Chapter 1: A psycho holding me at arrow point
Chapter Text
:I knew you in another life:
“Son of a bitch!”
The fists on the door didn’t seize for more than five minutes at a time once law enforcement raided the club after the pandemic was declared and businesses were being evacuated. I unzipped my heeled boots hurriedly, the pounding in my heart heavier than the pounding on the dressing room door.
Taking off all my clothes and redressing on an ordinary evening wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been a Saturday night and I hadn’t worked at a strip club. There were at least fifteen girls already there, and the cops were giving us no time to take a breather while we all scrambled like eggs in a frying pan to gather our things, get dressed, and leave. I leaped up from the chair and threw everything from my locker into my bag. Business had been awry lately, and there was no telling how long we’d be out. We may not open up for a while after the state of emergency is lifted. I wasn’t taking any chances of my things being left there for months on end.
Tossing my tank top over my head and slipping into my sweatpants finally, I bolted to the door, tipped out security when they walked me to my car and zoomed down the interstate out of Atlanta - which is where I’m supposed to be going due to the supposed ‘safe-zone’ there, but my uncle and aunt are essential. I owe them more than I could probably put into words, and they’ll need help evacuating.
Most of my things were still in their trailer anyway, so I could make do without going by my apartment.
It didn’t take me long to get there, only about twenty minutes or so, but looking at the interstate from the opposite direction made me a little nervous. It would be dark in the next two hours - if that - and traffic was backed up worse than I’d ever seen it before. The Atlanta area stayed busy, especially on a Saturday night, but this was otherworldly. It was practically a ghost town on my side of the road while the other side was so packed, bumper to bumper would be an understatement.
Gravel churned under my tires when I hit the not-fully paved road my aunt and uncle lived down. I could see my Uncle Clyde already putting things in his truck's bed, which couldn’t have made me any happier.
He’d been going on about how this was just a hoax that the government was trying to scare folks with again. In the very beginning, I believed him; I mean— people turning other people into undead cannibals, be so for real. We lived in Atlanta, of all places, and I worked in a strip club…drugs weren’t necessarily uncommon or far between. That’s what I thought was causing all the craziness til I witnessed some really crazy shit on the side of the road while I was heading out of the city.
Seeing him getting packed and ready to go was a relief - one less thing to struggle to do.
“Hey, Lib,” he greeted. “I got the truck packed down with everything ya gonna need. The tent, air mattress, blankets, pillows, and loaded ya down with food.”
He was sweating up a storm, and his ordinarily warm, cheerful smile was replaced with a strained one. His greying caterpillar mustache was dripping; pieces of it looked like they had been tugged out. The glasses that typically adorned his blue eyes were missing, along with one of his suspenders. The closer I came, the more blood I could see on the neck of his plain white shirt.
All that looked normal about the man, who was more of a father figure to me than my biological one, was the farmer's hat on his head and the outer clip of his pocket knife in the chest pocket of his shirt.
“I need to grab some clothes and stuff, then we can go.” I tried being nonchalant, more for myself than for him. “You can go ahead and tell Aunt Bea to get in!”
As I passed him by, he called me back. I think when he did that, I already knew why; I was just willing myself to ignore it. If it wasn’t addressed, then it couldn’t hurt me— that was probably what got many people killed in those early days, though. Ignorance was never something to cling to.
“Libby,” he sighed my name heavily, and his shoulders sagged so low that they could’ve been to his ankles. “Aunt Bea came back from over at Mable’s house earlier, hollerin’ about Mable bitin’er. She got real sick not ten minutes later-“
Uncle Clyde never stuttered. Ever. He was a gentle man, but firm at the same time. When he said things, he meant them and said them with his entire chest. I’d never not been able to depend on him.
My aunt married a good man -- the best. He loved me and my sisters, but my relationship with him differed from an early age. I was a surprise baby and the youngest by right over ten years. My parents didn’t really want either of my sisters, not much, but they really didn’t want me, especially once I was born a girl. They already had two girls; why would they want another? My mom's sister, Aunt Bea, never had kids. She moved to Georgia with my uncle long before I was born, but they always came to visit me. My older sister thought it was weird, and it wasn’t until I was almost a teenager that I found out after an argument with my eldest sister that they only started coming to visit so often once I was born.
I figured out why a little later in life-- when I finally blew up and had it out with my uncle. It wasn’t something I ever dwelled on for a multitude of reasons, but my aunt and uncle saved me. I wished they’d saved my sisters from the horror, too, but they didn’t know what was happening at the time. Hell-- my own sisters didn’t even know the extent of what happened once they both left me alone, which is why I try hard not to hold resentment towards them because they couldn’t have helped me even if they wanted to. My eldest especially...
Regardless, though, I got out.
My uncle was the apple of my eye and everything I wanted in a dad as a kid. He took me hunting, even though I was a ‘mouth-of-the-south’ who asked entirely too many questions and was only interested in climbing funky-looking trees or maneuvering through thick brush. I went fishing all the time, and he never complained whenever I would end up jumping into the water instead, scaring all the fish away. We went to the racetrack on Thursday nights together every summer, and we’d joke about which driver would be my husband one day. He didn’t even get mad when I told him I was going to be a dancer because I wanted to pay for my own college tuition. I knew they couldn’t really afford to send me to college and they were supporting me financially so much already.
If I was ever in trouble, I could call him.
When I got my first speeding ticket, he paid for it, but he scolded me so harshly that I cried so hard because I had disappointed him. I’d only had my license for a month.
Still, he only ever wanted the best for me. He was why I felt firm in my personal fundamentals. I drank but rarely got drunk; smoked a little weed, sniffed a little coke, but not hardly enough to say I did ‘drugs’; chose to keep my work life and personal life separate. I stayed in school from the time I was nineteen, having graduated with my bachelor's in childhood psychology that year. I was about to start on my master's, but the world had different plans. Like always, I looked to my Uncle Clyde for the answers.
His words were the Bible to me.
To hear how his voice wavered right now, though— this was something I’d never witnessed in my entire twenty-four years.
“Is she still in there?”
He nodded but still moved in front of me before I could go up the steps again, “Libby, you don’t need ta go in our bedroom, ya hear?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded obediently.
Then he let me pass him.
I begged him to let me stay, not force me out and make me do things alone.
It’s what he was there for-- it’s what I was there for. I didn’t want to be alone, but he made me.
He was bit, too. He said it happened when he was wrangling Aunt Bea into the bedroom because he couldn’t put her down. They’d been married for fifty years, so he just couldn’t do it.
Had I not been the one being forced into a truck and having to say goodbye to the only people who never abandoned or abused me - I might have thought the entire scenario was a little romantic. Romantic in a tragic way. The Notebook kind of thing.
To make matters worse, he wouldn’t stop telling me stupid things I didn’t care to hear on the way out the door. ‘Reminders’ of how to take care of myself, like the easiest way to clean a fish and not to forget to wax my bow.
I was more worried about getting back to Atlanta and the ‘safe zone’ than I was about quick tips on being a survivalist. With the traffic how it was, I would be looking at the Texas car tag in front of me for another ten years— at least. The stand-still train of cars wouldn’t have been the worst if I could get a radio station to work, but all of them were playing the stupid repetition from the CDC, and one could only listen to the same three Johnny Cash CDs so many times.
Then there were the strangers passing by the truck, walking up and down the backed-up interstate like it was a pedestrian bridge.
A part of me wanted to stay in the truck when the bombs started shaking the ground. A twenty-four-year-old girl, all alone, wandering down the road at nine o’clock at night is a recipe for trouble. Normally. With how many people were out looking, though— they’d be none the wiser.
People were losing their minds.
Gunshots, shouting, glass shattering. The sounds had been so close but so far scattered all along the unmoving highway. I saw a couple arguing not far from my truck haven, and seeing the back of his hand connecting with the flesh on her cheek had me rattled. I knew all too well what that was like— not from a lover in particular, but I knew the feeling.
He pushed her back and into a station wagon.
She didn’t cry out or attract attention. She’s used to it.
Bile churned in my gut, but nothing would actually come up. There was nothing to come up.
I’d forgotten to eat.
I was too scared to get out and get something.
I leaned the seat back as far as I could, double-checking my locked doors before I tried to get some sleep instead. Sleep for dinner would be okay.
Dale Horvath introduced himself early the following day. He reminded me of one of my old friends' dads. That was a good thing—her dad was always kind and understanding. I never had to explain certain things to him when I went over there.
He made me feel safe.
So did Dale Horvath.
“I’ve got a jacket if you want it,” he had been passing by again. “I can see you rubbing your arms, and it’s only going to get colder.”
I smiled at him genuinely but shook my head. “I’m pretty sure I have one in my bag. I just need to encourage myself more to get it from the back.”
He laughed a little at that answer, which only made me smile a tad bit brighter. There seemed to always be a smile on his lips, though- no encouragement needed. Every time he strode by, there was a little smile there, and his eyebrows were raised a bit.
Without knowing more than just his name, I hoped nothing horrible would happen to him. There was a strange kind of security about the man that the world might need one day, even if it’s just in brief ‘hello’s’ and offers of superficial small talk. Maybe I was looking into it too much, though. Either way, Dale was kind.
I looked forward to him coming by again and waved as he walked away, back down from wherever he was staying.
Four days had passed since I’d left my home, and the people along the highway started dwindling- less and less each morning that I woke.
I used to think my uncle had the coolest, most spacious truck- until I had to sleep in it for almost a week. The Chevy Avalanche was roomy if it wasn’t your new makeshift apartment. In the passenger seat laid one of my- what used to be many- fleece blankets, a pillow, my backpack, and a yellow notepad that I’d been doodling my name all over randomly. The backseat floorboard was reserved primarily for the more critical items- water, food, guns, and my bow. The entire bed was filled with other things, but there was a massive bed cover on top, so I chose to leave those things alone until I needed them direly.
Things had been okay for me thus far - nobody bothered me except Dale, but he wasn’t a bother. He’d offered to help me pull my truck up and closer to his RV; the attempts were futile, though; there were still just a little too many people camped out in their cars to start shuffling them around. The promise to try again in a day or two gave me something to look forward to, which, in retrospect, was kind of pitiful. I was excited to park next to a random man’s RV on the side of the interstate on a Thursday afternoon. With the loneliness that had started to settle in, though? Sign me up again.
I’d made many attempts to call both my sisters once that fifth day hit. Neither picked up. I was worried, but not overly. It’s weird, actually, how I felt about it all.
It had been so long since my eldest sister even talked to me— she told me she hated me the last time she saw me. She had a way with words. In her book, I was spoiled so hard by my aunt that I wouldn’t know the difference between ‘snorting weed and smoking cocaine.’ There were nights, though - when I was little and still fresh - that she’d show me off to all her friends, and I thought she was the most incredible person. She’d always want me to come and dance with her and her drunk friends at house parties she threw when our parents were out on benders in other towns. I was small, barely five years old, before she got bored of me.
My older sister though— I thought the world of my older sister.
She was never the caring type, but she was for me. I was the exception. Boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, in general -- my older sister never cared too profoundly for many. For me, though, she moved mountains. When my dad would come home drunk, she took a lot of his anger. When grown men looked at my ‘too mature’ body at thirteen, she’d always tell them off. She was my protector for so much of my childhood, and when she told me she was disappointed at how weak and pathetic I was when I told her I was stripping, it broke me in a lot of ways she didn’t know. Other words were exchanged - we hadn’t talked since. She told me not to come running back to her ever again before she hung up the phone.
On nights like that night, though - when there was no noise and that loneliness crept through - I longed to feel her braiding my hair again and telling me she’d write letters when she could.
The world changed her. It changed everyone. I wish she would’ve picked up.
I don’t blame her for being disappointed in me, and I’ve never been angry at her.
I love her.
Another three days had passed before we were able to move my truck, but instead of down the highway, he said we were going to this little quarry that blocked out a lot of noise. The way he worded it - not going to lie - made me feel nervous. Had he been a bit larger, maybe a deeper voice, I might have changed my mind. I didn’t, though, and Dale didn’t lead me astray the entire way there. The drive probably would’ve only taken us about two minutes if there weren’t dozens of cars packed along the interstate, but alas, forty-five minutes later, my truck was parked at the rear of Dale’s RV.
I took note of the other cars that adjoined the little area encased by rocky hills, evergreen trees, and sparkling aqua-colored water. There were probably eight vehicles but a dozen or so tents pitched around the sight.
Was Dale just going around and hand-picking strangers for his own personal apocalyptic family?
It was giving drum-circle-type vibes.
Then I was overwhelmed with new people introducing themselves to me like they’d been waiting for me to come to Thanksgiving dinner because I was running late.
There was Glenn, Glenn Rhee. Glenn was my age, and he was so incredibly friendly. I knew his age, where he was from, how many sisters he had, and that he used to be a pizza boy, all within our very first conversation. I also learned that he liked video games and that baseball was his favorite sport, so maybe I found my first ‘end-of-the-world’ friend if things never returned to normal.
Theodore Douglas, or T-Dogg, was an angel. I was pretty good at pitching a tent, but that’s not to say I wasn’t rusty. T-Dogg had it done before I finished handing him the things out of my bag.
Andrea and Amy were sisters; their similar names reminded me of my sisters and me. Andrea was highly reminiscent of my older sister, though more arrogant and less mature. Amy was just as fun to talk to as Glenn, which could’ve had something to do with our similarities in age.
Age has never been much to me, though. Not with the kind of life I’ve lived. I actually don’t think I’ve ever had two friends in the same age group at the same time before. Ever.
Dale was in my corner when nobody else was, and it had to have been the ‘halo’ effect that he had that made me trust him enough to leave what few weapons I had with him - - along with my food, water, and truck too. I don’t think that Shane didn’t trust me; I just don’t think he trusted me enough like he was used to stringent gender roles and wasn’t sure how to deal with someone pushing his buttons the way that I clearly was.
It wasn’t intentional; it was the complete opposite, actually.
I really wanted to like Shane because he seemed to have a way of getting people to listen to him. He was a good talker, I guess. He said things with certainty but didn’t necessarily talk down to someone if they disagreed or had something else to say.
Then Shane was asking me about my plans for the day as I was getting my bow strapped on my back, and I almost wanted to ask him to take a guess - - just a shot in the dark at just what it was he thought I was going to do. But I didn’t. I never thought, at the grown age of twenty-four, I’d need to explain myself in a situation like this.
Scrunching my face, I looked to the woods. Shane followed my gaze, “y’ever been out there by yourself before?”
Nope. I just carry this bow around because it makes me look kind of neat.
“Plenty,” I assured him with the cotton-candiest smile. “I’m not an awesome tracker or anything like that, but my uncle taught me some things that could get me by.”
He didn’t seem to want to argue back immediately, so I took that as an opportunity to tell Dale about the little battery-powered griddle in my truck and gave him full reign to use what he needed before I started to the woods.
When I said I wasn’t an expert tracker or anything, I meant that I didn’t know the first lick about it. My uncle did - but I talked too much, apparently, and all I actually knew about hunting was the higher ground was the place to be, windy days were the worst, and I needed to be quiet. So, it was no surprise that I didn’t see a deer for the entire first week; it was just squirrels and a stupid rabbit that got away. Everyone else was coming back pretty empty-handed, too, though, so at least I wasn’t the only one.
