracks them over and over. In the backseat Josie is clearly trying to bite her tongue of the millions of questions filling her little brain, and Jesse has the lid to his salamander’s cage cracked open while dangling a worm he found above it.

“Uncle Merle said Stew is knocked turtle,” he says to whoever’s listening.

“Nocturnal,” Josie corrects automatically, like she’s not even aware she’s saying it as she stares out the window, lost in thought.

“He pro’ly doesn’t wanna eat right now then, huh? If this is his bedtime?” Jesse drops the worm into the cage and shuts the lid, muttering something like, “That can be your breakfast for later, buddy.”

The trip is simultaneously too long and too short, the anxiety of waiting to get there mixed with the feeling of dread from what they may find overwhelming Daryl from both sides.

“It’s so quiet,” Carol says. She’s referring to the town around them. There are no other cars on the road, no one stepping out onto their porches to retrieve their morning papers, no kids out waiting for the school bus.

“It’s early,” Daryl says. 

“Not that early,” Carol mutters. Daryl doesn’t reply. Instead, he silently follows Merle, taking a right turn onto Barb’s street. They get to her house, Merle parking on the street, and Daryl pulling into the driveway. 

“She’s home,” he says. “Or least her car is here. Pro’ly means she ain’t on her way to Atlanta or nothin’, that’s good.”

“Mm,” Carol hums, not placated in the slightest. She glances in the rearview mirror and whispers, “Should we leave the kids in the car? Have one of us stay with?”

“Why would you leave us in the car?” Josie asks immediately, clearly paying closer attention than her distracted expression a few moments ago suggested. 

“Shush,” Daryl tells his daughter gently. To Carol he says, “I’d rather us all be together. That makes the most sense, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Carol says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Crack the window for Henry, then.”

Daryl does as he’s told and then helps get the kids out of the van. The twins hop out and he and Carol make them hold their hands to prevent them from running up to the house without them. The whole street is eerily vacant. The old woman next door, who always sits on her porch swing in the mornings drinking tea, is nowhere to be found, and that one small thing unsettles Daryl more than anything else, as though this one discrepancy is an obvious glitch in the matrix, and proof that things out here are Not Right.

Silently, all of them, Merle included, approach the front door. Even Jesse, with his ever-running mouth, seems to pick up on the mood, and his lips remain sealed. Carol raises a tentative hand to the door and knocks three times in rapid succession, following it up with a ring of the doorbell, which they can hear dinging faintly from inside.

They wait.

Nothing.

She knocks again.

Nothing.

Carol turns to Daryl, face neutral for the kids, but eyes worried. Daryl gives her a reassuring pat on the back before reaching out and trying the knob. It turns easily. He opens the door a crack and pops his head inside.

“Hey, Barb?” he calls out. “You here? It’s us and the kids.” In response he’s met with a chorus of meows, and a couple of Carol’s aunt’s less shy cats come sauntering over, mewling. Daryl pushes them away with his foot so they don’t run outside, and goes the rest of the way into the house. His family follows. He drops Josie’s hand, but warns, “Stay with us, okay?” Josie opens her mouth to ask a question, but stops herself when Daryl shakes his head.

“Auntie?” Carol says tentatively. 

“Probably she is sleeping,” Jesse whispers, still holding onto Carol. One of the cats brushes up against his legs, and he drops his mother’s hand in order to reach down and scratch under its chin. “I think the kitties are hungry. They yell like that when it’s breakfast time.”

“Auntie Barb never forgets to feed her cats,” Josie says darkly. No one says anything to that, but they all know she’s right.

“Imma check the kitchen,” Merle announces, his hand on his belt where Daryl suspects is another knife hidden, like the one he’d given to him.

While his brother rummages around in the next room, Daryl takes stock of the scene. He approaches the couch, and notices a half-empty glass of water with a thermometer sat beside it. Carol comes up next to him and sees it as well. He feels her tense.

“She had a fever,” she says in an undertone only he can hear.

“She checked her temperature at some point, that’s all we know,” Daryl says, ignoring her skeptical look. He starts to move away, when something catches his eye. Careful not to alert Carol, he squints at the back couch cushion. There is a small stain, easy to miss, but it’s the unmistakable rust color of dried blood. 

He doesn’t mention it, but he proceeds now with his hackles raised even higher, his own knife burning a hole against his thigh to remind him it’s there.

“Nothin’ in the kitchen or dinin’ room. Let’s check upstairs,” Merle says, joining them once again.

The five of them head up the stairs with Merle leading. At the top, the hallway is dark, the only light filtering in from the windows through the open door at the end. Daryl can make out a small lump of a shape up ahead, and he assumes it’s one of the cats. Cautiously, they make their way down the hall.

They’re almost there when Merle halts abruptly, flinging his arm out to stop the rest of them.

“Get the kids outta here, don’t let ‘em see,” Merle says sharply, but it’s too late. Josie stands stock still, hands flying up to grip Daryl’s sleeve, her eyes blown wide, and Jesse lets out a sharp scream, moving to hide behind Carol.

Daryl was partially right when he assumed there was a cat, because lying on the carpet is part of a cat. It’s fur is clumped and matted with blood. Its body has been gnawed on, and its flesh has been ripped from its bones. Daryl hardly has a chance to process the scene before he’s blindsided a second time. He hears a guttural moaning, and from the bedroom emerges Barb.

Except it isn’t Barb.

It has Barb’s face—her body, her hair, her clothes—but it isn’t her. This is something else; something inhuman. Its eyes are smoky white, and its teeth are bared as it walks with a limp towards them, arms reaching out at them like the thing at the gas station had done.

“Take the kids and go,” Daryl says to Carol. Carol doesn’t move, and Josie is still clinging to his arm, frozen. Jesse is the only one backing away, making a horrible whimpering sound that breaks Daryl’s heart even as it beats in double time with fear. “ Go ,” he shouts, voice coming from deep in his chest, and it’s enough to startle Carol into action. She gathers the kids up and starts shoving them towards the stairs. Josie resists, trying to look back at the scene unfolding in the hall.

Barb’s reanimated corpse ambles closer and closer until her fingers graze against Merle’s chest. Careful to avoid her teeth, Merle goes around her and holds her arms behind her back, stilling her in place.

“Do it,” Merle says to Daryl, sounding strained as Barb thrashes around in his grasp. Daryl’s fingers itch, inching towards his knife. Barb is snarling and snapping like a rabid animal. Merle says, louder this time, “Do it, damnit!”

He doesn’t give himself time to think. Daryl snatches the knife from his belt, unsheathes it, and in one fluid motion, drives it into Barb’s temple. It sticks at first, refusing to break through the hard bone of her skull, but he finds the sweet spot, and after a moment of struggle, the blade slides into the soft matter inside her head. Barb stops thrashing instantly; stops doing anything. Merle lets go, and she slumps to the ground in a heap, motionless. Dead.

Daryl, chest heaving, stumbles backwards and glances over at the stairs, just in time to see Josie’s wide eyes staring back at him, until Carol drags her away by the elbow.

Daryl leans against the wall, dizzy and weak. He tries taking in slow breaths. He looks at Barb’s body. The wound in her head is leaking blood that’s soaking into the carpet and into her massacred cat’s fur. 

Daryl vomits right there in the hallway.

*

After washing up in the downstairs bathroom, Daryl tries to find the nerve to go face his family on the front porch. He keeps hearing the whimpers of his son and seeing the terrified eyes of his daughter, and his stomach lurches all over again. He’d much rather lay on the bathmat in the fetal position and wait there until he wakes up from whatever bullshit nightmare this is. But it isn’t a dream. He knows this, and hates that he does, as he finally leaves the bathroom and goes out the front door to where everyone has gathered. 

Merle is smoking, leaning back against a pillar, eyes closed. Carol is rocking Jesse on the top stair, both of them crying softly. Josie is sat on the very bottom stair, curled in on herself, back towards them all. 

At the sound of the door opening, Josie glances over her shoulder. She takes one look at Daryl and pops up, running away around the side of the house.

“Josie, no!” Carol cries out, panicked, moving to stand, but Daryl puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and mutters,

“I’ll get her.”

Daryl follows to the back gate that Josie has pushed open. He steps into the backyard and finds the little girl in an even tighter ball on the patterned stone ground, her face buried against her knees. 

“Hey,” Daryl says softly, keeping at a distance. “You don’t gotta be okay with me right now, but you can’t go runnin’ off like that, alright? Shit’s dangerous out here, and I gotta know where you’re at. Don’t leave momma or daddy’s sight for nothin’, you hear me?” 

Josie doesn’t acknowledge him, but nor does she attempt to run again. Daryl decides to chance it, and approaches her. He hovers above her awkwardly for a moment, before sitting down on the stone as well. Without looking at him, she shifts a few inches away. Daryl sighs.

“I get it,” he says, picking up a twig off the ground and fiddling with it. “You saw somethin’ you shouldn’t have seen and I get why you’re scared of me."

Scared of him. He’s scary. Daryl can’t think of anything worse he could be to his children, but he can’t blame her. She just watched him stab her aunt to death with a knife. 

But then Josie surprises him by saying, muffled because she still won’t lift up her head, “I’m not scared of you.”

“No?” Daryl asks. “Then why’d you run away from me?”

Josie doesn’t respond right away. Daryl waits patiently until she finally decides to look at him, jaw set and eyes narrowed.

“I’m mad at you,” she says. Daryl nods.

“That makes sense,” he says. “What you saw—pro’ly seemed pretty bad.”

“Not that,” Josie says with a huff, like it should be obvious that’s not what she’s referring to. “You and Uncle Merle were protecting us. Something was wrong with Auntie. Something bad. You wouldn’t hurt her for no reason.” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Daryl agrees. “But if that ain’t the problem then why are you mad?”

“‘Cause you lied.”

Daryl blinks.

“Whaddya mean?”

“You said,” she informs him in a calculated tone. “That everything was gonna be okay. That the grown ups were gonna handle it. That Auntie Barb was gonna be fine. But everything is not okay, and Auntie Barb is not fine, and so you lied .” 

Daryl chews on his lower lip, frowning at the twig in his hand.

“I didn’t want you and your brother to worry. This ain’t somethin’ for lil ones to be concernin’ themselves with. It’s grown up stuff.”

Josie scoffs.

“That’s dumb,” she says. “Jesse and me are big kids.”

“Baby, you’re six.”

“So? I can read a lotta words, and Jesse draws the best out of everyone in our whole class, and Kyle at school still wets the bed but we don’t ever do that.”

“That’s true,” Daryl says with a small smile. “But that don’t mean you’re old enough for big, scary stuff like this.”

“I saw the scary stuff anyways,” Josie reminds him. “If you didn’t lie I wouldn’t have been so scared ‘cause it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I think it’d be pretty scary either way, kiddo. But I get your point. I’m sorry I lied. I wasn’t tryna hurt you. I was tryna protect you.”

“Well,” Josie says, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me no more bullshit.”

Daryl shakes his head with a snort, rubbing his face with his hand. He drops his arm and looks fondly at his daughter.

“Okay,” he says. “No more bullshit.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. But you gotta remember that the truth ain’t always happy, and sometimes I might need to tell you nothin’ at all, if it’s a really big grown up thing. But no lies. Deal?” 

Josie considers the proposition, twisting her mouth, before nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” she says.

“You gotta do the same for me, though,” Daryl says. “And I got a question for you right now.”

“What question?”

“How you doin’? For real?”

“I dunno,” Josie says frowning. “My tummy feels funny, like when you get butterflies, but they’re not good butterflies. It’s like they are angry in my belly. Do you know what I mean? Do you get angry butterflies?”

“I do. Got ‘em right now.”

“Are you scared, daddy?”

Daryl inhales deeply.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, baby, I’m scared.”

“I think I might be scared, too.”

“That’s okay, we can be scared together. What else are you feelin’? What about sad?” 

“Sad because of Auntie?”

“Mhm.”

Josie plays with the end of her braid and shrugs, decidedly not looking at Daryl.

“C’mere,” Daryl says, taking her silence as an answer. He lifts Josie up onto his lap and holds her against his chest, stroking her hair.

“I dunno what’s gonna happen, baby,” he whispers in her ear. “But I know that me and your momma love JJ and you more than anythin’, and we’re gonna do what we can to make things right. And that ain’t no bullshit, sweet thing, that’s straight truth.” 

Josie nods against him, snuggling in closer like she rarely does. After a few minutes, when Daryl is about to suggest they go find the others before they start to worry, Josie asks, in an impossibly small voice,

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“Can we sing my song?”

Daryl grins and kisses the top of her head.

“‘Course we can. You gotta do most of it, though. You know your daddy can’t sing worth a damn.”

“You gotta tell the story first.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl says, preparing the story he’s told a thousand times. “So way back when—six whole years ago, almost to the day—your momma and me went to the hospital ‘cause it was time for you and your brother to be born.”

“But momma was scared of hospitals,” Josie says, supplying the next part of the story she knows by heart.

“Real scared, and to have you they had to put her in a big room with lots of people and super bright lights, and so to make her feel safer, her doctor let her play her favorite music.”

“Fleetwood Mac.”

“Damn straight. Your momma loves her some Fleetwood Mac. And so when you two was born, you both go your own song.”

“Jesse’s is ‘Go Your Own Way’.”

“Yep.”

“And Henry’s is ‘Little Lies,’ but that was his favorite before me and Jesse was born.”

“That’s true,” Daryl says with a laugh. “And what was yours?”

“‘Rhiannon’.” 

“Mhm. So now, whenever I hear that song, I think of the moment I first ever saw you. I think about how I couldn’t do nothin’, not even breathe, and then I held your hand and kissed your forehead and loved you to the moon and back just like that.” 

“I didn’t cry.”

“Nope, not at first. You never been much of a crier. But when you did cry, oh man, the whole damn block could hear you.” 

Josie giggles.

“Okay, we can sing now.”

“Mkay, but you gotta start.”

“ Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn’t you love to love her, " Josie sings, off-key.

“ Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover? " Daryl joins in softly, even more off-key.

Together they sing the song terribly, beginning to end, and when it’s over they both feel a little bit safer than they did before they began.

*

Carol hasn’t stopped looking shell-shocked since they saw the mangled cat, and Daryl would do anything in the world to fix this for her, but he can’t. Not everything can be cured with a song; nothing has been cured, period, but he wants to ease her burden like he did for Josie, except he doesn’t know how.

“What do we do with her body?” Carol asks. She then looks down at Jesse on her lap apologetically, but the little boy is lost in his own head, staring off into space with red-rimmed eyes.

“Leave it for now,” Merle says, and Carol scoffs.

“Just let her stay there like that?” she asks in a harsh whisper.

“Darlin’,” Merle says gentiler. “We ain’t got no 911 to call, no coroner to come and collect, and I’m guessin’ y’all ain’t wantin’ to be chauffeurs, now are you?” 

Carol grimaces, and Daryl wraps an arm around her, saying, “If we can, we’ll come back for her, alright? Do it proper. But right now we need to meet up with the others and make sure everyone’s okay.”

“Alright,” Carol mutters, leaning into Daryl’s touch. “I just...this doesn’t feel right. Not that it would, but I don’t...what’s the right way to feel about all of this, Daryl?” She sounds so helpless, and Daryl has nothing to give her.

“Don’t think there’s any answer to that, sweetheart,” he says, brushing his lips against her temple. “For now we just gotta go forward and take it one step at a time.”

Carol opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s cut off by Jesse.

“Isaac at school says dead people go to Heaven where God lives and you fly around with angels, but I don’t think that’s true,” Jesse interjects, with a topic no one was talking about. “I think you go somewhere different.”

Carol brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“And where is that, sweet potato?” she asks.

“Everybody goes to their own place up in the clouds. My teacher says that clouds are just water, but I think that when you die they aren’t no more. They’re like pillows. And you get your own cloud, and you get to eat your favorite food every day, and you get to watch TV past your bedtime.”

The adults all smile good-naturedly at him, but Josie asks, “If everyone has their own cloud then you’d never see your family again.”

“No, ‘course you can visit other clouds too,” Jesse explains. “And since we are twins you and me would share a cloud. And momma, you don’t gotta be too sad about Auntie, because you’ll get to see her when you visit her cloud.”

A tear drips down Carol’s nose.

“That’ll be real nice, Jesse,” she whispers.

“And don’t worry ‘cause Auntie will be happy, ‘cause she’ll have all her kitties, and she’ll even be allowed to drink wine. Remember how she says she wishes she could still have wine ‘cause it’s her favorite, but it’s not good for her? When you die wine is good for you.”

“Cheers to that,” Merle says, while Daryl and Carol laugh.

“Daddy?” Josie asks then. “Is Jesse right? Is that what happens when you die?” 

“I hope so, baby,” Daryl says, and he’s not bullshittng her at all.

*

(4:09p) *Hey.*

(4:10p) -hey. it over?-

(4:12p) *Yeah.*

(4:13p) -how u doin?-

(4:15p) *Idk, it was kind of stupid. Like there were all these people there that hadn’t come to visit mom in fucking years, and they all were acting like her best friends.*

(4:15p) *If one more person talks to me like I’m three and tells me they’re sorry for my loss I’m gonna start throwing punches.*

(4:16p) -i mean if it helps u cope-

(4:17p) *Lmfao*

(4:17p) *The service itself was very jesusy and I’m convinced there were a million prayers in it just because the preacher didn’t know what tf else to say.*

(4:18p) -ya i barely rmbr my moms funeral but i rmbr we prayed at least 50000 times-

(4:19p) *Right? It was just weird and I felt super disconnected from the whole thing.*

(4:19p) *I’m not judging ppl who have gotten “closure” or w/e from funerals, but mostly I feel like I just wasted an afternoon.*

(4:19p) *My aunt kinda surprised me tho.*

(4:21p) -how so?-

(4:22p) *She sat w/ me thru the whole thing and was a buffer between me and dad.*

(4:22p) *She cracked a few jokes with me during the service, which made me feel better, and also pissed off the randos sitting next to us.*

(4:23p) *She also told me that I can come stay with her for as long as I want. She said she didn’t realize how bad it had been at home w/ dad and she wanted to help and like…*

(4:23p) *That’s the first time anyone, not including you, has acknowledged how toxic my home life is.*

(4:24p) -she sounds decent-

(4:25p) *She is. She and my mom were estranged so I can’t super blame her for not being around much.*

(4:25p) *She’s not lying when she said she genuinely didn’t know how bad everything was. I don’t think she would have stood for it otherwise. She mistakenly believed my dad wasn’t a piece of shit.*

(4:26p) *Idk, it’s a relief to have somewhere to go when I can’t stay at your place. I really didn’t want to go home.*

(4:27p) -im glad u got ur aunt she seems like someone u need-

(4:27p) -good family isnt smthn we’re used 2 u kno?-

(4:28p) *Yeah, tell me about it.*

(4:28p) *It feels good to have family support for once.*

(4:28p) *Although she did drink like five glasses of wine at the reception and tell me about her first husband’s erectile dysfunction problem.*

(4:29p) -@ this point mb just take wut u can get-

(4:30p) *Lol, true that.*

(4:30p) *She’s not perfect, but who is, right?*

(4:30p) *I’m lucky to have her in my life.*

Chapter Text

Glenn and Maggie are already waiting at Merle’s when they pull up for the scheduled rendezvous. The two of them are sitting on the stoop, Glenn holding Maggie in his arms. They’re both pale and seem exhausted, but they aren’t crying, which Daryl takes as a good sign.

“What’s the word on your parents, Glenn?” Daryl asks the moment he hops out of the van. He goes to the back door and Henry jumps down and waits expectantly for Josie to climb out as well. Carol gets Jesse and Stew out on the other side.

“We don’t know,” Glenn says, shaking his head.

“What do you mean?” Daryl asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking over to them.

“They weren’t there,” Glenn says. “They left a note for me and my sisters in case we came by looking for them…” He grimaces, trailing off, and Maggie squeezes his forearm.

“It said they were going to Atlanta to the refugee shelter,” she finishes for him in an undertone. Daryl chews his lower lip and nods in understanding.

“We still don’t know for sure what’s goin’ on in the city,” he reminds his friend.

“Yeah,” Glenn says flatly. He clears his throat and asks, “How’s Barb?” Daryl ducks his head and Maggie makes a small noise, and Glenn mutters, “Fuck.”

“Carol, I’m so sorry,” Maggie says when Carol comes over and joins them. Carol hugs herself and shrugs. Daryl tries reaching over to her, but she shakes her head and steps away with a muted, “Not right now.”

“What happened?” Glenn asks, glancing over to where the kids are talking with Merle, making sure they’re out of earshot. Daryl fiddles with his keys, frowning at the ground.

“She was bit,” Carol says matter-of-factly. “Daryl and Merle handled it.”

“Handled it?” Glenn asks, and Daryl hazards a glance up to meet his eye. Glenn groans, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he says again. “ Fuck me. ”

That about sums it up, Daryl thinks, acutely aware of the distance between him and his wife. She’s never been one for outward expressions of grief, but, he wonders then, what if it’s him? What if she can’t look at him the same because of what he’s done—what he’s “taken care of.”

Before he can dwell, a car pulls up the drive. Rick and Michonne park behind Daryl and Carol’s van, and when the engine turns off only Rick gets out, Michonne opting to stay in, staring out her passenger side window. Carol takes one look at Rick’s face and goes to her friend.

“No?” Daryl mutters to Rick in regards to Michonne’s mother. Rick shakes his head slowly. Daryl claps a hand on his shoulder. “Us too,” he says. “With Carol’s aunt. We had to...Did you?” 

Rick swallows hard, averting his gaze, and that’s enough of an answer for Daryl. 

“Why is this happening?” Glenn asks. The question might not have been rhetorical, but no one offers any answers regardless, because no one has any.

“We need to get to your dad’s farm, Maggie,” Rick says, slipping into an authoritative tone that makes Daryl go from sluggish to activated. He doesn’t know how to sit around and wallow—he’s a man of action and he’s ready to act as soon as he’s given the command.

“We should get whatever supplies we can; whatever Merle has lying around,” Daryl says.

“We’ll caravan out like we did from Atlanta,” Glenn agrees.

“Let’s get on it,” Rick says. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can figure out a long-term game plan. We can’t do that here. We already know it’s not safe.”

Daryl’s fingers ache with the memory of what it feels like to shove a knife through a human skull.

“Lemme go talk with Carol for a sec?” he asks. His friends nod and he heads over to Rick’s car where Carol is crouched down beside the open passenger side door where Michonne still sits inside.

“Hey,” Daryl says to Carol softly. “C’mere a minute?” 

Carol hesitates, before placing a reassuring hand on Michonne’s knee with a muttered promise of returning soon. She gets to her feet, and Daryl gives Michonne a single head nod that he hopes she interprets as his way of giving condolences. He and Carol walk a ways off from the others. Carol crosses up her arms, closing herself off. She isn’t crying anymore.

“How’s she doin’?” Daryl asks. Carol shrugs.

“Her mother just died,” she says. “Died horribly, and she has no time to mourn. She’s trying to keep it together like the rest of us.” 

“We’re gonna load up on supplies and then head out to the farm here soon.”

“Alright.”

“Kids are hanging in there so far. They’ll bounce back from what they’ve seen.”

“From what they’ve seen so far,” Carol says, eyes trained on the ground. Daryl reaches out and lifts her chin with a single finger. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doin’?”

“Fine,” she says predictably, moving away from his touch. He sighs. 

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Shut down. We ain’t been down that road in years, let’s not go back now.”

“Sorry if I’m not coping the way I’m supposed to. Should I throw myself to the ground and start weeping?” Carol asks. Daryl stands his ground and after a moment Carol huffs, rubbing her face with both hands before muttering, “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch.”

“Ain’t a bitch,” Daryl says. “But I need to know where you’re at if we’re gonna get through this.”

“I’m not shoving it down because I’m hiding from it,” she says, eyes bright as she drops her arms. “I just can’t handle letting myself feel the shock of everything and keep it together at the same time. I can’t be a burden like that, and I have to put being a mother first. I have to. You know that. You’re doing the same thing.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Daryl mutters, considering how quick he is to dive into action if it’ll distract him. “Just...Don’t go to the place I can’t reach you. Things are bad, and getting worse, and I need you as my partner on this, alright?” He ducks his head, kicking at the dirt, and adds, “I get it if there’s tension here, okay? With what I did? I understand, but we gotta try and have each other’s backs, for the kids if for nothin’ else.”

“Oh Daryl,” Carol says, and she does reach out to him then, taking both his hands in hers. “I don’t blame you for any of that, okay? You and Merle did what you had to. I know that. The kids know that. And the only thing in the world I want right now is to crawl into our bed and have you hold me and tell me it’s all gonna be alright, but I can’t give into that and stay strong at the same time.”

“Can we compromise?” Daryl asks, lacing their fingers together. “‘Cause I got a hard time stayin’ strong when you’re pullin’ away.”

Carol takes a step into his space, drops his hands, and instead cups his face. She leans up and gives him a long kiss, brushing her thumbs along his jawline. 

“We’ll compromise,” she agrees.

“We’re better as a team,” Daryl says, and Carol gives him a small but sweet smile.

“Damn straight.” She kisses him again. Against his mouth she whispers, “We’re in this together. Ride or die.” 

Daryl snorts.

“Ride or die, baby,” he agrees.  

*

They reach the farm by mid-afternoon. The sun is out and the air is crisp but not cold, and it’s in total contrast from the mood they’re all in. The day doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that the world appears to be ending.

There’s instant relief when they make the turn down the long dirt drive leading to the house when they see Maggiie’s father out by the pasture tending to one of the horses, very much alive.

“Whoa, are those horses?” Jesse asks, pressing his grubby little kid fingers up against the glass of his window, awed. Daryl’s flush of relief is quickly followed by a second one at the sound of his son’s excitement. The kid witnessed a nightmare, yet he’s still bright-eyed over a horse, and Daryl knows then that what he said to Carol earlier is true: Their children will bounce back from this.

“Sure are, bud,” he says, pulling up behind Merle’s bike and Glenn and Maggie’s car, Rick coming to a stop behind them.

“Can I say hi to them?” Jesse asks.

“We’ll see,” Carol says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Do you see the horses, Joey?” Jesse asks his sister.

“Yeah,” Josie mutters flatly. Daryl glances at her in the rearview mirror and finds her not paying the horses any attention. Instead, she’s scratching Henry’s ear idly with a downtrodden expression.

Maybe the bouncing back will take more time than he’d like, Daryl thinks, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

They get out of the van, Henry jumping out and immediately breaking into zoomies, elated at finally having the space to run around after being stuck in cramped quarters for the better part of the last twenty four hours.

Maggie is running too, sprinting towards her father the second she steps out of the car. Hershel meets her halfway, and they collide in a crushing embrace. Beside Daryl, Carol gives a bittersweet smile, and behind them, Michonne hugs herself and frowns down to the gravel at her feet. 

“We’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Hershel is saying, still holding Maggie in a bear hug. “We’ve been hearing terrible rumors—the Reed’s on the next farm over, they said their son called from Michigan and told them a bunch of horror stories. They said we should head up to Atlanta with them, but we couldn’t just up and leave the farm, and—”

“Atlanta’s not safe, daddy,” Maggie says, pulling away and wiping tears off her face. “Town either. I dunno if anywhere is.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” Hershel asks. The two of them head back to the group. “All of you fled the city? Surely all of the stories can’t be true…”

“They’re true, sir,” Glenn says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tensing his shoulders to his neck, letting them drop down with a big exhale. “We’ve seen it firsthand. We’ve seen…” He can’t bring himself to explain it.

“There’s monsters outside,” Jesse says then, and everyone turns to look at him. “My name is Jesse Dixon, by the way. I’m a twin. This is my sister, Josie, but I call her Joey. Daddy calls her Jojo and me JJ. Are you Auntie Maggie’s daddy?”

“I am,” Hershel says politely, taken aback by Jesse’s bombardment of information and introductions. “You probably know my other daughter as well, although you might not remember her. I believe she babysat you a time or two a long time ago. You’ve grown since then.”

“Is Beth here?” Maggie asks, wringing her hands together.

“She’s inside. She and Jimmy were visiting when the news broadcast went out.”

“Thank God,” Maggie whispers with a sigh of relief.

“Mr. Maggie’s daddy, have you seen the monsters too?” Jesse asks.

“He said he didn’t know there is monsters at all, weren’t you listening?” Josie says, speaking softly and directed only at her brother, not a fan of talking to strangers.

“Should we tell him about Auntie Barb and Auntie Michonne’s mommy?” Jesse asks his sister.

“That’s something for the grown ups to talk about, not kids,” Carol says, placing a hand on either twin’s shoulder.

“But we saw it, too,” Josie objects haughtily, her reservations about strangers temporarily forgotten in lieu of being dismissed. “Why do only the grown ups get to talk? It isn’t a secret no more.” 

“Jojo,” Daryl says softly, and she rounds on him.

“No,” she says. “You killed Auntie Barb. The grown ups don’t need to say so, me and Jesse already know.” 

Daryl recoils, taking an involuntary step away from his kids, flushing with shame at his actions being described so bluntly. Killed. That’s a word and a half.

“ Josie, ” Carol says sharply.

“I’m not wrong,” Josie says. “Am I wrong, daddy?”

No bullshit, right?

“You ain’t wrong,” Daryl says quietly. He can feel Hershel’s eyes boring into him, but he can’t look up and explain. All of his interactions with Maggie’s father have been emergency vet trips whenever Henry did something stupid, and now what? He’s supposed to just stand on this man’s property and explain how he drove a knife into his aunt-in-law’s brain?

“It’s more complicated than that,” Carol says.

“Is it?” Rick asks, and Daryl does look at him. His friend’s expression is gaunt; he looks like how Daryl feels—irrevocably guilty. Maybe what they did was out of protection, but Barb was Carol’s only living mother figure, and Rick literally took out Michonne’s mom in front of her, and yesterday they were all sitting around celebrating birthdays and bullshing, and it finally catches up with Daryl, here on this dirt drive, how impossible it all is to grapple with. 

“‘Cuse me,” he mutters, head bowed as he stalks off from the group, going out towards the bean field where all the crop has been harvested for the year. He hears Carol call after him, Glenn and Jesse too, but he needs a moment, or maybe ten, to get his shit together.

He sits in the grass, bits of dirt and straw and dry leaves sticking to his jeans. He puts his head between his legs and takes deep breaths, trying to stem his budding panic attack.

His daughter’s voice echoes in his mind, and that single sentence cuts deeper than the act itself. Whether they bounce back or not, what his children have seen is irreversible. What his wife has seen is irreversible. The stain on his conscience is permanent, and whether that was his only kill, or the start of some horrible new normal, he knows now with conviction that he will always remember every detail of what happened in that hallway of a home he used to feel comfortable and safe in. 

You never forget your first.

“Daddy?” 

Daryl lifts up his head and finds Jesse standing off to the side a ways from him, looking tentative. His freckles are showing off in the sun, and his hair, which is in need of a cut, is light and fluffy, the tips blowing in the wind like wheat stalks.

“Hey, baby,” Daryl mutters, unfurling himself and leaning back on his hands. He clears his throat and tries to slow the rapid thrumming of his pulse, trying to muster some semblance of control for his son’s sake. “You shouldn’t be wanderin’ off. Remember what we told you and Jojo about staying close?”

“I can still see everybody from here,” Jesse reasons. “‘Sides, I asked momma if I could come talk to you ‘cause you seemed sad. Are you sad, daddy?”

“I’m just a little overwhelmed right now, sweetheart, that’s all. I’ll be alright.”

“When I’m sad I feel better when you and mommy give me hugs, or when I eat a ice cream cone. Do you want a hug? Sorry, I don’t have any ice cream. Maggie’s daddy might, though. Maybe chocolate. Jojo would like that.”

“Hell yeah I want a hug,” Daryl says, opening his arms to Jesse, who steps into them and wraps his tiny arms around his father’s torso the best he can. Daryl buries his face in Jesse’s floofy hair and has to bite back tears. He kisses his son on the temple for a long moment and sits back, holding him lightly by the upper arms and regarding him. “How you doin’ with everything, JJ?”

“Hmm,” Jesse says, twisting his mouth thoughtfully. “I don’t really like what’s going on I don’t think, and I think I wanna go home, but Joey says we can’t go home ‘cause bad things are happening, and it’s not safe. She telled me that Auntie Barb got bitted and that’s why you had to kill her. Is that true?”

Daryl grimaces but keeps his composure. 

“Yeah. I didn’t want to hurt your Aunt, though. Do you know that? I’d never hurt no one, okay?”

“I know that, daddy,” Jesse says. “‘Member when you said that your daddy was mean so you wanted to be nice ‘cause you didn’t wanna act bad like him? Nice people don’t hurt people and you’re nice so you wouldn’t do that to Auntie unless it was the right thing to do.”

Does he remember telling his kids that? Vividly. Grandparents’ Day at preschool last year had been met with questions he hadn’t been prepared to answer yet, but what he wouldn’t give now to have such a simple conundrum. Telling his children about his abusive father seems like nothing compared to explaining why he had to kill their aunt.

“Maybe it was the right thing to do, but I don’t want you thinkin’ I liked doin’ it. I loved your Auntie very much. I know you did, too.”

Jesse furrows his brow and frowns.

“I wish she didn’t have to turn into a monster,” he says, eyes welling up as he does. 

“Me too, bud,” Daryl whispers, wiping tears off Jesse’s face with his thumbs.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are me and Joey gonna turn into monsters? Are you gonna have to kill us too?”

“Absolutely not,” Daryl says, an icy chill going through him at the thought. “Me and momma are gonna protect you.”

“What if something bites us like they did to Auntie? Or to Michonne’s mommy?”

“Nothing is gonna hurt you, Jesse, you hear me? As long as you and your sister do exactly as we say we’re gonna be just fine.”

“Are you and momma gonna be safe, too?”

“We’re damn sure gonna try. But listen to me, okay? If anything happens to your mother and me, I want you to remember that you got a whole lotta people who will take real good care of you. If anything happens, you go to Uncle Merle, or Rick, or Glenn, or any of ‘em, and they’ll watch over you. I trust ‘em, and so can you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, though,” Jesse says, his lower lip pouting out as a couple more tears slide down his chubby cheeks.

“I ain’t plannin’ on anythin’ happening, but it’s good to be prepared. Even if things weren’t crazy right now, it’s important for y’all to know that y’all are always gonna be cared for and loved. And I do love you, JJ, okay? You and your sister, you got everything I got to give, no matter what. You hear that?”

“I hear that,” Jesse whispers. “I love you too, daddy.” He leans against Daryl, and Daryl cups the back of his head. “I’m gonna pretend we’re on an adventure,” Jesse says then.

“Yeah? What kind of adventure?”

“One where there are monsters and we are superheroes that gotta save the world like in the movies.”

“I like that. Do we have a superhero team name? Like the Avengers, or the Justice League, or somethin’?” 

“I think maybe we’ll just be the Dixons, ‘cause Dixons are the best.”

“Pfft, you’re pro’ly the first one to ever say that,” Daryl mutters, running his fingers through Jesse’s hair. “You ain’t wrong, though, we’re pretty cool.”

“Glenn and Rick can be your sidekicks, and Maggie and Michonne will be momma’s.”

“They’ll love that, I’m sure.”

“Uncle Merle will be me and Joey’s sidekick, and Henry and Stew will be our super pets.”

“This gets better and better, kid,” Daryl says, smiling softly.

“And it’s okay if some sad things happen, ‘cause sad things happen in adventures, ‘cause that’s how stories go, but when it’s the ending we will beat all the monsters.”

“We will, huh?”

“‘Course we will, daddy,” Jesse says, pulling back to look at Daryl with a bemused expression, as though it’s silly to ask such a question. “We’re the good guys, and the good guys always win.”

*

The sun setting over the farm is beautiful, the expanse of land silhouetted by orange, pink, and purple hues. Daryl sits on the front porch watching it, wishing for the first time in years that he had a cigarette. Behind him the screen door to the house creaks open and then clatters shut, and suddenly Carol is settling in beside him, her feet resting on the top stair as she wraps her arms around her knees.

“Hey,” Daryl says.

“Hey,” she says. “Checked on the kids—they’re dead to the world.”

“Really? This early?”

“Mhm. If I knew all it took to get them to go to sleep on time was to emotionally traumatize them I woulda started a plague years ago,” Carols says, smirking at Daryl’s snort. She sighs heavily. “Sitting out here all melancholy really makes me want a cigarette.”

“Pfft, I was thinkin’ the exact same thing.”

“Great minds crave the negative coping mechanisms of their youth alike, I guess.” 

“Mm.” Daryl picks at a hangnail. “How’re they all doin’?” He’s been avoiding everyone as much as possible.

“I dunno. Shitty? Scared? At a loss for what to do? All of the above, I suppose. I heard Michonne crying in the bathroom when I was in with the twins. Glenn, Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy were all huddled up on the rug by the fireplace, but were barely saying anything. Rick and Hershel were talking plans for tomorrow. Haven’t seen Merle.”

“He’s been walkin’ the perimeter of the farm like a goddamn prison guard for the past hour or two,” Daryl says. “He heard Hershel’s request for no guns inside or near the house, said fuck that, and immediately took a shotgun and started keepin’ watch. He was using a knife yesterday. I think he took the gun in part just to be a contrary dick.”

“Yeah, that sounds on brand. I can’t imagine he’d be too comfortable cramped inside with the Greene’s anyhow. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel safer knowing he’s out there keeping an eye on things.”

“Me too, though I don’t think he slept last night. He’s gonna run himself down to fumes if he ain’t careful.”

“Speaking of fumes, I heard Rick and Hershelf talking about maybe going into town tomorrow to scope things out and see if there are any stores open at all. We’re gonna need gas, at the very least. Watching the gas gauge get closer and closer to E feels a lot like being trapped. Like we’re a bunch of dumb teenagers in a horror movie who can’t get the car to start and the villian is about to chase us through the woods. I don’t like the idea of being stuck.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Daryl says. “We ain’t at fucked levels yet.”

“I know, but if everyone else is thinking like we are then how much longer are the resources gonna last?”

“Don’t think about it right now,” Daryl says, reaching over and rubbing her back. “Nothin’s gonna get solved tonight.”

“Yeah okay,” she sighs. There’s a beat of silence, and then she says, pointedly, “I got my period.”

Daryl frowns at her for a second, confused as to why she’d say this with so much purpose. Then it hits him, and he blows out a big breath of air, leaning his head back and clamping his eyes shut, a wave of conflicting feelings washing over him.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “I didn’t even think—I’m sorry, it didn’t even cross my mind. That was selfish as fuck of me.”

“No it wasn’t. I didn’t think about it either until I went to the bathroom and saw that I wasn’t.”

Daryl opens his eyes, watching her face closely, his hand falling down to the small of her back.

“How you feelin’ about it?” he asks softly. Carol twists her mouth and shrugs.

“Dunno, to be honest. With all this bullshit going on it’s probably a blessing in disguise, but, you know, we wanted this so bad, and now we’re probably gonna have to put it on hold, like, indefinitely.”

“Hey,” Daryl says, pulling her to him and letting her curl up into his embrace. “We ain’t got a clue on how long things are gonna be like this. Maybe we’ll get back to some sort of normal soon. None of this means we can’t try again at some point, you know? And for now, you’re pro’ly right, we lucked out. It’s okay to be disappointed, though.”

“It’s weird that we’ve been at it for months now when last time I opened my legs for like two seconds and we ended up making two whole-ass human beings.”

“Pfft. I dunno, sweetheart, maybe the Universe is lookin’ out for us. Or, sorry, the Duolingo Owl.”

“Don’t mention Duolingo,” Carol says, sticking out her lower lip. “RIP to my streak.”

“Oh yeah, sorry for your loss,” Daryl says flatly, making Carol laugh, which is such a nice sound after such a terrible day. The moment fades. Carol plays with Daryl’s hand.

“I was thinking,” she says. “I’d feel a lot better if the kids were able to defend themselves.”

“We ain’t givin’ our six year olds guns,” Daryl says immediately with a frown. Carol shakes her head.

“No, they’re not ready for that, but what about knives? Nothing super intensive, just showing them how to hold one properly, and how to stand to protect themselves in case...in case something comes after them.”

Daryl chews on his lower lip.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“Me either. But you saw how fast Auntie came at us, and how it took all of Merle’s strength to hold her back. Tell me it wouldn’t give you some peace of mind to know they aren’t totally helpless.”

Daryl bounces his leg up and down, sighing.

“I guess Rick and I could show ‘em a few things in the mornin’,” he says reluctantly. “Glenn might benefit, too, he ain’t ever had to do anythin’ like this before neither. Dude ain’t even gone fishin’. Dunno how I’m gonna phrase it to the kids to make them think I’m teachin’ ‘em anything other than how to kill someone, though. That’s exactly where their minds are gonna go, you know that, right?”

“Maybe you should let them go there,” Carol says. “That is why you’re teaching them. How to be safe in case they need to kill someone.” 

“Christ. Can you imagine anythin’ worse than our kindergarten-aged babies havin’ to kill another human being, Carol?” 

“Yes,” Carol says seriously. “Watching our kindergarten-aged babies die because they didn’t know how.” 

*

“Oh my god, sometimes I wanna strangle those little demons,” Carol says, falling face first into bed, still in her day clothes. Daryl crawls in next to her, just as exhausted, and scoops her into his arms until he’s wrapped around her as the big spoon.

“You’d think us puttin’ ‘em to bed was us torturin’ ‘em, tryna get ‘em to tell secrets jeopardizing national security, for how much they fight it.” 

“I’m pretty sure we’re the ones being tortured,” Carol says, voice muffled with her face buried in her pillow.

“They shoulda asked us to talk, then. I woulda told ‘em everything. ‘I’ll spy on the government, I’ll spy on anyone you want, just go the fuck to sleep.’”

“‘Don’t ask me anymore questions about outer space. I don’t know why Ursa Major is called the Great Bear when it doesn’t look like a bear. Just ask me to out everyone who’s ever committed treason against our political leaders. I don’t care if they get capital punishment, just shut up for eight hours. Hell, I’ll settle for six, or even four if I’m desperate. Which I am.’”

“Please, I’d much rather take on Jojo spitfire question duty if it means I don’t gotta try and read a book to JJ. ‘No daddy, that is not what happens.’ ‘But that’s what the words say, baby.’ ‘Mm, but the words are boring. Tell it better, daddy, please.’ Like, I don’t know how to make up stories. It’s bedtime, not fuckin’ creative writing class, kid, give me a break.”

Carol giggles, tired and a bit hysterical.

“Our kids are the worst,” she says. 

“Absolutely terrible.” 

“...I love them.”

“So much.”

“What the hell is wrong with us?”

“Stockholm Syndrome?”

“Probably.”

Daryl smiles, hugging Carol close to him. Her breathing evens out, and she’s not quite sleeping, but she’s resting. He kisses the base of her neck and whispers,

“Hey?”

“Hm?” she mumbles.

“I kinda want another one.”

“Another what?”

“You know...another lil’ demon.”

That wakes her up. He feels her breath hitch, and then she’s shuffling around in the bed in order to face him, an eyebrow raised.

“Do what now?” she asks.

“I dunno,” Daryl says with a side shrug, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “I been thinkin’ about it for a while now. Business is finally gettin’ stable, we even got a savings for once. I could easily drop down to part-time at the shop to help stay at home with the kids if you need me to, so we wouldn’t need to pay for a babysitter no more, and you wouldn’t hafta give up nothin’. It’s just...it could work, you know?”

Carol blinks at him.

“You want a baby?” she asks. Daryl chews on his lower lip.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “What do you think about it?” 

“Hell, I don’t know, you kinda sprung that one on me,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I’ve been so busy with getting the bakery up and running that I haven’t stopped to think about much else, but like...I’ve considered it from time to time. I never thought about it on any sort of schedule, though.”

“Do you want another kid? Or, kids, I guess, just in case we get doubled up on again. Gotta take that into consideration.”

“Carol frowns thoughtfully, pinching her lip between her forefinger and thumb. Eventually, she drops her hand and looks him in the eye.

“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, I’ve pictured us with a bigger family for a long time now, and I knew you’d always be down for it. You’ve always said so. It just never felt like the right time.”

“It wasn’t the right time the first time and it worked out pretty good for us,” Daryl reminds her.

“Don’t you think we should wait until we’re a little more stable?”

“I mean, we could, but part o’ me is like, there’ll always be a reason to wait, but we done it before with way less than we got now, with twins no less. We could put it off, but then I see us puttin’ it off and off and off, and it’s like...why wait?” 

“I’d be all pregnant and stuff again.”

“Mhm. That’d be kinda shitty, ‘cause I know you don’t like it much, but if it was just one I bet it’d be a lot easier to handle. And if it’s just one you wouldn’t even hafta go to a hospital. The docs would let you go to one of them birth centers or somethin’.”

“What if I get postpartum depression again?”

“It’s possible. We know the signs, though, and we know how to handle it, and Glenn would definitely help hold down the fort at the bakery, and you was gonna hire another baker anyways. If you had to miss some work to take care of yourself it wouldn’t screw us.”

“How do you think the twins would handle it?”

“Jojo might need a minute to get used to the idea, but we both know JJ would go apeshit about bein’ a big brother, and if he’s happy then he’ll make Jojo come around pretty quick. My guess is they’d be real protective. They got each other, you know? I think that’d help with jealousy, ‘cause even if we was busy takin’ care of a new lil’ one they’d still be our lil’ disco twins.” 

Carol clicks her tongue a few times.

“Another baby means another kid to get to sleep,” she reminds him.

“Eh, we’re already used to the torture, why not pile it on?” 

Carol laughs and then shrugs. 

“Fuck it,” she says. “I’m in.” 

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any warning bells going off in my head, and I figure that if you’re at the point where you’re asking me directly then that means you’ve already done all your overthinking, and I trust you to have gone through all the logistics about six thousand times, so like, fuck it. Let’s have a baby. Why not?” 

A wide grin spreads across Daryl’s face.

“Okay,” he says. “Dixon kid number three.”

“God help us,” Carol laughs, making a soft ‘oof!’ sound when Daryl leans forward to kiss her. She starts to pull away, but Daryl coaxes her mouth open and deepens the kiss. Soon he’s pushing her back against the bed and is hovering above her. She breaks the contact long enough to giggle and say, “You know I’ll need to get my birth control removed before we can make any babies, right? If that’s your aim here.”

“It’s practice, then,” Daryl mutters, kissing her again until they’re both rolling around the sheets, putting their all into their studies, preparing for the test ahead.

*

There are three hay bales set up side-by-side, and Daryl pointedly avoids thinking about what they’re supposed to be representing as he hands a knife to each of his children. Glenn is there too, holding his own weapon, after only minimal complaining about being in a training group where his companions are twenty years younger than him, and also in kindergarten. 

“Okay, me and Rick are gonna show you three a couple things to make it easier to protect yourselves,” Daryl says.

“Are you showing us how to do this in case have to kill someone like you and Rick did, daddy?” Josie asks.

Why not just jab the actual knife in me, kiddo, Daryl thinks, cringing. Still, he promised, no bullshit.

“It’s so if anyone or anything is tryna hurt you, you’ll be able to fight back however you need to,” Daryl says evasively. Josie raises an eyebrow but says nothing else.

“See these hay bales over there?” Rick asks authoritatively, his police officer voice on. “That’s what we’re gonna practice on to start, but first we gotta show you how to hold the knives. Watch closely, alright?”

Rick wraps his whole fist around the handle of his knife, the blade pointing up towards the sky, in line with his thumb, and Daryl does the same on his own.

“This is a forward grip,” Daryl says. “It’s good if you need to stab out in front of you. Lemme see y’all do it.”

Jesse, Josie, and Glenn all fumble around with their knives, Rick and Daryl checking their work.

“Put your thumb closer to here, baby,” Daryl tells Josie, adjusting her hand. She scowls a little at herself for getting it wrong, and Daryl suppresses a smile, knowing the little perfectionist would not appreciate it in the least.

“‘Kay, so now we’re gonna do the reverse,” Daryl says, and he and Rick turn their knives blade-side down. 

“The forward grip lets you strike quicker, but this one is stronger. You feel how you got a lil’ more control? It’s good if your opponent is below you.”

“But we are short, though,” Jesse says, finagling his knife in his tiny hand. “Everyone is taller than us except babies.”

“If they was on the ground they’d be below us,” Josie says to her brother, who hums in agreement.

“I guess that’s true.”

“Good,” Rick says, checking on them. “Daryl, you wanna show them how to position themselves?” 

“‘Kay,” Daryl says. “You ain’t gonna want to expose your body to whatever you’re fighting. Hold your knife up in front of you like this.” He holds his knife perpendicular to his chest, his arm out in front. 

“Stay on the balls of your feet, too,” Rick adds. “Which one of you can tell me what the balls of your feet are?” Glenn raises his hand, making his friends snort. “Yes, Mr. Rhee?” Rick says with a fond eye roll.

“It’s the part of your foot between your toes and your arch,” Glenn says wisely. 

“Very good, gold star for you,” Rick says, making the twins giggle. Glenn looks over at them and winks.

“Like tippy-toes?” Jesse asks, pushing himself up onto his toes and wobbling, a bit off balance.

“Kinda. Put your foot flat and then try putting pressure on the part of your foot that Glenn just told y’all about,” Daryl says. “It should make it easier for you to move around.” 

“I think I got it,” Josie says, staring at her feet with a comically serious expression on her face.

“Do you feel what I mean? Try moving side-to-side,” Daryl says. Josie does so fluidly, and he nods his approval. “Good. If you can move fast then you can get out of the way if something’s comin’ after you.”

“Like the monsters?” Jesse asks. Daryl sighs internally.

“Like them, yeah,” he says. He clears his throat and quickly adds, “Now, wanna try stabbin’ some hay?” Hay. That’s all. Not a person.

“Okay,” Josie says, just as Glenn says, “Let’s go for it,” but Jesse talks over both of them, saying,

“Wait, we should roll initiative.” 

There’s a pause.

“What did you just say?” Daryl asks, laughing a little.

“We should roll initiative,” Jesse repeats. “Like in D&D. Then we’ll know who goes first in the fight against the big hairy monsters over there.” He points at the hay bales.

“That’s not monsters, that’s hay,” Josie says.

“Nuh-uh, it’s big hairy slime monsters from outer space. The other aliens were running away from them and they caught up and now we gotta fight them. They’re even badder than the other ones, it’s gonna be a real hard battle.”

Daryl, Rick, and Glenn immediately crack up laughing, while Josie huffs a sigh.

“Daddy, tell Jesse it is just hay so we can practice. We should be serious. Mrs. Meyer at school says that when something is important you should be serious.” 

“It is important and y’all do need to take this seriously,” Daryl agrees, still grinning. “But if JJ wants us to fight aliens, then I’m fine with it, so long as you still learn somethin’ by the end of it.”

Josie puts a hand on her hip.

“We don’t even got any dice,” she says.

“Mmm, that might not be true,” Glenn says tentatively. They all watch as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and takes out a pearl colored twenty-sided die. Daryl and Rick laugh even harder.

“ Why? ” Rick asks as Daryl puts a hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath, even as waves of laughter still flow through him. 

“It’s my lucky D20. I keep it on me. Kinda like a rabbit’s foot, you know?”

Cue another burst of laughter.

“Does that mean we can roll initiative?” Jesse asks excitedly. Daryl is practically in tears.

“Hell yeah, baby,” he says.

“Oh my god,” Josie says, making Daryl fall into another fit. He waves for Glenn to roll, unable to say the words aloud. 

“Six,” he says, rolling the D20 onto a patch of dirt and squatting down to read it.

“Your lucky D20 kinda sucks, huh?” Rick says, taking the die when Glenn hands it over. He rolls it as well and announces, “Fifteen.”

“Twelve,” Daryl says on his turn, hiccuping. “JJ?”

Jesse rolls the die very carefully, and when he looks to see what he got, he says, “Hmm, I rolled a nine, but I get to add my dexterity modifier so I got a seventeen.”

“Hold up. How come you got to add a modifier?” Glenn asks in faux offense.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t think to,” Jesse says.

“You’re saying your dexterity modifier is eight ? That sounds awfully cheater of you. And Rick’s a cop, he can get you for that, you know,” Glenn says. 

“You can read my character sheet,” Jesse says. He pretends to hand Glenn a piece of paper. All three of them bust up all over again, and Glenn holds the invisible paper out in front of him for the other two to see.

“Oh, yep, he’s right, it says plus eight on dexterity right there,” Glenn says, pointing at the empty air. 

“Guess you get to stay out of jail today,” Rick says. 

Daryl just tries to breathe.

Glenn hands the invisible paper back, and Jesse makes a show of folding it up and putting it in his back pocket, before holding out the die to Josie and saying, “It’s your turn, Jojo.” 

Josie stares at it with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” she says.

“You gotta play,” Jesse says.

“No.”

“Young lady, you roll initiative right now,” Daryl says, snorting halfway through his sentence. He thinks his stress may be coming out in the form of laughter, but damnit if it doesn’t feel better than tears. 

Josie gives a tremendous sigh as she takes the D20 from Jesse. She drops it on the ground carelessly.

“Twenty,” she says flatly, looking down at it.

“Nat’ twenty!” all four of the others say, Jesse and Glenn even throwing their arms up in the air. Josie, startled, stares at them like they’re the dumbest people in the world.

“That means you go first, Joey,” Jesse says, proudly patting his sister on the back.”

“Fine, but I’m practicing on hay, not fighting aliens,” she says haughtily.

“Daddy,” Jesse says in a stage whisper. “I think the aliens used their space magic to make Joey think there’s hay instead so that she can’t tell where to stab them.”

“Seems like it,” Daryl says with a solemn nod. “We’ll hafta make sure we take care of them monsters real good to break the spell.”

“Right.” 

“Man, this is the most intense campaign I’ve played since we had Jesse play Dungeon Master that one time. Remember? With the frogs?” 

“That was high stakes,” Rick agrees. “Think these are higher, though.”

“So stupid,” Daryl hears Josie mutter as she heads towards the bale closest to her, holding her knife in a forward grip just like they showed her. 

It’s dangerous outside, Daryl knows this, and his kids are gonna have to learn what that means for them, but he’s more than willing to let them fight hairy slime monsters, if it keeps the real monsters from running wild in their minds for now.

He’s got the distinct impression that the twins are going to be doing a lot of growing up in a very short period of time. Daryl plays pretend all morning long with his daydreamer son and his begrudging daughter, letting them be kids, for just a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

(9:59p) ~tonight's level of boredom: infiltrated a nighttime game of capture the flag some frat house was playing on the quad, and stole their flag without any of them knowing and now i'm watching from a tree while they try and figure out where it went.~

(10:02p) -lmfao wtf?-

(10:03p) ~i dunno, i'm avoiding writing a paper.~

(10:05p) >Rofl, so you're sabotaging some random people's game because you don't want to do your homework?<

(10:07p) ~yes, what's your point?~

(10:08p) -feel like most ppl wud just binge netflix-

(10:09p) ~this is more fun.~

(10:09p) ~"seriously, stop fucking around, which one of you took it?"~

(10:09p) ~none of them. i did. i took it.~

(10:11p) >How the hell did they not see you sneak onto their field?<

(10:12p) ~it's a skill of mine. i'm fast on my feet and know how to get in and out.~

(10:13p) -...-

(10:13p) >...<

(10:14p) ~yeah, i could have worded that better, sorry. what i meant was i'm sneaky.~

(10:14p) ~remember when i used to break into football games at school so i wouldn't have to pay?~

(10:15p) -yeah the first time we met u had smuggled in like a whole gd pizza-

(10:15p) -how tf did u do tht?-

(10:16p) ~i'm not gonna reveal my ways.~

(10:16p) ~i've always been good at shit like that, though. i was a fucking master at hide and seek as a kid. people gave up looking for me after a while.~

(10:17p) >Maybe it was because they were just hoping you'd stay hidden.<

(10:18p) ~fuck yourself, grimes.~

(10:19p) >Maybe you should major in sleight of hand magic.<

(10:20p) -we cud get u a top hat n a lil bunny friend-

(10:21p) ~do you really wanna antagonize someone who could rob your entire house before you even realized anything was wrong?~

(10:22p) >Is this you admitting to us that you're planning on a life of crime? Because I should remind you I'm training to be a cop.<

(10:23p) -yeah n i got kids i cant associate w/ criminals soz-

(10:24p) ~i guess i'll settle for harassing frat boys then.~

(10:25p) -they still lookin 4 their flag?-

(10:26p) ~nah they got a new one.~

(10:26p) ~i'm gonna...steal the other team's now.~

(10:27p) >Quit while you're ahead, we're not in town to save you from getting your ass kicked.<

(10:31p) ~ dumbass sent a photo ~

(10:31p) ~no need for saving when you can get in and out like me.~

(10:31p) ~and yes, i'm phrasing it that way, i don't even care.~

(10:32p) >Sorry to ever doubt you.<

(10:33p) -plz dnt steal our stuff.-

*

The power officially goes out around noon. The light switches are flicked off and on to no avail. Any miniscule amount of service anyone still had on their phones is gone, and all the electrical appliances stop working. The effect is an overwhelming feeling of isolation. After living in a world most of their lives where communication with others all the way across the globe was as simple as a press of a button, suddenly having no access to anyone, no immediate information at their fingertips, especially at a time when information would be invaluable to have, is lonely in a way Daryl can’t describe.

“Do you think it’ll come back?” Glenn asks. He, Rick, and Daryl are sat at the dining room table. Daryl is quietly observing Carol laying on the floor in the living room, keeping the kids company as they nap on a pillow nest, zapped from their weapons’ training that morning.

“Guess it depends on why it went out. Depends on what’s going on out there,” Daryl says, running a finger along the rim of his glass of sweet tea. The Greene’s water comes from wells on their property, thank God, but still the thought of losing access to resources makes a previous concern more pressing. “We’re gonna need to go into town.”

“I know,” Rick says, agreeing with a sigh. “We need to stock up, just in case. We’ve got a lot of mouths to feed, and the food in the fridge and freezer isn’t gonna last with the power out. We don’t know how long we’re gonna be here.”

“Do you think any stores are even open?” Glenn asks. Daryl taps a nail against the faux crystal of his glass.

“Rick,” he says tentatively. “We may hafta...take what we need, regardless of whether there’s someone there to take our money. Catch my drift? You gonna be okay with that?”

Rick groans, rubbing his temples.

“I picked a stupid career,” he mumbles. Then, more seriously, says, “We’ll do what we need to do.”

It’s cryptic, but Daryl gets the gist. They’ll buy supplies if supplies are being sold, but if it’s not, well…

“Here’s the next question, then—who’s all gonna go?” Glenn asks. “Me, obviously, but is anyone else coming?”

“Why ‘obviously’?” Rick asks.

“‘Cause he’s the best one of us at bein’ stealthy,” Daryl answers for Glenn. “He ain’t gonna get caught up in any traps or nothin’. Don’t want you goin’ alone, though. But the smaller the party the better. Doesn’t bring so much attention to you.”

“I’ll go,” Rick says. “I have gun training and self-defense.” 

Daryl draws a line down the condensation building on his glass as he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

“I’ll go, too,” he decides. Rick and Glenn appear hesitant.

“You’re comfortable leaving Carol and the twins?” Glenn asks, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Not even a lil’ bit, but outta everyone here, the only one with more survival skills than me is Merle, which is why he’s gotta stay here and keep watch. You can shoot, Rick, but you’re trained to fight people. I got more experience with wild animals than y’all, and these things are a helluva lot more like animals than people.”

“So we have someone to sneak in and out, someone to deal with people, and someone to deal with walkers,” Glenn says. “Team Groupchat teamwork makes the Team Groupchat dream work."

“Walkers?” Rick asks, as Daryl squints at Glenn.

“I dunno, we gotta call them something other than monsters, right? And every time I think of that one in the gas station I just think about that fucking creepy-ass walk,” Glenn says with a shrug.

Walkers.