More people began joining the camp that Dale started, and we were able to set up a perimeter. Things became more organized; most everyone had ‘jobs,’ I was personally happy that I’d already secured one. I despised that Shane was the man handing out the chores, so I was pretty sure I’d have been put on laundry duty or cooking like every other human with a vagina. There were a few exceptions, but for the most part, women cooked, cleaned, did laundry, watched the kids; the men kept watch, killed whatever geeks wandered too close up the mountain, and hunted. Honestly, I’m not against gender roles entirely - unless they’re forced on me. It makes me spiteful.
When I was out in the woods, waiting - scratch that - hoping a deer would wander along the ravine below me, I brought my notepad out and started writing down little survivor notes that my uncle had taught me. The things I thought were annoying became more essential as the days dragged by in a seemingly unending nightmare.
A sharp knife
Box of matches
Lighter
Water bottle
Fishing line
Flashlight
3 x 3 x 3 rule
A backup knife?
Insects are edible - SPIDERS ARE NOT INSECTS
Bright things aren’t good things. Right? Maybe that’s the opposite. Ask Dale if he knows.
Three days after that is when I met him.
It was almost comical - sitting in my usual spot, waiting, hoping - when the perfect-sized buck walked directly into the precipice below. Quieter than a whisper and slower than pond water, I stood, pulling back my bowstring, and took steady aim before letting an arrow fly through the still Georgia air.
Then, another arrow hit the same target.
Perplexed by the mystery arrow, I almost counted the arrows in my quiver to see if I’d actually been seeing things, but the deer lay thoroughly dead on the leaf-covered floor with an unfamiliar bolt sticking out of one side and my arrow partially broken underneath the animal. There were two other men at the camp who hunted with bows; it easily could’ve been them. I thought for sure it was one of them. For some reason, I’d already gotten too comfortable being around as many people as I was fortunate enough to be around. Meeting a complete and total stranger in the middle of the forest had to have been the furthest thing from my mind at the time. When I climbed down from a perched out tree from the steep incline and an unknown body approached me, I was slapping myself for being so naive.
The stranger was everything I was familiar with, but so incredibly far from it simultaneously. The way he strode down the significantly shallower side of the hill, broad arms slinging, his face was knotted in just as much confusion as my own.
“Who’re you?” He spent no time speaking niceties or brief introductions with me.
His eyes were squinted, much like a cat or maybe even a snake getting ready to strike; either way -- they were scanning the area above us. I tried puffing my chest out to look at least a little bigger than I actually was, not that it did me any favors when he aimed his crossbow directly at my head.
The deer was not that important.
My hands raised instantly in submission. It was a random Wednesday, and we were only maybe a month into the end of the world, so I had zero interest in dying that morning.
“Take it.” I squeaked. “I don’t care that much.”
The man eyed me from the very top of my head, all the way down to the boots on my feet in one, slow gaze. It felt like he’d been looking through me, searching for the sign of a bomb that was etched somewhere beneath my skin. I’d like to lie and say that I backed away a bit, but I was too scared to do that at the time.
“You alone?” The question was growled, a southern twang dripping out and in between the words.
In retrospect; I got lucky when I’d nodded, admitting being out in the wilderness all by my lonesome. There was a strange man, at least twenty years my senior, pointing an arrow directly between my eyeballs. I should’ve told him no, that I had a camp full of burly men only a thirty-minute walk from there--it would’ve been the truth- but I didn’t. I answered out of impulse and fear, and my answer was also the truth. I was alone, and it would’ve taken hours, maybe even a night, before anyone would’ve found my body if he decided to let the arrow fly.
But he didn’t.
He lowered it cautiously before letting his shoulders relax some.
“How’d you track it from over there?”
My face scrunched up, and I tilted my head slightly to the side while shaking it. “I didn’t, just got lucky,” his top lip pulled up in disgust as I continued, “but I’m serious. Take it. I literally do not care. We have plenty for now.”
“Thought you said you’s alone?” His eyes narrowed again.
“Out here.” I quickly retorted, not wanting him to re-threaten me, “I’m alone out here.” It was my turn to scan him before I turned that question back. “Are you alone?”
Then his scruffy jaw tightened, and I could tell he was thinking about whether he should respond with a truth or a lie. Or with a mostly truth like I did.
“Just me and my brother.” It must have been me scanning over his shoulder in search of another man that caused him to add, “he’s back at our camp.”
His voice was--something else. It almost reminded me of Shane’s, but that would’ve done it injustice. Shane had a very throaty voice, deep but a smidge nasally. This man’s was from his chest, gruff and strong. If I had to paint it, I would brush out pictures of homemade blueberry wine moonshine in old, worn-out Ball Mason Jars; a crackling bonfire on the Chattahoochee river bank; an empty log cabin with trees surrounding it on every side. There was something incredibly wrong with how much I wanted to hear him talk.
That--along with the gravitational pull of physical attractiveness, may have been why I jumped the gun and made an offer so quickly.
“I have a camp,” I said abruptly. “It’s about half an hour from here, with twenty or so others. New people join all the time.” Saying ‘all the time’ made the way the world felt now feel very absolute to me for the first time, and I don’t entirely think I’d expected it to hit me as hard as it did when all I was trying to do was suggest he join us.
Expeditious trust is something that only happens in movies, or you give people like Dale Horvath--not a random twenty-four-year-old that just shot a deer you’d been tracking for however long he’d been tracking it for; so it shouldn’t have deflated my spirit as much as it did when he told me he didn’t think his brother would be interested. A brief, chance interaction was all this was, and I should’ve been grateful that the psycho that held me at arrow point? wasn’t going to be an ally.
I never did forget the way he had his head tilted in wonder, though—when I looked back after I’d pulled myself skillfully up the tree I’d previously come down on, he called out to me.
“Hey!” He hollered. “What’s yer name?”
“Libby!” I replied, continuing to scale the limbs.
Once I had completed the journey to the top, I looked back down to see him crouched beside the deer. I let myself take in his appearance one last time: the short, blondish brown hair, the sleeves obviously ripped off his shirt exposing tan, robust muscle, and his crossbow now discarded onto his back.
“Hey!” I yelled down to him. “What’s yours?”
His head tilted up, and I couldn’t clearly see his eyes from where I stood now with how small they were, but I just knew they were squinted.
“Daryl!”
I flashed him a smile, waving my fingers in goodbye.
Glenn waited for me daily by the tree line at noon like clockwork. The joke of us having a crush on each other circled through the camp; the truth is-- I loved him from one of the first few conversations we had when we hung up cans around the camp and talked about Halo. Glenn, in most straightforward words, was kind and pure. He didn’t look for much in life, nor did he live an overly exciting one either. I thought, and still think, he is one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. That could’ve had something to do with the fact that I sucked at making friends or being sociable in general. That wasn’t a huge choice with him, though— Glenn talked to me like he’d known me all his life.
When I say I loved him, though, it wasn’t like love at first sight. I just loved him. We clicked together almost instantly, and it was a robbery we hadn’t had the chance to meet before the world fell apart. There were so many things we could’ve shown each other, places we might’ve gone, and yeah--maybe been romantically involved. In another lifetime, perhaps we had been, and our souls rekindled again in a different way.
How lucky I was to have met him, though. He filled my days with laughter and gave me a reason to talk. I worried endlessly when he was gone to the city, scavenging for supplies before others took them. He always came back safe and hardly empty-handed.
I know now that he knew we were going to be best friends all the way back then. I also know now that he was always looking for excuses to talk to me because he was scared of being alone—a lot like I was. His family was in Michigan, and he’d just graduated college, too—economics—but he never pursued a career.
Our friendship was forged deeply in the beginning days of the apocalypse. We crisscrossed our fingers tightly for each other's sisters, shared manga he found in random stores, and dinged our plastic spoons together as a stupid ‘toast’ whenever we dug into food. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Glenn was the first person I told myself I’d die for if things ever came down to it.
“You’re out here a little further than normal.” I smiled gleefully as I strode closer to our oasis.
I had to call it that to convince myself that the little settlement we had going on was a lot better than it really was. The look on Glenn’s face, riddled with anticipation -- not exactly the good kind either, had me suddenly worried about the state of our oasis.
“Hey, Libs.” Glenn’s voice floated nervously. “You’re probably going to get grounded.”
Grounded. Only he would have insinuated such a child-like word while getting ready to break Shane’s melodramatic reaction to finding out I’d invited two new men to our constantly growing group. On the other hand, I was elated to hear that the man I’d met nearly a week prior, Daryl, had taken me up on my offer. Maybe if Glenn had told me Dale or Carol had a problem with it -- I might have been more worried. But Shane?
The more I got to know him, the quicker I saw right through his playbook.
He was a smooth-talking son-of-a-gun, quick to take charge, and ever so kind to most strangers. Shane wasn’t a brainless man who got by on brute strength either; he was sharp, quick witted. Shane fed off of people wanting him -- needing him. I saw how he sometimes came toe to toe with Morales and Jacqui, even Dale, on occasion. Anyone who challenged him too firmly or he saw as a threat to taking the leadership role that had been unintentionally bestowed upon him, he talked down. After all - Shane was a yapper. A good one, too. I think that came with being a police officer, though.
So, shocked was not my reaction to hearing about Shane’s.
I mean -- I’d hoped I hadn’t accidentally brought down chaos in the quarry. The brothers probably would’ve stumbled onto us eventually anyway, and it wasn’t like we were turning people away - sending them packing right down the road they came from.
Flurries of butterflies whirled inside my gut as we returned to camp; the anticipation of seeing the mysterious man again was overwhelming. I felt so silly for the giddiness in my belly - but after all - I was just a girl. Then heat rose in my cheeks when, as soon as we stepped our little feet back into the perimeter, Shane pulled me to the side to scold me like a child in front of everyone -- including Daryl, who was peeking past Dale. His eyes were studying me much like they had days before.
Glenn really put things into words beautifully; boy, did I feel like I was getting grounded. “Liberty, let me talk to you for a second,” Shane made an attempt to usher me away from Glenn, but I hummed as a response while standing firmly in place. “I just wanna know why ya didn’t tell me, ya ran into a strange man in the middle of the woods the other day, huh?”
Up to that point, I’d bit my tongue about many snide, ego-stroking comments, but I wasn’t going to do it for this one. Not when he - I felt - deliberately pulled me to the side to make me feel not only embarrassed but ashamed about my decisions. I could’ve probably dealt with it had several other people men done the same thing.
“Sorry, Dad, I’ll do better next time.” I blew him off.
“Lib, I’m just trying to keep a handle on who all is coming-“
“So we’re vetting people now?”
“I’d like to.” He answered curtly.
I measured his response.
He was a faulty man weighed down with an abundance of good qualities. Looking back on that assessment of Shane, I think it’s a little ironic how the fundamentals of Daryl were Shane’s total opposite. Finding out just who the strange man I’d invited back to camp truly was was a long haul uphill, but he would be worth it in the end. That awry hunting trip - if that’s what you’d call it - led to the discovery of the Dixon brothers. To Daryl Dixon. He was a good man weighed down with an abundance of faulty qualities.
One of which being his brother, Merle.
:you had that same look in your eyes:
Chapter 2: I’m not a prize to be won
Summary:
“Yeah,” I began nodding rapidly, exchanging my anxiousness for a calmer demeanor. That had been the first time something like that had happened to me -- more than two at a time was uncommon with where we were. Where were we?
“Best head back,” he said, wiping sweat from his face. “We’re too close to civilization. More a’them dumb dead bastards than what it’s worth.” It was like he’d read my mind and eased it simultaneously.
So we ate breakfast (if that’s what you’d call canned beans), and he told me we’d go the further way around and see what we could see. I had no argument to that. Daryl hadn’t led me wrong thus far -- he seemed to only care about teaching me and keeping us safe.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
:And the touch of a hand lit the fuse, of a chain reaction of countermoves:
“Hey!”
It had been an entire week since the Dixon brothers arrived at camp, and I hated to say it; I never thought I would, but I might’ve agreed with Shane about them being a bad idea; Merle Dixon was, at least. Daryl generally avoided being part of the group, only interacting as much as he needed to, when he needed to.
I walked towards the permitter where Glenn would’ve been waiting for me but spun around at the newly familiar voice that typically kept to himself.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re doin’ out here, do ya?” Daryl asked, a lot calmer than what his face portrayed. It was screwed up, and his small eyes were narrowed while his lips were drawn in a grimace. “You walked all over a damn trail,” he sneered.
To this day, he still keeps that knotty expression on his face. It was almost permanently painted on, and I wonder how long it took for him to get it stuck like that so often. His face was an inquisitive one to me; it has been for quite some time -- it’s one I fell for instantly but over various years as well. The beauty marks above his lip seemed to be all that stayed the same; even his blue eyes aged and became lighter and steelier as time marched. Despite his seemingly constant angry expression, he conveyed his emotions on his face more than anywhere else.
Like I said, his face was particularly curious.
“Huh?”
“You got your prints all mucked in the ground up and down through here,” he motioned to the ground.
“Yeah?” I responded in evident confusion, “That’s the way I come back every time I’m out-“
“If you don’t know what you’re doin’, why you keep comin’ out here?” His question seemed genuine, not malicious, but that face could’ve fooled me.
I bit my lip in hesitation.
In the beginning -- back when things were still uncertain; when he still had his brother around, and that was the only person he had loyalties to - Daryl was more crude and ornery. He was still a good person, but he cared less about appearances, and any trace of the cultivated man he would become was deep below the surface.
My nervousness was sure. I’d developed a schoolgirl crush on the younger Dixon based entirely on his looks, and I always had a strange awareness of where he was back in the quarry. I was a lot more confident in the woods, alone with him, though -- or maybe that was reversed. He avoided me almost entirely around other people. This encounter was our first words to one another since we’d exchanged names.
“I like being out here.” I finally answered. “It makes me feel close to my uncle, and I’m not completely useless,” I shrugged my right shoulder up, revealing a handful of squirrels hanging off.
And then he motioned for me to follow him back from where I’d just came.
So I did.
“See where ‘em leaves are scattered outta place down this way n’ the dirt’s all naked?” He was bending and hovering his hand along the trail on the ground. “Right here.” He stopped abruptly and crouched completely, beckoning me to go low, too. “See that right there?” There was a faint deer track covered with dirt and a boot print. My boot print.
My curiosity peaked by the man’s keen observation. This wasn’t his first, second, or probably fiftieth rodeo -- he knew exactly what he was doing, and I wanted to learn more, even though I hadn’t technically learned anything.
“How’d you know it was there, though?”
Daryl kept walking, this time off the path I was used to and to the middle of the woods. Noon was passing, and Glenn was probably waiting for me, but I followed Daryl anyway. The only person who would understand would be Glenn.
He spent the next half hour guiding me through the towering trees. No more words were exchanged, and I felt strangely comfortable being led into the unknown. When we finally stopped, I recognized the area -- it’s where I spent my morning before running into him on my way back. Then he grunted to grab my attention as he crouched down again, pointing to another hoof print in the dirt.