It’s not like he has a better name for them.

“Okay,” Daryl says. “Let’s make a plan then. What stores do we gotta hit? What things do we need? We don’t got a lot of daylight left, but if we leave soon we’ll make it. I don’t wanna put it off. Every second we wait is another second the town could be goin’ to shit.”

“We’ll start by making a list,” Rick says decisively. “And then we’ll go from there.”

*

“You’re sure you’re okay with this? With me goin’ with them?” Daryl asks Carol for the third time. Glenn and Rick are already heading to Hershel’s truck they’re borrowing.

“Yes,” Carol answers for the third time. She runs her hands up his arms. “Just please come back.”

“Plannin’ on it,” Daryl says, ducking down to steal a quick kiss before turning to address his kids, who are sitting together on the bottom step of the front porch, Josie throwing a ball for Henry, and Jesse clutching his salamander’s cage in one hand, and his teddy bear in the other. Daryl squats down so that he’s eye level with them. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “I’m headin’ out now, alright?” Neither twin appears thrilled.

“I thought you said it’s not safe to go out alone,” Jesse says, frowning, resting his chin on the top of Stew’s cage. 

“I ain’t alone. Uncle Rick and Uncle Glenn are gonna be with me.”

“But we won’t be with you,” Jesse says. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea for you to go without us. Maybe you should stay here with me and Joey and momma instead.” 

Daryl would love to, and his son’s earnest request guts him.

“It’s just for a lil’ while, kiddo. We’ll be back before you know it, alright?”

“Are there more monsters in town?” Josie asks, rolling Henry’s slobbery ball in her hands with her brows knitted together. 

“There might be,” Daryl says. “I don’t know for sure.”

“Are you gonna hafta kill more of them?”

Daryl blows out a big breath.

“Maybe,” he says after a beat. “Maybe.”

Josie peeks up at him through the strands of her hair falling out of her braid and over her face. 

“Don’t let them bite you, daddy,” she says. “It’s okay to kill them if it’s to make you safe.”

“I know it is, but I ain’t goin’ outta my way to kill nothin’. Me and your uncles are just goin’ to the store. Think of it like that—just a trip to the store.” 

“It’s different, though, huh, daddy?” Jesse asks. 

“A little. You know how sometimes you watch me and your uncles play video games and there are different levels, and each level gets a little harder. It’s kinda like that. Goin’ to the store, but it’s level two so it’s a lil’ harder.” 

“Okay,” Jesse says, appreciating the metaphor, but not totally placated. Daryl puts a hand on his son’s knee.

“An adventure, right? And we’re the good guys?” he asks him. Jesse smiles weakly.

“Yeah.”

“Atta boy. Listen, I gotta go, but I don’t want you to sit here and worry. You be good for your momma and if you ask nice I bet Aunt Maggie will let you see the horses.” He cups his son’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Jesse says. Daryl turns to Josie, who’s got her arms crossed tight and is holding her elbows, the dog and their game of fetch forgotten.

“Jojo?”

Josie wets her bottom lip with her tongue. 

“Just don’t get bitted,” she whispers, eyes trained on her lap. Daryl leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“I love you, baby girl. I’m plannin’ on comin’ back, but you do like I said to JJ and mind your momma.”

“‘Kay,” Josie mumbles, refusing to look at him. 

Daryl sighs and straightens up. He leaves the kids, trying to not think about how crushed he is at their forlorn faces, until he’s crushed all over again by the brave face Carol’s forcing herself to wear as he tells her goodbye. He climbs into the truck with his friends, Rick at the wheel, and thinks, not for the first time, how loving somebody complicates everything more than you could ever imagine.

*

It’s a ghost town. As empty as it had been when they left the day before, it’s somehow more desolate now, as though everyone collectively decided to up and leave at once, and perhaps they had. Daryl half expects a tumbleweed to blow by as they make their way down the streets of home that feels familiar and foreign all at once.

Rick takes the turns to get to the strip mall, where the Dollar Store, local grocers, and adult video store, which still sells porn on VHS tape and has somehow never gone out of business, are all located. There are two other cars in the large parking lot, and a bike laying toppled over on its side, like its owner had run off in a hurry. The car closest to them is a red Honda Civic with the keys still in the ignition and the left blinker on, and the car furthest from them has both the driver’s and passenger’s side doors open with no one inside.

Not great.

“Maybe there was a really great sale at the porn shop and they all hurried in like a Black Friday stampede?” Glenn says, breaching the tense silence between them. Rick snorts and Daryl smiles in spite of his unease.

“Let’s hope they’re all in the back havin’ a joint movie night of The Sex Files and are perfectly safe and won’t bother us none,” Daryl says, unbuckling his seatbelt. Automatically, his hand falls to his waist, where he feels his knife still pressed against his hip bone.

Without the hum of the car’s engine the silence grows even more strained. His son might play in his head too much, but Jesse isn’t far off the mark by likening this whole situation to some make believe game—something Daryl and his friends would play together on a Thursday night. But this isn’t a game, and it isn’t Thursday, so Daryl takes the lead in getting out of the car, Rick following instantly, and Glenn trailing a second or two behind.

The moment he’s out of the car, Daryl springs into hunter’s mode, tuning his senses to focus on everything around him like he would when tracking a potential kill. He uses all five of them at once.

He sees the money clip that fell out of someone’s back pocket, an empty plastic bag blowing across the lot, and someone’s abandoned groceries strewn about. He sees a path made of rusty splatters; tiny droplets of blood that dripped from an arm or leg. The trail leads off towards the alleyway around the side of the building. 

He feels the crunch of broken glass beneath his feet when he walks across the remnants of a shattered pickle jar.

He smells, and can practically taste, the distant coppery scent of bloody meat, although he’s not sure from where.

Most disturbing of all, he hears nothing. No screams or growls or voices of any kind—only the light rustling of the trees, and his and his friends’ own footsteps as they make their way to the Dollar Store.

“You got the list?” Rick asks, keeping his voice low. 

“Mhm,” says Glenn, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and scanning it a couple times before putting it back. “We can get most of this from the Dollar Store, and then we might see if we want to try and get any groceries. How are we on porn?” 

“I mean, the internet doesn’t work anymore, so…” Daryl says.

“Let’s save that for last,” Rick says pragmatically, and the other two give sage nods before cracking up, grateful that they’re still able to joke. 

Daryl peers through the glass door to the Dollar Store, trying to make out any sign of life—or lack thereof—but he doesn’t see anyone. There are no signs of customers or employees, which brings into question the potential conundrum he was hoping they wouldn’t have to address.

“I don’t think anyone is working,” he whispers.

“The lights are on. And look, the sign is flipped to open,” Glenn says, nodding at the red, ‘YES WE ARE OPEN’ sign. 

“Is the door locked?” asks Rick.

In response, Daryl takes hold of the handle and gives it a pull. It opens easily, and Daryl holds it like that, partially cracked, waiting for Rick to make the next call.

“Let’s check and see if there’s anyone inside that we can’t see from here,” Rick says, sounding more hopeful than Daryl suspects he is.

He opens the door the rest of the way and they make their way inside, stepping light and quiet, as though trying not to wake a sleeping bear. The control on the door that keeps it from slamming seems to make it take forever to close, and Daryl feels exposed every second it takes for it to finally click shut. The tips of his fingers brush the handle of his knife as he takes stock of his surroundings. That unnerving silence persists as they go further into the store.

“Nobody at the register,” Glenn says, nodding towards the empty check out counter.

“Do you think anyone would be in the back?” Rick asks. “If something happened to make people flee out in the parking lot then maybe they’re hiding out. Keeping safe.”

“It worth it to check?” Daryl asks. “Don’t feel great about goin’ around thrownin’ more doors open then we gotta. We ain’t sure what we’re gonna find behind ‘em if we do.”

“We need supplies,” Rick says.

“We do,” Daryl says back, meeting Rick’s eye with a steady look. Rick sighs, putting his hands on his hips and casting a frustrated glance around the store, his internal struggle wafting off him in waves. Everything they need is within reach, tempting them something awful.

“What if there is someone hiding out and they need our help?” Glenn says then. Rick instantly loses some of the tension in his shoulders as he agrees enthusiastically, and Daryl thinks it may be more out of relief of postponing a tough decision than out of altruism.

“We should check,” Rick says. Daryl chews his bottom lip, conflicted. The sooner they’re out of this place the sooner he can get back to his wife and kids. But it’s not like he wants to leave some poor bastard stranded. His friends look at him expectantly, and he relents, grunting his consent. 

Daryl used to frequent this place so often when he and Carol were just starting out, five dollars to their name, that he could tell you where everything is as easily as he could describe his own house. Aisle three is where they’d get their cheap cleaning products, like Fabuloso mopping solution, or this off-brand Mr. Clean product called Dr. Cleanse. (Carol always joked that she was proud of him for going back to school for his PhD.) Two rows down is where they bought those inexpensive diapers, until they ended up giving Jesse a nasty rash and they decided to try cloth ones. They’re headed down the feminine hygiene aisle now, and Daryl has a visceral memory of being eighteen years old and staring at the pregnancy tests with a stone in his gut. 

Distance, time, and the current state of things give him this convoluted pang of nostalgia.

Familiar and foreign all at once.

The store isn’t big, but they move at a slow pace anyway, turning corners with caution. The gas station hadn’t been big either.

There are only two doors in the back—one labelled “employees only,” and one leading into a tiny bathroom Daryl remembers to be full of upsettingly indistinguishable stains, a perpetual foul odor, and a piece of graffiti carved into the wall with a key that read, “CALL IF YOU WANNA C BRYCE’S MASSIVE DONG,” followed by a phone number.

They try the employees only room first. Communicating solely through looks and gestures, Rick reaches up and rapts on the door once. They wait. Nothing moves on the other side. He knocks again, getting the same response. He tries the handle then, and is met with resistance.

“Locked,” he mutters unnecessarily. 

“If anyone’s in there they’ll have heard us,” Daryl says. “They can decide if they wanna come out.”

Glenn and Rick accept his argument, and the three of them move down the path to the bathroom, when Daryl notices something amiss. He throws an arm out to stop the others in their tracks and points. 

It’s not enough to be noticeable at first glance, but Daryl takes a step closer to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, a thin line of blood is seeping out from under the bottom crack of the door. Rick grimaces as Glenn lets out a quiet groan.

Rick makes to move towards the door, but Daryl takes him by the elbow, shaking his head.

“Me,” he says, so softly he’s basically mouthing it. At Rick’s skepticism, Daryl reminds him in a murmur, “It’s why I came with y’all.” 

He doesn’t wait for Rick to argue. He unsheathes his knife, gripping it in his hand the way he showed the twins that morning, and approaches the door. He kicks it a couple times, listening intently to hear if anything responds to the noise. From his experience so far, sound is what draws them in, but still he’s met with that worrisome nothing.

Swallowing, raising his armed hand up to his chest, blade pointed straight out, and standing on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce, he turns the handle down and pushes the door in slowly. 

Before he’s gotten it open wide enough for any of them to get through he hits something inside, and more blood trickles out into the space they’re standing in.

“Not promising,” Glenn whispers. Daryl huffs a sound that’s meant to say, “no fucking kidding,” before putting more weight into the door and shoving whatever’s blocking him out of the way. He manages to force it open, and he blows out a defeated sigh at the sight inside, his raised arm dropping to his side.

On the floor of the grimy bathroom is a guy in a green uniform polo drenched in blood. His body is splayed out on the dirty tile, arms wide at his sides like a cross, and his torso turned so that his bent knees rest on the ground. Most notably, however, is his head. It rests against the wall, below the note about Bryce’s massive dong, and a steak knife with the price tag still attached is shoved into his temple. 

“Shit,” says Glenn, coming up beside Daryl to see for himself. Daryl turns to Rick, waiting to see what he thinks they should do. 

Silently, Rick squeezes between the two of them and squats down beside the corpse, mindful of the pool of blood still leaking from the head wound. Without a word, Rick starts patting around the guy’s pockets until he finds his wallet. Daryl and Glenn exchange a glance. 

“Uh, Rick,” Glenn says. “Is now really the time to be pickpocketing?” 

“I’m not pickpocketing, dumbass,” Rick says, no real bite to his tone. He flips the billfold open and tilts his head, reading the driver’s license stuck inside a clear casing. “Wayne Dunlap,” he mutters.

“What?” asks Daryl.

“Wayne Dunlap,” Rick says again. “That’s his name.”

Daryl regards the corpse—regards Wayne Dunlap’s corpse. His eyes are open, and they’re cloudy like the other walkers’ had been, but Daryl looks past that and examines his other features. His face is full of angry, red acne, and his hanging jaw shows his overbite with braces stuck on them to rectify it. On his left wrist, just above a big bite mark, he has one of those neon colored paper bracelets they give out at concerts and festivals. The back of his hand has a faded M marked on it in black marker, designating him too young to order from the bar at whatever function he attended. This was an after school job, possibly to get a few dollars in his pocket to go out on the weekends, or to pay for dates with girlfriends or boyfriends. And hell, it’s one thing to die in such a traumatic way, but it’s just insult to injury to die at your minimum wage customer service job. In the shitter, no less.

“What a way to go,” Glenn says, voicing the same thought, nodding at the rusty toilet bowl to emphasize his point. He’s speaking in jest, but his face betrays him, pale as a sheet of paper.

“He was seventeen,” Rick says, still staring at the license. “Do you think his parents are looking for him? Someone should tell them.”

“I dunno, man,” Daryl says gently. “I feel for the kid, honest-to-god I do, and if it was one of my babies that was lost I’d be goin’ outta my goddamn mind tryna find out where they're at, but that’s the reason I can’t go all around town searchin’ for the kid’s parents. I got my own babies to get back to, and all three of us gots our girls. We’ll help who we can, but he’s gone, Rick.” 

“If he’s got people looking for him they’re gonna know where he worked,” Glenn says, leaning up against the doorframe, sort of slumped. “They’re gonna come here at some point if they’re still around.”

“Think of it this way—we’re givin’ them more time to hold onto hope. ‘Cause if his parents are worth a damn?” Daryl tries to imagine what it would feel like to lose his children, but even the thought alone is more than he’s able to handle. “It’ll break ‘em,” he says with certainty, suddenly needing to hold his twins like he needs air. “They ain’t never comin’ back from this. Grant ‘em a few more hours of mercy, and let’s do what we came here to do.”

Rick folds up the wallet and places it gingerly to his side. He rests the back of his hand against his mouth, shaking his head slowly.

“I had to leave Michonne’s mom on the kitchen floor,” he says after his silence has dragged on a good while. “I couldn’t do anything but cover her with a sheet. We had to get out of there, but leaving someone so important to the person I love in a state like that? That she had to see it in the first place?”

“I get it, man,” Daryl says, squeezing Rick’s shoulder. “We had to do the same thing with Barb. It’s fight or flight right now. Until we’re able to get some sort of handle on this we don’t have the luxury of worryin’ about anything but our own safety. It’s bullshit, but it’s what we gotta do.”

Daryl and Glenn wait anxiously, until Rick places a hand on Wayne’s lifeless shoulder and mutters, “I’m sorry this happened to you.” He gets to his feet and says to his friends, “Come on.”

“What are we gonna do?” Glenn asks.

“We’re gonna loot the fuck out of this store,” Rick says, and stalks past them, headed with purpose towards a stack of shopping baskets. He lifts three off the pile and hands one to the both of them. “Glenn, what’s all on the list again?”

Glenn pulls out the paper and Rick and Daryl read over his shoulder. It’s got things on it like candles, flashlights, paper towels, toilet paper, etc.

“Glenn, you focus on the list,” Rick says. “Daryl, you check and see if there’s anything the kids need, and maybe check the clothing section. I’m gonna do a general sweep and see if there’s anything that stands out as something we forgot.”

“I’m letting you know now that I’m grabbing as much toilet paper as they have,” Glenn says.

“You eat a lot of fiber or somethin’?” Daryl asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he says. “Do you know anything about apocalypse protocol? Hoarding toilet paper is like, rule number one.”

“Ain’t it a big premature to be callin’ it the apocalypse?” Daryl asks.

“We just found a dead kid lying in a pool of his own blood, and left him there. You and I have both stabbed people we know in the brain.” Rick shrugs helplessly. “Is it really so premature?”

*

They end up all trading their baskets for carts. Glenn’s is filled mostly with different brands of toilet paper, and almost just as many paper towels. They clean out the shelves of batteries, cheap, badly scented candles, and flimsy plastic flashlights. Rick throws a bunch of crappy, off-brand, non-perishable food items into his cart, as well as several crates of water, despite the wells back on the farm.

Daryl rifles through the less obnoxious clothing items, all of them made with stitching that looks like it could be ripped apart Captain Kirk-style by even noodle-arms-Glenn flexing too hard. He loads up on socks and underwear, especially for the kids. He makes sure to stop for tampons and pads, and essentially sweeps the entirety of the medicine shelves into his cart. If they’re gonna act like it’s the apocalypse then he might as well go all in.

(He makes a couple pit-stops for non-essentials. He raids the chocolate bars for Josie and Carol, and finds a giant tub of animal crackers for Jesse, who doesn’t exactly eat them, so much as uses them to tell elaborate stories. He also makes sure to get a few crayons and construction paper, as well as a couple cheap kids’ books that are advanced enough not to bore Josie to tears.)

By the time they’re done they’ve got quite the haul. He’s feeling guilty, and he knows his friends are too, Rick especially, but none of them say anything about it. It’s simultaneously the right and wrong thing to do, and Daryl doesn’t have it in him to make sense of that right now. 

They roll their several carts out of the shop, staying vigilant as they head to their truck. They’re just about done loading everything into the bed of the pickup, when that unnerving nothing Daryl keeps hearing suddenly turns into an even more unnerving something . He freezes in place like a dog catching a scent. 

“What is it?” Rick asks, but Daryl waves an impatient hand to shush him. He listens for another few seconds, until becoming certain he’s hearing what he thinks he is.

“Someone’s calling for help,” he says.

“What?” Rick asks, at the same time Glenn says, “Where?” 

The questions answer themselves a moment later when the cry for help gets loud enough for all three of them to hear it. A terrified plea accompanying the sound of feet running on gravel gets closer and closer. 

“The alley,” Daryl says, pulling out his knife without a second thought. When his friends hesitate, he says, “Y’all wanted to help someone, right? Well, here’s your chance.”

That’s all the convincing Rick needs. He pulls his gun out of its holster around his waist and flips the safety off. They turn to Glenn expectantly, who, now faced with the prospect of the horrible thing Daryl and Rick have already had to do, seems a lot less eager to come to anyone’s rescue then he did in the store. The reservations are fleeting, however, his conscience getting the better of him, and he takes the knife they’d given him that morning out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Keep that somewhere easier to reach,” Daryl tells him sternly, before taking off towards the alleyway, Rick and Glenn at his heel.

He turns the corner and nearly collides with a man running with a limp, four walkers ambling after him not far behind.

“Get to that truck over there,” Daryl says without preamble, shoving the man bodily towards the parking lot. “Rick, how’s your aim?” he asks his friend, not looking to go out of his way for a melee fight with a bunch of opponents with venomous, snapping teeth.

“Hopefully as good as they all say at the station,” he says. He raises his pistol and Daryl ducks out of the way as Rick takes his first shot, the sound reverberating in the caged alley between buildings on either side. The bullet hits one of the walker’s shoulder blades, and does nothing to slow it down. 

“The head,” Daryl reminds him.

“I know, my hand shook,” Rick says, panic rising in his tone. He steadies himself, taking an extra second to aim properly, and his next shot takes the walker in the far back down with a hit right smack dab in the middle of his forehead. He hits one more, but the other two are gaining. By the time Rick goes to take a fourth shot they’re too close. Going straight into fight, because flight has never been his thing, Daryl lunges at the walker closest to him, knocking into its waist, slamming it into a brick wall. He grips its neck just below its jaw, holding it still to prevent it from biting him, and drives his knife into its skull. It’s easier the second time, and Daryl hates that he knows that.

Panting, Daryl turns on his heel, expecting to take on the other walker, but finds it already collapsed on the ground in a heap, Glenn standing over it, the blade of his knife dripping blood, and his eyes wide as saucers. His whole body is trembling so hard he drops his weapon and slumps against a dumpster behind him. 

Now all three of them have made a kill.

“Either of you bit?” Daryl asks, trying to catch his breath. 

“I’m okay,” Rick says. “Glenn?” 

Glenn doesn’t say anything right away. He squats down and puts his head between his knees.

“Dude, you good?” Daryl asks.

“Give me a sec,” Glenn says, voice muffled. They watch him take several deep breaths, before pulling himself together and getting to his feet. 

“Bit?” Daryl asks again, looking his friend up and down. He’s got blood smeared down his front, but Daryl doesn’t think it’s his. Glenn shakes his head. 

“No,” he says weakly. 

“Aight, good,” Daryl says. He wants to give him more time to process, but, he remembers, he just sent a stranger to their truck full of stolen supplies. Rick seems to have the same thought, because he gestures for the other two to follow him, and they go back around to the parking lot, thankfully finding the man they just saved leaning against the pickup, winded but disinterested in all the goods piled up behind him.

“Shouldn’t have shot that gun,” the man says to them. “More of them will come now. The noise attracts them.”

“You’re welcome,” Glenn says with a scoff. The man looks at him and nods.

“Sorry,” he says. “Excuse my manners. Thank you. I couldn’t have handled that on my own.”

The man appears to be in his sixties, with long white hair, a braided beard with beads in it, and a Grateful Dead t-shirt to go with his bell bottoms and Burkenstocks. 

“Who are you?” Rick asks. 

“Name’s Bo,” he says. “I was tryna go check on a friend. Took a walk to her house, but clearly that didn’t work out so well.”

“Did you find her?” 

“Yeah. One of you just killed her.” 

The trio exchanges grimaces.

“Where you tryna get to?” Daryl asks, moving right on past. “We gotta get back to our families but we can drop you off somewhere if you’re close.”

“Live in a loft above my theater. The five dollar theater. You know it?” 

“Yep,” all three of them say. Bo looks satisfied.

“Well if you don’t mind givin’ an old man a lift, it’d be greatly appreciated. Especially because we’ve got company,” Bo says mildly. Daryl and his friends spin around and see five or six more walkers emerging from the alleyway. 

“Oh fuck,” Rick says, grabbing the keys out of his pocket and backing up to the driver’s side door.

“Told you the gun would draw 'em in,” Bo says.

“Shut up and get in if you’re comin’,” Daryl says, shoving Glenn forward. The four of them cram inside, and Rick peels out of the lot like a bat out of hell, the walkers trailing behind for as long as they can.

“How many of those have you seen?” Glenn asks, sitting up in his seat to watch out the back window. 

“Seen plenty over the past few days. I sit on my roof and watch ‘em go by. Waves and waves of ‘em. They must be coming from other towns. All of the ones I’ve seen have been headed in a pretty steady southeastern direction, unless some sound distracts ‘em.”

“The whole town’s like this?” Daryl asks, looking at Bo in the rearview mirror. 

“As far as I can tell, kiddo. You three are the first living people I’ve seen in at least two days, and I’ve been keeping watch.” Bo sighs solemnly, and says, “Poor Marge.” 

Daryl almost asks who Marge is, until he deduces that it’s probably his friend they killed, and decides not to mention it.

The drive to the theater is short, nothing in this town too far apart. Rick pulls up alongside the old, beaten-down building that hasn’t changed its appearance in all the years Daryl’s been alive. The marquee advertises, in big black letters, Caddyshack II , Grizzly Man (which Daryl assumes is some sort of documentary about bears), and Breakfast at Tiffany’s .

“Well, lads, thanks for the ride,” Bo says, clapping his hands on his lap. Glenn slides out of the car to let him out, and reaches in the back and tosses him a package of toilet paper.

“Stuff’s important,” he says. 

“That it is,” Bo agrees. 

“Hey,” Daryl calls out before Bo can go back inside. “Do you secure the licensing on the movies that show here?”

“I do,” Bo says mildly. Daryl considers how to phrase his next question, and ultimately lands on,

“The fuck?” 

Bo shrugs.

“Been in business for over thirty years,” he says. “Used to cost fifty cents to get in. Never been close to going under. Must have been doing something right.” 

On that note, Bo turns on his heel and heads to the door to the theater. They watch him unlock the doors, Glenn sliding back into his seat, and soon enough he disappears.

“Weird guy,” Glenn says. 

“Mm,” Daryl agrees. Rick remains silent, and when Daryl looks over he finds him frowning at the steering wheel with a furrowed brow. “What is it?” Daryl asks him.

“How long,” Rick says slowly. “Do you think it would take to walk from here to Hershel’s farm?” 

“Um, I dunno, couple days at least. It’s pretty far out there.”

“Right, and what direction is it in?” 

“It’s a straight shot,” Daryl says, not sure why it matters. “You take the highway and head...you head southeast.” 

Rick nods as Daryl puts two and two together, tongue between his teeth. 

“Exactly.” 

“Guys,” Glenn says warily. “Didn’t he says something about waves and waves of walkers going that way?” 

“Oh, fuck me,” Daryl says, gesturing frantically at Rick to put the truck in drive.

Rick hits the accelerator so fast they go over the curb. He does a big u-turn in the middle of the street and heads southeast, as fast as the damn thing will take them.

*

Daryl lays on his back on Glenn’s floor, trying to play a first person shooter game upside down, so as to not disturb the sleeping cat on his belly. Every time he tries to move, Picatso digs her claws into him a little, threatening him. Consequently, he is not doing great at the game.

“Dude, you fucking suck,” Glenn says from on his bed.

“Rick’s missed most of his shots too, and he ain’t tryna figure out where everything is upside down,” Daryl argues, giving up and tossing his controller to the side. Glenn pauses the game with a huff, and leans over the side of the bed to flip him off. Daryl blows him a kiss. 

“Stop flirting you two,” Rick says, sitting his own controller by the TV and taking a piece of pizza from the box on Glenn’s desk. “When’s your dad leaving again, Daryl?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Tomorrow, thank fuck,” Daryl says with a sigh of relief. His friends don’t know what exactly goes on at home, but they’ve pieced together that things are better when his dad’s out of town than when he’s hanging around. “He only rolled back through ‘cause someone owed him money. He ain’t intendin’ to stay.” 

“Thank fuck, ‘cause that means you get to fuck?” Glenn asks, smirking. 

“If I weren’t afraid this cat would claw my face off if I moved I’d beat your face in right now,” Daryl says mildly, trying to shuffle into a more comfortable position without incurring the wrath of kitty claws. 

“Okay, but that’s definitely a perk of your dad leaving, though, right?” Rick asks. “Carol gets to come over and you get to have your cute little sleepovers?”

“Not so cute anymore,” Glenn says. “Now they’re just downright nasty.”

“How about we stop talkin’ about my sex life?” Daryl suggests hopefully.

“After all the work we put into helping you have a sex life? Nah, we earned this,” Glenn says, and Rick hums his agreement.

“Fuck you both,” Daryl says. “It is nice havin’ her over, though. Everything’s a lil’ less shitty when she’s around, you know?” 

“Aww,” both Rick and Glenn say in unison.

“Aaand forget I said anything.”

“We’re just fucking with you, brother,” Rick says, smiling good-naturedly. “You know we’re happy for you, even if the two of you are absolutely disgusting.”

“Completely vile. ‘Ooh, look at us, we’re so crazy in love!’ Awful,” Glenns says.

“Shut the fuck up forever,” Daryl says, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “‘Sides, we ain’t even said...you know. Ain’t said the thing.”

“The thing, huh?” Rick says.

“Yeah.”

“The thing, as in, the big L word?” 

“Whatever.”

“Here’s a crazy idea,” Glenn says. “You could say the thing to her. Boom, problem solved.”

“Yeah, I ain’t doin’ that.”

“Why not?” Rick asks.

“Ooh, I bet I know,” Glenn says. “I’m thinking something like, ‘’cause what if I say it and she doesn’t feel the same way and then it gets all weird and then she’ll break up with me and I’ll be alone forever?’ Am I close?”

“Mm, pretty much on target,” Daryl says. 

“You’re not just vile,” Glenn says. “You’re also impossible. The two of you will be at your wedding, and you’ll be like, ‘oh, by the way, I never said it before, but I love you. Hope that’s okay. If you don’t want to get married anymore, that’s cool. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said it, huh? It was too soon.’”

“I’m not that bad,” Daryl grumbles. At his friends’ silence he scowls, and says, “I ain’t!” 

“Don’t feel bad, Daryl,” Rick says. “Glenn said I love you for the first time in the middle of sex. Maggie told me.” 

Daryl's bark of laughter earns him several claws in the gut.

“Yeah, well Rick said it to Michonne via text,” Glenn says. 

“No, that’s not true. I said it in person, but she didn’t hear me and it felt weird to say it again, so I texted it to her later. There’s a difference.”

“You guys got no right to pick on me, you’re both dumb fucks.” 

“Well, yeah, obviously, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t one,” Glenn says, flicking a pepperoni at him. Picatso perks up, the prospect of food more appealing than a nap. She leaps off Daryl’s belly and saunters over to pick at the snack. “Oh hey, look! You’re free! Now sit up and actually play the damn game.”

Grumbling, Daryl pulls himself into a sitting position and picks up his controller.

“Why do I even come over here?” he asks. 

“‘Cause you love game night,” Glenn says. “And you love us.”

“Shh, Glenn it’s too soon,” Rick says, shushing him. Daryl casts them both a deadpan look.

“Unpause the fucking game before I leave.”

“We’re doing game night every Thursday for the rest of our lives, just to spite you,” Glenn says. 

“Great,” Daryl says flatly. “Maybe by then we’ll actually be good at playing.”

“Wouldn’t bank on it,” Rick says, getting shot for the millionth time. 

“Yeah,” Daryl sighs. “Never mind.” 

*

Daryl hears shots before he sees the farm, and he’s about two seconds away from diving out of the truck and running the rest of the way.

“That was a rifle,” Rick says. Daryl already knows and doesn’t see the point in saying so. Not when his wife and kids are somewhere near that particular rifle. They pull up the drive, dirt flying beneath the wheels, and Daryl opens the door and jumps out before Rick has even come to a complete stop. 