“Ya probably scared it n’ it ran off that way,” he motioned back the way we came. “Then ran through that path ya came down. Probably miles away now.” Daryl stood back up and locked eyes with me.
“Any chance it’ll come back?”
“Hell, if I know, girl.” He snapped like I was all of a sudden bothering him, as if he had just led me all the way out there just to scold me.
I whipped my face to the side, staring at the nothingness on the ground. I wasn’t really sure what to say back. The aggression was unanticipated, so I just stood there, twiddling with my fingers, too nervous to talk again. His eyes were boring into me, though -- I could feel them burning down to my bones. Daryl has a strong tendency to stare, making me self-conscious whenever I notice him doing it. Eye contact was and still is a preference on his part -- an intimidation tactic that turned into something deeper as time passed. I wish I hadn’t been so unnerved by him in the beginning because I truly did like looking at him. I found myself turning to look at him for answers not long after. There was nothing significant as to why he would be the withholder of all the knowledge I’d sought through the years, but boy, was he easy on the eyes and how valued his opinion would become.
When I let my gaze linger up, I saw Daryl still eyeballing me but chewing on his right thumb, possibly in thought. “Merle’s goin’ on that supply run with yer little boyfriend in a few days,” his hand dropped down to his side as he noticed my eyes had shifted. “If ya hang back til then, I can try ta find another trail. Could take ya out n’ show ya a thing or two.” It wasn’t a question he was asking, but more of a suggestion -- an offer.
“What do you mean ‘if I hang back’?” I appreciated the offer but wasn’t exactly sure what he meant.
Then his lip twitched up a bit, “Ain’t gonna find nothin’ if yer out here stompin’ around.” His tone was aggressive again. There was so much I had yet to uncover about him, about why he was so unpredictable and why he got frustrated so quickly. “Y’ain’t gotta, but if ya don’t know whatcha doin’, yer just gonna mess shit up for the rest of us.” He added on for good measure.
Before answering the irritated redneck, I puffed my chest out -- much like I had when I first encountered him -- trying not to buckle under the odd pressure I felt had been thrust onto me. My cute little crush was offering to teach me something one-on-one, and even though there was absolutely nothing remotely romantic about it, nor was there an inkling of interest shown on his side, I was internally squealing with delight. It was such a ridiculous feeling, you know the one- - when you’re just unexplainably excited about something you have no business being that excited about.
Daryl’s expression remained stoic and calm, even with the semi-permanent bothered face. I began wondering what might be going on in his mind. Had he just been playing it cool as well? Or was that just another immature thing that a twenty-four-year-old thought? Knowing what little I knew about him, it could’ve seriously been anything. He was so unpredictable at that point, that he really could’ve just been offering me a small favor, and I never have asked him what his true intentions were -- I don’t know if I actually want to know.
“Lucky for you, I’m completely available due to the whole ‘apocalypse’ thing.” I tried my hand at being light-hearted with him, just to see if that would ease any of the tight tension in the air. “I’m also a pretty quick learner, and Glenn isn't my boyfriend,” I flashed him a smile, much like one I’d send Glenn after he brought me back some kind of little ‘treat’ from Atlanta, before realizing what I may have implied. My cheeks were heating up rapidly as I attempted to save myself, “I mean, lucky that I’m a quick learner.” I rambled, “Not that Glenn isn’t my boyfriend…but he’s not!”
Daryl didn’t respond to anything I said; instead, he muttered a quick “C’mon” before we headed back in the direction we came from.
Any attempt to hit on Daryl Dixon had quickly circled down the drain. It was a little ironic, really -- considering my job before all of this had basically been hitting on men. I made money by flirting, but my ‘skills’ rusted over much quicker than anticipated. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to talk to an older guy that I actually thought was attractive. Most men I sweet-talked weren’t exactly the kind of ‘older guy’ people were typically attracted to. Nothing like Daryl. Daryl was the kind of older guy that came into the club, and each girl hoped he’d want a dance or to do champagne. I’d worked at a handful of clubs, but the one I stuck with the longest was more of a dive bar-type club, and the customers were typically well into their sixties or seventies. When anyone younger than fifty-five came in, all of us girls became a kid waiting to be picked for kick-ball. The seniors did champagne more often, and champagne paid way better than working the floor, but it got really old listening to a grandpa make attempts at talking dirty to you.
Glenn immediately knew something was up when I arrived at the perimeter, a few steps behind Daryl. He had tilted his head, but I just widened my eyes as a signal for ‘we’ll talk later,’ and boy, did we talk… I spilled all the information when we went on a water run later that same evening. The Asian man was mindful of my crush on Daryl. Though wary, he was still excited for me and gave an eye roll at the all-too-familiar assumption of us being a couple.
My only real ‘friend’ in the apocalypse at that point was Glenn, so he was really the only person I could trust with those kinds of things, which is why it was such a shock to the rest of the camp when my plans were revealed the night before we were going to be leaving. Daryl and I hadn’t talked any more about the venture until that night anyway, so who was I to know that it was still even on? There was no point in blabbing my mouth just for Shane to shoot the idea down or to have to hear Merle’s snide remarks that would have inevitably made his younger brother second-guess taking me. Just because I wasn’t the smoothest talker didn’t mean I was going to ruin my chances of making up for it.
And just like I had assumed, Shane was, in fact, trying to talk me down, and Merle was feeding into all of it.
Shane was feigning concern when really he just didn’t like the idea of me being from under his thumb for longer than a few hours. I could respect that he wanted to keep a headcount, but I hated that he took unwarranted responsibility for me. He hardly ever talked to me unless it was to argue, ask me to watch Carl for a little bit, or if he needed to borrow something small -- other than that, the man never checked in on me whatsoever. “Libby, you sure you wanna do this?” He asked me while he placed a hand on his hip. The tone of voice was the most annoying; I was convinced that’s how he sounded when he pulled someone over. “Cause if you need some help learning a thing or two, I’m sure Dale or Jim could teach you plenty-“
“I’m good, Shane,” I interrupted abruptly. “It was my idea. Daryl just took me up on the suggestion.” That was a complete and total lie, but I really didn’t need Shane to make any implications that would set Dale off because Dale was not a person I wanted to argue with.
“It was your idea?” The officer questioned, a look of disbelief flashing across his face.
A breathy cackle sounded from somewhere behind me, and I whipped around to see Merle Dixon staggering forward with a sly grin on, “What is it, officer?” He laughed a taunting laugh, “It that hard ta believe a pretty little thang like Ms. Liberty here would be all over my brother?” If I knew how to fight, how to really fight -- Merle Dixon and Shane Walsh would’ve been at the tip-top of my list of whose jaws needed to be rocked.
“Hey, now what I think,” Shane took a few steps forward, causing me to take a few steps back. I wouldn’t be placing myself between them if their fists started flying-- I knew better. “Is that someone as young as Libby shouldn’t be making decisions on going out with strange men in the middle of nowhere for multiple days at a time.”
My head twitched to the side. I hated feeling like a dependent, even though, to an extent, that’s what I was. That was also why I was going with Daryl -- to learn. The more Shane offhandedly belittled me, the more empowered I was to speak up for myself. “First of all, I’m not sure how young you think I am, but I’m grown, and I’ve been grown. I’m out here by myself; I made it this far by myself; if this camp fails, I’ll be by myself. I’m sorry that you feel the need to parent me, but Dale does a much better job at that than you do.” I took a breath, paying close attention to the way Shane’s body faced towards me -- indicating that I had his full attention. “I provide my share for this camp, and I don’t bother anyone. And I don’t have a problem with you running this thing, but I do have a problem with you trying to run me.”
By that point, a plethora of eyes were watching the conversation -- not the entire camp, but maybe nine people. I could see Glenn and Dale both out of my peripheral, and Lori had come behind Shane. This whole situation was bound to happen, but I didn’t love all the nosiness.
Merle stayed flanked at my left, and if the grin on his face could’ve gotten any wider, it would’ve. Truthfully, the older Dixon hadn’t bothered me that much; I just didn’t like hearing his mouth run. It was like the streets of downtown Atlanta on any given weekend night -- constantly going. “And I guess she sure told you.” Merle crowed, taunting Shane to say something else. But I was sick of it.
“Hey!” I hollered, the anger and audacity still fired up inside me, “I’m not a prize to be won by your brother or anyone else for that matter,” even if I secretly wouldn’t mind if Daryl wanted to treat me that way. “The world’s messy right now, and I need to learn things, but that doesn’t mean I’m naive or a dumb kid.” Unlike Shane, Merle didn’t move to face me. His side profile remained as my view.
It didn’t shock me that Merle snapped back quick as a snake, but the same grin painted on his lips, “Damn right y’ain’t,” he laughed out. “You’s a spitfire, not no damn rabbit like I thought ya was.” I had no idea what that meant, so I chose not to respond—electing instead to take a breather and look to Shane once more.
He was staring, not quite dumbfounded but more taken aback by my words. Plenty of people had stood up to him before, but I think he may just not have expected me to get as loud as I had. I really had been keeping to myself mostly -- I socialized with others, Glenn mainly, and my presence wasn’t necessarily overlooked, but I wasn’t a bother. Nothing I did stood out like a sore thumb, and now, about a dozen people had heard my little tantrum, so I softened my face and did damage control.
“I don’t mean to sound unappreciative of the leadership you’ve taken because I believe a group as large as this needs someone to look to, but I just don’t need a babysitter.” I sent him a meek smile. There wasn’t a single part of me that had to like Shane, but I needed to give him credit where credit was due.
He was doing the best he could as a leader.
After a long morning of trudging through the uneven ground and then several more hours walking silently along the flatbed of the woods, Daryl had finally decided that it was time to take a breather -- a chance to finally discuss what the plan was.
“Ya need ta pick yer feet up more,” he was unzipping his backpack and pulled out a thing of canned pineapples. “Shufflin’ like that kicks up dust and makes things sloppy.” He was making a point, not a chide critique, and that made me feel good. I enjoyed learning -- craved it. Picking up new (sometimes pointless) skills was a skill of mine in itself. I knew a little about a lot of things; just enough to make things interesting. And this —Daryl was interesting.
He went on about hopefully tracking a deer back and how we’d work on doing that. He divulged to me things I’d never thought I’d care to listen to and some things I vaguely remembered Uncle Clyde telling me about. All those musings my uncle went on with were just in one ear and out the other as I climbed trees and explored the woods -- now, though, with Daryl, my full attention is provided. Those things I never really cared to hear were essential now. I was lucky Daryl was reiterating something I should’ve listened to the first time. Animal poop, blood, and fur were now on my list of things to be looking for now that we were walking again -- the feces particularly.
“Is this what you did before the end of the world happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued as he continued forward, pointing out something had rubbed against a tree. “Or were you just a Boy Scout or something?”
“Or something,” Daryl answered, not giving much heed to my questions.
“My uncle was a hunter,” I yapped, following faithfully behind the man. “He used to bring me with him when I was little, but I never cared for it too much until I got a lot older. Then I went with him just to spend time together.” My memories, though dull, were fond nonetheless.
“What’d ya hunt?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if it was genuine interest or if he was just giving me small talk -- I guess now I know he’d actually been intrigued. Daryl isn’t a small talker; not when he’s out hunting.
Still—back then, I was just happy to have my crush talking to me; I didn’t care.
“Deer, hog, and turkey once!” I said enthusiastically before adding, “He always wanted to go to Nebraska to hunt for bigger game but never got the chance.”
“You shoot a lot?”
I shook my head, “Nah,” my lips scrunched to the side momentarily. “I think, like, six deer, maybe?” We went often, but I can’t reiterate enough how much I talked and talked and talked. My uncle used to joke that he’d stop bringing me because he never could get anything done, but he still asked every night before he’d go out if I wanted to join him, and every season, he’d re-apply for my hunting license.
Daryl hummed in response, not adding anything else as he kept on walking, the leaves crunching underneath his feet. Maybe it was then that I realized he wasn’t a big talker unless he had something purposeful to say, but I took his nonresponse as response enough. I, myself, wasn’t a huge talker unless I was comfortable around you -- which just led to me not saying much a lot of the time. Friends weren’t something I came by easily. My attachment issues were too high, and the fear of not being good enough weighed on me heavily.
Glenn; he made me feel good enough and I was unnaturally confident around him. That only made me fear losing that bond even more than I feared losing my life. Being without my aunt and uncle had made me depressed enough as it was, and I’d had a falling out with my only other really good friend months prior to the end of the world. I hoped the best for her -- even with all the bitterness soaked into my bones; I wanted to think she’d survived and was doing okay wherever she was. And I hoped she thought the same of me, but I couldn’t help but feel that she didn’t. She was another person I wasn’t good enough for. Another person I’d lost. So I really didn’t want to lose Glenn, but I didn’t want to detach myself from him either. He was the closest thing to my best friend now.
He was the only person I could talk to and not feel like a bumbling idiot, despite how confident I may have appeared to others.
I wasn’t.
Our afternoon went by, not quite in a blur, but not significant enough to recall much. We slowed down a few times for Daryl to brief me on a few things, and he showed me an example of deer poop. He said it was a little less than twelve hours old, but it was getting dark, and we needed to find a decent place to camp. We hadn’t brought anything to pitch a tent or anything with -- he said he wanted to ‘show me how to rough it.’ He briefed me on the right idea of where to take shelter if I really needed it and then let me choose a spot to camp at. Except when I did, he harshly criticized it… something about if a rain storm came through, we’d be up shit creek. Literally. Then he took me to a fallen tree that made a sort of a cove and told me to get in because that’s where we were sleeping. That would be the first (but not last) night I had ever slept on the hard ground.
I woke with a start and a pair of strong, muscular arms jerking me from the ground ruthlessly. My heart was pulsating while my ears were filled with the sound of close snarls and Daryl yelling at me, to,
“Move yer ass!”
A squelching noise pierced through, what seemed to be early morning air, and my eyes finally adjusted to being surrounded by five geeks. I quickly brandished the knife from the holster on my belt loop, joining in the showdown that had begun while I was still blissfully snoozing. One of the dead ones staggered forward, jaws clamping against one another; I dug the knife intensely through its forehead before yanking it back out, aiming for the next one's shoulder, then into its temple as well. My body whipped around at the touch of bony fingers on my neck, but they were swiftly removed by my companion, knocking the geek onto the ground and stomping on its decaying head until it was nothing more than a bloody mess. He didn’t stay distracted for long, moving on to the remaining monster. The bodies of nine walkers lay scattered around the area we’d settled in, and it became abundantly clear that he’d single-handedly taken on four of them. Then his eyes landed on me, and he gave me that intense stare I’d grown almost accustomed to.
“You a’ight?” He asked.
A few beats passed, and I caught my breath. The suddenness of everything had rattled me, but I was okay. I was good.
“Yeah,” I began nodding rapidly, exchanging my anxiousness for a calmer demeanor. That had been the first time something like that had happened to me -- more than two at a time was uncommon with where we were. Where were we?
“Best head back,” he said, wiping sweat from his face. “We’re too close to civilization. More a’them dumb dead bastards than what it’s worth.” It was like he’d read my mind and eased it simultaneously.
So we ate breakfast (if that’s what you’d call canned beans), and he told me we’d go the further way around and see what we could see. I had no argument to that. Daryl hadn’t led me wrong thus far -- he seemed to only care about teaching me and keeping us safe.
I had decided that day that I would follow him anywhere. He knew what he was doing, and he was so effortlessly fearless that it made me feel more secure than I had in my entire life. Somewhere deep inside the steel blue eyes, behind all the rough edges and harshness that Daryl carried; was a good, trustworthy, honorable man. The kind that you’d hope to have in your corner when shit hit the fan. With him standing by you, you would always feel that your safety was secured; a top priority.
“Daryl,” I whispered, crouching down and nodding at my findings.
We’d been walking for a couple of hours uphill, and no words had been spoken since the unlikely encounter with the geeks early that morning. The heat had taken over, and I was looking forward to returning to the camp; a dip in the quarry lake sounded like a dream. I threw that dream away til, at the very least, later that night when Daryl’s lips twitched up in the closest thing to a smile I’d seen from him.
“Shit, girl.” He didn’t look at me when he whispered it, instead focusing on the ground ahead of him. “That’s fresh. We’re on it’s ass, c’mon.”
I remained quiet, following Daryl closely and as silently as I could.
By early afternoon, we’d made it, from what he had told me, halfway back to camp. He paused several times to motion to deer tracks on the ground, the movement of leaves, and even a spot where the deer had been laying. He was convinced it was a doe -- something about the ‘scat’ and brushing indicating it. I wasn’t particularly interested in knowing that, but he told me anyway. Daryl made a point to tell me everything along the way; so I listened to it all as if he was going to give me a pop quiz when we returned about everything I’d learned.
Then he stopped me suddenly and motioned ahead at the deer we’d been tracking, walking seemingly aimlessly in the woods. It had no knowledge of what awaited its fate when Daryl set his crossbow.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to watch the target or the man. Both were oddly serene scenery.
Then he pulled the trigger, almost immediately setting another back and shooting the deer again. It took off running, Daryl cursing under his breath when it did. It was a terrible shot. We weren’t at the best angle for good aim, but a part of me still believed Daryl would be able to manage a decent shot.
That was a terrible assumption.
So then we sat and waited in silence for about fifteen minutes before he told me to start tracking it. I bit my lip, feeling the weird embarrassment rising in my cheeks. The need to impress him made me nervous -- but that’s what I wanted, right? Not necessarily to impress him but to become a valuable part of things.
We stumbled out of the woods, and I became overly self-conscious with him behind me, not knowing what he was looking at. The ground maybe; my messy hair; drops of deer blood that littered the area; it could’ve been anything, and I was anxious the entire time. The entire time.
That desire to be good enough overshadowed those pointless nerves by miles, though. I hadn’t been entirely inefficient to the camp. I’d shot squirrels, rabbits, and technically a deer, provided tons of food for the group supply from what my uncle had packed me, and done bits of labor as well. Still; to me, that wasn’t good enough -- not when I was perfectly capable of doing more. All I needed to do was take the time and effort to learn how. When Shane spoke to me like I was a little kid all those weeks before, I dragged myself into the woods to get away and mull in my own misery. Daryl calling me out and giving me an opportunity, that was the bait I needed to be more. To make Shane Walsh eat his words and eventually need me for something.
That was probably a toxic trait, one that may get me killed one day, but I’ll be damned if I don’t jump on as many opportunities as I’m given.
Faint screaming echoed around the mountains before long. “Hey,” I whispered back, stopping in my tracks. Daryl came up next to me and looked at me with an already-knowing look.
“Yeah.” He nodded, then took the lead.
:To assess the equation of you, checkmate I couldn’t lose:
Notes:
kudos, bookmarks, and comments are much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading.
Chapter 3: Crushed up granola bars, and even a chihuahua were all provided
Summary:
“I don’t know Libby,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “Even if they did leave. These people don’t seem so bad.”
My eyes narrowed, “They jumped Daryl,” then motioned to the bruise forming beside my ear, “They knocked me out!”
“But they also gave you a granola bar and let you pet Bella.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
:we’re your first, last, and only line of defense:
I had settled down next to Daryl in the back of the box truck, glancing at the plywood covered floor and studying it like it was the most interesting thing on the planet. Our hunting trip had taken a turn for the worst when we finally found the deer we’d been tracking earlier being devoured by a gunky, no-good, meat eating walker. Seconds -- not minutes -- seconds after we walked back into camp Shane told us, or more directly, Daryl, that Merle’d been left in Atlanta while we had been gone. It was apparently his own fault, and I doubted Daryl thought otherwise, but that was still his brother. And I got that. When T-Dog mentioned that he padlocked the door shut, a small group had been assembled to go get Merle and a bag of guns, led by a new comer; Rick Grimes.
He was Shane’s best friend, and to my surprise Carl’s fathers and Lori’s husband.
Not my monkeys, not my show.
My first impression of Rick Grimes was, despite his altercation with Daryl, very positive. He was much like Shane in the sense of taking initiative and not shying away from a leadership position, but he seemed to have a more direct moral compass. After all; he was leading a group of strangers into the city of Atlanta to save a man that would probably try to kill, or at the very least assault, all of them -- except maybe me or Daryl. But even then, I wouldn’t put it past him to blame us for him being locked up there. Nonetheless, Rick was heading this journey mostly selflessly - there was a bag of guns he’d dropped when Glenn saved him that added a little extra motivation. It also became pretty clear that with Rick around, Shane took a backseat to leadership.
After finding out about Merle, it hadn’t taken a prompt (not that I would’ve been asked anyway) for me to offer my services -- well at least the extra man-power. woman-power?. I wasn’t some skilled, intelligent, or strong fighter; I wasn’t a fighter at all -- but I could still be helpful. Hopefully.
Then again - maybe I was still just riding the high of wanting to be more involved in the group’s more ‘hands-on’ activities.
Plenty folks questioned my decision; all four men that were going on the journey. But with plenty reassurances to Dale and Glenn, I joined the mission. Oddly enough, Daryl hadn’t questioned my decision as much or paid any mind to my presence since we’d gotten back from our expedition. It was a little disappointing, because I’d be lying if I said part of me was doing this to give me some extra brownie points.
It was a win-win on both parts.
I’d be contributing some sort of usefulness; and the guy I was interested in might see me in a different light.
By early afternoon the truck braked firmly, and we began collecting ourselves then dropping from the back of it and onto a set of train tracks. Where we stood wasn’t far from my old apartment; the one I never got a chance to fully move in to. If I were to go in there, I’d find untouched boxes of my forgotten things from a different lifetime; memories of easier times that had been habitually taken advantage of.
Glenn adjusted his backpack, “We walk from here.”
So we did, and I began wishing that I could un-recall the previous years I spent living so blissfully in Atlanta. The holidays were my favorite part. They were always so busy, and there were always festivities.
I grew up in a tiny town -- not even a dot on the map or a place people stopped to get gas on road-trips. The closest ‘big city’ to me was over an hour away, and I’d only gone there once as a child, when my mom had sobered up and took me to the hospital because of an allergic reaction instead of keeping me home and doping me up with Benadryl.
Glenn got into stride next to me, “Why’d you want to come?” He asked, purposefully falling into cadence with my steps.
Daryl, Rick, and T-Dog were in a semi-scattered group, walking behind us. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to our conversation, focused solely on following Glenn through the streets of Atlanta. “Well isn’t it obvious?” I asked, nudging his shoulder causing him to fall out of step, “Somebody has to be here to keep a headcount and make sure nobody else gets cuffed to a roof.” I joked, but glanced back paying obvious notice to Rick.
“Sucks that your hunting trip got spoiled by a walker.” He continued small conversation.
“Sucks that your Atlanta run got spoiled by Shane’s best friend in a tank.”
The downfall may have been caused by Rick, but the real problem was Merle, and I didn’t need to acknowledge that; not with his younger brother in our presence. I was honestly a little nervous about bringing back the older Dixon. He was a pipe bomb and you never knew what to expect to come out of him other than a multitude of obscenities and vague threats that he’d yet to act on. After essentially being put in a dangerous version of time-out for a day, I couldn’t be the only one that had a hunch that he wouldn’t want to play nice. No matter how ‘sorry’ everyone was. Even if we ended up making it back to the quarry all in one piece, the rift in trust would probably be too much for either Dixon to gamble.
It was a disappointing prospect (the brothers leaving) and likely outcome, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying to help retrieve Merle. Neither of my sisters probably cared if I was alive; but I’d kill to find them anyways -- just to know if they were surviving.
Family mattered.
Even if they were assholes.
Empathy was lacking within the entire group and especially for Daryl.
None of the camp had given him any sympathy when they’d revealed that his only living family member had been a prick, so they handcuffed him, and then left him after a building had been overrun with walkers. They gave him zero grace for acting on impulse, or for the harsh remarks. Daryl listened as people around camp tried to talk Rick out of righting a wrong he had made, saying how worthless the trip would be. Whenever Daryl spoke up to defend his brother, he was shut down and looked at as even more of a problem.
So when all we found on the rooftop was an ungodly sight of an amputated hand and some bloody handcuffs, I wasn’t shocked that Rick had his Colt Python promptly aimed at Daryl’s head just as quick as Daryl threatened T-Dog - as if he wouldn’t have done the same thing had it been his family.
But after further inspection and a brief argument later, our gang of misfits were now strolling through the back rooms of the department store looking for Daryl’s idiot, one-handed brother. This was a position, I don’t think, anything could have ever prepared me for: going down a stairwell, following a human blood trail, and keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of life. (alive or otherwise)
We’d encountered a handful of walkers as we made our way through the building, but the smell of burning flesh had me turning my head and regretting every decision I’d made to come on the trip. It had to have been one of the most god awful scents in existence. Another argument ensued between Daryl and Rick while T-Dog, Glenn, and I made our way to what looked like an industrial kitchen tucked away in the back. The stove was lit; blue flames burning and a leather belt discarded not far from it. It was a wonder that the place hadn’t caught fire.
“What’s that burnt stuff?” Glenn asked, looking past me curiously.
“Skin.” Rick replied, sneaking past me. “He cauterized the stump.”
“Told ya he’s tough,” Daryl said rather proudly, “nobody can kill Merle but Merle.”
“Don’t take that on faith. He’s lost a lot of blood.” Rick motioned to the messy blood splatter around the kitchen area, and his words stood true. There were more than just a few drops of blood all around the stove.
I began moving past the industrial kitchen supplies, through the room and to the opposite side where there was a busted out window. Glass sprawled everywhere, along with a definite abundance of blood still trailed through. “Dar,” I called back lowly before motioning to the broken glass.
He nodded his head up in approval and the flutter of butterflies through my stomach at his acknowledgment would’ve been embarrassing if anyone else knew about them. “Didn’t stop him from bustin’ outta this death trap.” Daryl snarled back to Rick.
“He left the building?” Glenn asked in disbelief, “Why the hell would he do that?”
“Why wouldn’t he? He’s out there alone as far as he knows, doing what he’s got to do,” I peaked out the window after Rick and saw a bloody towel left at the bottom of the fire escape. “Surviving.” Daryl finished, looking out after me.
“You call that surviving?” T-Dog held his arm out, motioning at the window. “Just wandering out in the streets, maybe passing out? What are his odds out there?”
“No worse than being handcuffed and left to rot by you sorry pricks.” Daryl moved past each of us to pace before standing in front of Rick, “You couldn’t kill him. Ain’t so worried about some dumb dead bastard.”
“What about a thousand dead, dumb bastards?” Rick asked, not backing down from the confrontation. “Different story?”
“Why don’t you take a tally? Do what you want. I’m gonna go get him.” Daryl turned to leave, about to head to the window, when Rick’s hand firmly pushed his chest back. Both me and Glenn looked to one another, not looking forward to a physical altercation that seemed to be imminent between the two. “Get yer hands off me! Y’can’t stop me!” His southern twang drew strongly.
Rick didn’t seem one bit phased, “I don’t blame you, he’s family, I get that.” The officer tried “I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel. We could help you check a few blocks around but only if we keep a level head.”
The two men eyed each other, and I couldn’t tell if it was confrontational or measuring one another’s behavior. For a split second, I thought I saw fear pass Daryl’s face -- a fear I was familiar with. Being alone. Sure; he could survive alone, but that didn’t mean he would choose that option on any given Sunday. Especially when your family could be as close as a mile or two.
Then in the midst of the silence, I caught steel blue eyes glancing into mine. I wasn’t sure whether it was on purpose, or if he’d just been looking around the room in consideration -- regardless, I furrowed my brows just a little, trying to convey that I was on his side. Someone had to be. And I owed him.
His eyes fixated back on Rick’s, “I could do that.”
The five of us traveled out the kitchen, down the hallways, and to a lower-level office with plenty of drawing supplies for Glenn to work out a plan. It was impressive really -- in its own way. Such a basic job; a pizza boy- being as essential as it was in the apocalypse.
I sat in a criss-cross position on a cold metal desk, T-Dog relaxed on the floor to my right, Daryl leaned in front of me, while Rick paced the room. Glenn started talking out his plan to all of us, and from an outsider’s perspective; we were genuinely a group of misfits working on a goal that could be the demise of our lives. The sad part is -- we were. A football player, a cop, a pizza boy, a hunter, and a stripper, were somehow all banded together at the end of the world. It was comical, but it was happening.
And Glenn had me fucked up. “Have you lost your mind?” I asked at his suggestion of him getting the bag of guns by himself.
“Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t even like you much.” Daryl muttered in agreement, though the snide remark wasn’t needed. I didn’t necessarily expect him to catch the dirty look I shot him, but his eyes were trained on mine when I glanced over at him, so my cheeks flushed as my stomach rolled in embarrassment.
Glenn sighed, “It’s a good idea, okay, if you just hear me out,” so we did so without protest. “If we go out there in a group, we’re slow, drawing attention. If I’m alone, I can move fast.” He motioned to the messy map he’d scratched up. “Look — that’s the tank.” He moved an oversized binder clip in between two squares that were meant to be buildings. “That’s the bag of guns.” Then he threw a balled up sticky note in front of the clip. “Here’s the alley I dragged you into when we first met” He looked to Rick-- “That’s where Daryl, Libby and I will go.”
“Why me?” Daryl asked, though I thought the reason was obvious. Then again - Glenn and I had also discussed a scenario like this before.
“Your crossbow is quieter than his gun,” Glenn replied, nodding between Daryl and Rick.
With how high the stakes were and how temperamental Daryl had been all day, I was a little impressed that he didn’t shoot back with something other than a sneering smile. It wasn’t much to go off of, but I had a feeling he genuinely didn’t know how to deal with being an essential part of something, and that’s why he’d given such an off-handed look and nothing more.
“You got us elsewhere?” Rick asked, eyes narrowing at the drawing on the floor.
“You and T-Dog, right-“ Glenn pointed at another area. “You’ll be in this alley here.”
“Two blocks away? Why?” Rick asked, a perplexed look on his face.