It’s carnage, the bodies of walkers strewn all across the lawn, while more still keep coming. Waves and waves. Up near the house he sees several of them descend on what must be a body, and Daryl tastes bile in his throat when he can’t identify whose body it is. He takes two steps forward, trying to make out any features of the person the walkers are tearing to shreds, when Rick suddenly bumps into him, driving a knife into a walker Daryl didn’t even see coming. 

“Get your eyes in your head, brother,” Rick yells at him, rushing off to go help. 

“Daryl, it’s not Carol, she’s over there. Maggie too,” Glenn says, hopping out of the truck and point up ahead. Daryl’s eyes fall on his wife and he can breathe a little again. Daryl runs to her, getting intercepted by another walker. It clings to Daryl, snarling and spitting in his face. He holds it back with his forearm, groping for his knife. He can hear the snapping of teeth right in his ear, when he finally gets a grip on the handle and shoves the blade up through the back of the walker’s skull. 

“Daryl,” Carol yells from across the yard. He lets the walker drop to the ground in a heap and turns towards her. She’s hugging Jesse to her hip, and has a shotgun in her other hand. “Daryl, I can’t find Josie. I don’t know where Josie is.”

She’s nearly hysterical, and Daryl’s blood turns to ice. He searches wildly through the chaos, yelling Josie’s name. The body by the house is still being devoured. It’s too big, he thinks, too big to be a child. 

Then he hears her scream. 

He follows the sound and turns just in time to see a walker descend on his daughter. 

“Daddy, help!” Josie screams, a knife in her hand waving skillessly in the air, all her training forgotten in her panic. Daryl sprints towards her, but someone beats him to her. Merle yanks Josie back by the collar of her shirt and tackles the walker, wrestling with it on the ground. Silent now, Josie stares at the fight with wide eyes. Daryl reaches her, scooping her up in his arms and crushing her to his chest.

“Are you hurt?” he says. When she doesn’t answer, he grabs her face and practically yells, “Are you hurt? Bit? Scratched? Tell me if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Josie says quietly, gaze still fixed on Merle. Daryl turns to see his brother beating in the skull of the walker that almost made a meal out of Josie with a crowbar. Merle gets to his feet, nodding, wiping guts and grime off his face with the back of his hand, only serving to smear it more. 

“She alright?” he asks, nodding at Josie.

“Yeah, are you?” 

“Fine,” Merle says. 

“Uncle Merle,” Josie says quietly. Merle shakes his head at her.

“We’re all good, sweet thing, now you go with your daddy to find your momma, and the lot of you get in your van and don’t stop for nothin’.” To Daryl he says, “The hill. Go to the hill. Pass it along, we’ll all meet up there.”

“‘Kay,” Daryl says. “Merle, who is that? By the house?”

“That boy. The one with Maggie’s sister?” When Daryl stalls, looking at the feasting walkers, Merle smacks him the shoulder, startling him back to attention. “Can’t do nothin’ about it now, baby brother. You take your daughter and you go.”

“Right,” Daryl mutters. “Right.” 

He and Josie make a beeline for Carol, who’s up ahead, looking absolutely torn between keeping Jesse safe and diving into the mess of walkers and bloodshed to find her daughter. When she sees Daryl carrying her she instantly bursts into tears, meeting them halfway, kissing Josie on the head. 

“Thank God,” she says, over and over.

“We have to go,” Daryl says, lifting her chin and making her meet his eye. “We’re all gonna meet at the hill. You got the keys?” 

“In my pocket.”

“Take the kids, get them in, get in the driver’s seat and start the van. I’m tellin’ the others what we’re doin’ and I’ll be right there, okay?” 

Nodding, Carol takes Josie from him, neither of them ready to sit her back down on her own again. She and the twins go their way, and Daryl takes out another walker as he finds his friends.

“Michonne,” Daryl yells out when he sees her wielding a...is that a sword ? Not the time to dwell on it. “Michonne, get Rick and go to your car. We’re going to the that spot in the woods where me and Carol got married. He’ll know how to get there.”

“Got it,” she yells back, slicing the top of a walker’s head clean off. He’s going to need to ask about that later. 

Key word being later. He makes his way back to the van, managing to get directions to Glenn and Hershel, before pulling open the passenger side door of his vehicle. Bounding out of nowhere, Henry leaps into the van first, startling everyone. He climbs into the backseat and sits his head on Josie’s lap. Jesse’s still not let go of that damn salamander. Daryl shakes his head and gets inside.

“They all got the message. Everyone’s making their way to the cars,” he tells Carol. “Let’s go, baby, come on now.” 

Carol blows out a breath and steadies herself, her hand trembling when she puts the van in drive. She glances in the rearview mirror. Daryl looks too, and sees Rick and Michonne have made it to their truck, and Hershel and Beth are headed toward the truck with all the supplies. Glenn, Maggie, and Merle are all still battling walkers, but aren’t overrun.

“They’ll be okay, but we need to go,” Daryl says, softly but firmly. She bites her bottom lip, nodding. She starts down the drive. From the backseat, Jesse’s very small voice says,

“Momma? Daddy? The horses.” 

Out of his window, Daryl sees walkers find their way into the pasture and barn. 

“Don’t look,” Carol says, just as several crowd a terrified horse.

Daryl turns in his seat to look at his children. Jesse’s head is bowed, tears falling into his lap. Josie glances up at Daryl and holds his gaze for a second, before turning away and staring out of her own window with an emotionless face, her hand scratching Henry behind the ear.

Sighing, Daryl turns around and leans back in his seat, as Carol takes them out to the highway, leaving the ruins of the farm behind.

*

One by one, everyone shows up at the base of the hill that’s become so important to Daryl over the years. Refuge was never one of things he expected it to be, however.

Rick and Michonne show up first, both filthy and covered in blood and dirt. Hershel pulls up next, salvaging the truck of supplies. He gets out, and goes over to help his daughter out, holding her in a tight embrace as she sobs over her loss.

Daryl is sick to his stomach from waiting by the time Glenn and Maggie finally show up. They park the car and Glenn immediately goes off into the trees and vomits, while Maggie just slumps against the car, tilting her head to the sky and fighting back tears.

Merle’s the last to arrive. Daryl hears his motorcycle before he sees him, the old thing rumbling through the forest. He parks next to the truck and swings his leg up and over the side, brushing dirt off his pants, as if the rest of him isn’t disgusting. 

“That’s everyone,” Carol says quietly. Beth’s sobs get a little harder, and Carol grimaces apologetically.

“Is everyone here all right?” Rick asks, doing a sweep around the group with his eyes.

“We’re all good, Officer Friendly,” Merle says, patting Rick on the shoulder. “Showed some balls back there. Didn’t know you had that in you. Your little friend over there puking his guts out showed off some moves, too.” 

“Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not,” Glenn says weakly from over by his tree.

“Thank you,” Daryl says to Merle. He nods down at Josie. Merle shrugs.

“Nothin’ but a thing, baby brother. Although I’m sure she pro’ly coulda took ‘em, huh, sweet thing?” Merle asks, but Josie doesn’t smile. In fact, she glares. 

“Liar,” she says quietly. Merle frowns at her. 

“Sure you coulda,” he says.

“That’s not why you’re a liar,” Josie says. “You said we’re all good, but no we aren’t.”

“Josie, what are you talking about, sugar?” Carol asks, putting a hand on Josie’s head. She moves away from the touch, still scowling at Merle.

“I saw,” she says to Merle. “You know I did.”

Merle twists his mouth, drumming his fingers against his thigh. After a beat, he throws his hands up in defeat.

“Okay,” he says. “Caught me. Shoulda known I couldn’t never fool anyone with a brain like yours.” He smiles, but Josie looks absolutely disgusted. 

“What’s she talkin’ about, Merle?” Daryl asks quietly. 

“Show daddy, Uncle Merle,” Josie says, holding her elbows. Merle huffs a laugh.

“Yeah alright.” 

Sighing deeply, Merle reaches up to the collar of his ratty shirt and tugs it down, revealing a wound between his neck and shoulder.

A big, bloody welt in the shape of a pair of teeth.

Chapter Text

Daryl’s sitting on the couch trying to get peanut butter out of Josie’s hair when someone knocks on the front door. Jesse, the one who put peanut butter in Josie’s hair in the first place, stands up from where he’s making a disastrous mess with crackers, and toddles over to the door. Daryl plops Josie down on the floor and follows his son to see who their afternoon caller is.

“The fuck’s all over your face, baby brother?” Merle asks as soon as Daryl swings the door open. Daryl also has peanut butter in his hair, as well as on his face, and has spent the better part of his day thus far wondering why he and Carol ever thought children were a good idea.

“The fuck!” Jesse says happily, beaming at his uncle, holding his hands up high.

“Whups,” Merle says giving Daryl a sheepish grin as he reaches down to pluck Jesse off the ground, hoisting him up onto his waist. Jesse immediately gets peanut butter on Merle’s jacket. Jesse is also covered in peanut butter. It’s been a day.

“I’d be madder about that if Glenn hadn’t accidentally taught him the word ‘dildo’ the other day,” Daryl says. He steps to the side to let Merle in.

“Dildo,” Jesse says sagely to his uncle.

“Dildo,” Merle agrees. Josie comes over and tugs on Mere’s pant leg. Merle peers down at her and says, “Hey there, pretty lady. You learn any new words this week?”

In response, Josie reaches up to take Merle’s hand and silently leads him to the couch, where she gets him to sit down. Once he’s sitting, she climbs up and joins Jesse on Merle’s lap. Jesse smushes cracker crumbs into the peanut butter in her hair. 

“Take that as a no,” Merle says, kissing the kids’ peanut buttery heads.

“She still ain’t sayin’ much,” Daryl says.

“Doc on your ass about it again?”

“Ass!” says Jesse.

“I said at least five other words in that sentence, why’s that the one you pick up on?” Merle asks Jesse, who simply gives a toothy grin.

“Yeah, but they can suck it. She’ll talk if’n she wants to. She gets her point across just fine.”

“What do them docs know anyhow?” Merle asks, nuzzling Josie’s freckled face. “They’s just jealous ‘cause you got the two most perfect kids they ever seen so they gotta come up with somethin’ wrong to make ‘em like the rest of us.”

“That’s pro’ly it,” Daryl says with a small smile. “So what’s up? You didn’t say you was stoppin’ by. Everything good?” 

“Yeah yeah,” Merle says dismissively. “I was actually wonderin’ if your girl was in. Wanted to talk to her.”

“Carol?” Daryl asks, brow furrowed.

“You got another girl I should know about?”

“What? No. I just meant, why’d you come out here to talk to her?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to my sister-in-law?”

“No, ‘course you’re allowed, it’s just...I guess it don’t matter none. She’s out back washin’ peanut butter off the dog.” At Merle’s blink, Daryl sighs and says,”Don’t ask.”

As if on cue, the sound of the back screen door creaking open and slamming shut comes from the kitchen. Merle scoots the toddlers off his lap and mutters something about being right back. He gets to his feet and heads to where Daryl can hear Carol washing her hands in the kitchen sink. Daryl frowns after his brother, before rallying the kids up and leading them to the bathroom, since a wet washcloth is clearly not solving their peanut butter problem.

Daryl runs a bath and multitasks impressively, stripping the kids down and getting them into the warm water without either of them escaping through the cracked door. He tosses in some floaty toys to distract them as he starts rubbing baby shampoo in the peanut buttery floof of hair on top of Jesse’s head.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the house is small. Merle and Carol have migrated into the living room, and although they’re talking low they aren’t whispering, so sure, he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but if he strains his ears to hear a little better? Well, sometimes curiosity gets the best of us. He takes a cup and pours water over Jesse’s head, covering his son’s eyes to keep the soap out of them, and he does some more multitasking, cleaning the kids while listening in on his wife and brother in the other room.

“It’s just been hard, y’know? Don’t even know why. Makes me feel like a goddamn pussy,” Merle is saying.

“You’re not, though. If it were as easy as quitting and never thinking about it again the producers of Intervention would be thinking about pitching a new show. You’ve only relapsed that one time. That’s impressive,” Carol says.

“Yeah, and that relapse almost killed my brother; almost left his kiddos without a daddy. And for what? ‘Cause my dumbass wanted a high. And that’s the thing that’s so fuckin’ dumb—I almost killed my own flesh an’ blood ‘cause of the dope, but I still got this part o’ me that wants to say fuck it and go right back into it.”

“But you haven’t, and that’s what matters.”

“Sometimes I want it so bad I can’t hardly think of nothin’ else. I ran into this fuckin’ asshole from my dope days last night, and he asked if I wanted to go smoke up with him, and I told him no, but the truth was I did. I fuckin’ wanted it, and havin’ it so close was like danglin’ a raw steak in front of a dog. It’d be easy as hell to go get a hit. I got about a million contacts who could hook me up; could get a dime bag in the same amount of time it’d take me to order a pizza. I’m a fuckin’ fat kid in a room full o’ chocolate cake I ain’t allowed to touch.” 

Carol snorts at Merle’s analogy, and says, “Maybe, but instead of eating the cake you came to me to remind you why you’re supposed to stay away from it. There are plenty of strong people who would have eaten the cake instead, so don’t sell yourself short. You’re not weak for having cravings. What matters is whether or not you give in to them.” 

“I laid in bed last night lookin’ at pics of the twins, tryna remind myself why it wasn’t worth it. It’s one thing to fuck up my own life, but it’s a whole other thing to do that to y’all.”

“When I was at my lowest points with my postpartum depression—when all I could think about was checking out—sometimes the only thing tethering me to my last threads of sanity was thinking about what killing myself would do to my family,” Carol says, making Daryl’s heart hurt. “It’s great to want to take care of yourself because you’re worth it, but there are days when that self-worth doesn’t outweigh that need . I’ve come to find that when you can’t do it for you, it’s okay to do it for them.”

Merle is silent for several beats.

“I’m doin’ it for them today,” he says finally, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than to Carol. “For you, too, darlin’, cause God knows you’re as much my blood as them other three is.”

“And I will gladly be your support—your reason for staying clean—whenever you can’t do it for yourself.”

“No,” Josie says firmly then, startling Daryl. He brings his attention back to the kids and realizes he’s been washing suds off of his daughter that have long since been cleared away, and she’s no longer putting up with it. She pushes the cup away with a grumpy scowl.

“Daddy, clean now,” Jesse informs Daryl with considerably less animosity.

“Yeah, you are. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, tuning out of the conversation not meant for him in the first place, and focuses his full attention on the twins.

*

What Daryl’s seeing and what it means aren’t matching up in his brain. There’s a clean bite mark on his brother’s shoulder, and empirically he knows that means that whatever this science fiction-like horror of an ailment is, Merle is now infected with it. Objectively, he knows there’s only one way this is headed.

But subjectively, nothing makes any sense, because Merle is standing right there , looking alive and well, say for that single wound. They don’t know how any of this work—Merle’s the only one who claims to have seen a bite turn someone into a walker—who’s to say it happens the same way for everyone? They’re working off limited information, and maybe—

“Baby brother,” Merle says then. “I can see your brain goin’ a thousand miles an hour tryna find some way outta this, but there ain’t one. It is what it is. No sense pretendin’ it ain’t.”

Daryl doesn’t know how to respond to that. No one does, apparently, as a long, tense silence passes between the lot of them.

“Uncle Merle, did one of the monsters bite you?” Jesse asks, wrapping his hand tight around Carol’s pant leg, Stew’s cage still clutched to his side like a safety blanket.

“Yeah, kid. They got me.”

“But I thought that means you get sick and then act like the other monsters.”

“It does,” Josie says quietly to her brother.

“But then what’s gonna happen?” Jesse asks, directing his question at Josie.

“It means Uncle Merle is gonna die like Auntie Barb,” Josie says flatly, and then draws her lips into a thin line, decidedly done with talking. She turns away from all of them, tucking herself at the base of a nearby tree, curled in a ball. Henry follows her and lays down at her feet. Everyone watches her do this. Daryl and Carol know better than to try and comfort her; when she gets overwhelmed, Josie’s wont is to pull away and keep her mouth sealed shut, and the best course of action is to let her calm herself down. 

“Let her be,” Daryl mutters to his friends.

“I don’t want you to die, Uncle Merle,” Jesse says, lower lip trembling. Out of the corner of his eye Daryl sees Josie tuck herself in even tighter.

“Don’t worry, little man, everything’s gonna be alright,” Merle tells his nephew.

“There’s gotta be something we can do,” Glenn says, words dripping with doubt even as he says them.

“You know there ain’t,” Merle says over his shoulder to Glenn. “We all know it, so here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna rifle through what we got and set up camp in this here clearing. We’ve got a couple tents packed in with all the other shit. We’ll put those at the top of the hill. Harder for anythin’ to get at y’all if you get some height advantage on the fuckers.”

Daryl doesn’t miss the way he excludes himself from the rest of them.

“What about you?” Rick asks quietly. “Do you...are you feeling sick?”

“Sick of standin’ around losin’ our last bit o’ daylight, yeah,” Merle says, stalking over to the van and popping open the trunk. He rummages around for supplies , while everyone else stands around dumbly, at a loss.

From beside Daryl, Carol detaches herself from Jesse and approaches Merle. Merle looks up at her, opening his mouth to bark an order, or maybe protest any words of pity she might have, but Carol cuts him off before he can get a single syllable out, by wrapping her arms tight around his middle and resting her head on his chest. Sighing, Merle rubs her back, letting her hug him close.

“It’ll be okay, doll,” he tells her. Carol clenches her eyes shut, shaking her head.

“Josie already told you off for lying to her,” she says. “Don’t do the same to me.”

“Alright,” Merle says softly. “We don’t got the time to worry about me right now, though. We gotta get everyone safe first. Gonna need shelter ‘fore nightfall. Remember, darlin’, you’re a momma. You gotta focus on those babies ‘fore anythin’ else.”

Carol pulls away, steeling herself with a nod, brushing a few stray tears off her cheeks. Daryl can see her physically shift into action mode, and forces himself to do the same. His brother’s right—before all else, being a father comes first.

The next hour passes with unease. No one can figure out what they’re supposed to say, making all conversation stilted and solely about the tasks at hand. Even Jesse, with his ever endless chatter, can’t seem to find the words. They work in quiet tandem, setting up a camp, the silence broken up only by mumbles of directions, questions about where to put things, and Beth’s occasional sniffles. Josie hasn’t moved from her spot beside the tree, still as a rock. In the dimming daylight, Merle helps Daryl pitch a tent, and Daryl sees him wipe beads of sweat off his forehead even as the temperature outside drops the further down the sun goes. 

“How you feelin’?” Daryl asks him in an undertone.

“Come hold this while I hammer this stake into the ground, would you?” Merle says, avoiding his question entirely. Daryl goes over to his brother, but instead of taking hold of the piece of tent Merle’s trying to get control over, he puts the back of his hand on his forehead.

“The fuck, man?” Merle says predictably, shoving Daryl away, but Daryl isn’t dissuaded.

“Let me,” he says, hand still outstretched. With a tremendous sigh, Merle gives Daryl a flat ‘get on with it then’ gesture. Daryl presses his knuckles against his brother’s skin and grimaces at the clamminess he finds there. He’s not burning up, but he’s warmer than he should be, and Daryl knows it’s starting. “Gettin’ a fever,” he mumbles.

“Well, what’d you expect?” Merle says, pushing Daryl away again. “Help me with this, man, it’s almost dark.”

They finish putting the tent up in silence, Daryl casting worried looks at his brother whenever he thinks he can get away with it. They have one large tent and one smaller tent that will be a tight squeeze for eleven people. Or ten, if Merle…

“You think it’s safe to make a fire?” Daryl asks, cutting off his own thought train, wiping dirt off his hands on the back of his jeans.

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Merle says. “Don’t wanna bring attention to yourselves. Doubt there’s anyone or anything this far out, but we thought the farm was safe, too, and that ain’t worked out the way we thought.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbles. Merle is rubbing his arms up and down like he’s getting chills, and he almost wants to insist on the fire just to make his brother more comfortable, but Merle’s right. It’s not worth the risk. “Gonna check on Carol and the kids, I’ll be back,” Daryl says instead, walking away before he says something unconscionable like, “Do you need anything?” or, “Maybe you should lay down.”

Carol is sitting on the ground a little ways away, knees drawn to her chest, petting Jesse’s floofy hair absently while the little boy sits criss-cross in front of her, nibbling on animal crackers. It’s a testament to how distraught Jesse is that he’s not going on and on about every cracker’s elaborate backstory. Carol looks up at Daryl when he approaches. Daryl nods down at Jesse in question, and Carol shrugs.

“This is all I could get him to eat,” she says quietly. “He says his stomach is hurting him.”

“That’s right, JJ?” Daryl asks, squatting down in front of his son. Jesse pauses mid-chew and twists his mouth.

“There’s lightning in my tummy,” he says. 

“How do you mean?” Daryl asks, giving a bemused frown. 

“Right here,” Jesse says, pointing just below his sternum. “‘Member on that cartoon when that guy got hit with a lightning zigzag and his body shook a bunch and his hair got all pointy?” 

“Mm, yeah, I remember.” He doesn’t, but he can infer.

“That’s what’s in my tummy. It feels all shaky. It’s making my heart beat funny and I don’t like it very much. I don’t like a lot of what’s happening very much.” 

“That feeling’s called anxiety, sweet potato,” Carol says gently. “When you get nervous or scared, sometimes you get anxiety and it makes you not feel so great.” 

“How do I turn it off?” Jesse asks. Carol smiles sadly at him. 

“You can’t always turn it off, baby. But it’ll go away eventually. Momma’s pretty anxious, and I bet your daddy is, too. Scary things are going on, it’s normal to have bad feelings.”

“Is that why Joey is having her behaviors?” Jesse asks. Daryl sighs, exchanging a glance with Carol. Behaviors are what Josie’s teachers call it when she gets like this—refusing to speak or interact with anyone. It doesn’t happen as much as it did when she was teeny tiny, but every now and then, something at school would trigger it, and Daryl and Carol would get a call saying that Josie was “having behaviors,” as though the way their daughter processes big emotions is wrong and something they should be trying to rectify. As far as Daryl’s concerned, the world is heavy for a little kid, and if she wants to tune it out for a little while to process it, what’s so bad about that? His baby girl has never been a crier—she has to sort her feelings out somehow.

“How’s she doin’?” Daryl asks Carol. “See you got her to come up the hill.” He nods over to where Josie is laying on her side, head resting against a tolerant Henry, a few feet away from where the tents are pitched. She’s staring off into space, ignoring everyone and everything.

“Took some prodding,” Carol says. “I promised her she could have space as long as she stayed in our sight.” 

“She say anythin’?”

“Not a word.”

“Is Joey not talking ‘cause Uncle Merle is sick?” Jesse asks, breaking a cracker up into crumbs in his hands.

“That’s what pushed her over the edge, but it’s just been a hard few days for all of us,” Carol says, threading her fingers through the thick fluff on the top of his head. “Your sister sometimes just gets too much lightning in her belly.”

“Can I have a piece of paper? I wanna draw her a picture to make her feel better.” 

“‘Course you can,” Daryl says, gripping Jesse’s knee as Carol sticks her lower lip out.

“She’ll like that,” she says, kissing Jesse’s temple.

“No she won’t, she’ll think it’s dumb,” Jesse says with a shrug. “But she’ll understand.” 

Both Daryl and Carol snort.

“You know your sister well, sir,” Carol says.

“Imma run to the van and get your coloring stuff, okay?” Daryl says, standing up straight.

“Wanna grab the other lanterns we have back there, too?” Carol asks. 

“Mhm,” Daryl says, ducking down to kiss her. He cups her cheek and she hums at his touch, knowing it’s him giving her silent reassurance. He’s revitalized some by the feel of her, too. It’s that reminder he needs that he’s part of a team, and they’re gonna get through this night, wherever it takes them.

He makes his way down the steep hill to where all the cars have been moved over further into the trees to make them less obvious in case anyone comes by. Daryl’s not sure what he expects to happen if other people happen upon his group, but with a million and one stressful things going on right now he’s not exactly up for dealing with other people in crisis mode, too.

He unlocks the van and grabs one of Jesse’s drawing pads and crayons, as well as both kids’ teddy bears, and the two lanterns in the trunk. In a row, underneath all the other supplies, are the weapons from his shed that he, Rick, and Glenn packed what seems like weeks ago, even though it’s only been barely two days. Daryl ponders the weapons for a minute, what happened on the farm making him less comfortable with his single knife in his belt. He sets his armful of stuff to the side and picks up a pistol. He checks the clip, sees it’s fully loaded, and tucks it in the back of his pants, hoping his utter disregard for gun safety doesn’t end with a bullet in his ass. 

Daryl’s about to head back up the hill when he hears someone retching nearby. Following the sound, he approaches slowly, and in the last bit of dusk he makes out the silhouette of his brother leaning against Glenn and Maggie’s car and throwing up into the grass. Daryl waits for the contents of his brother’s stomach to finish making a reappearance before making himself known.

“You good?” he asks. Merle startles at his voice, which worries Daryl more than the vomiting; his brother doesn’t surprise easy.

“Yeah, fine,” Merle says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Even in the growing darkness, Daryl can tell that this is a goddamn lie. Merle is trembling, putting all his weight against the car to keep himself upright. 

“Want me to get you some water or somethin’?”

“Man, climb out of my ass, would you?” Merle says, pushing himself up and wobbling on his feet. Daryl reaches out to catch him if he tumbles, but Merle stubbornly angles himself away from him and eventually finds his footing. 

“I don’t know what I’m s’posed to be doin’ here,” Daryl admits quietly. “Tell me what to do?” It’s such a raw request, and Daryl realizes that in this moment he’s never felt more like a little brother looking to his older brother for guidance, and how selfish is that? He’s not the one dying here. 

To his credit, Merle doesn’t seem to find Daryl’s request self-centered in the slightest. Instead, Merle softens his tone and slips into older brother mode. He says, “I think it’s time I take care of this, baby brother. Don’t make no sense to wait around.”

“Take care of it?” Daryl asks, stomach churning. Or maybe it’s lightning. “What the hell’s that mean?” 

“I’m not gonna sit and let y’all put cool washcloths on my forehead and look at me all sad like,” Mere says. “I ain’t lettin’ myself get sicker, and I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ myself turn into one of them things, so I gotta take care of it before it gets to that point.”

“Take care of it how?”

“Don’t be dense, Daryl,” Merle says. “You ain’t no idiot. Them kids of yours didn’t get all their brains from your girl. Just most of ‘em.” 

Daryl can’t even grant him a pity laugh.

“You’re gonna kill yourself.” It’s not a question. “You can’t do that.”

“Yeah? And what exactly is the alternative?” 

“What if it don’t affect everyone the same way?” Daryl asks, flinching at the desperation in his voice. “Maybe some people are fightin’ it off. What if you end it but didn’t have to?”

“Baby brother,” Merle says, kindly but firmly. “I’m sick. Real sick. Already feel like hell, and it’s only gettin’ worse from here. How you intend to treat me with no hospital to get to, huh? With a couple Tylenol, fluids, and prayer? Nah, man, fuck that. Bob, at the end there, he was a bumbling mess, with sick on hisself and no mind left. Don’t make me suffer like that ‘cause of a fool’s hope. Let me go out with my dignity in tact.” 

Every fiber of his being wants to protest, but Daryl can’t think of a rebuttal that doesn’t amount to him simply not wanting his older brother to die.

“At least don’t do it yourself,” he says finally, but Merle shakes his head.

“No way in hell I’m puttin’ that on you. And you ain’t lettin’ your girl or them kids see me like that, you hear me? You neither. Gonna go deep in the woods and you’re gonna leave me there. Don’t go lookin’ for what’s left of me, don’t go diggin’ no holes, just let nature take its course with me like it’s meant to. You hear me?” When Daryl doesn’t answer Merle takes a solid step into his personal space and says, “Do you hear me , baby brother?” 

“Yeah,” Daryl mutters after a beat. “I hear you.” 

Merle nods, satisfied. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and blows out a breath. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he tells Daryl. “We’re gonna go back up that hill, and we’re gonna be calm, ‘cause there’s a woman up there who lost her mother yesterday, a girl whose boyfriend gotten eaten right in front of her, and, most importantly, two lil' ones who need us to be strong for ‘em if they’re gonna get through this shit pile we’ve all been tossed into. 

“Then, I’m gonna say a few goodbyes, see myself out, and y’all are gonna go on without me. Alright? You can’t afford to get up in your feelin’s, not when there’s monsters in the dark tryna get at you. Think you can do that?”

Daryl wants to say no. He wants to go sit next to his daughter in a matching ball and tune out everything until the world has righted itself again. Instead, he breathes out a forced, “Yeah,” and fights a wince when Merle claps a hand on his shoulder. Without even touching him directly, Daryl can feel heat coming off his skin, his brother’s temperature having risen substantially in just the past half hour or so. 

He adjusts the mess of things he’s got in his arms, and lets Merle lead him back up the hill where camp has been set up, causing everyone to sit around idly, a nervous energy wafting off each and every one of them with nothing to distract them from all the bullshit. The two of them go over to where Carol and Jesse are still in the grass. Daryl places a lantern beside them and clicks it on. 

“Here, baby, you color for a bit, okay? Me and Uncle Merle need to talk to momma in private for a minute, mkay?” Daryl says, handing Jesse his colors and paper. Jesse looks between the three adults surrounding him, questions right there on his lips without his sister to ask them for him, but he bites them back, instead taking the items from Daryl with a muted thank you. Without being told to, Carol stands up, dusts the seat of her pants off, and follows Daryl and Merle out of earshot of the little boy.

“You look like shit,” Carol says to Merle before anything else, crossing her arms and giving him a once over. Merle grins.

“Not everyone can look as stunning as you, doll,” he says, nudging her with his elbow. Carol huffs a breath through her nose, but can’t seem to bring herself to smile.

“It’s starting, isn’t it? You’re getting sick?” she asks.

“Yeah, I ain’t feelin’ great,” Merle agrees. Carol searches his face and then ducks her head.