Glenn hovered his finger over an alternate route, “I may not be able to come back the same way. Walkers might cut me off. If that happens, I won’t go back to the archers, I’ll go forward instead,” he padded his fingers along the marks until they got to the pink eraser that was supposed to symbolize Rick and T-Dog, “All the way around to that alley where you guys are. Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me. Afterwards, we’ll all meet back here.”
A very brief paused filled the air before Daryl, much to mine and the other’s amusement, asked what Glenn did before the apocalypse. I couldn’t hold back the chuckle from rising in my throat when he answered. Even though I’d already known what his response would be, the pure astonishment and disbelief on the older men’s faces were enough to get a genuine smile out of me. I’m really not sure whether the way Rick’s face fell or Daryl’s puzzled expression had been my favorite - but they were both solid reactions. T-Dog didn’t react, so I could only assume he’d already known about Glenn’s job prior.
We bid Rick and T goodbye, crossing our fingers things went well and it’d be an easy in and out type deal. If only it had been and easy in and out type deal.
Down the fire escape, through the alley, hiding behind unusual objects - - this was really my life now. Around now, I should’ve been starting college again; instead I’m scurrying down a back alley in downtown Atlanta, accompanied by two men, one brandishing a weapon much like my own, ready to take down the walking dead if they try to step to us.
“You got some balls for a Chinaman,” Daryl muttered, setting his cross-bow.
“I’m Korean.” Glenn shot back.
“Whatever.”
Another slightly muffled laugh, drew brief attention to me. My face heated, but instead of turning away, I turned my smile into a tight line and pulled my bowstring back.
With a quick, toothy smile shot back to me, Glenn dashed out of the alley and beyond our view. We stayed tucked behind a large trash bin, that oddly enough, didn’t reek that heavily of garbage. (Or maybe it was the fact that I was used to the smell of the decaying flesh that filled Atlanta.) “Why’d you come?” Daryl asked in a whisper next to me.
The question was stupid really, but I couldn’t blame him for wondering, not when I’d only just gotten into an argument with Merle two night prior. Still - I did my best at playing it off, all while trying to convey interest in him at the same time, “It’s kind of our thing right? I tell you about our camp, you come. You offer to take me hunting, I accept. The group I tell you about cuffs your brother to a roof, I help in the rescue mission.” I joked half-heartedly. “And younger sibling to younger sibling- If it were my sister on that roof, I’d want as many people helping get her off… even if she is real tough.”
That had been the real reason after all.
I knew the feeling of both, having an asshole, good for nothing, older sibling and a really tough, independent older sibling.
Then I saw the man who’d been relaxed, tense up and make quick eye contact with me while motioning back with his head, indicating something approaching. I squinted my eyes, trying to signal that I’d handle watching for Glenn. And in sync we stood from our crouching positions; a crossbow aimed behind me, while my compound aimed ahead. I would’ve been incredibly impressed with his hearing had I not known he was a skilled hunter. It was in his blood to be that way.
I heard commotion behind me, but didn’t take the chance to look until a younger voice started shouting something in Spanish, bringing a walkers attention to us. My arrow flew, quickly piercing the dead ones skull.
“Dar!” I shouted over the other voice, pulling my bow back again and hitting another walker.
“He won’t shut up!”
When I looked back, I saw Daryl trying to smother a kid that couldn’t have been but four or five years younger than me. And I would’ve laughed at the sight too if I hadn’t heard other footsteps approaching. By the time I’d focused back on the street, expecting to see Glenn, my bow was knocked out of my hand and I was pushed to the side and against the dumpster. Two, unfamiliar men, who I could only assume were with the kid Daryl had been assaulting. were now essentially jumping Daryl. I froze for the twinkle of an eye-- in shock at just how quick things had gone south. One minute I had been having a simple conversation with my crush, now I was in a life altering situation.
Snapping back into it, I staggered forward and made a lame attempt at pushing the lankier of the men off of Daryl, but what I’d failed to notice was he had a pipe. Have you ever been hit in the head with an industrial metal pipe? Because if you haven’t, I could never describe to you the blunt sense of pain that it causes when it bounces off the side of your ear.
I think I vaguely heard Daryl yelling “Get off her!” But I also could’ve been imagining that part.
What I wasn’t imagining was being drug along the concrete, and I knew I’d have proof all over the back of my calves when I was fully conscious. Sleep sounded good then though - real good.
“Good morning Cariño,” A high pitched voice greeted me as I stirred awake.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I peeled my eyelids open, but being surrounded by a bunch of grandma’s wasn’t it. As a matter of fact, that might have been the furthest thing from what I ever expected. Ever. Before the apocalypse or during. Especially during.
The scent of Japanese Cherry Blossom and hairspray filled my nose; I was immediately brought back to when I had my wisdom teeth removed and I slept with my Aunt Bea for the entire weekend as comfort. She loved Japanese Cherry Blossom, and I was pretty sure there was an unopened shower gel I’d bought for her on sale for Christmas somewhere in my apartment a few blocks away. Or; what was left of it.
“How are you feeling?” Another voice asked, this one raspier, one of a smoker.
“Felipé will be in soon,” another said, “He check on you.” This one spoke in broken English, but still well enough to be understood.
The older women treated me like I was a grandchild they’d known all their lives. Water, little crushed up granola bars, and even a chihuahua were all provided for me- it felt like Christmas morning until the bastard that jumped Daryl walked in. That’s when I found out I was in a nursing home -- not a hospital, and that my ‘boyfriend’ had shot him in the ass and kidnapped his little cousin. So now they were in negotiations to get ‘Miguel’ and a bag of guns back from my group; then I could see Glenn.
An hour passed and I finally took to bargaining one of the granny’s with a promise of a game of Uno if she’d help usher me into the bigger room. As much as I loved my Aunt Bea, her signature scent could be a little overwhelming.
“Glenn!” I shouted in excitement when I saw my friend, massaging an old ladies shoulders.
“Liberty!” He responded, brushing his hands on his pants before running over to me. “How are you feeling?”
Then we relayed our experiences to one another and pieced a few things together. Just as I had expected— as if I had much to go on— I’d been knocked out. But not cleanly- - I probably had a minor concussion. Glenn said he checked on me twice before Rick showed up, then once afterwards. The ‘deal’ Felipe had been arranging, hadn’t even been his deal to arrange. It was someone named Guillermo’s, and it hadn’t gone very well.
Glenn seemed to be confident that Rick wouldn’t leave us, but I argued that he’d left Merle. Even though the situation was much different, the stakes were even higher, and Rick didn’t even know us like that.
“I don’t know Libby,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “Even if they did leave. These people don’t seem so bad.”
My eyes narrowed, “They jumped Daryl,” then motioned to the bruise forming beside my ear, “They knocked me out!”
“But they also gave you a granola bar and let you pet Bella.”
“Glenn,” I shut my eyes and sighed deeply. “Babe, I don’t care about granola bars and chihuahuas. I liked my tent, and the quarry was fun to swim in.”
The man poked his bottom lip out, pouting dramatically. If I had to be kidnapped and stuck anywhere in the apocalypse; being with Glenn in a nursing home wasn’t that bad. I would still be holding a grudge against Rick Grimes for the rest of his sorry life though. Maybe T-Dog and Daryl too- - but definitely Rick. He would’ve been going two for two on abandoning people in Atlanta.
Then a commotion began around the side table next to where we stood. An older man, probably around my Uncle Clyde’s age began breathing heavily and running his hand up and down his neck, seemingly trying to catch his breath. It didn’t take long for a small group to crowd around him; Glenn and myself included.
His name was Mr. Gilbert and he was having a routine asthma attack. I had initially thought it was a heart attack, so hearing that it was something slightly less dire calmed my heart. I didn’t have an attachment to the old folks around us, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to die or anything. A younger, conventionally attractive man named Carlito, had enlisted my help in finding Mr. Gilbert’s inhaler and medicine. As if the world wasn’t ending and his people hadn’t given me a concussion, I began helping, leaving Glenn to help the elderly people walk through the asthma attack.
I bit my lip, not quite in frustration, but more in disappointment that Rick Grimes hadn’t failed my test of leaving Glenn and I behind. Sure -- I was happy that we weren’t stranded in Atlanta, but I felt bad for assuming the worst out of Rick.
He stood, along with Daryl and T-Dog beside Glenn, as Carlito passed off the inhaler to Felipe.
“You’re the dumbest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. We walked in there ready to kill every last one of you.” I heard Rick spit out at, who I could only assume was Guillermo, as I gave both T and Daryl a tight lipped smile.
“The hell happened back there girl?” That’s when I noticed Daryl hadn’t been sporting his usual weapon, but a shotgun instead. So I ignored his question, and asked him one in turn.
“Why you got a shotgun?”
I don’t know what it was about my question that seemed more important, but he answered, “Was comin’ ta save yer ass.” A pause filled the air before he nodded his head towards Glenn, “his too.”
“They gave me a granola bar and I’m pretty sure I have an Abuela or two now.” I kept the same tight lipped smile as before.
Something shifted that day between Daryl and I, maybe in that exact moment, but by the time we’d walked out of the nursing home and headed back to the train tracks, I was sure I’d officially made my second friend during the apocalypse. Despite the devastating loss that I’d experienced in losing my aunt and uncle, I’d somehow managed to gain two new people that I cared for greatly. There was a certain sadness in it though; that it took the end of the world -- literally, for me to find friends. For me to feel… liked.
I missed my old life; the simplicity of it at least. But I was attaining more now than I ever had before.
“That’s a might fine shiner you got.” Rick commented.
“Yeah, well….” I was walking in step with Daryl and shoved into him slightly. “Daryl decided to smother a kid and let me get taken.” I hoped he took it as a joke and not seriously.
“Ain’t my fault you let some bean-pole snatch you up.” He snapped back, not missing a beat.
When I looked over, Daryl’s knotted up face was relaxed into the closest thing I’d seen of a smile from him.
“Admit it, you only came back to Atlanta for the hat.” Glenn looked to Rick.
“Don’t tell anybody.”
“You’ve given away half our guns and ammo.” Daryl’s smile disappeared, “For what? Bunch of old farts who are gonna die off momentarily anyhow? Seriously, how long do you think they got?”
“How long do any of us?” Rick asked as we got closer to the fence we’d parked the truck by.
At least -- where I was pretty sure we parked the box van by. I’d been wrong before, but Glenn and Daryl’s reaction to the lack of the truck had been all the confirmation I needed to know that I wasn’t mistaken. Some took our fucking ride.
“Merle.” Rick said sharply. I didn’t need to see his face to know that there had to have been a fire burning within his eyes.
“He’s gonna be bringing some vengeance back to camp.” Daryl said, a sense of apology and warning hidden behind his words.
The five of us sighed almost in unison. Daylight was slipping away and the walkers were a lot more active as the sun began setting -- then again, I wasn’t sure if I was more worried about the walkers, Merle, or the hour long tread back to camp.
:against the worst scum of the universe:
Notes:
Kudos, bookmarks, and comments are much appreciated to let me know the opinions on the story! Thanks for reading besties.
Chapter 4: ain’t got nothin’ on Bill
Summary:
Biting my lip, I studied the ceiling. Something about the way Jenner was talking made me nervous. Vi’s answer to the question didn’t reassure me at all either. “I mean, you don’t think Jenner’s acting funny?”
“He’s a doctor with a shotgun,” Daryl reached out and took the bottle from my hand, “and he let a bunch of strangers in here. He’s been actin’ funny since we met him.”
“Yeah, but-“ I really couldn’t put my finger on how to explain how I felt to him. Not to where he’d get it at least. “I don’t know, I just feel- off.”
Chapter Text
.can’t change the weather.
Glenn and I often jokingly referred to the quarry as our own private oasis.
A place we set and built up together. It started out so small, then grew over night -- stragglers and families alike all poured their heart into something that got ripped right from under our noses.
The Atlanta group -- my group, had only gotten back at the tail end of the fight that ensued. From the look of things- and I hated to admit it- but Shane may have been right. Maybe we shouldn’t have taken as many people to Atlanta. If I stayed back, maybe I could’ve helped in some way. Or with one less person, they could’ve been quicker in Atlanta and gotten Merle, then got back way earlier with the guns. When I told as much to Glenn, he told me not to think too much on it. It already happened and there was nothing we could do to change it.
Then we found out Jim was bit.
I hadn’t been particularly close with him, but he was kind and he helped keep the RV running. Even if I hadn’t known him that well, death was a far stretch for something I’d wish on someone. That was clearly something Rick felt strongly about too, because as soon as he found out about the approaching demise of a relative stranger, he suggested going to the CDC just to see what our options were. We knew that the chances of even making it there with Jim were little to none, but the dedication was what mattered. That’s not to say I didn’t at least partially agree with Daryl’s stance on things; albeit a little too aggressive, I still fully believed we shouldn’t just keep Jim walking around the uninfected all willy-nilly.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to be caught in the same place as him when he turned.
So that’s how I started riding with Daryl back into Atlanta. Even after Jim decided to opt on being left behind, I’d chosen my companion on the journey.
“Y’don’t really think this place is gon’ be open to the public, do ya?” Daryl asked, finally breaking the long spur of silence that had filled the truck once we’d said goodbye to Jim.
“I don’t think before all of this the CDC was open to the public, but I especially don’t think so now.” I agreed.
Those were the only words we exchanged until we got outside the building. We remained comfortably silent, but there was also something strangely intimate about it as well. The thin, wordless air that had only been filled with the flicker of a lighter and faint puffs of him taking drags from the cigarette. As soon as we parked Daryl muttered, “If shit goes south, I whistle and we head out.” He didn’t give me any time to agree or disagree; he opened the rusty pickup truck door, grabbed his crossbow, and joined the group.
“Keep it tight.” Shane hissed out, motioning for the ones in the back - myself included, to get closer.
Our rather large group of misfits, somehow kept it together, kids and all until we reached the front doors of the Center of Disease Control. If only there had been a welcome mat laid down with samples of a cure instead of impenetrable metal shutters being closed and no signs of this place being inhabited by even the undead. Quite the opposite actually-- undead soldiers began surrounding us quicker than we’d gotten to the building in the first place. A building that was supposed to be a potential safe haven was quickly becoming a death sentence for the surviving members of our group.
“It’s empty.” I said, looking around and quickly clicking the safety off a pistol Rick had given me as Daryl shouted about the walkers getting a little too close for comfort.
“You led us into a graveyard.” Daryl snapped.
“He made a call.” Shane argued.
“It was the wrong damn call!”
“Shut up,” Shane advanced on Daryl, roughly nudging me out of the way and into Carol, “ya hear? Just shut up.” He let Daryl go and shoved him back.
To my surprise, Daryl didn’t try to fight him anymore. His focus was now trained on the immediate threat of walkers and the night time quickly approaching. After we left the nursing home the day before, I told myself I would start trusting Rick, but that was so much easier said than done when dead ones were snapping at you only a few feet away and he was having a mental breakdown. My ears perked up when an arrow flew past me and into a walkers eye, hoping to hear a whistle or some indication that we could leave. That I could throw my hands up and let someone else take the reins, because I was about two minutes away from having my own meltdown. For the first time since everything had happened (the end of the world), I was ready to throw the towel in. Our ‘leader’ wouldn’t stop screaming about a camera moving, the kids weeping grew louder, and nobody seemed to know what to do. There was never a job resume for the apocalypse and I did not work well under pressure.
Shane hollered to get back to the cars, but when I looked to Daryl, he didn’t make a move to indicate he’d be obeying Shane’s orders - so neither did I. There was something so…confident? about Daryl, and I felt safer trying my chances with him than going back with the others. Maybe it was out of fear or maybe it was completely unintentional, but my legs carried the rest of my body over to stand beside Daryl. I didn’t see Glenn anywhere, and the idea of dying next to someone seemed like a better way to go than dying alone - - and death was the only thing on my mind at that point.
“Please help us!” Rick screamed to the camera, beating the shutters harder, “You’re killing us! You’re killing us!”
The hand that wasn’t on my gun, reached to grip Daryl when a blinding, bright light suddenly shone out and a loud noise indicated that Rick had been right all along. Someone had been there.
Maybe there was hope after all. A cure of some sorts. The idea that life wasn’t over, that things might go back to normal put a pep in my step.
Dr. Edwin Jenner - ordered us to get everything from our vehicles that we’d need before he shut the building back down. Within fifteen minutes, my fate had gone from an inevitable demise to safety within an elevator, pressed tightly behind Glenn and in front of Daryl. That was the exact moment, pinpointed for sure, that I began putting my full faith into Rick Grimes. As the elevator moved up and I scanned all of the people inside that he’d saved, my heart opened a new chamber to start settling my found family inside of. I placed Rick at the core. Whether or not I could call him a friend was still to be determined, but he was part of something I wanted to always be involved with.
I loved Glenn Rhee. He was my first friend that I found in the apocalypse, and I knew that he would be special to me until the day we rotted away. Daryl Dixon; he made me feel safe and secure. If ever I needed to pick one person to survive with, I’d choose him blindly. I wouldn’t even fully question the scenario. Rick Grimes though— if Rick told me to jump, I’d ask him how high. The millisecond he says to do something, I’ll do it thoughtlessly.
My family consisted of only those three for now, but as my eyes traveled along the people that were now exiting the lift, I wondered who else in our group currently would make their way into my heart.
Mechanical hums echoed in the building as the lights turned on. All around the room there was a panoramic view of desks, computer screens, and industrial lighting—but the lack of people caught my notice quicker than any of the equipment. Whoever ‘Vi’ was, she was most definitely not a living, breathing, human being.
“Welcome to Zone Five.” Jenner introduced us particularly grandly, all things considered.
“Are we the only people here?” I asked, my tone taking a suspicious turn. “Or does everyone else have stage fright?”
Everyone was now looking cautiously around the room, as if expecting the questions to encourage whatever people that may have been hiding to come out. “I’m it.” Jenner replied. “It’s just me here.”
“What about the person you were speaking with?” Rick added on to my question, “Vi?”
The regretful smile that Jenner sent Rick gave me all the answers I needed to know, “Vi, say hello to our guests.” Vi was a computer. And we truly were the only ones in the building. Our band of misfits and Dr. Edwin Jenner himself. The little bit of hope I had in me when those doors initially opened, diminished into ash.
I lazily followed the rest of the group to get my blood drawn, kicking myself for letting my expectations soar.
Three vials of blood was taken from each of us, and I felt it. It took Jacqui finally saying something to realize why. Between hunting, looking for Merle, and traveling out here, it had been at least two days since I’d had anything to eat. All except for a smashed up granola bar and some water, my stomach was empty. So the offer of a mess of food from Jenner was quickly accepted by the lot of us. Add the alcohol and I was living.
If this is what I could expect for the next while, I’d be perfectly okay with that.
I hastily consumed the wine that Dale had poured for me, taking large gulps to calm my nerves. Then, I reached for the bottle that Daryl was holding. In the past twenty-four hours, I had faced death on multiple occasions, and I was certain that I had come dangerously close to it at least twice. I needed to numb my fear and frustration, so I made the decision to get drunk.
And drunk I got.
I felt warm, then happy, then really horny.
Then I was aware of following behind Daryl and into a room. He didn’t tell me to go away or object to me taking my clothes off. But I know I wasn’t too far gone when he did object to me taking his clothes off, and forced my hand away from the buttons on his shirt.
“Ain’t your boyfriend or nothin’” He’d said, but when I brushed over the bulge that was so obviously growing in his pants now, he didn’t move away.
“You only have sex with your girlfriends?” I asked, feigning disbelief, running my palm more firmly this time over the tent.
That had earned me a sharp intake of breath. His eyes hadn’t left my chest from the second I unclasped my bra, so I knew he was at least partially interested. We were both drunk, but not messy drunk. Drunk enough to feel good and probably have a headache in the morning.
***
“How old’re you anyways?” He didn’t respond to my question, so I continued to palm him through his pants.
His inquiry made me smirk. I was by no means underage, and age wasn’t really that important to me. Some people my age feared growing older— even thirty seemed old to a lot of the girls I worked with— but I almost wished I was older. Especially under the eye of the man who was studying me with half-lidded eyes. “Old enough.” I responded before hitting my knees.
“How old?” He asked again, finally putting his own hand on top of my own, freezing my actions.
“Twenty-four.” My eyes rolled up to meet his and I suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Or twenty-five if it’s November.” But his hand didn’t move when I answered him, making me nervous that he was about to reject me.
I feared rejection, but I especially feared harsh rejection.
So I tried moving my hand one more time. Just one more to see if my age actually mattered or if he really just wanted me to stop. And he let me. My eyes dropped from his, letting my full attention be on the task at hand. Despite not being completely wasted, I still didn’t trust myself to blindly do anything.
I began unbuckling his belt, then undoing his pants, then they dropped to the floor quickly. Moving a lot slower than I meant to, I began tugging at his boxers, not realizing that the hard cock underneath them was the reason they weren’t coming down as easy. But they came down eventually. Then, almost embarrassed at the realization, I didn’t want to waste more time and accidentally make a fool of myself… or more than what I already was.
This was all -- new to me.
I’d had sex a handful of times before, and found a lot of solace in my own sexual experience with myself, but I wasn’t a super sexually active person. Just a few hookups when I really wanted another body. Sex stores weren’t necessarily a top priority for looting, and there wasn’t consistent privacy for using anything like that even if that was even on a list of priorities.
So I began slowly fisting the hardened cock in front of me, trying not to falter under the gaze I knew he was still holding over me. When I let my tongue flick out and give the silky tip a kitten lick, I felt it throb harshly in my hand. At the physical encouragement, I traced my tongue down the base and back up before taking it fully into my mouth. I swore I heard a low moan from above me, but chose not to pay it any mind- - instead, I opted to pull another one out of him. One that I could hear loud and clear. A few drops of salty pre-cum leaked onto my tongue, and despite wanting to pull away, I swallowed it greedily and continued to bob my head in a swift motion.
On and off.
Up and down.
Bringing my hand back up to the base, I began stroking him firmly to give my mouth a little bit of a break from going all the way down. He wasn’t overly large, but he was thick, and my jaw was beginning to ache.
Using the last trick in my book, I moaned along his shaft. Continuously. Until he finally swore under his breath and I felt fingers tangle in my hair to pull me off.
Had I gone too far? Maybe he just didn’t like that.
“Fuck, girl.” He was catching his breath. “D’you want me to fuck you or ya gonna make me cum in your mouth?”
I know he’d said it as a form of teasing the fact that my blowjob was good, but instead of taking the off-colored compliment, I responded with, “You could just do both.”
And that’s how I ended up on the floor with one set of fingers prodding over my nipples and the other spreading my folds open. So I laid there, whimpering like I’d never experienced anything like that before- - and I guess to an extent I hadn’t.
It had probably been the longest I’d gone without an orgasm since I was eighteen years old though, and I couldn’t help but grind against his hand. My sexual frustration had officially hit an all time high.
“Fuck,” I moaned lowly, bucking upwards when his two of his fingers finally entered me. “Daryl, just-“ my sentence hung unfinished as his mouth captured one of my nipples. My core was on fire, yet I still didn’t feel like I was getting enough. “Fuck me.”
He popped off the nipple he’d been teasing, “Y’sure?”
Did he expect me to tell him no?
I was completely naked, on a random floor, with his hand coaxing me to an orgasm. “Yes, fuck.” I whined, needing more from him.
And he had the fucking nerve to chuckle- - a full on chuckle. My eyes tore open, and I moaned at the sight before me. He was brushing his fingers on his shirt, and his other hand was stroking his cock, but his eyes were focused intently on my center.
He must have realized I was watching, because as intent as he was staring, we quickly locked eyes while he lowered himself on top of me. With my leg hooked on the inner part of his bicep, he pushed slowly inside of me and fuck the stretch felt so perfect. My eyes fluttered close again while I let my head lull back onto the floor as he began pulling in and out of me.
“Daryl,” I moaned, this time letting my mouth stay open as he fuck into me, his pace quickening. “Holy fuck.”
Obscenities became my mantra for the next twenty-five or so minutes, but not a word left his mouth. It was hard, and slow and the only indication of him even enjoying himself was his blown pupils and the way he bit his lip firmly each time I let my eyes peek up at him. Then he pushed my leg up a little higher, and pulled me closer, while his hand moved from beside my head, to in between my thighs.
“Ya gonna come for me Libs?” Were his first and only real words the entire time.
Fingers flicked in a circular motion on my clit, and it was either out of surprise or pure lack of sexual pleasure, but I came almost instantly. It was almost annoying at how quick it happened. But as soon as my walls finished clenching around the thickness of his cock, I felt empty. I looked to see him fisting himself, nearly finishing with his hand before I hurried to my knees again.
Maybe he came as quick as he did out of shock or lack of sexual pleasure too, because as soon as my mouth bobbed on him a few times, a few drops of milky white liquid leaked from the corners of my mouth.
***
We stayed in that position for at least five minutes - - both of us catching our breaths. Then, without speaking to him, I went to the bathroom and took a quick shower. When I came back out, he entered immediately after. He didn’t take long showers apparently, because by the time I was dressed, he was coming out fully clothed already.
“You want me to stay?” I asked, watching as he laid down on the cot.
He had one forearm faced upwards, spread across face, covering his eyes. “Do whatcha want, but I ain’t a cuddler.” Even in saying that, he scootched over on the mattress, providing me with room to make my choice.
I bit my lip momentarily and weighed my options.
I could leave - - go room with Glenn or find a place of my own. Or there was sleeping beside Daryl. If I left, would he think differently of me? Would he prefer if I let him sleep by himself? But if it were me, I’d feel rejected if he chose to walk away; he isn’t me, but still. We’d already been intimate… and I was starting to get that horrible fuzzy feeling in my head from drinking.
So I padded along the floor and cozied next to the man.
That night— I slept like a baby with a bottle.
The next morning I jerked awake at the sound of hammering on the door. “Meet in the dining room in an hour!”
My arms were tucked straight along my sides all night, and I could tell with how asleep my left arm still was from being pressed against Daryl’s rib cage. There was no way in hell this could ever be a permanent sleeping arrangement -- not in a twin bed with a man the size of Daryl Dixon who didn’t like to cuddle. My good arm leaned against his chest to steady myself when the room started spinning and the words Shane shouted settled in.
“Did he say we’re having a meeting?” I asked, perplexed by the obscureness of what my life currently consisted of, “Since when is this a fucking nine to five.”
A groan left my lips as soon as I slipped from underneath the warm, white, abyss of blankets. My head ached so bad, I nearly regretted the actions from the night before. If it wouldn’t have been for an apocalypse and the lack of sexual intimacy, I probably would’ve — drunk sex was horrible for a reason, and it wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t always remember it. The memories slowly flooded my foggy brain sending heat all the way up to the tips of my ears. Not a single regret raked my thoughts, but a tinge of anxiety did when realization set in. My fear of rejection bubbled up -- the sheer weight sat on my chest like a brick of trucks… truck of bricks? Either way— I had gotten physically intimate with a man who didn’t even seem that into me.
He’d tried to stop me.
What if he regretted it?
I wouldn’t blame him. He hardly knew me- he asked how old I was. That probably meant he just thought I was a stupid, horny, barely legal teenager. That’s exactly how I had to have come off -- stripped down, on my knees, practically forcing him into my mouth.
I was so stupid.
“He’s a doctor,” Daryl groaned out from where he still laid on the cot, “Probably got some ibuprofen for ya head.”
The sight was honestly…not as attractive as one would think. From either of us. Looking out how genuinely dead he looked, reminded me how rough I must’ve been as well. Before heading to the bathroom to tame, what was probably a mess of bushy, ginger curls, I told him I’d save him some. With how Glenn and Rick were both pouring liquor down their throats, I had a feeling we wouldn’t be the only ones seeking headache relief. And sure enough— my reflection looked like it did on a night I came home from a long night at work and refused to shower before passing out on my oversized beanbag. I always hated the smoky smell I came home with, so the beanbag was essential for those longer nights. No way in hell was I going to let my bed get all musty and reek of cigarettes and old men.
Just reminiscing that made me flip the shower on and give my body a good, warm scrub down. Then before I let my hair dry all puffy, I wrapped it up in a towel - - it was better than nothing. By the time I’d made it out, I caught a brief glimpse of Daryl shimmying on his pants. The scene felt domestic, but also oddly intruding. I mean— I had technically seen him without the pants about twelve hours ago, but he was consenting then. My eyes darted away to act as if I hadn’t even noticed. Just because I was comfortable strutting around naked didn’t mean everyone else was.
As if reading my mind, Daryl’s eyes scanned over me, “You walk around like that all the time?”
“You complaining?” I snapped back. I may have hated and been insecure about everything else..but my body. It was the one thing that I loved about myself. My body matured at a particularly young age and I hated it at one point, but the minute I realized I could invest and make money from it, I was on a roll. What I lacked in emotional self-esteem, I made up for in body confidence.
Even Daryl x-raying me with his steel blues didn’t phase me. There were approximately three scars across my thighs that I hated, but I embraced -- and he was a lot of things, but downright cruel wasn’t one of them, so him humiliating me for them wasn’t on my list of worries. I passed by him casually and began redressing. The only bit of self consciousness came from my own mind; remembering how intimately he’d gotten to know my body.
Maybe I wasn’t good in bed.
Or he found something wrong with me that I’d never noticed before.
It had been a while since I shaved, but I wasn’t overly hairy or anything—he didn’t have any room to judge on that stand point anyways.
I’m not sure why, but I was suddenly very self aware of the physical insecurities from my teenage years. Before I let them finish nesting inside my head, I pulled my boots on and scrambled out the door- not without reassuring Daryl I’d still snag him some ibuprofen if there was any.
Breakfast had been nice- er, as nice as it could’ve been. A mixture of powdered eggs, some grits, and coffee were about the best breakfast we’d had in a hot minute. Ibuprofen was passed around graciously, as if it were Ariel’s grotto. Had Jenner not just revealed that there was pretty much zero hope for anyone anywhere, I may have felt bad about practically emptying the bottle of medicine.