“You’re checking out, aren’t you?” she says, eyes trained on the ground.

“You know it’s the only way, darlin’.” He reaches over and lifts Carol’s chin with a finger. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says seriously. “And that ain’t me lyin’. You’re tough as nails. If it don’t get okay on its own, I know you’ll work your magic and make it okay. That’s what you do. You take broken things and make them good.”

Tears well up in Carol’s eyes, but she blinks them back, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. 

“What’s the plan?” she asks with impressive calm, and Daryl loves her so much for her it. Merle explains what he intends to do, and he’s not even all the way finished before she’s shaking her head. “You’re not gonna go walk out into the woods by yourself,” she says sternly. “We’re going with you. Me, Daryl, and the twins.”

“No,” Merle says, just as stern. “You’re not gonna watch that.”

“We won’t, but we’re gonna go with you as far as we can. Don’t argue.” 

Merle regards Carol for a long moment, before barking a laugh. He says, “Stubborn as hell, you know that? Stubbornest woman I ever met. Okay. Y’all come with me, but you ain’t stayin’ to the very end. I’ll give you the time to get away. It ain’t just ‘cause I don’t want you to see. The gunshot, it might draw more of those things in, and I won’t have my last act on this Earth be putting your life in danger.” 

“Fine,” Carol agrees, her voice even but her ragged breath betraying her. She holds her elbows tighter. 

“Aight.” Merle claps his hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road then.”

“Right now?” Daryl asks, as if he hadn’t come up this hill with Merle telling him exactly what to expect.

“Feel awful, baby brother,” Merle says. “We wait too much longer and I ain’t gonna be able to make it to the woods.”

“Right,” Daryl says in a small voice.

“Here, you round up the lil’ ones. I’ll handle tellin’ the others.” 

He doesn’t give them time to protest. He heads off towards the rest of the group, huddled around the tents, passing around some of the dry food Daryl and his friends scored at the Dollar Store. The second he’s out of sight, Carol turns to face Daryl, the tears she was holding back flowing now.

“ Daryl ,” she whispers, her voice so anguished he can’t pull her to him fast enough. He doesn’t have any words to offer her. All he can do is rock her in his arms for a solid minute, before she pulls back and scrubs at her face, as though disgusted at herself for her moment of weakness. 

“I’ll get Jesse,” she says. “Explain it to him the best I can. Can you try with Josie? She’s more likely to listen to you than me. I know she’s not gonna want to come, but if she doesn’t get to say goodbye…” 

“I know,” Daryl says, brushing a thumb over Carol’s wet cheek. “I’ll talk to her.” 

Burdened with the terrible task of telling their children they have to go with their uncle to say goodbye before he shoots himself in the head, they go their separate ways, Carol to Jesse, and Daryl to Josie.

Josie seems almost comatose when he settles in beside her. Daryl scratches Henry on the head, and the dog gives his hand a small lick, almost like he can tell something’s not right. Daryl tugs a weed up out of the ground and starts tearing it into strips, trying to think of how to go about this.

“Baby,” he says after the weed is torn apart and his fingers are coated in a thin layer of sap. “You don’t gotta say nothin’, but can you listen for a minute?” Josie doesn’t acknowledge him, but Daryl didn’t really expect her to. He trudges on. “Your Uncle is gonna die. He’s not gonna become a walker, ‘cause he’s gonna die before that happens. And I fuckin’ hate tellin’ you that, ‘cause it ain’t somethin’ a kid should hear, but you’re always two steps ahead of me anyways, and I told you that I’d tell you the truth, but the truth ain’t always gonna be happy.”

Josie hardly blinks.

“Your Uncle doesn’t want his friends to see him sick. He doesn’t want us to see it neither, but what we’re gonna do is go for a walk with him, into the woods, and find him a nice place to rest. To die. You remember how much your Uncle loves the woods, right? It’s like we’ll be takin’ him to his favorite place. And listen, I know you don’t wanna get up from here, I know that right now you’re havin’ a hard time sortin’ through all the things in your head and need the space, and I’ve always respected that, haven’t I? I’ve always told you it’s okay to feel things however you need to. But I need you to trust me right now. I need you to believe me when I tell you that if you don’t come with us to say goodbye to your Uncle it will be the wrong choice, and you’ll regret it, maybe forever. Do you know what regret means?”

The faintest furrow ghosts over Josie’s face, but she remains silent.

“It means doin’ somethin' and then later wishin’ you hadn’t. Or not doin’ somethin’ and wishin' you had. Nobody is gonna force you to talk, but will you please come with us, at least? For you, so you don’t regret not comin’, but for your Uncle Merle, too. He needs to see you, baby. He needs to be able to say goodbye. You both do.”

Josie doesn’t do anything right away. Daryl waits patiently, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek or rub her back, knowing she’d find the touch suffocating. Finally, without a word, she sits up, pushing her hair out of her face, before getting to her feet. Henry lifts up his head, the tags on his collar jingling, and she takes a gentle hold of his collar. The dog gets the hint and stands beside her, waiting to be led wherever she wants him to go. 

“Thank you, baby girl,” Daryl whispers to his daughter, and he can’t say for certain, but he thinks he sees her nod.

*

They traipse through the woods and it seems to take forever, Merle leading them deep into the trees, refusing to risk bringing any unwanted visitors to the campsite with the noise of his pistol. Carol carries a lantern, and Daryl a flashlight, Merle too weak and shaky to hold anything. His steps are uneven and careless, twigs snapping under his feet and leaves crunching. Merle has always had a tendency to be loud, especially in his druggie days, but in the woods he’s always employed a stealth even Daryl envied, but the illness overtaking his body has stripped him of that, too. 

To make up for Merle’s lapses, Daryl pays especially close attention to their surroundings, training his ears towards the area around him, in case anything unsavory decides to come barreling out of the shadows. His knife is in his hand—he doesn’t even bother to keep it hidden from the kids—and he knows he has his own gun should he need it, but still he worries that if he lets his guard down for even a second his entire family will be at risk. 

Jesse gave Stew to Glenn to watch over, in exchange for his teddy bear, who he’s muttering to under his breath. Daryl catches bits and pieces of the one-sided conversation. “I know it’s sad, I’m sad, too,” he whispers to his bear. “But sometimes stories have sad parts ‘cause then it’s real nice when everything is happy again.” 

Josie, hand still clutching Henry’s collar, is following the directions they gave her about staying beside them, but only physically. Her mind is a million miles away. Or maybe it’s the exact opposite, and she’s taking in every little thing the way Daryl does, and that’s why it’s so hard for her to voice her thoughts, because how do you voice everything at once? Carol keeps glancing over at her, biting her lip. There’s always a part of Carol, Daryl thinks, that is always a little bit afraid that Josie won’t snap out of it.

“Here,” Merle says abruptly after they’ve walked some more. There’s nothing remarkable about this spot, or if there is Daryl doesn’t see it. The forest is dense out here, and insects are crawling around on the ground, and spiders are making webs in the tree branches. Merle lowers himself down on the ground, his back against a large rock. He rests his arms on his knees and looks up at them expectantly. “End of the road,” he says. His eyes are gaunt, his face pale, and his teeth are chattering, but he smiles anyway. “Come on now, let’s do this. I hate me some goodbyes, so the sooner we’re done the better.”

He’s being flippant, but Daryl can sense the underlying fear. 

Merle OD'd once, years and years ago. It hadn’t even been meth. Daryl came home to find him on the living room floor, foaming at the mouth, an empty pill bottle of opioids with someone else’s name on it tipped over on the coffee table. Daryl, who was too young to know what to do in this sort of a situation, knew what to do anyway, because he grew up faster than most. He’d kept a dose of narcan in his sock drawer for months, because it gave him some sense of comfort and control, but to actually use it put lightning in his belly. He’d dosed his brother, and watched the color come back to his face as he sucked in panicked breaths. Daryl had called 911, and in the hospital they filled his brother with activated charcoal, and his probation officer sent him to Narcotics Anonymous as if it would make a difference.

It didn’t occur to Daryl until after a year or two had passed that maybe that overdose hadn’t been an accident.

There is nothing Daryl can give his brother to save him now. Merle’s gonna put a gun in his mouth and there will be no question to whether or not it was on accident, and the only thing Daryl can do is allow it. It’s bullshit, Daryl thinks, for him to have the power to save his brother one day, and to be helpless on another.

“Here,” Carol says. She takes out a blanket she has rolled up under her arm, and drapes it over Merle, tucking it around him like she does for the kids at bedtime. “My thought at the time when grabbing this was that it would smell like all of us, and then I remembered you aren’t Henry being left at the vet needing a familiar smell to calm you down, but I had already grabbed it, plus it’s cold out, and…” She trails off, catching herself rambling. Merle takes her hand in his.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

“Glad you like the familiar smells,” Carol says, and while he smiles at her joke, he shakes his head at her.

“Not what I mean,” he says. “I mean, thank you for everything. I ain’t never been much of a church goer, but you make me think there must be somethin’ up there, ‘cause you gotta be an angel in the flesh. You comin’ into my brother’s life was the single best thing that ever happened to either one of us. There ain’t no one else like you, doll, and it has been a privilege to know you.”

“You too,” Carol says, not able to fight her tears this time. She keeps Merle’s hand in an iron grip, adding, “And thank you for everything you’ve done to make sure you’re here for us. It’s not been easy, I know that. And a thank you won’t suffice for what you did for my daughter. You saved her life. I can’t repay that.”

“Yeah you can, and I’ll tell you how. Thing’s are a big ol’ mess right now, and I think it’s just gonna get messier. So here’s the only thing I’m gonna ask of you, and you can consider us even. When it gets hard—I mean so hard you can’t hardly stand it—promise me you’ll keep goin’, no matter what. Don’t let those demons in your head get you. And remember that it’s okay to find strength to get by in other people. That’s what you taught me, ain’t it? When you can’t do it for you…”

“Do it for them,” Carol finishes quietly. She ducks down and places a long kiss to Merle’s forehead, before backing away and letting the next person have their turn.

“Hey,” Merle says, holding a hand out to Jesse. “C’mere, kid.”

Jesse approaches him warily, his teddy bear practically being strangled he’s got his arm wrapped around its neck so tight. Before Merle can say anything, Jesse digs into his pocket and pulls out a poorly folded piece of paper.

“I had to draw it really fast, ‘cause momma said we had to go, but this is for you,” he says, handing the paper to Merle. Merle unfolds it with his shaky hands and looks it over in silence for several beats, bringing his lips in between his teeth like he’s trying to maintain his calm. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Daryl thinks he doesn’t trust himself to say it louder than that. He turns the picture around so Daryl and Carol can see it. It’s a drawing of Merle, Jesse, and Josie all holding hands and smiling. In big letters, Jesse has written, “DONT B SKARD UNKL MERLE WE LOVE U AND U WILL B OK AND U R THE BEST UNKL EVER.” 

A few of the letters are backwards, and his spelling could be improved, but Daryl knows exactly why it hits Merle so hard. Daryl isn’t unfamiliar with feelings of inadequacy, and he knows that his brother’s biggest fear over the past six years has been letting his niece and nephew down. But he hasn’t. He’s been there for them, and it was the hardest thing he had to do, but he managed, since his one slip up forever ago, to make the decision to do right by his family, from the moment he woke up, to the second he fell asleep every day, and Jesse’s note is tangible proof that he succeeded. 

“You’re special, you know that?” Merle asks Jesse then. “Ain’t no one else who sees the world like you do, and that’s a big deal. Don’t never let nobody take that away from you. You’re creative, and smart, and funny, and so fuckin’ weird, and little boy, that makes you a prize and a half. I tell all my friends that I know the best artist ever. Tell ‘em he’s gonna be the next Picasso, ‘cept better. First time I held you, you was tiny and fragile, and I was scared shitless that I was gonna hurt you, but I didn’t wanna put you down, ‘cause I fell in love with you the second I met you, and I ain’t never stopped, Jesse. I ain’t never gonna stop. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Jesse says, voice watery. He wraps himself around Merle easily. “I love you, too.” 

By the time Jesse backs away to stand by Carol, Merle looks like he’s about to fall apart. He takes a steadying breath and nods at Josie.

“Baby girl,” he says. “Please?” 

Josie stands stock still for several seconds, before loosening her grip on Henry’s collar and shuffling over to her uncle. She stands beside him, her head bowed. Merle doesn’t ask her to look at him. He knows her as well as the rest of them do.

“I know you don’t feel much like smilin’ right now,” he says to her. “But your smile is the first thing I remember whenever I think about you. Big chubby cheeks, not a tooth in sight, just beamin’ up at me like we’d known each other forever even though we had just met—that’s the smile I remember. Pissed your daddy off somethin’ awful, too, ‘cause you didn’t smile easy as a baby. Still don’t, matter o’ fact. But you smiled at me, little lady, and that’s a compliment I ain’t never forgotten.” He sighs, looking her up and down. “You know you’re named after a woman that I miss every day. She even looked like you. You got her eyes, both you and your daddy do. She was kind, and gentle, and yeah, she had her problems, but she meant well. And her life was cut too short. That happens sometimes, angel, I want you to understand that. Sometimes lives get cut too short, but that don’t mean the time you got wasn’t worth it, right?” 

Josie stares at the ground.

“You’re so damn smart, Josie, and I’m proud of you, but I want you to take a page outta your brother’s book and realize it’s okay to be a lil’ goofy, and to smile. Don’t misunderstand, I love you exactly the way you are, but I just want to make sure you’re happy. Bad things happen, but good things do too. You’re one of those good things for me. I hope I was one of ‘em for you.”

Josie grinds her teeth together, and, very slowly, takes a step towards Merle and puts her hands around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder blade. Merle blows out a breath and hugs her back. Then, stepping away, Josie lifts her head and gives Merle the tiniest of smiles. It takes all her effort, Daryl knows, because there isn’t a bone in her body that feels like smiling right now, but it’s for Merle. It’s a final gift for him, and Merle smiles back, and they communicate more between them than any words could ever say.

“Hey, I think I wanna do this last one alone,” Merle says once Josie is back with Henry. “Daryl and me, we got a few things to say that’s just between us, okay?” 

“Does that mean we’re leaving you now forever?” Jesse asks, face red with tears.

“It means you’re gonna go on livin’ with all the people who love you, and knowin’ that I love y’all too, no matter what,” Merle says. 

“C’mon,” Carol says gently to the kids, rallying them up to take them out of earshot. She casts a final glance at Merle, who gives her a wink. She lets out a sad laugh, and gives one back, before disappearing through the trees. 

And then it’s just Daryl and Merle.

Neither one knows how to start.

“Baby brother,” Merle says after the silence has dragged on a comically long time. “I’m not sure what even to say here. Got a million things I feel I should tell you and I’m scared Imma forget somethin’ important.”

“You don’t gotta say nothin’,” Daryl says. “I know it all.”

“Nah, see, I do though, ‘cause that’s how we done it our whole lives—sayin' nothin' and hopin' the other one understands. We got better at it, but we still ain’t the type to sit and have long talks about our feelin’s at the dinner table, and that’s fine. But that means that there are some things that still need to be said.”

“‘Kay,” Daryl says, kicking the dirt at his feet. “What things?” 

“The usual, I s’pose. That I love you. That I’m sorry for the years I wasted bein’ a fuck up. That I’m grateful for the chances you gave me. But most importantly, that I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.” 

“Thanks,” Daryl says, ducking his head, feeling like Josie with his tongue all tied and words backed up in his head.

“The life you made for yourself, little brother, is beautiful. There are a million ways you coulda fucked it all up, but instead you kept on doin’ all the right things. Our daddy did terrible shit to the both of us, and it turned me cold, but it never made you lose all that good inside you. You got so much good that you even managed to bring some out in me, ain’t that a fuckin’ trip? And those kids, man, those kids are incredible, and the daddy you became, right from the jump, is just...hell, man, I didn’t know daddy’s could be like that. That a husband could love and respect his wife like that. I’m your older brother, but you taught me more about life than I ever did for you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t better, but thank you for showin’ me the way.”

Daryl swipes at his eyes.

“Proud of you, too,” he mutters. “For stayin’ clean. For makin’ up for our past by bein’ there for me whenever I needed you for the past five or six years. And your love for my kids and my girl, and even for me, means more than you know. And what you did for Jojo...Carol’s right, Merle, that can’t be repaid. You gave yourself up to save her, and I just...thank you for saving my baby.” Daryl’s voice cracks on the last bit, and his breath comes out like a sob. 

“C’mere, man,” Merle says, motioning for him. Daryl gets down on his knees and hugs his brother in a way he never has, and for a moment, just that one moment, he’s that scared little kid he used to be, getting what he always wanted, which was his older brother to protect him.

“I love you,” Daryl says, standing back up. “Always will, alright? There ain’t no bad blood here—hasn’t been for years—so don’t you go outta this world thinkin’ you didn’t atone for anythin’. You made your life worth somethin’, and fuck it ain’t fair you don’t get to have more of it.”

“It’s alright, baby brother,” Merle says with the utmost sincerity. “You’re the reason I had a life worth livin’ in the first place, and I didn’t take a single moment of it for granted. Maybe this is how it ends, but it was worth it for the time I got.” 

“It ain’t fair,” Daryl breathes, still sounding like a little kid. 

“Nah,” Merle says. “But that’s just life. So just go and love your family like crazy, and protect ‘em with your everythin’, and no matter what happens, remember what you have is beautiful.” He shrugs, like he’s said everything he’s got. “There are worse ways to go, baby brother, and I never woulda thought that I’d make it outta this world without any regrets. Thank you. Thank you and I love you. It’s really as simple as that.”

*

They’re almost back to the hill when the muffled, yet unmistakable bang of a gun rumbles through the forest. Daryl stops in his tracks, sucking in a deep breath, and Carol clutches his arm, crying into his shirt. Jesse bursts into tears, likely before he even pieces together what happened, because his parents are crying and it’s putting that lightning in his belly.

Josie throws herself to the ground on her knees, bent all the way forward so her forehead is touching the dirt. She covers her ears and shakes her head back and forth vehemently.

“Baby, we gotta keep goin’,” Daryl says, putting a hand on her back, which she recoils from immediately. She springs back up to her feet and keeps her hands on her ears, backing away from Daryl.

“Okay, I'm sorry, I won’t touch you, but we can’t lose our shit here. We all gotta hold it together ‘til we get back.”

She mumbles something.

“What was that, honey?” Carol asks, lifting her face from Daryl, Mom Override kicking in just as Dad Override takes over Daryl.

“My fault,” Josie mutters. 

“What?” Daryl asks.

“My fault!” Josie shouts. “My fault. My fault. My fault.” 

“Oh sweetheart, no it wasn’t,” Carol says. “Don’t think that, please.” 

“My fault, my fault, my fault,” Josie keeps repeating, hands clamped over her ears. Carol looks to Daryl helplessly.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, patting Carol’s shoulder. He goes over and scoops Josie up into his arms, which she fights against, trying to wrestle out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than her, and she relents, deflating like a balloon.

They make their way back to the camp, Josie whispering an unending mantra of guilt into the crook of Daryl’s neck. Merle’s body lays lifeless somewhere behind them in the forest.

They don’t turn back.

Chapter Text

Daryl sits on a large, flat rock, knees drawn to his chest, crossbow sitting beside him. He twiddles a bolt in his hands taking in the sounds of the forest. Something scampers up a nearby tree—a possum, judging by the clack of nails on bark. A bird chirps above him, and another one replies. The two birds engage in a call-and-response.Sparrows, he can tell by the inflections. The breeze is blowing northwest from the coast, and Daryl can feel a cold front coming in. The temperature will drop, probably by tomorrow, and he’s glad they decided to go out today. Daryl hates being cold.

A single twig snaps and Daryl is at attention in an instant. Through the brush comes Merle, back from a piss, and Daryl loosens up, the tight grip on his bolt he hadn’t even noticed going slack.

“Heard a possum over there, wanna go for it?” Mele asks, coming over to Daryl and picking up the rifle he has leaning up against a tree trunk.

“Do you know how much shit I got the first an’ only time I tried to convince Carol to eat possum?” Daryl asks. “Be a waste of energy and a needless kill. She an’ the kids wouldn’t go near it.”

“Could give it to me. I ain’t about to throw out fresh meat,” Merle says, scoffing. He clambers down to the ground and lays his rifle across his lap. “You gotta teach them kids to be proper carnivores, baby brother. Get ‘em out here with us sometime.”

“They’re four, Merle, let’s get them mastering not wetting the bed first, and then we’ll think about sendin’ ‘em into the woods to hunt,” Daryl says. He kicks a pinecone at his feet. “Dunno how’d they do, anyhow. Jojo pro’ly would be a decent shot, but she’d overthink it, and JJ wouldn’t think about it at all and pro’ly forget he was even s’posed to be huntin’. He’d get distracted by a cool leaf or somethin’.”

“That kid would make friends with all the animals in the forest, and wouldn’t let you shoot Bambi.”

“Ha, yeah, we don’t never let ‘em see fresh kills. Once he pieces together that the meat on his plate used to be cute and fuzzy I might end up with a vegetarian on my hands.”

“God forbid. Though ‘member when he took a marker and drew faces on all the oranges and had a full-on conversation with ‘em? It’s a miracle you can get him to eat anythin’ at all.”

“Love him to death, but Goddamn is he a weirdo,” Daryl says fondly. He digs in his pack for his water bottle and takes a swig. He tosses it to Merle, who catches it easily and does the same. A squirrel chatters a ways away, and a nearby spring trickles downhill. Merle runs a thumb around the cap of the water bottle, lost in thought.

“What is it?” Daryl asks.

“Strange, ain’t it?” Merle says.

“What is?”

“How different your kiddos’ childhoods are compared to ours. Can you imagine what it woulda been like if one o’ us told our daddy, ‘I don’t think Imma eat meat no more?’” 

Daryl snorts at the thought.

“He woulda beat us into next week and then tossed us out into the wilderness and told us to go find us some leaves to eat since we wanna live like fuckin’ rabbits.”

“‘Too good for the meat I worked damn hard to put on this fuckin’ table?’” Merle says in a crude impersonation of their father, making Daryl laugh.

“How often did he take you huntin’?” he asks. Merle shrugs, using a twig to dig a hole in the dirt.

“Quite a bit early on,” he says. “Then tapered off into not at all after mom. Too far gone, I think; hardly went out even by hisself after the fire. You remember how fucked up he’d get. Meanest he ever was. Got the scars to prove it.”

“I sorta remember,” Daryl says, furrowing his brow as he searches his memories. “Still was little, you know? I feel like I know he was yellin’ all the time, but it’s all sorta one big blur.”

“Take my word for it, he was one mean mother fucker with mom gone. Least when she was around he’d lay off the dope when she got too fussed with him. Sobered up now and then as a show of goodwill. ‘Stead of flowers, he’d come tell our momma, ‘Never again, Josie, baby, promise you that.’ Usually after he’d gone off and given her a black eye or some shit.”

Daryl twists his mouth, sitting his bolt to the side and leaning back on his hands.

“You think he loved her?” Daryl asks his brother. Merle scoffs.

“What do I look like, a shrink? Like I know what the fuck went on in that man’s head.”

“I don’t mean do you think ‘underneath it all’ or whatever. I just mean, in his own way, do you think he loved her?”

“Hmph,” Merle hums, tossing his stick. “Hell, I dunno. In his own way? Probably. Never was the same after she died. Don’t mean he was good for her, though. Don’t mean he was good to her. Don’t think the man was capable of any real, genuine love, like you and Carol got. That disgusting romance novel shit.”

“Romance novel shit?” Daryl asks, laughing.

“Oh, for sure. Always eye fucking each other whenever you’re in the same room. Nah, not eye fucking. More like...eye love making.” Merle grins at Daryl choking on his own spit. “Y’all been married, what? Three years? Three years, two babies, and y’all still act like teenagers with a crush. Our daddy never looked at our momma the way you look at your wife.”

“What way is that?”

“Like you ain’t ever stopped bein’ surprised that she’s yours. Like just lookin’ at her face answers all the questions in the goddamn universe. Hell, there was that one time she got that stomach bug, and I came by to help with the kids, and she was on the couch with a fuckin’ puke bucket on her lap, hair all over the place, lookin’ like she ain’t showered in days, and you remember what you said to me?” Daryl shakes his head. “You said, ‘She’s fuckin’ superwoman. She’s been tryna handle the kids all day even when she’s feelin’ like shit, and God, ain’t she still beautiful as hell?’ Nah, baby brother, yours is the type of love they make movies about. Our daddy couldn’t never come close.”

Daryl scratches an itch on his elbow. “You say I look like I ain’t ever stopped bein’ surprised by her, and that’s ‘cause I ain’t. Every day I wake up like, ‘how the fuck did I get so lucky to have this be my life?’” 

“Dad would be so pissed to know how happy you are,” Merle says with a shit-eating grin. Daryl smirks.

“Wouldn’t he though?” He casts a glance his brother’s way and regards him thoughtfully. “You ever thought about findin’ yourself a girl?”

“Eh,” Merle says. He pulls out a cigarette and rolls it between his fingers. “Not really given it any serious thought. Not since that broad I told you about—that one from California? The one who baked like a goddamn goddess? Kinda feel like she was the best I’m ever gonna get.”

Daryl frowns at his lap.

“Don’t want you to be lonely, man,” he says.

“I ain’t,” Merle says, and when Daryl doesn’t reply, he insists, “Hey. I ain’t.”

Daryl searches his brother’s face.

“You’d tell me if you were?”

“I’d tell you,” Merle agrees. “But I ain’t, so stop your belly achin’. You ain’t the only one whose life’s brighter ‘cause of that damn woman of yours. Gave me a family. ‘Cause of y’all, girl or not, I ain’t never gonna be alone.”

Daryl, giving a small smile of pride, says, “She really is superwoman, huh?”

“Damn straight,” Merle says. He pops his cigarette in his mouth, pushes himself up, brushes off the seat of his pants, and Daryl knows their little moment has come to an end. Whatever, he’ll take it. It’s more than he ever would have gotten in the past. “C’mon.” Merle claps his hands together. “Let’s find us a buck so you can put food on that woman’s table. Gonna spend your whole life tryna give her everything she deserves. Never gonna be able to, o’ course—girl deserves more than any one man could give—but might as well start with a nice supper, right?”

“Right,” Daryl mutters with a private grin. He shoulders his crossbow and gets to his feet, following his brother deeper into the woods.

*

Daryl sits on a large, flat rock at the peak of the hill, overlooking the dark forest below. His crossbow is at his feet, positioned for quick access, and he’s stock still, listening to the sounds of the night.

An owl hoots in the distance, waking up and getting ready for its night of hunting. There’s scampering in the leaves of a fox far enough away to not be a problem. Hershel snores, not abrasively, but low and rhythmic with each breath. Someone keeps tossing and turning in their sleeping bag. Glenn, Daryl figures, given where the sound is coming from and the fretful way the man is moving. No one is crying—at least not loud enough to hear.

The muffled bang of his brother’s pistol keeps filling Daryl’s ears as he tries to focus on his surroundings.

From behind him comes the rustling of a tent; a zipper being pulled along the teeth and then closing back up. The footsteps that follow are familiar—the most familiar, and Daryl doesn’t even need to look up to know it’s Carol who’s now standing behind him. 

Wordlessly, she sits behind him on the rock and wraps her arms around his neck, draping her arms down his front. Daryl turns his head to plant a kiss on her shoulder.

“Are the kids—” he starts, but she quickly cuts him off.

“They’re both asleep. Josie finally calmed down and curled up with Henry,” she whispers. “Don’t worry.”

“Gonna anyway,” Daryl admits, and he feels Carol’s breath of laughter against his neck.

“Yeah, me too.” She nuzzles his hair, and in his ear, asks, “How you holdin’ up, baby?”

“I’m fine,” he says. He’s not sure if he’s ever been further from fine. Carol seems to know this, because she turns him gently to face her and places a hand on his cheek.

“Daryl,” she says simply, and Daryl isn’t sure how, but that single word cuts through all his barriers like butter. With no children around to activate his Dad Override, his lower lip trembles, and Carol pulls him flush against her. He rests his head against her bosom and cries softly. She offers no platitudes, nor does he ask for any. They don’t exchange any words at all. They don’t need to.

She strokes his back up and down, pressing soft kisses to his temple, and just like always, he’s surprised by her; by how completely she knows him, and how willing she is to care for him, and for the first time in a long time their love seems tenuous. It’s so easy, all of a sudden, to lose precious things.

“I love you,” he says to her when it feels right to speak again.

“I love you, too,” she returns.

“Please don’t leave me,” he says, shameless in the way he pleads. “I can’t hardly handle losing him but, I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

“Yes you would,” Carol tells him. “And I’d survive losing you, because we’d have to. It’d hurt like nothing ever has, but we’d have to, and so we would. But I don’t plan on going anywhere, baby.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

“You’re superwoman,” Daryl breathes against her chest. “Superwoman can’t die.”

“There you go, then,” Carol says with a smile in her voice. “I’ll be just fine, then.”

Daryl burrows into her, needing to be as close as possible.

“You saved his life just as much as you saved mine,” he tells her. She’s silent for a long time.

“We’re family,” she says finally. “That’s what family’s about.”

“Never used to be. Not for us.”

“We taught each other how to love,” Carol says. “All of us learned that from one another. It hurts, Daryl, I know it does—it does for me, too—but you know what that pain means?” 

“Hm?” Daryl asks, limp in her arms.

“That our family is full of love; that there’s so much love here that it’s hell to lose it. And at least he got to be a part of that. At least Auntie did.”

Daryl lets her hold him, the sounds of the night moving around them.

“He told me you made his life brighter,” Daryl says after a while. Carol hums wistfully.

“Good,” she says softly. “Because he did the same thing to mine.”

*

At some point the sun rises without Daryl realizing he’s been up long enough to see it. He sent Carol back to sleep a while ago with the promise that he’d wake someone to take over his watch, and he had truly intended to, but before he knew it a golden glow was peeking up along the horizon, stinging his dry, tired eyes. 

“You been out here all night?” 