“Man, I’m gonna get shitfaced drunk," Daryl groaned dramatically, putting his palms against his eyes. "Again."
"I know this has been taxing for you and I hate to ask one more question, but -- that clock," Dale pointed to a running timer on the wall. "It's counting down. What happens at zero?"
Jenner’s eyes scanned over our group, a nervous look plastered on his face. He looked like he was about to tell the class that the pizza party was canceled.
"The basement generators, they run out of fuel.”
“Which means?” I asked, hopping up from a seated position I’d gotten comfortable in on one of the computer desks. Instead of responding though, Jenner completely ignored me.
Rick’s mouth gapped open while his eyes darted from the clock, then to me, then to where Jenner began walking away to. “And then?” The sheriff reiterated. Nothing. "VI, what happens when the power runs out?"
"When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur." The humanoid computer voice responded.
Immediately, some of the men took off down to the basement, while the rest of us went back to whatever rooms we’d occupied the night before. When I entered mine, sure enough, I found Daryl knocking a bottle back. Knocking a bottle back while taking ibuprofen. I scoffed out a laugh, but held my hand out. With the liquor in hand, I plopped down on the cot before pouring half a shot down my throat and shuddering.
“We should probably start packing.” I mumbled under my breath- - not giving any visible intentions of taking my own advice.
“Why?” Daryl asked.
Biting my lip, I studied the ceiling. Something about the way Jenner was talking made me nervous. Vi’s answer to the question didn’t reassure me at all either. “I mean, you don’t think Jenner’s acting funny?”
“He’s a doctor with a shotgun,” Daryl reached out and took the bottle from my hand, “and he let a bunch of strangers in here. He’s been actin’ funny since we met him.”
“Yeah, but-“ I really couldn’t put my finger on how to explain how I felt to him. Not to where he’d get it at least. “I don’t know, I just feel- off.”
He went to hand me the bottle back, but I shooed it away. My mind was scattering and it was beginning to be a struggle not to panic. I’d spent a lot of time overthinking things before and this could easily be one of those times— maybe I was just assuming the worst. If I wasn’t though- - we could all die soon. Daryl had been right about Jenner letting a bunch of random people into this place. Plus- Jenner himself had said he was breaking protocol.
This was the CDC after all. I knew a lot about this place…. Well, kind of. I did an essay on it and liked to think I knew more than the common person.
“What’d you do before all this?” Daryl asked, as if I wasn’t about to start hyperventilating right next to him. I mean— how was he to know, but still. Of all times?
Of all times.
I bit my lip even harder at his question. Would he think of me differently? I didn’t want him to be disgusted, but he wouldn’t be the first guy. Being a dancer might seem fun, and in a lot of ways it is— some guys aren’t the biggest fan of that though. Typically it wouldn’t bother me, but at the end of the world when he was one of the men I’d been flirting with, it did. It bothered me a lot. Daryl wasn’t stupid.
He was staring again. The way he always did. Beaming his laser eyes into my body— trying to use the force to bring out an answer. “Promise you won’t be a dick about it?” I asked nervously.
His eyebrows furrowed inquisitively and I was no longer the only one biting their lip. He nodded in response.
“I was a…stripper.” I drew out the last word, letting the ‘r’ drawl into an almost growl. When there was no immediate reaction my face flushed and I grew nervous. “A lot of guys are just -- assholes when they find out. They automatically assume it’s trashy or that I fuck for money, but it’s not always like that.” I began explaining my reluctance in telling him, “Sure, there are dancers that are totally that type. But a lot of us are genuinely just trying to get by.”
A pregnant pause hung in the room for a few minutes, and I was beginning to regret saying anything until he finally spoke, “I was expecting’ you ta say somethin’ fancy like a doctor or a lawyer.”
That made the hint of a smile crack on my face. I felt better now, even if he was only saying that to ease whatever tension was in the room. I raked my fingers through my hair, finally remembering I’d discarded the towel in the dinning room earlier. My curls were probably a mess again. I glanced over at him and he was still studying me— like he was looking for answers.
“I was in college to be a kids psychiatrist of sorts,” I smiled up at him cheekily. “My childhood wasn’t awesome, so it kind of inspired me to want to help other kids. Student loans are a bitch though— stripping was the best thing to happen to me.” I admitted.
The memories sent a wave of sadness over me, but I tried not to dwell on it. There was no point. Not after what Jenner had said.
“So ya were gonna be a doctor?”
“Kind of.” I propped myself up on my hands before letting out a breathy laugh. “But uh- - when I was little, I wanted to be a scientist.” I whispered dramatically.
His eyebrows shot up. Whether they were in genuine disbelief or for dramatics, I couldn’t tell. “A scientist?” But the small smile on his face and the way his cheeks formed into little apples, I didn’t care if he was really curious or not.
“So I, uh,” I bit my lip a little harder, laughing some then sighing deeply, a smile still on my face. “My childhood— sucked. My dad drank a lot, did drugs, whatever. He watched TV a ton, so I didn’t get to have any morning cartoons or that crap, but-“ I couldn’t stop myself from laughing again before continuing, “But, at school, sometimes, they’d bring out the TV and we got to watch Bill Nye the Science Guy and I thought that was so freaking cool. It’s honestly a little sad in retrospect, but I always did really good in science class.”
The look he was giving me made me want to hide underneath the bed in embarrassment, but also burst out laughing at the same time. It was like he wanted so badly to say something and just couldn’t get the words out. He was speechless. And then he laughed out loud. It wasn’t actually loud, nor was it music to my ears. It was breathy and more of a scoff really- but it was a laugh.
“Bill Nye?”
“The Science Guy.” I confirmed, then my smile dropped. “I hope Bill’s okay…”
Then another scoffy laugh, “You hope Bill Nye the Science Guy is okay?”
I looked at him, trying to convey hurt but I was pretty sure I just looked like Dale. “Bill Nye is probably our only hope in this world at this point.”
“Yeah…” Daryl bit his lip again, then took another swig of liquor, “That doctor out there packin’ heat ain’t got nothin’ on Bill.”
.might not be forever.
Notes:
Ah! We love a good tiptoe in the tragic backstory. This is also where we come to terms that Libby is canonically pretty, (she's giving Rosita vibes except ginger…and white…and ya know, they're just both pretty and I love Rosita) we just love a bitch that has lots of issues but her body isn't one.
Chapter 5: Robert Downey Jr. was also a pipe dream
Summary:
“I wish…” I scoffed, shoving him. “My sister’s bitch-ass always ate the bologna. I only got it if I was sick.”
“That’s disgusting.” Glenn called.
“Glenn, babe, I used to have sleep for dinner.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.it’s just a lot to think about the world I’m used to.
Panic had officially settled in.
We were all going to die and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The looming dread of our imminent demise cascaded through my thoughts as I grappled with the harsh reality: there was no escaping our fate. The heartbreaking inevitability of the Center for Disease Control's downfall was not entirely Jenner’s fault -- his reasoning was painfully rational, yet it was his decision to confine us with him that stung. That part was unnecessary.
Out, away from the computers, Daryl continued to hammer an ax into the steel doors, despite Dr. Jenner saying they would withhold a rocket launcher. That had only caused a scuffle that was settled, much like it always had been with Daryl. Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glenn holding him back. Now he was just doing it-- I believed, to get his aggression out. He knew, as well as everyone else, we weren’t going anywhere. Our fate had been determined for us; we would all die today, and that broke my heart and my mind. None of this was fair- much like life.
That didn’t stop Rick Grimes from arguing with the doctor though. For some reason, nothing seemed to stop Rick Grimes. He was a force to be reckoned with and Carl was the luckiest kid to have him as a dad.
"Your wife didn't have a choice," Rick was using the same voice he used on Daryl when he’d been so determined to leave out the broken window to find his brother. “You do. That's all we want. A choice, a chance." I couldn’t see him, all I could see was Daryl barreling the ax at the door while quiet tears streamed down my face. If I could have faith in anyone to convince Jenner to let us go, it would be Rick.
"Let us keep tryin' as long as we can," Lori agreed with her husband.
Silence filled the room, the only noise coming from metal clanging on metal- - other than that, nobody said anything for what felt like hours. In reality it couldn’t have been more than a minute, "I told you, topside's locked down. I can't open those.” Jenner spoke. I heard the faint sound of a key pad clicking from behind me, then the doors that Daryl had been swinging at flung open.
"Come on!" The ax dropped from its prepared hit, “Let’s go!” He shouted.
It may have been fear. Shock. Unknowing. Panic. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. The crowd filed out the room and I saw Jacqui was staying behind, but the exchange didn’t register. Then Glenn’s arms were pulling me up and telling me to get a move on. I did as he said; one foot in front of the other and all that nonsense, but I didn’t feel it. None of it was really soaking into my mind. The flights of stairs burned my calves, my eyes were raw from the steady stream of tears that had only just stopped flowing, and the loud explosion that shattered the window caused my ears to ring. But I still wasn’t fully absorbing it.
“Come on girl!” Another hand grabbed mine, pulling me from Glenn. My arm could’ve left my socket with how hard I was being yanked and shoved into a ratty old truck, but I didn’t care. “Get down!” Then my neck was shoved to the floorboard of said truck.
Maybe I could’ve counted the dirt specs on the carpet if I had stayed down there for any longer. I couldn’t hear anything after I came back up though— just saw and felt the intense heat from the flames of what was once our saving grace. Only one day prior.
“Son of a bitch!” Daryl’s hollering knocked me out of my lulling slumber.
We’d refilled on fuel a few miles back, but for some reason he was laying on the horn and probably attracting walkers to the truck. Which is exactly what he was doing when an undead paw slapped against the window that my head was leaning on. I scrambled over the bench seat, one hand brushing Daryl’s leg when I noticed what the fuss was about. The Jeep, Shane’s Jeep, was smoking from the back and slowly being overrun with geeks. Daryl was trying to distract them. Not that I wanted Shane to die or anything, but I hoped in doing what he was doing, it wouldn’t cause us to be overrun.
“Dar!” I whined, moving even closer to him as walkers beat on the passenger side window.
He just kept honking and knocking on the windows, attracting more attention. “Get off me girl! Start makin’ noise, they just pulled the RV over to get ‘im.” It wasn’t a full shove, but he did physically move me back into my seat. When I looked out the front window and saw Shane popping off rounds while scurrying to the RV, I felt small and selfish.
So I did as Daryl said and slammed my fist on the windows until we were rolling through the streets again.
It didn’t take long to figure out where our destination was going to be. Guillermo and the Vatos. For the first time since before Jenner tried blowing us up, I smiled. They’d take us in—they had to. We were friendly with them, we gave them guns. I had an Abuela that would run her fingers through my hair and tell me things would be okay. Maybe Glenn would get to stay in the nursing home after all. It wouldn’t be all that bad- - I owed one granny a game of Uno, and they had crushed up granola bars and smelled like my Aunt Bea.
“Sorry about earlier.” I said to Daryl as we got our things together before we got out of his truck. “I just got spooked - the near death experiences are starting to fill up pretty quickly.”
“S’fine.” He grumbled, and I honestly believed him. I think he got where I was coming from.
So I followed him like a lost puppy, past the RV and to join the group. Whatever confidence I had been riding on before the CDC had depleted greatly. I had once offered to stroll into Atlanta with a group of men I barely knew, all on good faith. Now-- now I was a scared kid that was unsure of every step she took. I was still armed with my bow and a .45, but there was an odd lack of walkers hanging around the streets.
"I bet they're barely hanging on, what makes you think they'll take in strangers?" Andrea asked, clearly taking in notice of the strange scenery.
“Me and Glenn were unofficially adopted,” I pointed out, try to deflect from something being off. “They’ll take us in.”
"All the guns we gave 'em, they'll probably throw a party," Daryl pointed out, setting his crossbow and looking over at Rick, “S’a good call. For once.”
As we hopped through the brick wall, everything appeared normal at first. It was a bit odd that no one had noticed us yet, but we shrugged it off and continued on our way. Despite the surge of fear rising within me, I made a conscious decision to stick by Carol and her girl this time. It was clear that they didn't have anyone else to rely on, and I could relate to that feeling all too well. In that moment, I chose to be their pillar of support - at least for now - while I still held that small angle of confidence. Being strong for others helped boost my own morale.
With how things seemed to be going from closer to the front though; I felt a wave of panic wash over again. Then I heard the little girl behind me whimper— it reminded me of myself. Except then Carol consoled her. Wrapped her in her arms, shielding her from the monsters. I wished to be Sophia in that moment.
"To hell with the noise.” I heard Rick state promptly at the scene of the walkers devouring what used to be the Vatos.
Bullets flew quickly from those of us with guns. It sure explained where all the walkers were though. Then as soon as they dropped, we all followed Rick’s order to head inside. There were few things in life that being a stripper would prepare you for— but the leg strength it gave you was to die for. With the amount of running up and down stairs I had been doing as of late, I had calf muscles of steel.
Entering into the hallway, my heart sunk even lower. All the grannies and grandpas were dead. The bedroom that I’d laid in just a few days prior was empty -- the old lady that gave me a granola bar was dead on the floor beside it. Sophia began crying and I wanted to do the same. Then Daryl hissed back rather harshly,
"Put a sock in it!"
"You leave her alone!" Her mother scolded in a whisper.
"You either shut her up or I will!"
"Daryl.” I scolded out this time, taken aback by his insensitivity.
Why? I don’t know. I understood where he was coming from- - Sophia was going to only attract whatever walkers were inside this place, but he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it. He didn’t face me or shoot anything back, so I don’t know how he’d felt in that moment, but Carol began soothing Sophia. It was resolved.
"Are we stayin' or goin'?" Lori asks, cutting to the chase.
“We don’t have the fuel.” Rick said defeated.
“Popping off all those rounds are bound to draw more in.” I added.
"We hunker down for the night, okay. Rick— you, me, Daryl, we're gonna sweep the bedrooms. Make sure we're alone." Shane said and for the first time in a long time, I was down to listen to his order.
"Okay, the rest of you barricade those doors.” Rick called.
So we did. We pushed tables, boxes, anything to keep the doors shut against walkers. Or whatever else might try to sweep through. When Sophia started whimpering and Carol was on the other side of the room, ducking down from a few passing walkers on the outside, I couldn’t help but scoot down beside her and Carl. They were just little kids and they were scared—Sophia especially.
It wasn’t my business— not at the time— but it was obvious her and Carol had been through a lot. The end of the world sucked, for them though, it maybe have been a blessing in disguise.
I pointed at the sparkly sneakers she wore, “I like your shoes.” I whispered as quietly as possible.
The little girl didn’t respond. She couldn’t have even if she wanted to. As soon as the walkers passed by the front doors, our entire group took off and into the room that Mr. Gilbert had had his asthma attack in. The little girl ran to her mom and I drifted to stand by Glenn. Things had happened so quick since the quarry, there was no time to talk about anything. The CDC was supposed to be more permanent— longer, but that got cut short. Had I known we’d be fighting for our lives very shortly after, I may have done things a little differently. Spent more quality time with Glenn rather than have my back blown out by Daryl? Probably not. From T-Dog’s point of view, Glenn upchucked for hours, so I doubt that there would have been room for bonding.