Daryl glances up to see Rick hovering above him with a worried brow. Daryl shrugs, and Rick takes his non-answer as confirmation. Sighing, he lowers himself to the ground beside Daryl’s rock that’s officially making his ass sore, and stretches his legs out in front of him.

“Anything out there?” he asks. 

“No,” Daryl says, voice gravelly. 

“You think there will be?” 

Daryl shrugs again.

“Don’t know much of anythin’,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t put our guard down, though.”

“Trust me, I’m not about to,” Rick promises. When he blows out a breath it comes out in a light fog in the morning chill. There are rustling sounds, and both of them look over their shoulders to see Glenn stepping out behind a bush, expression grumpy. He approaches the other two and drops himself down to the dewy grass as well.

“Hate peeing outside,” Glenn says. “Pretty sure I got a bug bite in a delicate place.” 

In spite of himself, Daryl manages a laugh. He pats Glenn on the back sympathetically, and Glenn gives him a half smile, which fades as quickly as it comes. He sighs, looking out at the expanse of trees before them and shakes his head.

“How you doin’?” he asks, not turning to meet Daryl’s eye.

“Couldn’t even begin to tell you,” Daryl says honestly. “My brother shot himself in the head last night. What am I s’posed to do with that?” 

“No idea,” Glenn says, still staring out into the middle distance.

“How are Carol and the kids holding up?” Rick asks. “Josie seemed to be in a state last night. Heard her in your guys’ tent for a good hour at least.”

“God,” Daryl says, covering his face with his hands. “Kid broke my damn heart, you guys. My poor baby.” He drops his arms helplessly. “I’d almost rather her not say a word for days on end than hear her in so much pain.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Rick says. “We’ll just have to keep reminding her of that.”

“Jesse might be able to get through to her. She listens to him,” says Glenn.

“Yeah, but JJ is a baby, too, it ain’t his responsibility to take care of his sister like that,” Daryl says. “Kid deals with his feelings better than some adults most days, but I think he’s quick to put his own worries aside to make sure everyone else is okay, you know? Dummy kid, acting like he's grown.”

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget they’re as young as they are,” Glenn says quietly. Daryl hums in agreement. 

“And all this shit is makin’ ‘em grow up even faster, and it’s bullshit. I wanted them to have a childhood, you know? Somethin’ me and...somethin’ we didn’t have growin’ up.”

“What’s happening right now isn’t some failing on you as a parent, Daryl,” Rick says, squeezing his friend’s knee. “There’s only so much that’s in your control.”

“I know,” Daryl says. “And that’s the hardest part of bein’ a daddy. No matter how hard I try to give ‘em the perfect life, there’s still all this shit that’s outta my hands.”

“You do the best you can,” Rick insists. “That’s gotta count for something.” 

Daryl hums non-committedly, picking dirt out from under his nails. He’s almost dreading his kids waking up, because he’s not sure he’s in a state to face them. At the same time, however, all he wants to do is hold them and make sure they never leave his sight. 

“We should figure out a plan,” Glenn says then.

“What do you mean?” Daryl asks.

“Like, is this where we live now? Out here on a hill with not nearly enough tent space to accommodate everyone we have? We have food, but half of it is junk we grabbed off the shelves at random. We should go through our supplies. Divvy up our weapons. Figure out where we go from here.”

Rick and Daryl exchange a look, not used to Glenn having such a “take charge” attitude. Daryl appreciates it, happy to once again have somewhere to direct his aimless, unpleasant feelings. He says,

“We’ll do inventory an’ see what else we may still need. Dunno how long we can stay out here, but it’s the safest place we got right now. Right?” He looks to Rick, who nods absently.

“Yeah,” he says, thinking. “At least until we can find something more permanent. We need to figure out the movements of these things—get a grasp on where they go and what draws them in. That’ll help us find shelter.”

“Do you think there are any actual refugee shelters out there? Functional ones?” Glenn asks. “Or is everything like Atlanta?”

“No clue,” Rick says. 

“Any safe havens, the big ones anyways, are gonna be in the cities. If not Atlanta, then Savannah. Montgomery, maybe. Nashville if we wanted to go north. Florida might have some places, but that’s a helluva trek. The coasts might be safer, though. No walkers comin’ in from the ocean.”

“Yeah, or maybe they swarm us right into the ocean,” Rick points out.

“I dunno about you guys, but I’d kind of rather get ripped to shreds by an undead monster than go to Florida,” says Glenn.

“Fair,” Daryl mutters.

“What about a military base? Fort Benning maybe?” Rick asks. 

“I worry that everyone else’s already thought of this shit, you know? Maxed ‘em out,” Daryl says.

“We could at least try,” says Glenn.

“Is it worth it to risk going somewhere crowded?" Rick asks. "I mean, if there was any kind of outbreak…”

“They’d be death traps,” Daryl finishes for him, feeling defeated. He huffs a breath out of his nose and looks over to his tent where he sees Jesse crawling out of it, rather ungracefully. Daryl tries not to laugh as Jesse gets his foot caught in the fabric of the tent and does an impressive, if not unnecessary, little somersault that Daryl isn’t convinced wasn’t purposeful. Jesse seeks him out and waves. Daryl, Glenn, and Rick all wave back.

“Hi, daddy,” Jesse says when he’s within earshot, immediately coming up and giving Daryl a big hug. His floofy mop of hair is plastered to his head on one side, and sticking straight up on the other, as he rubs sleep from his eyes with his fist. “Hi, Uncle Glenn. Hi, Uncle Rick,” Jesse tells the other two, giving them quick hugs too.

“Hey, squirt,” Glenn says, ruffling Jesse’s already wild hair, while Rick rubs his back. Daryl tugs Jesse back over gently and holds his elbows, looking him in the eye.

“Mornin’, baby boy. How you feelin’?” he asks his son quietly. Jesse twists his mouth, shrugging. His face is absent of his usual morning beaming. 

“Mommy is still sleeping. I was real quiet and did not wake her up, don’t worry. I think maybe she was up a long time because she is worried about Joey. Joey is sleeping too. I left my teddy bear and Captain Beef Stew with her to keep her company even though she has her own teddy and Henry. I don’t want her to yell no more. She was really upset about Uncle Merle, wasn’t she, daddy?” 

“Yeah, kiddo, she was, but that’s not what I asked. I asked how you’re feelin’.”

“Oh.” Jesse screws his face up, thinking. “I swallowed a lot of watermelons,” he declares a minute later. Daryl suppresses a smile and brushes some crusty gunk off of his son’s cheek. 

“Gonna hafta explain that one to me, bud.”

“You know how watermelons are real heavy and one time I tried to pick one up at the store and it felled and splattered on the ground and you and mommy had to pay for it?” Jesse asks. Rick and Glenn both cover snorts up with coughs. 

“I remember that very well, yes,” Daryl says patiently.

“Well, that’s how my tummy feels. Like it has lots of heavy watermelons in it. And when I think about Auntie Barb, or Michonne’s mommy, or Uncle Merle it gets more watermelons.”

“No lightning today?” Daryl asks.

“There are too many watermelons for lightning,” Jesse says. A couple tears well up in his eyes, but he wipes them away easily. “Are you okay, daddy?” he asks then. “Uncle Merle is your brother, like Joey is my sister, and if Joey got sick like that I think I wouldn’t feel too good.” 

Daryl glances at Rick and Glenn. Rick casts his gaze to the ground, and Glenn puckers his lower lip out.

“It doesn’t feel too good, you’re right,” Daryl says to Jesse. “But can I tell you somethin’ important?” 

“Mhm.”

“C’mere.” Daryl lifts Jesse up onto his lap. The little boy immediately rests his head against his father’s chest in unwavering trust and comfort—an act that always melts Daryl a little. “Your momma and me? We’re gonna feel bad feelings, ‘cause bad things are happenin’. Your Uncle Glenn and Uncle Rick are too, right?” Daryl looks to his friends expectantly, and they nod. “And it’s okay for you to worry about us, ‘cause we’re your family and you love us, but that don’t mean it’s your responsibility to make sure everyone’s okay. Even Jojo. That’s my job. Your momma’s job. Babies don’t take care of parents, alright? That ain’t how that’s s’posed to work. You feel however you gotta feel, and let us take care of you. Can you do that?” 

Jesse plays absently with a button on Daryl’s shirt.

“When everyone else is sad it makes the watermelons in my tummy feel like they might go splat like the one at the grocery store.” To illustrate his point, Jesse waves his hands and makes a wet splattering noise. Daryl, Rick, and Glenn all smile at him.

“You know what, kid?” Glenn says, nudging Jesse’s knee.

“Hm?”

“Sometimes it’s okay to let the watermelons go splat.” 

“It’s true. Might free up some room in there,” Rick agrees, nodding at Jesse’s belly. Jesse ponders this and then looks at Daryl questioningly. Daryl nods.

“They ain’t lyin’, baby. You gotta take care of you.” 

Jesse holds a big breath, his cheeks puffing out, and then blows it all out in a big rush. 

“I don’t want Auntie Barb and Uncle Merle to be dead anymore, daddy,” he says in a small voice, genuine tears spilling over and down his chubby cheeks. Daryl holds his son tight, resting his forehead against his.

“Me either, kid,” he whispers, rocking him gently. “God, I don't either.”

*

(5:09p) *What’s your answer to The Trolley problem?*

(5:11p) -u mean tht shit from english class?-

(5:11p) -my answer is y do we gotta talk abt philosophy i thot we were just sposed 2 read books-

(5:14p) *You’re just salty bc she’s making us do a philosophical analysis paper over one of the texts we’ve read this year.*

(5:16p) -duh-

(5:17p) *Ok, but what’s your response?*

(5:19p) -my answer is id jump out of the trolley onto the tracks n run over myself so i wudnt have 2 write any dumb papers-

(5:23p) *Bro.*

(5:25p) -yeah yeah ok-

(5:25p) -idk its annoying its a trick question-

(5:27p) *That’s the point. You either kill five people or one person, which one do you choose?*

(5:29p) -ig the five ppl-

(5:31p) *Yeah? Why that one?*

(5:33p) -cuz the trolley is out of control rite? n thts out of my control but if i pull the switch then im a murderer n thts more wrong-

(5:35p) *Are you not murdering the five people by /not/ pulling the switch?*

(5:37p) -idk??-

(5:37p) -i h8 these dumb questions things shud just be rite or wrong n u shud b able 2 tell the difference-

(5:38p) *Lol! Spoken like a true critical analyst.*

(5:39p) -smdh wuts ur answer then?-

(5:41p) *Pull the lever. Duh.* 

(5:42p) -y so sure?-

(5:45p) *It’s basic “needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” shit.*

(5:48p) -k but wut if the 1 person is some1 u kno?-

(5:50p) *Oh ho! Are we getting philosophical now, Mr. Dixon?* 

(5:51p) -lol no but u got all uppity abt ur answer so now i gotta fite u on it-

(5:53p) *Lmao dick. Ok, do I like the one person?*

(5:54p) -mhm u like the 1 person n the others r strangers-

(5:56p) *Hm. I’d let the trolley hit the five in that case.*

(5:58p) -ok how does tht make any gd sense? so the needs of the many dont apply if u like the person?-

(6:00p) *It’s a matter of loyalty. My preference is to minimize the damage, but at the end of the day, if I’m damned either way, I’m keeping the person who’s significant to me alive. Loyalty and love > overarching philosophical bullshit.*

(6:01p) -glad 2 kno tht if its michonne or maggie or me or henry or smthn tht ud save us ig-

(6:02p) *Oh, it’s you on the other track? Well in that case I’m pulling the lever even if there isn’t anyone in front of me. Make myself a Daryl pancake.*

(6:04p) -lmfao fuk off asshole-

(6:04p) -just 4 tht im not proofreading ur french paper-

(6:05p) *Nooo! I take it back! I prefer waffles anyway!*

(6:07p) -2 lil 2 late shuda thot abt tht b4 turning me into a pancake ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ -

(6:09p) *What have I done?*

(6:10p) -told u philosophy is stupid-

(6:11p) *Wise as always. Maybe you can write about this in your paper.*

(6:12p) -jfc-

(6:12p) -just run me over instead-

*

In the trunk of the van, Daryl does more organizing, mentally sorting through the supplies he has and what they’re missing to report back to Rick. He comes across his little black lockbox, and he hesitates a moment, ghosting a hand over it, before putting in the combination and popping it open. For a few passing seconds he does nothing but observe the items without touching them, the contents feeling like relics of the past, instead of stuff he took out of his closest less than a week ago. 

The glint of one of the Greek coins catches his eye, and he picks it up gingerly between two fingers, eyeing the powerful Athena carved into it. He pushes items aside until he finds Jesse’s labyrinth coin, and holds them both in the palm of his hand. He traces them lightly with the pad of his index finger, feeling both dissociated from the coins, and inexplicably linked to them. The trip where he found them is like a different lifetime, but the meaning held within them seems especially potent right now. Without giving himself time to overthink it, he puts the coins in his pocket to join his Gorgon. 

He locks the box back up, and returns to the task at hand, counting the number of AA batteries he has stashed in his emergency kit, when the unmistakable sound of human footsteps trampling through the forest brush hits his ears, and in an instant the pistol tucked away in the back of his jeans is in his hand and pointed toward the trees. Another few noisy footsteps later, Daryl is faced with two strangers tumbling out into the clearing. They notice Daryl immediately and stop in their tracks, hands flying up in surrender. 

It’s a man and a woman, both sweaty and exhausted. The woman has a travel pack strapped to her back, and both of them are out of breath. The woman has tangled, blonde hair, plastered to her moist face, and the man is tall, with broad shoulders that are almost disproportionate to his lean frame. They’re not much older than Daryl—early thirties at most, but late twenties more likely. They’re covered in dirt and dried, copper-colored blood.

“Please don’t shoot,” the woman says, voice trembling, half an octave away from hysterical. “We aren’t bit, I swear. You can check us over.”

Daryl doesn’t lower his gun. He doesn’t do anything, in fact, stuck between two conflicting impulses: Help these two strangers clearly in need, or tell them to turn back the way they came and get the hell away from him and his family.

“Sir, please,” the man says. His voice is level, and he’s holding a hand out in front of him as though to placate Daryl. He gestures at himself. “I’m Clyde. This is my wife Aga. We’ve been on the run for nearly two days from the Dead Ones. We’re low on food and water, haven’t slept, and have been through...well, you don’t even know what we’ve been through.”

At this vague comment, the woman—Aga—shuts her eyes and gives herself a slight shake, as though trying to steady herself. Daryl looks from one to the other.

“Where are you from?” he asks. 

“Forty five minutes west of Savannah,” Clyde says. “We’re making our way to Atlanta.”

Daryl shakes his head.

“City’s overrun, there ain’t nothin’ but a graveyard full of the walking dead up there.”

“We know, but we’re trying to get to the CDC,” Clyde explains. Daryl furrows his brow.

“The CDC?”

“The Center for Disease Control.”

“Know what it is. Why you goin’ there?”

“We figured that if anyone is working on a cure for this thing it’d be them. Maybe they’ve come up with something but can’t let the public know with all communication lines down.”

“Think that’s likely?” Daryl asks, gun still aimed. Clyde shrugs helplessly, while his wife stares at the ground.

“What else are we supposed to do?” he asks. 

Daryl doesn’t have a good answer for that. After all, what are he and his family doing besides trying to find something worth doing? He’s debating bringing the gun down to his side, when a voice from up the hill makes him stiffen.

“Daddy?” Jesse calls for him. “Daddy, Mr. Hershel wants to talk to you.”

Aga, who seemed to have retreated in on herself, suddenly becomes alive again. Her head springs up, eyes wide, as she asks, “You have a child here?” Daryl swallows, knowing it’s pointless to deny it since there very obviously is at least one child among them, but not wanting to say regardless.

“JJ, stay up there and tell Uncle Rick to come down here,” Daryl calls over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the strangers. He hears Jesse yell back some sort of assent, and Daryl ignores the ache in his arm from holding it out and steady for this long.

“How old is he?” Aga asks, straining her neck, as though trying to see past Daryl and up the steep hill to catch a glimpse. Daryl steels himself, any soreness in his arm forgotten.

“Don’t worry about him,” he says flatly. 

“Do you plan to shoot us?” Clyde asks. “Is that what this world has come to already?” 

Daryl has no intentions of killing anybody, but this is a secluded spot in the woods where in all these years he’s never seen anyone except the people he’s explicitly brought here. All the supplies they have to get by for the next who knows how long is here on display, as is his family, which is invaluable. He’d be foolish not to execute caution. Right?

“What’s going on?” Rick calls out, heading down the hill, and Daryl sighs in relief.

“That’s my friend,” Daryl tells his unwanted visitors. “He’s a cop. He’ll figure this out.” 

Rick gets within eyesight of Daryl and, upon seeing him pointing a gun at strangers, immediately pulls out his own pistol and aims it as well, no questions asked.

Well damn, at least he can bank on Rick’s loyalty.

“Really?” Clyde asks, growing frustrated. “You say your friend’s a cop. Is this how he treats everyone he meets? Like they’re criminals? We haven’t done anything to you.”

“Daryl?” Rick asks, coming up beside him, keeping his gun arm fixed on Clyde and Aga.

“They came out from the treeline,” Daryl explains in an undertone. “Says they’ve been runnin’ from the walkers. Tryna make their way up to Atlanta, ‘cause the CDC’s up there. They ain’t hurt me or threatened me or nothin’, but it didn’t feel right to just let ‘em…” He trails off, not sure how to justify his impulsive act of holding seemingly innocent people at gunpoint. 

Never aim a gun at something you don’t intend to shoot.

Isn’t that gun safety rule number one?

He goes to lower his weapon, feeling foolish all of a sudden, but Rick gives him an imperceptible shake of the head, and he changes his mind, feeling vindicated.

“I don’t want y’all to think we aren’t decent folk,” Rick says, putting on his cop voice that Daryl has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at. “But you have to understand that things haven’t exactly been typical these past few days. We’ve had some pretty serious things happen to us, and we’re all on edge, and I think it’s in the best interest of everyone if you two turn yourselves around and go find someplace else to make camp.” 

Reasonable enough. See, Daryl thinks, this is why diplomacy should never be his purview. 

“We have nowhere else to go,” Clyde says, desperation hanging off of every word.

“What are you talking about? There’s a whole forest out there for the taking. We should have no problems avoiding each other’s paths. We don’t want any trouble, and I’m sure you don’t either, but we have vulnerable people we need to keep safe here.”

“Like that child?” Aga asks. Daryl gives Rick a sidelong glance, who returns it with a set jaw.

“We need you to go.”

“Can you spare anything?” Clyde asks. “Food? Water, at least. We slept in a rotted tree house we found last night. Almost fell right through the floor. Our town is overrun. We have nothing.”

“What’s in your pack?” Rick asks, gesturing with his gun to the large travel pack on Aga’s backs. “Seem pretty full to me.”

“Clothes,” Aga says quickly, staring Rick in the eye.

“Clothes,” Clyde agrees. “A few mementos. A flashlight or two. Nothing we’re gonna cook over a fire.” He drops his arms and holds them out to his sides, palms facing out, seeming at a loss. “Can we at least join you for supper?”

“Rick,” Daryl mutters. Rick looks at him, and Daryl gestures for him to come talk to him in private. 

“Don’t try anything,” Rick says to Clyde and Aga, following Daryl a few steps away, walking backwards and keeping the duo at gunpoint. When they’re out of earshot, Rick whispers, “What are you thinking?”

“Was hopin’ to ask you that,” says Daryl. “Fuckers seem harmless enough, but…”

“You’re worried about bringing them around the twins.”

“I’m worried about bringing them around anyone. We got a lotta supplies, and we don’t know ‘em from Adam. Still, it don’t feel right to just turn ‘em away.”

Rick bites his lip, staring the duo down like he’s waiting for the answer to simply reveal itself to him.

“There’s also the fact that they know where we’re at now,” Daryl continues. “Be real easy for them to come back when it’s dark an’ try an’ hold us up. If they was here we could keep an eye on ‘em.” 

“That’s true,” Rick agrees. “But are we gonna have someone on them twenty-four seven? They gonna be our prisoners?”

“Fuck man, I dunno,” Daryl says with a huff. “I don’t wanna condemn nobody to death, but my babies are up that hill. My wife.” 

“I know. I’m not feeling great about putting Michonne at risk either.”

“Least Michonne has a sword. The fuck is up with that, by the way?”

“Is now the time?”

“Right, sorry.”

“Here,” Rick says slowly. “What if we have them eat supper with us, let them stay until first light tomorrow, give them a meal and maybe a few bottles of water for the road, and then send them off? That way we can get a better feel for them as people, so if they do come back to try and fuck with us we have a better idea of what we’re working against.”

“Study the enemy?” Daryl asks doubtfully. Is every new person going to be an enemy now?

“You have a better idea?” Rick asks, and Daryl sighs.

“Nah. I don’t.” 

“We won’t put our guard down, alright? We’re all packing, and neither of them have tried to pull any weapons. Plus,” he says with a grin. “My girlfriend has a sword.”

Daryl grants him a small laugh, before nodding in reluctant agreement. They walk back over to the duo. Clyde is watching them with a steady annoyance, arms slack at his sides, while Aga holds herself with her gaze fixed on the ground.

“We’ll give you a meal and you can stay in our camp for the night,” Rick says levelly. “But then you have to leave.”

“Thank you,” Clyde says.

“But understand this: We have people to protect.” Rick takes a step, holding his gun a little closer to the pair. “Try anything? We won’t hesitate.” 

*

“I don’t like this,” Carol says quietly from beside Daryl. She picks at a can of ravioli, eyeing Clyde and Aga with distrust. 

“Me neither,” Daryl agrees. “But I trust Rick’s judgement.” He finishes the last of his own ravioli can and sits it down by his feet, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. Carol hums non-committedly. 

“Why does she keep looking at Jesse like that?” she asks. Daryl had noticed that too. Aga is next to her husband, curled in on herself as though trying to make herself as small as possible, picking at her food like a bird. But every few seconds she casts a glance at Jesse, who’s sitting on a log with Glenn talking animatedly about whatever it is he talks about, Josie on the dirt beside them feeding her food to Henry, paying no one any mind.

“I dunno. She was real weird when she found out there was kids with us. Maybe she just likes kids?” Daryl asks, and Carol raises an eyebrow at him.

“You really believe that?” she asks. Daryl twists his mouth, kicking his empty can over with the toe of his boot.

“No.”

“I don’t either. And what’s with her pack? She won’t even leave it with her husband. She took it with her to take a piss, I saw her.”

Sure enough, Aga has her travel pack plastered at her side, hugging it with one arm, reminiscent of the way Jesse does with Stew’s cage. 

“It’s just for the night,” Daryl tells his wife. “They said they was goin’ to the CDC, so hopefully they’ll be out of our hair completely and we won’t ever hafta see ‘em again.” 

Carol takes a long drink of water, eyes narrowed in Clyde and Aga’s direction.

“Hopefully,” she says. Daryl squeezes her shoulder and goes to stand.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her. She nods absently, and Daryl walks around the fire, over to Jesse and Josie. 

“And my pirate ship is gonna get a new flag, I’m gonna draw it when it’s not dark out anymore, and oh hi daddy,” Jesse says, cutting his own sentence off, forgetting about Glenn entirely to focus his attention on Daryl. Glenn and Daryl exchange quick smiles, and Daryl squats down in front of the twins. Josie glances up at him briefly, but doesn’t say anything. The only thing he’s heard her say today was, “Good dog,” when Henry caught a particularly tricky ball throw when they were playing fetch.

“Hey guys,” Daryl says. “I found somethin’ earlier that I wanted to give to y’all.”

“Like a present?” Jesse asks, perking up.

“Mhm.”

“Is it neat rocks like what Joey gave me for my birthday?”

“Ah, not quite,” Daryl says with a soft smile. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the two Greek coins he stuffed in there earlier. Jesse is on the edge of his seat, brimming with curiosity, and even Josie stops giving away all her supper to the dog to watch Daryl, her head partially bowed. Daryl splays his hand out to reveal the two coins.

“Is that money?” Jesse asks, tilting his head, leaning forward to examine the coins.

“Kind of. It’s really, really old money.”

“Like from when Mr. Hershel was a baby?” Jesse asks, and Glenn covers his mouth, trying and failing to muffle his snort. Daryl breathes a quiet laugh, and gives Jesse a pat on the knee.

“Even older than that. You were too little to remember, but we’ve told you before how momma and me went to Greece, right?”

“Yeah, for your honeymoon. Did you know bees make honey? Do bees come from the moon and that’s why it’s called that? What does that have to do with being married?” 

At his feet, Josie gives a small, irritated huff.

“Focus, dude,” Glenn tells Jesse, nudging him in the shoulder.

“Oh, sorry,” Jesse says. “I ‘member you went to Greece. Did you know Greece is next to Turkey? Not the Thanksgiving food, the country. Did you go to Turkey, too?” Josie cranes her neck to look up at her brother with a face that clearly asks, how the fuck did you know that? , to which Jesse replies, somewhat smugly, “I saw it in a book. With pictures .” Josie rolls her eyes and turns away.

“Actually, yeah we did, but only the airport,” Daryl says, thinking about how exhausted and out of it he had been wandering around a foreign airport trying to figure out where the hell their gate was. If only that was all he had to worry about now.

“Do we get to know what the deal is with these coins, or…?” Glenn asks.

“Oh, sorry,” Daryl says this time, and Glenn shakes his head fondly. “Well, when we were in Greece, your momma and me went into this shop where this weird lady had a big ol’ tub of these really, really old coins, and she helped us pick two of them out special—one for both of you.”

“How are they special?” Jesse asks. Josie scratches Henry behind the ear but keeps an eye on Daryl, too.

“Well, this one is yours,” Daryl says, handing Jesse his coin. Jesse takes it and starts looking it over immediately. 

“I like the funny square thingy,” he says, tracing his finger around the engraving. “It looks like a maze from the coloring sheets they have at Rosemarie’s diner.”

“That’s kinda what it is. The lady who gave us that coin, she said it’s called a labyrinth, and that it’d be good for you to have ‘cause you got a funny lil’ mind that would help you find the way out of tricky situations, and she was right. Things are real scary and dangerous right now, but you hold onto that coin and remember that you know how to find your way out of trouble, okay?” 

“Okay,” Jesse says, staring at the coin like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. 

“That don’t mean you get to go lookin’ for trouble, though,” Daryl amends quickly.

“This kid?” Glenn asks. “No way.” Daryl shoots him a glare.

“What’s Joey’s coin?” Jesse asks.

“Jojo’s coin is of the goddess Athena,” Daryl says, holding Josie’s coin out to her. After a beat, she reaches out and takes it from him. She holds it between her index finger and thumb and inspects it. She then blinks up at him expectantly. 

“Athena,” Daryl says. “Was real important in Ancient Greece. She’s the goddess of wisdom. She was real clever like you are, baby girl, good with logic. She was a warrior. Jesse’s coin is to remind him that he’s creative and can see shit other people can’t, and yours is to remind you that you’re smart as hell, and can use your brain to keep yourself safe.” 

Josie searches the goddess in the war helmet with intensity. 

“Was she brave?” she asks quietly, and Daryl’s heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice.

“Sure she was,” he says. She looks up at him then, with blue eyes that match his own.

“Am I brave, too?” she asks. Daryl smiles gently, pushing Josie’s long, dark hair—loose from its usual braid—back behind her ear.

“Yeah, baby, you’re real brave. Both of you are.” He nods purposely at Jesse.

“Bravest kids I ever met,” Glenn agrees. 

“That’s pretty cool, huh, Joey?” Jesse asks his sister, who nods absently. She closes her fist around the coin and holds her hand to her chest.

“Thank you, daddy,” she whispers. 

Daryl can’t help himself from putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulder and giving her a side hug, kissing the top of her head.

“Love you, baby,” he tells her under his breath. “My lil’ warrior.”

*

After a fitful few hours of sleep, Daryl gets out of his sleeping bag and goes to relieve Rick from watch, insisting that at least one of them should get some rest. He takes his spot on his flat rock and focuses immediately on Clyde and Aga, curled up together a ways away from the tents, buried under some sleeping bags and blankets they were able to spare. They aren’t asleep; Daryl can hear them muttering to each other, but can’t make out what they’re saying. In the moonlight and the last of the embers of the fire, Daryl can tell that Aga’s pack is in between the two of them.

He’s lost in thought, cycling through different ideas on what exactly their deal is, when a small hand on his elbow scares the shit out of him. He turns abruptly, already reaching for his crossbow, until he realizes it’s Josie standing beside him, looking startled by his reaction, although not all that apologetic. 

“Jesus Christ, Jojo,” Daryl says, letting go of his crossbow and reminding his heart how to beat. “What are you doin’ up?” She shrugs, and Daryl sighs, gesturing for her to climb onto his lap, which she does, facing out, leaning her head back against his chest. He holds her like that, taking her hands in his, and stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

“Couldn’t sleep neither, huh?” he asks, and he feels her shake her head. A million Dad Things come to mind, wanting to reprimand her for not sleeping, or for hardly eating her supper, but to what end? Intead, he tilts his head towards their not-so-welcome visitors and asks, “What do you think’s up with them?” 

“They’re mad at each other,” Josie says quietly. Daryl cranes his neck to see her face and furrows his brow.

“How do you figure?” he asks.

“I heard them after supper,” she says, speaking more than she has since her breakdown the night before, and even then that was the same two words over and over again. “Clyde wants Ada to get rid of her backpack.” 

Daryl frowns at the couple across the way.

“Did he say why?” 

“He said it wasn’t good for her.”

“What wasn’t good for her?” Daryl asks, and Josie shakes her head again.

“Dunno. Pro’ly whatever she has in her backpack. Maybe a lot of sugary snacks?” 

Daryl laughs softly, nuzzling his daughter’s head.

“Maybe,” he says.

They lapse into an easy silence, Daryl more comfortable with it now that Josie’s shown she’s willing to talk. They’re still going to need to address the Merle-sized elephant in the room, but for now he’ll take what he can get.

Ten or so minutes pass, Josie awake but resting in Daryl’s arms, when suddenly Ada pulls herself free from the mess of sleeping bags and blankets, clutching her travel pack tight to her chest. She stalks off in a huff, headed down the hill. Clyde pops up a second later, hurrying after her. He glances Daryl’s way and waves a dismissive hand, going down the hill without explanation. Josie turns to look at Daryl, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Dunno what that’s about,” he says to his daughter’s unasked question. “Gonna go find out, though. You go back to the tent, okay?”

Josie frowns.

“I wanna go with you,” she says.

“No,” Daryl says firmly. “I don’t trust those two much, and I don’t want you near ‘em. Go on. Try and get some sleep.” 

He lifts Josie off his lap, ignoring her huff of irritation, and picks his crossbow up. He gives his daughter’s shoulder a squeeze, before getting to his feet and heading to the edge of the hill, where down near the bottom he can just make out Ada and Clyde fighting over something. The pack, Daryl figures. He does a mental count of his weapons—crossbow in his hands, knife in the front of his belt, and pistol tucked in the back of his pants—and starts down towards them. 

“Let go,” Ada is hissing at Clyde, tugging on the pack.

“This isn’t the way,” Clyde is saying, tugging back. “I’ll fix it for you. I promise I’ll fix it for you, but you can’t do this.”

Clyde gets the upper hand, yanking the pack out of his wife’s hands and tossing it, unintentionally a few feet in front of Daryl. Daryl hesitates, not sure if he should move towards it or not. Before he can make a decision, Ada screeches, lunging for it, but Clyde grabs her and shoves her back bodily.

“ No, ” he says with an air of finality. Ada looks about ready to go nuclear, but just before she bursts, she turns on her heel and storms off to the passenger side of Daryl and Carol’s van, yanking the door open and climbing inside, slamming it behind her, and Daryl pauses, hackles raised in an instant. 

It’s then that Clyde realizes he’s being watched. He turns to face Daryl, chest heaving.

“She’s having a hard night,” Clyde says by way of explanation, taking a few tentative steps towards him, and Daryl’s hand tightens around his crossbow. 

“How’d she get in my car?” he asks. “It should be locked.”

“Well apparently it wasn’t,” Clyde says. 

“No, I’m pretty damn sure it was,” Daryl insists. He has a habit of triple checking his locks. He reaches down to pat his pocket and realizes his keys aren’t there. Pursing his lips, his attention falls on the travel pack in front of him. He moves towards it, but Clyde protests.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, which doesn’t do anything to ease Daryl’s suspicions. He takes another couple steps, and when Clyde makes no move to stop him, he squats down and takes hold of the zipper with one hand.

What hits him first is the smell. His sense memory immediately reminds him of the time he’d happened upon a deer carcass several days old, maggots feasting on its flesh, but this is an even stronger odor. 

Then he sees the face staring back at him, jaw slack, eyes open and lids uneven; skull pierced through at the temple, coagulated blood sticking to the blonde hair around the puncture wound. It takes several seconds to process the image, and when he does, he realizes he’s looking into the dead eyes of a little boy no older than his own children.

“Oh my god,” Daryl says, immediately tossing the pack away from him, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“I told her it wasn’t healthy to take him around with us like this,” Clyde is saying, walking closer to Daryl. Forgoing the crossbow, Daryl sits it to the side and opts instead for his pistol, clicking the safety off and raising a shaking arm at Clyde.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Daryl asks him.

“What was I supposed to do?” Clyde asks, gesturing his arms out in defeat, coming even closer, one slow step at a time. “She refused to bury him.”

“I don’t give a fuck where you go, but y’all need to get away from me and my family.” 

“She’s destroyed. Absolutely destroyed. And then we find you people. More than that, we find you . You and your wife. And we saw that you have not just one child, but two , both alive and well. It hurt her even worse. It’s like watching someone rolling in riches while you starve to death.”

“Come one more step, I fucking dare you.”

Clyde stops his advance, but is still too close for comfort. His eyes flicker to something behind Daryl. Instinctually Daryl follows his gaze, and a split second later a loud bang echoes through the trees, and a searing pain radiates through his left thigh, causing him to collapse into the ground in a heap.

“Daddy!” 

Daryl’s frantic eyes land on Josie, who must have followed behind him to see the action, despite his explicit instructions to the contrary. She’s standing stock still, staring at him.

“Josie, get the fuck out of here,” Daryl yells at her, waving her away while trying to get to his feet, but the pain in his leg won’t let him. He glances down and sees a hole in his jeans and blood seeping out of it. He turns back to Clyde, who’s holding a gun in his hand. It’s one of Daryl’s—one of the ones he’d left in the trunk of the van he’s certain he locked.

The two men lock eyes for a solid three seconds, before Clyde makes a sudden lunge at him. 

Having dropped his gun when he fell, Daryl pats the ground around him, searching for it. His hand finds the grip, right as Clyde comes up on him. Daryl tries to aim, but before he can, Clyde smacks him across the head at full strength with the hard metal of his own pistol, and Daryl tumbles back, momentarily blacking out.

Half-conscious, he hears a struggle somewhere behind him, and realizes with horror that his daughter is making noises of protest. He puts everything in him to come back into focus, forcing his eyes open just in time to see Clyde pause above him, clutching a squirming Josie in his grip.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t malicious, but I have to fix this for her. You still have one, I’m leaving you with one. Be thankful for that.” 

“Daddy, help!” Josie is yelling for him, but he’s seeing double, his head throbbing, and he can’t lift his head. God fucking damnit, why can’t he lift his head?

A car door slams, the ignition firing up, and the last thing Daryl hears is the sound of car tires squealing and then barreling away like a bat out of hell. His vision tunnels, and all at once goes dark. The hole the bullet left in his jeans ripped through his pocket, and on the grass stained red with his blood lies a small, circular pendant.

The Gorgon, face up, seen only by the moon above.

Chapter Text

The first thing that happens to Daryl as he starts to come to is he feels a searing pain in his left leg. It’s not like when he broke his femur. That had been an aching, blunt pain that throbbed in his bones. This pain is in the muscle, sharp and hot, pulsing with every beat of his heart.

The next thing that happens is that his memory starts to return to him in snapshots. One by one he sees flashes of what went down at the base of the hill. He remembers the boy in the backpack, Clyde’s smoking gun, Josie struggling in the man’s arms…

Josie.

The pain in his leg instantly forgotten, Daryl pops his eyes open and tries to sit up. At the movement, his whole head rushes, and a wave of vertigo crashes over him, making him sick to his stomach. Hands push gently on his shoulders, forcing him to lie back. Daryl blinks blearily and sees Glenn leaning over him. They aren’t outside—not at the base of the hill where Daryl last remembers being—but are instead inside the smaller of the tents, a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows piled underneath him, and his aching leg propped up above his heart.

“Josie,” Daryl says, voice coming out croaky. Glenn nods, keeping his hands firm on Daryl until he’s confident he won’t try to sit up like that again.

“We know,” he says softly. He reaches over somewhere behind him and produces a bottle of water. He holds it out to Daryl.

“Where is she?” Daryl asks, not bothering to acknowledge the water Glenn is trying to give him.

“Rick and Michonne are out looking right now,” says Glenn, setting the bottle aside. He goes from sitting on his knees into a criss-cross position beside Daryl, raking a hand through his black hair.

“Looking for her,” Daryl repeats darkly. “They haven’t found her yet?”

“They might have by now. They left a couple hours ago, and—”

“A couple hours ?” Daryl says. He tries to sit up again, but Glenn pushes him right back down.

“Dude, you’re hurt, you gotta stay like this until Hershel gives you the okay.”

“I need to go find my daughter is what I gotta do,” Daryl protests. He experiments moving his leg and grimaces when a sharp pain shoots up his thigh. “That asshole, the guy, Clyde or whatever, he took her. He and Aga stole the van. I tried to follow but he hit me over the head with his gun and I kept blacking out, and—”

“We know. We pieced it together,” Glenn says calmly. “We came when we heard the shot and heard Josie yelling. We found you...Found the backpack. Rick and Michonne took off after them, but Aga and Clyde had a decent head start. They’ll catch them, though, and they’ll bring Josie back. She’ll be fine.”

“Rick can’t track for shit. If the fuckers went off the road or went on foot in the woods he ain’t never gonna find ‘em. I gotta—”

“Stay right here,” Glenn finishes for him, ignoring Daryl’s scowl. “You’re all kinds of fucked up, dude. There’s nothing you can do but give Carol and Jesse some peace of mind now that you’re awake.”

Oh god. Carol.

How the fuck is he supposed to face Carol? He lost their daughter. He let her get stolen right from under him. There’s no way he can look that woman in the eye.

“I can’t,” he says, covering his face with his hands, trying to sort out his mess of thoughts into something coherent and failing. As if the monsters lurking outside weren’t enough, this nightmare just keeps on getting worse, and he wishes he thought he were dreaming, but he knows he’s not nearly this creative.

“You can’t what?” Glenn asks.

“See her. See them.”

Jesse is going to break his goddamn heart. If it was Joey I don’t think I’d feel too good. Isn’t that what his son had said to him after Merle died? Different as they are, Jesse and Josie are inexorably linked, and Daryl has let them get torn apart, and that’s a wound that’s going to bleed, bleed, bleed, up until they’re sewn back together again.

The guilt makes him fear facing his wife.

But making him face his son? It’s unbearable.

Glenn isn’t having it, though. He pries Daryl’s hands away and gets all no-nonsense at him in a way he only does when he needs Daryl to hear him. As Glenn speaks, Daryl’s reminded of years and years ago when he convinced him to put Carol in the hospital. His friend says, “Listen. This is terrible—I can’t begin to imagine how scared you are right now, I know that—but there’s no way in hell you’re going to avoid your family so you can dwell in self-pity. They need you, and you need them, so I’m going to go find Carol and tell her you’re awake, and you’re going to deal with this together, because if you’re going to get through this, you need to do it as a team.”

Glenn doesn’t mince words, but he doesn’t speak with aggression either—only truth, and Daryl’s resolve strengthens enough to allow him to nod. Glenn, with all his goofiness, has an uncanny ability to know exactly when he needs to be serious, and to what degree Daryl needs, and for that he is grateful for his friend.

“How bad is my leg?” Daryl asks before Glenn leaves to fetch Carol.

“Not as bad as it probably feels. How is it?” 

Daryl realizes then that he’s been stripped down to his boxers and has a thick layer of gauze wrapped around his thigh, a bit of blood soaked through.

“Hurts like a bitch,” Daryl admits. A heaping dose of shame hits him—regardless of whatever pain he may have, it feels petty to harp on it when his daughter is god-knows-where and his son is outside this tent grappling with the loss of his best friend.

“It’s nasty but superficial,” Glenn says, getting to his feet. “It needed stitches, but nothing important got fucked up. At least that’s what Hershel says. Whichever one of those assholes shot you they either weren’t aiming to cause serious damage, or they need target practice. Hershel was more concerned about your head. You didn’t react at all when he stitched up your leg with no pain killers. Now that you’re conscious and coherent, though, I think everyone will be less worried.” 

Daryl’s head is throbbing—a blinding pain he’s doing his best to ignore—but what he’s gathering from his friend’s explanation is that he’s hurt, but not crippled, and that means he can overlook any pain if it means getting out there in search of his baby girl.

“I’m gonna get Carol now. She finally got Jesse to sleep and is sitting with him,” Glenn says. “And Hershel is gonna want to check you out.” He unzips the tent flap and hesitates. “She’s not angry at you, Daryl,” he adds in a quiet tone. “I know you think she is, but she’s not. She’s only scared, and needs you to keep her grounded, alright?”

“‘Kay,” Daryl whispers, refraining from voicing his doubt. How could she not be mad? He can’t think of anything worse he could have done outside of harming their children with his own hand.

Glenn looks like he can hear these thoughts going through Daryl’s mind, but he has the sense not to call him out on it. The only thing that’s going to convince Daryl that his wife isn’t out there stewing in well-warranted hatred is to hear it from her own mouth.

Hell, maybe not even then.

Glenn slips out, and in the silence of the tent, Daryl is confronted with the full magnitude of his pain. The physical pain, yes, but that’s not what’s close to suffocating him. No, that’s a very specific pain that’s radiating through him, as Josie’s cries for help repeat in his mind, echoing in his ears, and he is no more capable of saving her now than he was when she really was right there begging for him to fix everything for her, the way she’d come to trust he always would; the way he always swore he would.

Every breath is a struggle under the weight of his broken promise.

The tent flap rustles and Daryl keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, terrified to discover what he’s going to see when he looks at her.

He feels her kneel beside him, knees resting on the hard, bumpy ground, and Daryl fights his instinct to tell her to not make herself uncomfortable for his sorry sake. He inhales, ragged and precarious, as her hands slips into his that’s lying at his side. Every second passes by, strained, like a thin string pulled taut. 

“Daryl,” she whispers finally. “Look at me.”

His whole body shakes, and he knows she can feel it as the muscles in his arm tremble all the way down to the tips of his fingers. He turns his head, still throbbing from the wound on his temple, and forces himself to focus his gaze on her and see .

There is no trace of anger in Carol’s eyes. They are as bright and kind as they ever are, but they’re sad—Christ almighty are they sad—and that’s worse . He put that sadness there with his own negligence, and she loves him anyway. How can she love him anyway?

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming out in a gasp. Tears spill down his cheeks and he breathes the words out again. “I’m sorry.” His chest is tight. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She gathers him up in her arms, careful not to jostle his injured body too much, and strokes his hair as he buries his face in her chest and cries. She shushes him gently, pressing her lips to the crown of his head and rocking him to-and-fro like she would a child.

When he’s regulated his breathing enough to fend off the hyperventilation threatening to overtake him, she lays him back down on his bed of borrowed blankets and pillows. She wipes her own tears from her eyes, and brushes a thumb over his lips.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, and it guts him because it is .

“You tried to tell me,” Daryl says. “You said you didn’t trust them. I brought them into our camp. I let them get the jump on me... I let Josie—”

Carol puts a finger to his mouth to quiet him.

“ It is not your fault, ” she says.

“We’ll find her,” Daryl says. “I’ll find her.”

“I know.”

“I swear to god I will.”

“I believe you,” she says, and she does . He can hear it in her inflection; can feel it in the way she runs her knuckles down the stubble on his cheek. “I believe you,” she repeats, but her words waver. “I do, but Daryl? I’m so scared. That’s our baby out there.” She tries to keep her composure, but the sound of her voice is gutting as she says, “Daryl, they stole our baby. ”

Even his Carol Override can’t stop his own fear that’s been seeping through every inch of him like the most potent venom there ever was, so instead of trying to placate her for something he can’t rid himself of, he tugs her down gently and has her curl up at his side; has her rest her head on his chest; has her place her hand over his heart.

“I’m getting her back,” he whispers in her ear.

“Anything you need to do, you do it,” Carol whispers in response. “You hear me? Anything. ” 

He doesn’t need her to tell him. Their daughter is coming back to them, no matter what.

By any means necessary.

*

Hershel gives Daryl a thorough once over and a couple tabs of Tylenol.

“You’re not a cat or dog,” he says. “But the fundamentals are the same. You probably have one hell of a headache, and an even worse leg-ache, but you’re okay. Thank god. A few centimeters to the right and you’d be in real trouble.”

“Dunno what the hell the universe’s got against this leg in particular,” he mutters, scowling at that leg of his that’s already being held together by metal rods, and gnaws at him whenever the weather even suggests the idea of rain.

Hershel gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and instructs him to get some rest until Rick and Michonne return, as if he’s capable of resting when he doesn’t know where his daughter is, or if she’s scared or hurt.

It’s not until after Hershel leaves does Carol bring Jesse in to see him, and it’s such a conflicting feeling, wanting to hold his son as tight as he can and never let go, and wanting to stay as far away as possible from him at the same time.

Morning is fully upon them now. The sun is hitting the tent, making Daryl overheated buried in all the blankets, as he hears Carol speaking softly to Jesse as they get closer. Despite his head pounding less when he’s lying down, Daryl forces himself into a sitting position, not wanting to make this any harder than it needs to be for the kid. He doesn’t need to see his dad looking like a hospital patient. Not with everything else in chaos.

A minute later, Carol enters the tent, maneuvering awkwardly with Jesse clinging to her in her arms. His face is partially hidden in his mother’s neck and his eyes fall on Daryl, wide and nervous.

“See?” Carol whispers to Jesse. “I told you daddy was okay. He just got a couple nasty ouchies, that’s all. Mr. Hershel says he’s gonna be just fine.”

“But Mr. Hershel is a vetter aquarium, not a people doctor,” Jesse protests, and there’s a noticeable absence of Josie huffing and correcting her brought with a haughty, “ Veterinarian. ”

“Well, he’s such a good vet that he can fix people up, too,” Carol reasons. Jesse wets his bottom lip thoughtfully, still eyeing Daryl with trepidation.

“Are you really okay, daddy?” he asks finally, needing to hear it from Daryl himself.

“I’m okay, bud,” Daryl says gently. “I’d be more okay if I got a hug from my favorite lil’ dude, though.”

“Do you think you can give your daddy a hug?” Carol asks Jesse. When he nods, she sets him down on the ground, and he approaches hesitantly.

“Your head is purple,” Jesse says with a worried brow, standing just out of reach. Daryl hasn’t looked in a mirror, but it’s not a stretch to assume that he’s bruised up pretty good from where the gun struck him.

“Yeah,” Daryl says with a solemn sigh. “That’s where the aliens tried to suck out my brains.”

The corner of Jesse’s lips quirk up the most miniscule amount. 

“Did they get any?” he asks.

“Of my brains? Hm, I don’t think so. How would I know?”

“You’d be stupider,” Jesse says pragmatically. “Here, what’s a billion times a trillion?”

“ You don’t know the answer to that, so how are you gonna know if your daddy’s got it right?” Carol asks, smiling from where she’s standing with her arms crossed. Jesse hums.

“I guess that’s true. Okay, what’s two plus two?”

“Mm...five?” Daryl says.

“No,” Jesse says, grinning a little wider.

“Ten?”

“No,” Jesse says again, giggling now.

“Damn, well I guess they got some of my brains after all. That’s okay, though, I don’t need ‘em. I got y’all to be the smart ones for me.”

Jesse’s smile falters, and Daryl knows he’s thinking of his sister.

“Hey,” Daryl says, holding his arms out. “C’mere and hug your brainless dad.”

Convinced he’s not going to hurt Daryl, Jesse walks right into his embrace and presses his cheek against him, wrapping his short lil’ arms around his father’s torso the best he can. Daryl cups the back of his son’s head, getting a handful of thick floof, and any feeling of wanting to avoid him flies right out the window. He doesn’t want to let go for anything, suddenly terrified of what might happen if he doesn’t keep his other baby right beside him. Clinging to his son, he loves him fiercely with his everything.

“Did you really get shooted, daddy?” Jesse asks in a small voice. 

“Yeah, kid, I did, but it’s not too bad. Nothin’ I can’t handle, alright? So don’t worry none about me. ‘Member what I said about worrying about the grown ups. That ain’t your job.”

“On TV there was a show about a lady who had a husband, you know, like how you are momma’s husband, except he was a bad husband, and he shooted her and she died.” 

Daryl pulls back to frown at his son.

“When the hell were you watching a show like that?” he asks, and Jesse twists his mouth, his wide eyes not-so-innocent.

“Auntie Barb had it on the TV one time and fell asleep on the couch and I sitted with the kitties and watched. I only watched a little bit, though! Well. I watched two episodes. Maybe three.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow at Carol, who rolls her eyes and says, “That explains that week of nightmares about ‘all those scary murderers.’” 

Daryl remembers that week. It was one of several cockblock weeks where Jesse’s imagination got the better of him and led him to Carol and Daryl’s bed.

“Well, I didn’t die,” Daryl says, rubbing Jesse’s back in reassurance. “It hurts, but Mr. Hershel gave me some stitches and some medicine to make it all better.”

“They gave a lady stitches in this TV show where they did something to her boobies to make them bigger,” Jesse informs him.

“‘Kay, how many shows you weren’t s’posed to watch did Auntie show you?” Daryl asks.

“Oh, that was at Uncle Glenn’s house. He had it on by accident and told me that it’s okay for girls to do what they want and sometimes they want big boobies and that’s okay, and also it’s okay if they don’t want big boobies, and also he told me not to tell you he told me that...Oh. Whups.” 

Daryl laughs for the first time since the kidnapping and kisses Jesse on the temple.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he mutters. “Kinda glad TV don’t work no more right now.”

“Daddy’s stitches are on his leg, though, not his boobies,” Carol adds helpfully, making Jesse giggle.

The little boy burrows in closer to Daryl and lets out a long sigh.

“Daddy?” he asks, the smile in his voice fading.

“Yeah, baby boy?”

“When is Joey coming home?”

Daryl exchanges a glance with Carol, who ducks her head, uncrossing her arms and hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans.

“As soon as possible,” Daryl whispers, clutching Jesse tighter still. “Rick and Michonne are out looking right now.”

“Will they find her?”

“I hope so.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then we keep looking,” Daryl says. “We don’t stop lookin’ for nothin’, alright?”

“Alright,” Jesse whispers.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Daryl asks, and Jesse is quiet for a long moment, resting against Daryl’s chest. Daryl waits for his son to pull out a bizarre metaphor that needs explaining, but when his son speaks it is transparent, coherent, and breaks Daryl’s heart.

“I miss my sissy,” Jesse whispers, tears welling up and spilling out when he clamps his eyes shut. His lower lip trembles, and his kind, sweet voice breaks. “I want my sissy home, daddy.” He wipes his runny nose with his fist and mumbles against Daryl’s shirt, “Please bring Joey back.” 

*

Against protests from essentially everyone, Daryl migrates out of the tent, going crazy lying there doing nothing but think. There’s not much else he can do outside, but at least he has fresh air to grant him some semblance of calm.

Carol forces food and water on him, which he only takes to encourage Jesse to do the same. No one is up much for eating, though. Even Henry is ignoring the kibble set out for him, opting instead to pace back and forth, sniffing the ground and whining. Daryl knows they’re all counting the seconds, waiting to hear the rumble of Rick and Michonne’s car, needing to know if they’ve brought Jose back with them.

It’s not until nearly ten in the morning when the sound of a car comes from down at the base of the hill, and everyone is on their feet at once, as if it had been choreographed. Daryl’s injured thigh screams at him, threatening his balance, but he ignores it, hobbling along with the others to peer over the edge of the hill.

Sure enough, Michonne and Rick are parking the car alongside the other ones still left. Daryl curses their tinted windows, heart beating in his throat. Jesse comes up between him and Carol, and they both wrap an arm around his shoulders. The car doors swing open, and Rick and Michonne both step out of the vehicle. 

Alone.

Carol brings her arms to her chest, holding her elbows and stomping a foot, fighting back tears as she says, “They didn’t find her.”

Daryl’s stomach drops, and the little boy beside him hangs his head, sniffling.

“‘Member what I told you,” Daryl whispers to Jesse. “We ain’t givin’ up.”

Jesse nods, and Daryl prays to a God he’s never been convinced he believes in that his friends trudging up the hill aren’t coming to tell them that they did find Josie, but not in the way they needed them to. It’s one thing to think about his daughter being held hostage, but thinking about Josie never coming back because she’s...well, he can’t even finish the thought, let alone entertain it.

Daryl seeks out Rick, who meets his eye, and his friend is apologetic, Daryl can see that plain as day, but he’s not hopeless. The apology in Rick’s face says he’s sorry he didn’t bring Josie back—not that he discovered something unthinkable—and a pebble or two from the rocks crushing Daryl’s chest dissipate. 

“Well?” Daryl asks once his friends are within ear shot, not bothering to hide his impatience.

“We found your van,” Rick says. “It was abandoned and out of gas.” He and Michonne reach the top of the hill, the both of them regarding Daryl from head to toe.

“Should you be standing on that leg?” Michonne asks.

“What else?” Daryl asks, blowing right on past the question. “Where was it? What direction? Did they take a different car?”

“As far as we can figure, when the van ran out of gas they got out, grabbed what they could carry from the back, and went on foot until they found another ride. We followed what we thought was the tread of their new car for a while, but then they pulled off the dirt roads and hit the highway, at a fork no less, and there was no way to follow on asphalt. Our best guess is that they were headed north. And Daryl? On the stretch they walked? There were kid footsteps beside them. We’re convinced Josie is still with them, and is well enough to walk.” 

Daryl’s not sure if that’s a comfort or not. At least she’s not out there fending for herself, but then again, Daryl almost trusts Josie on her own more than with these thieves. She would be smart about it—she’d know to find the most obvious place they’d look for her, and she’d know to stay put. She is logical to a fault, and Daryl can follow her thought process with ease, but her captives? He can’t begin to tell you how their minds work. They’re grief-stricken, erratic, not to mention batshit, and that’s a combination that’s a straight pain in the ass for a tracker.

“Where do we go from here, then?” Glenn asks, standing hand-in-hand with Maggie. 

Next to Daryl, Jesse tugs on his shirt sleeve.

“Yeah, baby?” Daryl asks, glancing down at his son.

“The disease place,” Jesse says. Daryl frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“Aga and Clyde said at supper last night that they wanna go to the place that fixes diseases.” 

“I believe he’s talking about the CDC,” Hershel says.

“Yeah,” Jesse says. “They said it’s safe there. I bet they will take Joey there ‘cause of the baby they had that wasn’t safe. The one in the backpack.”

“You saw that?” Daryl asks, snapping up to look at Carol in horror, but Jesse shakes his head.

“No. I heard the grownups talking when they all thinked I was sleeping,” he explains. He looks between Carol and Daryl and says, “You know how you say when me and Joey make mistakes we are s’posed to learn from them so we don’t do it again? Maybe Clyde and Aga’s baby getting hurt was a mistake and now they wanna make sure Joey is safe so they don’t do the mistake again.”

The adults are all silent for a long moment.

“He’s got a point,” Glenn says. “They didn’t take Josie to hurt her. They took her because they wanted her to replace their son.”

Daryl sneers at that. Grief does weird things, he knows, but there’s nothing or nobody in the world that could ever replace one of his children. 

“What do you think?” Daryl asks Rick. His friend tilts his head, thinking, and then shrugs.

“Honestly, it’s the best lead we have. We can take you to where we found the van and you can see what you think, since you can track better than us, but I think Jesse’s on to something.”

“It’d mean going back to Atlanta,” Maggie points out.

“It would,” Rick agrees, looking at Daryl expectantly.

“I’m doin’ whatever I gotta do to find my daughter,” Daryl says.

“Me too,” Carol agrees from beside him.

“That don’t mean you gotta put yourselves in danger, though,” Daryl says. “It’ll be safer for y’all to hold up here, or find some more permanent shelter, than it will be to go on this hunt with us.”

“We’re not letting you go alone,” Glenn says, scoffing at Daryl like he can’t understand how he’d ever even entertain such an idea.

“Daryl’s right,” Carol says to the group. “This is our daughter, and we have an obligation and a need to protect her, but all of you have each other to protect, too. We can track you down after we get her back. We won’t resent any of you if you choose to stay behind.”

“Guys—” Glenn starts, but Daryl interrupts him.

“We mean it. We’re not forcing any of y’all into anythin’ to save our girl. We got our family to look out for, but you got yours.”

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Rick says. “Anyone who wants to stay behind and have Carol and Daryl go it on their own, raise your hand.”

Every single person in the group stares at Daryl, Carol, and Jesse with identical expressions of, ‘wow, you’re dense,’ and Daryl quirks the corner of his mouth up.

“We’re all family,” Rick says to Daryl and Carol quietly. “All of us. And you’re idiots if you think otherwise.”

Daryl exchanges a look with Carol, who gives a thin-lipped smile and ducks her head. Daryl clears his throat.

“‘Kay then,” he says. “I guess we’re goin’ to the CDC.” 

*

The hospital room is calm and quiet, Carol fast asleep in her bed getting some much needed rest, two clear, hospital bassinets sat beside her, the babies resting after a long twenty-four hours of being introduced to the world. Daryl knows he should take advantage of this time—every seasoned parent would tell him it’s a rookie mistake not to—but he can’t. Even as exhaustion tugs at his eyelids and makes his limbs heavy, he lies on the fold-out bed in the corner of the room, wide awake, staring at the bassinets. 

He misses his kids. The realization almost makes him laugh. They’re ten feet away from him, and have been in and out of his arms for most of, well, most of their lives, thus far, and yet he misses them. 

Careful not to make any noise that might disturb Carol, who deserves every second of rest she can get, Daryl unfurls himself from his springy cot and tiptoes over in socked feet to peer over and catch a glimpse of his new favorite faces. 

Jesse is out like a light, swaddled up like a burrito with wisps of soft hair poking out from underneath his hat. His perfect, pink lips are parted as he breathes quick breaths into his tiny lungs. Daryl doesn’t dare disturb him. It’s hard to get him to lie by himself, and as much as he’d like to cuddle him, he knows he’d want to eat, and Carol needs more time. Daryl traces his finger a millimeter above his son’s chubby cheek, hoping that, even his sleep, he knows his father is close by and there for him.

Josie, to Daryl’s surprise, isn’t asleep. On the contrary, her eyes are open and alert, and she’s simply relaxing in her swaddle, taking it all in. 

Daryl can’t help himself. He slips his hand underneath her and scoops her up into his arms, his movements still a little tense as he learns the right ways to hold his babies. It’ll come with time. Already he’s more confident, adjusting Josie so that she’s cradled in the crook of his elbow. He takes her past his cot, over to the rocking chair in the far corner, further away from Jesse and Carol. He leans back and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his muscles loosen as he regards his daughter.

She’s watching him with intensity, like she’s trying hard to figure him out, and he watches her back the exact same way. They have each other’s eyes. It’s the same gaze; the same wonder, mirrored. 

“Hey, Jojo,” Daryl says as loudly as he dares. He laughs at himself, and adds, “Guess I’m already givin’ you nicknames, huh? That’s alright. Nothin’ wrong with a good nickname.”

Josie blinks, not making a single peep.

“I been gettin’ to know your brother real good today,” Daryl continues. “You pro’ly know him better than me, huh? You known him longer. Kinda weird, huh? We don’t hardly know each other, do we? I spent a lotta time with JJ—ah, there I go with nicknames again—and he’s been real good at introducing himself, but I think it’s high time you and me do some proper introductions, don’t you think?” 

He starts rocking the chair back and forth in a gentle rhythm, and tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Who are you, Jojo?” he whispers. “Hm? What kinda person are you gonna be? A quiet one, I’d bet. You don’t make a whole lotta noise. I get that, I don’t neither. Well, I mean, I’m yappin’ at you right now, but that’s ‘cause you ain’t a great conversationalist yet, and you’re makin’ me do all the talkin’.”

Josie yawns wide, her toothless gums on display, and Daryl grins.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, am I boring you?” He shakes his head at her. “Too bad. You gotta hang out with me for a lil’ while yet. We got a long-ass road ahead with each other, so we might as well get a jump on our relationship now. 

“You know, your Uncle Glenn might tell me I ain’t s’posed to say this ‘cause you’ll get some sort of complex about your looks bein’ the most important thing about you or whatever them books he’s always readin’ say, but you are so beautiful, baby girl. And I ain’t sayin’ that just ‘cause you look like me. Trust me, you pull it off way better. You’re absolutely gorgeous. Prettiest girl I ever saw, tied only with your momma, but you got some of her in you, too, I can see it. That’s pro’ly your savin’ grace. You didn’t get stuck with my ugly mug entirely.”

Josie hiccups, spitting up a little, and Daryl wipes it away with his thumb without a second thought, already falling into that special parental blindspot where gross things about your kids hardly even register. 

“I told your brother this earlier, and I want you to hear it too, and that’s that Imma do everything I can to be there for you, okay? I promise to keep you safe. You can trust me. I know it can be scary to trust people sometimes, but I don’t intend to let you down. I ain’t perfect, baby girl, and I’ll fuck up now and then, but nothin’ is more important to me than you two. Not a damn thing. You are the most precious things I got, and I would do anythin’ in the world to protect you. Anythin’.”

Daryl blinks back tears. That’s been happening a lot over the past day or so. Is that part of fatherhood? he wonders. Does loving so big make you cry so easy? Maybe he’s just tired. Whatever the reason, he blinks them back, Josie watching him do it, and he smiles.

“Y’all got me feelin’ some type of way,” he says. “I ain’t the person I was at eleven fifty-two Tuesday night, Jojo. ‘Cause out you came at eleven fifty-three and changed everythin’. And I love you and your brother equally, don’t you get a big head, but you’re my first born. You get credit for that change in me, baby. That’ll always be somethin’ special between you and me.” 

Josie’s eyes droop, and she yawns again. Daryl rocks her in silence, and after a minute or two she finally lets her curious little brain rest, slipping into sleep like her brother and mother. Daryl, though, he’s still awake. He presses a long kiss to his daughter’s forehead, and breathes in that new baby smell.

“I love you, Josie Dixon,” he whispers, even softer than before. “It’s so damn good to meet you.”

Chapter Text

Wind whips through Daryl’s greasy hair. He hasn’t had a shower in days, but it’s the last thing on his mind while the thrum of his dead brother’s Triumph rumbles beneath him. The wound on his left leg yells for his attention, the pain snaking all the way up his thigh and into his side, his nerves on fire, but he doesn’t care about that either. Hershel made him walk a straight line and recite his ABCs like a goddamn sobriety test before he’d reluctantly declared him stable enough to ride, even with the purple welt on his temple. Daryl knows Carol wanted to fight him on it—wanted him safely tucked away in the back of Rick and Michonne’s car with her and Jesse—but she knows him well enough to know he needs to breathe. God, does he need to breathe. The weight of everything is closing in on him more and more, his mind a metronome, keeping time of every pulsating second his daughter is lost somewhere with strangers he already knows couldn’t keep a child alive.

Bringing up the rear of the caravan, Daryl follows his friends down a series of dirt roads, the dust kicking up under their tires. Daryl blinks it out of his eyes, and does his best to see through it, hoping to catch any signs of Aga and Clyde that Rick and Michonne may have missed.

There’s nothing, of course; he didn’t have high hopes to begin with, but remains disappointed regardless, as the cars and trucks in front of him slow to a stop. He turns off the bike and gets off with a wince, kicking the stand and letting it sit while he limps over to convene with the others. Up ahead a few paces is his and Carol’s abandoned van.

“The keys are in the ignition,” Rick says, opening the van door. He leans in and turns the key. The van sputters and dies. 

“Pro’ly out of gas like you said,” Daryl says, leaning up against one of the cars to keep himself steady. Jesse comes and hugs Daryl’s good leg, and Daryl rubs his back. “Anythin’ left in the back?”

In response, Carol goes over and opens the trunk.

“They took the rest of the weapons,” she says. “Your lockbox is still back here, but that’s it.”

“Do we wanna try and siphon gas from somewhere to get it going again?” Glenn asks. Carol looks to Daryl, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t make a lotta sense, does it? We don’t know if’n when we’ll get gas along the route to Atlanta, so we should minimize the number of vehicles we have, to make it last longer.” He gestures towards the van with a nod. “We know where it’s at if we decide we want it back.”

“If no one else has taken it by then,” Carol says darkly.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Daryl says. “Grab that lockbox and put it in with the rest of the supplies, would you?” Carol takes it out of the trunk and carries it with her back to Rick’s car. She holds it against her belly with both hands and waits.

“Where do we go from here?” Maggie asks. “Does anyone know where the CDC is exactly?”

“Only that it’s in Atlanta,” Rick admits. To Daryl, he asks, “You got any idea what route we need to take?”

He doesn’t. He’d kill for GPS right about now. Tracking is easy. Knowing his cardinal directions? Piece of cake. But none of his survival skills matter if he doesn’t have an address.

“Daddy?” Jesse asks quietly.

“Yeah?” Daryl says, distracted, trying to think of a solution. They could probably find a map at a gas station, but he’s not sure where the nearest one is, and they have to take in consideration that some may be overrun. 

“Do you need a map?” 

“Yeah, kid.”

“I have one.”

Everyone turns to look at Jesse.

“What? Where do you have a map, sweet potato?” Carol asks.

“Hold on, I’ll show you,” Jesse says, letting go of Daryl’s pant leg and going over to the van. Everyone watches dumbly as he gets in through the driver’s side door Rick still has open, and climbs over the center console into the backseat. Jesse emerges a minute later with a thin book clutched to his chest. Hopping out onto the ground, he hands it over to Daryl, who takes it and thumbs through it.

“This is that book on Georgia you got from the school library,” Daryl says, scanning a page with words in big font talking about the brown thrasher being the state bird, and the Cherokee rose the state flower. He raises an eyebrow at Jesse and asks, “Didn’t we get a letter from your teacher sayin’ you never returned this and you told us you lost it?”

“Mm, I maybe didn’t tell the truth exactly,” Jesse says, hunching his shoulders to his chin. “I wanted to look at the pictures some more so I hid it under my booster seat. I was gonna give it back, though! I just forgot. Are you mad?”

There are, Daryl thinks, so many worse things to worry about right now, that his son five-fingering a library book doesn’t even make top fifty.

“You said there was a map?” he asks Jesse.

“Uh-huh. In the back. There’s lots of them.”

Daryl flips to the back of the book to find several pages of different types of maps of Georgia. One is for population, one’s for climate, but the one he cares about is the close-up map of the capital city, with important landmarks highlighted. Like the Center for Disease Control.

Daryl cracks a small smile and hands the book over to Rick to see.

“Perfect,” Rick says, tracing a finger along the interstate lines leading north. “You just saved our butts, kid.”

Jesse smiles hesitantly and looks between his two parents with nervous eyes.

“You did good,” Daryl tells him. “Even though it’s wrong to steal.”

Glenn clears his throat and nods towards the back of Hershel’s truck, full of the supplies they looted from the dollar store. Daryl concedes the point.

“Usually,” he amends.

*

They keep going again for a few miles, until Daryl spots an opportunity and speeds up to the front of the caravan to flag everyone down, getting them to slow to a stop.

They’ve come to a stretch of highway littered with abandoned cars. Daryl can make out lots of footprints leading onto the shoulder and into the grass, like several people fled at once. A few yards ahead there’s a lone walker, dragging its feet towards them at a languid pace. Without giving himself time to think, Daryl lifts his crossbow, loads it, and sends a bolt flying with a thwap, hitting the walker bullseye in the middle of its forehead. It collapses to the ground and Daryl dismounts his bike and limps over to the corpse, yanking out his arrow and wiping the blood off onto his pant leg.

“What is it? Why’d you stop?” Rick asks, the others getting out and shutting the doors behind them.

“We can siphon gas here,” Daryl explains, gesturing down the expanse of road. Cars and trucks are scattered haphazardly, some facing the wrong way their lanes, and some veering off the asphalt entirely, all of them stuck in a perpetual traffic jam, long since abandoned. Are any of the owners of these vehicles even still alive?

Daryl shakes himself free of the thought. There’s no time to dwell or dawdle. Not while Josie is still out there.

“Do you know how to siphon gas?” Maggie asks.

“Pfft,” is what Daryl has to say to that.

Daryl’s father was useless in terms of doling out any love or affection or fostering any sense of self-worth in the malleable minds of his children, but the one thing that can be said of him is that he taught Daryl and Merle how to survive. Growing up dirt poor in the rural south, Daryl’s daddy had been forced to learn how to fend for himself. He caught his own food, stitched his own wounds, and kept himself safe. It was not out of compassion that he imparted this wisdom on his sons, but rather because that’s how he functioned, and Daryl and Merle picked it up as easily as a child would pick up language.

“Dude, do you seriously have that good of aim or was that a lucky shot?” Glenn asks, inspecting the walker Daryl took down.

“It wasn’t a fluke,” Carol says with a hint of pride. “He’s just that good.”

Unsure on how to handle the impressed expressions of his friends, Daryl mutters, “C’mon, we’re burnin’ daylight,” and checks out the car closest to him. From behind him, Rick orders the others to fan out and check the other vehicles as well, reminding them to keep special care to watch out for walkers.

Daryl climbs into the driver’s seat of the tiny silver car before him. It’s undisturbed, with nothing out of place, except for the fact that it’s abandoned in the middle of the highway, the keys still dangling from the ignition. Daryl turns the car on just long enough to see that there’s a little more than half a tank left, and makes a mental note that this is one of the vehicles they can siphon from. 

He makes to get out, before hesitating and popping open the center console. There’s a pack of travel-size tissues, a lighter, and a pen that has the name of some credit union on the side. He tries the glove box and finds crumpled up, expired Burger King coupons, a pink registration slip, and a car manual. At the sight of the ordinary, everyday stuff, a pang of guilt fills his belly. These are someone’s things he’s rifling through, and didn’t he tell his son not even an hour ago that it’s wrong to steal?

The lines between right and wrong are getting muddier by the second.

He slams the glove box shut and tries not to think about the owners of this car. Normal people with their own lives that they may never return to.

*

(4:44p) *Hi, don't freak out, but I wanted you to hear it from me in case they talk about it on the news or something, but we had to evacuate the clinic today bc some guy brought a gun in and threatened the front desk ppl.*

(4:46p) -what??-

(4:46p) -carol /ur/ the front desk ppl wtf r u ok?-

(4:47p) *Yes, I'm fine. Everyone is fine. The dude got arrested and apparently his gun wasn't even real.*

(4:48p) -y wud someone go 2 a drs office n hold a pregnant woman @ gunpoint wtf-

(4:48p) -r u sure ur ok?-

(4:49p) *Remember how I started this conversation w/ "don't freak out"?*

(4:50p) -fuk tht someone pointed a gun @ u-

(4:51p) *A fake gun."

(4:51p) *He was shaking the whole time, too, you could tell he wasn't really the type. Ig he was upset bc he's sick and he uses our clinic a lot but his medical bills are insane bc his healthcare sucks and he just was at his wits end.*

(4:52p) *I don't think even he knew what his endgame was. I think he had a vague plan of threatening us into deleting his bills, but he rly was just having a psychotic break and wanted to scare us.*

(4:52p) *Which he succeeded in doing.*

(4:53p) -ugh-

(4:53p) -i dnt like this-

(4:53p) -u shud come home early-

(4:54p) *My boss said she'd be okay if I did, but I don't want to waste the vacation time, I wanna save what I can in case there are any complications with the pregnancy.*

(4:54p) *It's only two hours, plus everyone is slaving over me bc I talked down a guy w/ a gun while heavily preggers.*

(4:55p) -wdym u talked him down?-

(4:56p) *We have a panic button, but while we were waiting for security/police to show up I had a conversation w/ him to try and keep him calm.*

(4:56p) *My boss commended me for having "exceptional calm in a high-stress situation".*

(4:57p) *Dude was already lowering his gun by the time help arrived. He even apologized to me as they cuffed him lmfao.*

(4:57p) *I promise it wasn't like, life or death. Even if the gun had been real.*

(4:57p) *I think I want to take self-defense classes, tho.*

(4:57p) *Once I can bend down more than two inches I mean. You know, just in case.*

(4:57p) *I wanna be one of those unassuming women that no one thinks can do anything, but can secretly kill a man by snapping his neck w/ two fingers.*

(4:58p) -yes-

(4:58p) -plz-

(4:58p) -i'll pay 4 them-

(4:59p) *Lol! You're still freaking out, aren't you? Baby, I am /fine/. The babies are /fine/. Are you sure you want to finance me being secretly lethal? What if I go darkside and turn against you?"

(5:00p) -at least i'll kno tht ull b able 2 protect urself n the twins after uve killed me-

(5:00p) -ilu-

(5:01p) *I love you, too. Try to chill. It takes more than a shaky guy holding a fake gun to take me down.*

(5:02p) -ik-

(5:02p) -n ik ur strong-

(5:02p) -still gna worry abt u tho-

(5:02p) -its kinda wut i do-

(5:03p) *There are worse things in the world than ppl worrying about you bc they love you too much.*

(5:03p) *I'm totally taking classes, tho. Next guy who looks at me wrong won't know what hit him.*

(5:03p) *(Me. It'll be me that hit him.)*

(5:04p) -lmfao-

(5:04p) -if it keeps u safe thn hell ya bb-

(5:05p) *Gonna have babies soon. Can't have anyone fuck with Momma Bear.*

*

The drive to Atlanta is slow going. What would normally amount to an hour and a half drive, two tops, is taking twice as long. They keep going off their route, encountering cars cutting them off, or big “ROAD CLOSED” gates. At every stop, Daryl does a sweep for any sign of where Aga and Clyde took Josie. Did they encounter this same road block? Which direction would they have headed next?

So far they haven’t found jack, and Daryl is getting increasingly restless with every second that passes. The sun goes down earlier each day now that they’ve headed into autumn, and if they don’t make it to the CDC by nightfall they’ll be forced to find somewhere off the main highway to make shelter. It’d be easy to stumble right into a walker if they can’t see in the dark, and Daryl isn’t about to risk Carol and Jesse like that. Still, any time they’re not on the road Josie could be getting further away.

At around four in the afternoon they make a pit stop at a gas station that appears deserted. Not for gas, of course. Even if they wanted it, there’s a giant sign hanging from the pump that reads, “NOTHING LEFT”—which is somehow much more ominous than if they had written something like, “out of order”—but they pull into the parking lot anyway, because they’ve hit another block in the road and need to revisit the map to find yet another way into Atlanta.

Daryl is about ready to lose his goddamn mind.

“We could try taking this back highway,” Rick is saying, pointing at the proposed new route in Jesse’s contraband library book. 

“That’ll make us backtrack a good twenty miles,” Michonne points out.

“Yeah, but the other option spits us out way too far east,” Glenns says. “And it seems to me like these roadblocks have been put up on main roads. Probably to control the flow of traffic into the city once it started getting saturated.”

Daryl runs his fingers through Jesse’s fluffy hair and bites back his frustration. Carol is tense at his side, stoic as a statue to anyone looking say for him. He can see the worry line in her brow, and the way she keeps clenching and unclenching her fist, as though she too can feel every second on the clock pass by like a punch in the gut. The lightning in both of their bellies is off the charts.

“We’re gonna end up standing here debating which route is more time efficient longer than it would take us to just pick one and fucking go,” she says, her tone taut. There’s a moment of consideration that comes right before the collective agreement.

“Alright,” Rick says decisively. “We’ll take the back highway.” 

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Daryl says, already untangling himself from Jesse, but Hershel objects. 

He says, “It may be in our best interest to take a moment to see what this store has to offer before we leave. I’m starting to get the suspicion that getting the supplies we need is only going to grow more difficult with each passing day.” 

Daryl wants to say screw the store, except Jesse ate animal crackers and salted peanuts for breakfast and lunch, and the thought of running out of water worries him. None of them have washed anything but their teeth in days, careful to be mindful of their rations, but there are a lot of them, and water goes fast. 

“In and out,” he says. “I’ll go in with one of y’all, and the rest be ready to go soon as we’re done.”

“I’ll go in with you,” Carol says. Daryl frowns at her, but she cuts off his objection before it can begin. “I’ve got too much pent up anxiety. I need to do something.”

Daryl can understand that.

“Alright,” he agrees. “JJ, you go and sit in the car with Uncle Rick and Auntie Michonne.”

“Can I go with you and momma?” Jesse asks, apprehensive at the thought of being out of his parents’ sight.

“No,” Daryl says firmly, remembering what he found at the last gas station they stopped at. “You stay where I know you’re safe.”

Carol grabs a knapsack to fill with supplies, and Daryl adjusts the crossbow on his shoulder. Michonne takes Jesse by the hand, and the rest of the group splits off towards their respective vehicles, ready to bolt at the command, and Carol unsheathes her trench knife Daryl didn’t know she was hiding, the knuckle guards a perfect fit around her slender fingers. He’d gotten that as a gift for her the first time they went hunting together, and taught her how to skin a rabbit. She’d joked afterwards that he really knew how to be romantic. Jokes on her, though, she’s the one who married him.

The two of them peer through the windows before attempting to enter. The building seems innocuous enough, no sign of anything living or dead moving around inside. Daryl arms and raises his crossbow, and gestures to Carol to get the door.

The store is small, with no frills or thrills. Checkout counter, snack aisles, cold drinks—what you would expect, and nothing more. A lanyard hanging on the wall behind the counter with a key attached to it suggests the bathroom is locked up out around back, the building not big enough to fit it inside. Most of the lights are off, except the back lighting from the refrigerators, and a hidden bulb glowing somewhere by the wall of cigarettes and lottery tickets. The two of them lower their weapons.

“Check that out,” Carol whispers, pointing up ahead at a duffle bag, open and abandoned in the middle of the floor. They approach it cautiously, as though a monster is about to leap out of it and attack them, but the only noise in the store continues to be the quiet hum of electricity, and the only movement comes from them.

“Someone was here,” Carol says unnecessarily, as various sundry items have quite obviously  been tossed into the bag with no care to how they’re arranged.

It’s a military duffel, with the name “Jensen” stitched onto the side. Daryl can make out the grip of a silver-colored gun underneath single serving bags of potato chips and a couple Tabasco flavored Slim Jims.

“I don’t like this,” Daryl whispers. “Where’d the owner go?” He glances around the store again, searching for a threat that would have driven someone to flee without their crucial supplies. “What if they’re coming back?”

“Then we should hurry,” Carol says. She crouches down and begins sifting through the bag. Daryl frowns.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Seeing if there’s anything of value in here.” At Daryl’s silence she turns her head to look at him, her expression steady. “How is this any different than plucking items off the shelves?” she asks. “We can call it stealing if you want, but we’re gonna be doing a lot of it, I should think, so I don’t see much point in harping on it, do you?”

There is something that feels more intimately wrong about going through things that clearly belong to someone else, rather than looting supplies that hasn’t been claimed, but this is neither the time nor place for a morality discussion. The sun is getting lower and lower in the sky, and Daryl is determined to get to the CDC before nightfall.

“Gimme your knapsack, I’m gonna grab some water,” he says instead. Carol lifts the strap off her shoulder and hands it to him. Limping, he goes over to the back wall of drinks and scans the shelves.

At least one other person has beat them to the punch—maybe the person with the duffel bag—and while it’s frustrating, it gives Daryl a bit of comfort that he’s not the only one taking goods with impunity. 

The water has been mostly cleaned out, but Daryl spots a few bottles of the cheap, crap-brand stuff at the bottom in an easy-to-miss spot. With a shooting pain for his efforts, Daryl gets to his knees and throws the last of the water into Carol’s bag, along with a couple remaining bottles of Gatorade. All purples ones. Unfortunate.

He’s debating the merits of grabbing energy drinks when something falls to the ground behind him. Ignoring his screaming leg, he pops to his feet instantly, throwing the strap of the bag over his shoulder and lifting off his crossbow in the same movement, all on pure instinct. 

“Stand up slowly so I can see you. Don’t pretend you’re not there. I heard you,” Carol is saying. Daryl hurries over and finds her aiming a gun she must have lifted from the duffel at the checkout counter. A beat passes, and then a man rises up from behind the register, his hands held above him in surrender. Daryl points his crossbow at the stranger, the pulse in his throat thumping wildly.

“Don’t try nothin’,” Daryl says to the man. The man, eyes wide as saucers, shakes his head quickly.

“I’m here for the same reason as y’all,” he says, voice trembling. “I don’t mean no harm, I just needed food and water. I’m all out of water.”

He’s a wiry thing with a crew cut and a young face. A new recruit from the base, Daryl suspects, and a cowardly one at that, as evidenced by the way he’s shaking all over. He gives off the air of a man who revels in the idea of war, but has never faced anything close to it outside of Call of Duty on his Xbox. 

“Are you alone?” Carol asks. She, unlike their new friend, is steady as a rock, holding the gun expertly the way Daryl’s taught her over the years.

“Yes,” says the man.

“Liar,” Carol says. “Tell the truth. How many people are with you?”

“I ain’t lyin’, miss, I swear it. All my friends were at Fort Benning, but it got overrun. Most of ‘em is dead, s’far as I know. I got out fast as I could and came north. Been tryna make my way to Tennessee where my family’s at, but it’s been two days and I barely been able to get this far. Road’s are all blocked up. Please. I’m just tryna make sure they’re okay.”

“If you’re bullshittin’ us and you got some people who are gonna try an’ jump us…” Daryl quickly glances out the window to make sure the others are still waiting idly with no sign of trouble.

“I don’t. I swear on my grandmama’s grave.”

Daryl regards the man up and down. He seems too naive to be a liar. Slowly, Daryl lowers his crossbow.

“Don’t follow us,” Daryl tells him. “Don’t cross paths with us again.” The man nods vigorously, and Daryl turns to leave, but pauses when he sees Carol still pointing the gun. “Carol?”

“He could have been watching,” she says. “He might have seen Jesse.”

“He’s by himself, Carol. And we ain’t stickin’ around. It don’t matter.”

“What if it does, though? What if he does have others and they track us and try to rob us?” 

“I don’t,” the man says, voice cracking from nerves, staring down the barrel of the gun and looking like he’s about to be sick.

“Shut up.”

“Babe,” Daryl says quietly. “What’re you gonna do? Shoot him for somethin’ he might do? I know we’ve got bad blood with strangers, but we ain’t murderers, Carol.”

It’s still several tense seconds before Carol lowers the gun to her side with a scowl.

“I hope you’re right about him,” she mutters, and Daryl thinks he hears an unspoken, because you weren’t right about them . She stalks off, snagging a bag of beef jerky for Jesse on the way, before pushing the touch bar on the door and going outside.

Daryl and the man—boy, really—stare awkwardly at one another.

“Do you have any water?” the kid asks, hands still in the air. Daryl hesitates for a moment before reaching into the knapsack and tossing one of the bottles over to him. He catches it on reflex and murmurs a thanks. Daryl’s almost to the door when the kids says, “That woman’s gonna outlive the both of us, you know that?” 

Pausing with his hand on the touch bar, he asks over his shoulder, “How do you figure that?”

“Somethin’ my sergeant would say. Said that in war you have the people you know and trust, and then you got enemies. There ain’t no in between. Said that shades of grey is what gets you killed in war.” He shakes his head. “I’m a shitty soldier,” he says solemnly.

“Yeah? Well maybe you are, but what makes you think I am?”

"Easy. She wanted to shoot me,” he says. “But you gave me water.” 

*

Daryl doesn’t know what he expected to find when he got to the CDC. Aga and Clyde standing there with their hands up, Josie in tow, safe and secure? A refugee center with food, electricity, and running water to feed and bathe his kids? Truth be told, he hadn’t thought much about what he’d find, focusing his energy instead on simply getting here, but he must have expected something, because he’s let down hard. 

Dusk is upon them, the sky yellow and pink as the sun slips away. When he kills his engine he can hear the groan of walkers, but doesn’t see them. The noise of their approach must be drawing them in. He keeps his hackles raised high while he inspects the huge building before him. It’s dark and looming and almost certainly abandoned. The energy emanating off of it is that of an old Victorian house sitting atop a foggy moor. Aga and Clyde aren’t here. If his daughter were nearby he would feel it. 

“What’s that smell?” 

Daryl startles, so lost in his thoughts staring at the building that he almost forgot the others were with him. He turns to see Glenn scrunching his face and sniffing the air.

“It smells like when daddy burns toast,” Jesse says, pinching his nose. 

Daryl had noticed the smell on his bike the closer they got to the city, but it’s even stronger now. It’s a charred and bitter odor, and he realizes the haze he thought was just weird fog that’s been getting thicker the farther north they’ve gone is actually smoke. His sense memory has him catapulting back to what had been the subject of his nightmares so many years before—this is what it smelled like when, as a child, he stood outside his blazing home, his mother locked inside.

“It’s fire,” Daryl mutters. “I dunno from where.”

“There aren’t any small fires nearby or we would have seen them,” Maggie says. “So it must be a big fire somewhere else.”

“What direction is the wind coming in from, Daryl?” Rick asks.

“Northeast,” Daryl says after thinking about it for a second. 

“Downtown,” Michonne says. “It’s coming from downtown.” 

“You don’t think…” Glenn bounces his gaze from one person to the other anxiously.

“I bet they torched the city,” Carol says quietly. Everyone stares at her.

“All those people, though,” Beth says, bringing her hands to her mouth.

“We don’t know anything for certain,” Hershel says, putting a hand around his younger daughter’s shoulder. “For now we’re going to focus on the issue at hand. Daryl? Carol? We’ve made it to the CDC. What’s our next step?” 

“I don’t think she’s here, Daryl,” Carol says to him only. Daryl lets out a long exhale and nods.

“Me either,” he agrees reluctantly. 

“We should at least see if there’s anyone inside,” Rick says. “Maybe they were here but got sent away by someone and they’ll be able to tell us which way they went. Or hell, maybe they’re in there. We can’t know that from out here.”

“The place looks straight up deserted, dude,” Glenn says, eyeing the dark building with the same doubt Daryl has. 

“We need to try,” Rick says resolutely, and starts towards the building. The rest of them hesitate, before following along. 

They come to an entrance that’s more like a garage door. There is no handle. They aren’t at the front of the building, and there are no signs telling them which way to go, so Rick pounds on the metal door with his fist, the sound reverberating through the quiet dusk. 

“No one’s answering,” Michonne says softly, but Rick isn’t deterred yet. He bangs again, harder this time.

“Momma,” Jesse says. Daryl glances at where his son is standing hand-in-hand with Carol and sees him pointing. Following his finger, Daryl sees the walkers he heard earlier. All two dozen of them.

“Rick, man, we gotta go,” Glenn says, seeing the walkers as well. He grabs Rick’s forearm, but he shrugs him away.

“No, look!” Now Rick is pointing, his finger aimed at a security camera above them on the side of the wall. “It moved. I saw it move. Someone’s inside.”

“It’s prob’ly motion sensored, dude. C’mon, we hafta get the hell out of here,” Daryl says.

“And go where ?” Rick snaps. The walkers are getting closer. Daryl arms his crossbow and shoots down the one closest to them.

“Anywhere but here.” 

“There’s someone inside,” Rick insists. “And there’s shelter in there.” To the camera he shouts, “Let us in! Please!”

“Son, maybe you should listen to the others,” Hershel says.

“ Rick, ” Carol says severely, picking Jesse up into her arms and walking backwards away from the walkers. 

Henry bares his teeth, growling.

“We have a kid with us,” Rick continues to yell. “For the love of God, help us.” 

“Rick! There’s nobody there,” Michonne yells. “And we have to go .” 

Rick stares at his girlfriend, lower lip between his teeth. He’s about to concede defeat, Daryl can tell, but he’s not sure what good it’ll do. Even more walkers are coming out from the shadows, blocking the way back to their vehicles. 

Daryl readies another bolt, and is about to let it fly, when a rumbling noise catches him off guard. He spins on his heel and watches as the door to the CDC begins to rise, a beam of light flooding out through the opening—an invitation to come inside.

Chapter Text

(12:09p) *We can't have these babies, there are too many ways for them to die.*

(12:13p) -um wheres tht coming from?-

(12:15p) *I clicked on a link for a news article about a toddler who fell into his grandparent's swimming pool and drowned in like the two seconds he was left unattended, and then I proceeded to fall down an internet rabbit hole of tragic child deaths.*

(12:15p) *There are many.*

(12:15p) *Way too many, and we can't risk that, so we're gonna have to nix the whole twins idea.*

(12:19p) -slight problem w/ tht. ur 33 weeks pregnant n also we alrdy spent a buncha $ on them so we mite as well go thru w/ it-

(12:21p) *Ok, but consider: two babies means twice the chance that something bad is going to happen.*

(12:21p) *What if one of them gets eaten by a snake? I read an article about a baby that got eaten by a snake.*

(12:23p) -our kids rnt gna get eaten by any snakes sweetheart theyre gna b fine-

(12:26p) *But see, you don't know that for certain. How can we parent knowing how scary the world is?*

(12:26p) *Bubbles. Let's keep them in protective bubbles, where they can't ever get hurt or sick.*

(12:30p) -mk first things first close google-