The double doors opened quietly, revealing the three men that had been scouting the nursing home. "Upstairs is our best bet.” Rick said, looking around the large room. “We've cleared a few rooms and can barricade those if we have to. We'll be alright."
“You mean it this time?" Carol asked, her voice dripping in disgust. "Or are you lying to us like all the times before?"
Nobody responded to that. I couldn’t blame Carol for her feelings, I was in that same boat a few days ago. Unsure how I really felt about Rick Grimes. He had a friendly and trusting face, but his track record was still a little wonky with the group.
She hadn’t been there and gone through what we went through with G and the Vatos though. Carol needed to work through her feelings for Rick on her own. She’d get there eventually.
"What the hell happened?" Glenn asked, disbelieving the scene in front of him.
“What do you think? They got overrun." Andreas arms were crossed. Daryl scoffed at her response. "Something to say?” She asked.
"Yeah,” Daryl scoffed again. "How 'bout observant?"
"Observant," Andrea mocked. “Big word from a guy like you. Three whole syllables."
“Geeks didn't show up til all this went down, somebody attacked this place. Killed all these people, took whatever they wanted. They're all shot in the head, execution style. Y'all worried about walkers? I'd be much more worried about the people who came and did all this." Daryl shot back, equally as snotty as Andrea had been.
Daryl wasn’t stupid and I didn’t blame him for getting so tight about her comments. He excelled at the art of observing. If it was a class in school, he would’ve probably been at the top of it. I knew so little about him, but I knew enough— he’d saved my life enough at that point due to being so aware of his surroundings.
"Get a dictionary, look it up." Daryl added, pointing to his temple, "Observant."
That earned a small chuckle from me and the fact that nobody else laughed even a little was disappointing. I thought it was top tier comedy. Even if it was a little bit mean. In his defense, Andrea had started it.
The night had set not long after we all holed up into the upstairs together. It wasn’t exactly the most ideal place that we had hoped for, but at this rate, we should start expecting it. Daryl found a can of beans and Shane provided us with the finest of dining — some chips and crackers. Dale divided the food on paper plates and began passing them out amongst us, and Shane pulled out a beautiful bottle of stolen liquor.
“That ta share?” Daryl asked, eyeing the bottle.
Shane nodded slightly, a smile on his face. It may have been the first genuine smile I’d seen him give someone other than Lori and Rick. "Seeing as how I owe you my life,” he passed the bottle over, “guess I uh, gonna go ahead and be nice to you from now on.” If I wasn’t mistaken, that was almost a joke he cracked.
“Think I earned the first swallow.” Daryl almost joked back.
"I'd go easy on that stuff.” Lori said in a motherly tone. “Don’t forget where we are.” Her warning was out of concern, and I could admire that.
"Yes, ma'am.” Daryl responded, and if I’d been standing up, I would’ve definitely gone weak in the knees. The words had been so innocent and simple, but the smell of the whiskey and tone of his voice sent me straight back to twenty-four hours prior— when things were so good and I had one of my legs in the crook of the man’s bicep. “Libs?” He knocked my arm with the bottle, but I refused it. I hoped that his laser beam of a gaze couldn’t see through the dark, or he might have seen the faint blush that rose on my cheeks.
I just wanted to rewind to the night before.
Instead of dwelling, I took a bite of the beans on crackers. “Ya know,” a swallow of the water rinsed down my throat, “Growing up with crap parents, this was dinner a lot of the time.”
“That and sardines right?” Glenn joked from where he sat against the wall.
It was stupid to joke about someone’s shitty upbringing, but poking fun at it is honestly how I got by. It’s how I dealt.
“And Vienna sausages.” I added.
“And…what else?” Glenn asked, unsure of another ‘poor people meal’.
Glenn was privileged in a sense. His family loved him dearly. They were hard on him because he was a first generation American-Korean, but they loved him. He had sisters that thought the world of him, and a mother that sacrificed so much so that he could live a good life. Meanwhile; I joked to deal with the pain and he helped with that. It wasn’t healthy. But it was something.
“Mmmm…canned chili sometimes.”
The little smile that was on Glenn’s face gave me encouragement that things wouldn’t always be this sucky. My dad wasn’t around to hit me, and my mom wasn’t there to egg it on, so it could really only go up.
“Bologna sandwiches?” Daryl mumbled, just barely loud enough for me to hear him. But I had heard him. Maybe I shouldn’t have made it a point to let him know that though— but then again, he’d been the one to add his own suggestion in.
“I wish…” I scoffed, shoving him. “My sister’s bitch-ass always ate the bologna. I only got it if I was sick.”
“That’s disgusting.” Glenn called.
“Glenn, babe, I used to have sleep for dinner.”
That received a light-hearted laugh from him, but I could tell Carol looked uncomfortable. She’d been through some shit too. Laughter isn’t how everyone coped.
I was grateful for Lori and Shane mentioning Fort Benning though. It got the eyes off me and my trauma was no longer a subject. When I was sitting there, I casually leaned against Daryl and he didn’t brush me off. Not like I half expected him to. He let me lean on him for that short period of time before Shane filed outside. He wasn’t really ‘inviting’ specific people out, but when he made an off-handed sexist comment, I couldn’t help but scoff.
“Look, Libby— I know you might not like it, but the fact of the matter is-“
“Still not a kid Shane, and I’m still, sure as hell not yours.”
“I just think-“
“We’re all rattled and exhausted,” Rick was the one to cut Shane off this time. “No one’s thinking clearly, but we’ve got a start.”
Still— Shane shot me a look. Just because it was the end of the world, didn’t mean I was about to revert back to typical gender roles. Uh-uh. I’d worked too damn hard to get to the point I was at now-- risked my life to be part of the protecting part of the group. I wasn’t taking a backseat now.
"We're wasting fuel driving so many vehicles." I pointed out. “We could lose some, siphon gas.”
Rick began nodding, “It’ll get us out the city at least.”
The next morning we drained the fuel out of the church van and Daryl’s truck. It was a little disappointing— leaving behind the truck. Daryl opted to take Merle’s bike, a smart move honestly, but that didn’t make me any selfishly happier. It had been nice to ride in silence, but now I was riding in the RV- - and that wasn’t terrible. My assigned spot became the area between the driver and passenger seat.
I felt bad for Dale; he drove for hours listening to us talk about Lord of the Rings and how the end of the world had really ruined the chances of a Hobbit movie. Then we went on about how it also meant that the promise of an Avengers movie with Robert Downey Jr. was also a pipe dream. Dale made small comments about it; specifically when our conversation took a turn to talking about Doctor Who. Apparently Dale knew and thing or two about the original series, so that entertained us for a while.
“Okay, but you still haven’t told us who your favorite is,” Glenn implored Dale to hurry up with his story.
I had my bets on the third or fourth doctor, but Glenn was sure that it would be the seventh.
“The second,” Dale laughed heartily. “Of course if we’re talking about the new series, I did like the newest one, but the tenth doctor was a good runner up for first place!”
“Why the second?” Glenn asked.
“Because I was there before most of his episodes went missing. You’ll never truly be able to appreciate him as a doctor unless you’ve seen it all.” Dale explained, then went on a tangent about some of the episodes he remembered.
.at least not for a while, I sure have a knack for seeing life more like a child.
Notes:
In a few chapters I’ll have a couple paragraphs here and there scattered throughout the story in Daryl’s point of view! It’ll help get an insight to how I believe he’d handle certain situations (one being Libby)
Chapter 6: Rick’s probably more your type
Summary:
“Okay, okay, I was just joking, but I’m not joking about you and Daryl?” He rose his eyebrows teasingly. “He’s been keeping you pretty close.”
“He’s,” my face turned red, and I knew it wasn’t from the heat. I sighed deeply, closing my eyes and trying to hide a smile. “He’s teaching me things…and we may have…” I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, “possibly had sex at the CDC.”
Chapter Text
.georgia, georgia, he has beautiful bones.
“Maybe we should just go back," Glenn suggested, spreading the map out. “There's an interstate bypass-"
"Can't spare the fuel.” Dale interrupted.
“Can we get through here?" Glenn asked.
A car graveyard in front of us, the only sign of life being Daryl leading the RV through it. “Hopefully.” I winced both visibly and verbally when we got a little too close to one of the trucks.
"Scared your boyfriend might get us stuck?” Andrea asked, and had it not been for the boyfriend comment, I might have responded with a light hearted joke. All she was doing was trying to rile me up though— which was disappointing considering I saw so much of my sister in her.
So I stayed silent.
Everything was going smoothly until we heard a loud pop and saw smoke billowing in front of us. We quickly evacuated the RV and found ourselves on the open road.
A graveyard was a euphemism, this place was a ghost town; a permanent traffic jam couldn’t have been any of those peoples idea of their final resting place. It was so morbid how we were just casually looting their cars like they weren’t either dead corpses in the front seats or the rotting stench of flesh left behind by walkers. Lori wasn’t the only one bothered by the bodies- - she just seemed to be the only one that said anything from what I can still remember of that day. That harrowing, tragic evening— we had no idea how bad it really was for an entire week. So much was gained - but so much was lost.
As three or four dozen walkers casually strolled down the highway like it was their morning walk, our group began hiding under, beside, and inside the scattered vehicles. I saw T go down outside the truck I was hiding in, and call it stupid or call it brave -- maybe both, but I peered cautiously from the slightly opened door to see if he was bit before removing my shirt and whistling for him to take it. The tension was palpable as we navigated the dangers of the post-apocalyptic world. Daryl dug his knife into a walkers throat that would’ve been T’s death sentence because neither of us had paid any mind to the fact there were other threats— not just metal digging up forearms. Then the most disgusting thing since all of this had happened was tossed on top of me; a dead geek. Sanitary was at the bottom of my concerns currently though, so I sucked it up and let the body rest on top of my own.
Once the walking dead stumbled obliviously through, I kicked the corpse off of me and started working on getting the one off T-Dog. I hoped my shirt covered his wound enough for it to not get infected with the walker juice.
“Come on, let’s get you to the RV.” I tried to keep my tone as calm as I possibly could, despite the blood-soaked cloth that covered his arm. Shrieks filled the air— it was Sophia and Carol. Daryl looked between T-Dog, the RV, and then the woods, stuck on what obstacle he’d be more use for, “You go, I’ll get T handled.” So I made the choice for him. With a quick nod, he bolted over towards the railing that Rick had just hopped over.
“What happened?” Dale asked, like his day just kept getting worse and worse. I mean— it had, but he was exasperated.
When I saw Andrea with guts all over her, I realized Dale really had been going through it.
“Not sure, but he needs more pressure. I have another clean shirt, give me a minute.” Once T was leaned against the Winnebago, I bolted inside and to my book-bag. One sleep shirt was all I had that was still for sure clean, and I didn’t want to risk T-Dog getting an infection because of an accidental dirty cloth. Groaning to myself, I snatched it out and threw it to Dale. “Keep pressure. I’m going to go find out what’s happening— Carol knows how to stitch.”
Carol did know how to stitch, but she was in no shape to be near a needle. Rick came out the woods empty handed which sent her into another sobbing fit.
I nudged his arm, whispering up to him, just loud enough for him to hear, “Daryl,” then I nodded to the woods. It wasn’t my place to be concerned about a little girl that I didn’t even know— it especially wasn’t my place to silently plead for Daryl to go look for her. I was getting too comfortable.
He didn’t hesitate to take the suggestion, though. Almost like he’d been thinking of doing it without being prompted but needed an extra nudge.
Rick led the way, while Shane, Glenn, and Daryl followed. “You comin’?” Daryl asked, shouting back to me once he’d crossed over the guard rail. My face scrunched up, but I wasted no time bolting behind the four men. Something about him voicing out my inclusion made me feel good about myself— like I could help contribute something.
The fact that we had only walked for a maximum of ten minutes meant Sophia couldn’t have gotten far- - not without really booking it.
"Assumin’ she knows her left from her right.” Shane commented after Rick confirmed everything he’d told Sophia.
"Shane, she understood me fine”
“Kid's tired and scared, man, she had her a close call with two walkers. Y’gotta wonder how much of what you said stuck." Shane didn’t let up.
Rick, Daryl and I stood in the ankle deep water, while Shane and Glenn looked around the wooded area that Rick had left Sophia. Daryl hummed lowly and wordlessly showed me what I could only assume was the little girl’s footprints. "I got clear prints right here.” Daryl confirmed what I thought he was trying to tell me. “She did like you said, headed back to the highway. Let's spread out, make our way back."
I hoisted myself up the short incline before Shane got there to pull me up, then we did like Daryl suggested. We headed back, following his lead for a minute or two before we stopped. We all crouched lower, trying to make sense of why Sophia would’ve stopped going the right way. The tracks veered to the right, but there was only one set of footprints still- - so it made no sense for it to be a walker that caused her to run.
“So, what do we do?" Shane asked both Rick and Daryl. "All of us press on?"
"No, better if you three get back up to the highway," Rick ordered, nodding his head in between me, Glenn, and Shane. "People are gonna start panicking. Let them know we're on her trail, doin' everything we can— But most of all, keep everyone calm."
"I'll keep them busy scavengin' cars." Shane nodded. "Think up a few other chores. I'll keep everybody occupied.”
“Be safe!” I called back to Rick and Daryl. I hadn’t contributed much at all, but the fact that I’d been thought of and brought along was enough for me.
Shane gave me a clean shirt of his, and despite my personal issues with the his sexist comments, I did plan on keeping the shirt. It was a good shirt. It had that super plush feel, thick but not overly heavy, and a nice stretch. There was a ‘King County Sheriff’s Department’ emblem on the top right corner. It hung pretty low on me, causing me to tuck it in so it pillowed out. The gesture had been nice.
As soon as I checked on T-Dog, I took watch on top of the RV while the rest of the crew moved cars and made a clear path for our caravan to get through. Carol mourned and I wished that I could do something for her, but standing guard in case another hoard of walkers decided to dilly-dally by would have to be good enough for now. The only thing that passed by was time. By the time sun started setting, I saw a display of canned goods, water, weapons, and even some clothes on the ground outside of the RV. The only people that ended the day empty handed had been Rick and Daryl.
A distraught Carol was begging for them to keep looking, and despite how harsh he tended to be, Daryl had quieted her gently. It wasn’t his fault her little girl got lost though, she didn’t put any blame on him. She was angry with Rick.
"I know this is hard, but I'm askin' you not to panic, we know she was out there." Rick explained to the group.
"And we tracked her for a while.” Daryl added, making a point to look at the sobbing woman.
“We have to make this an organized effort, Daryl knows the woods better than anybody. I've asked him to oversee this." Rick continued on, but before he could finish his talking, Carol spotted blood that had covered Daryl’s jeans.
"We took down a walker," Rick was fighting for his life.
"Walker?" Carol whispered, echoing his words. “Oh god."
"There was no sign it was ever anywhere near Sophia-“
"How can you know that?" Andrea implored, cutting Rick off.
The look between Daryl and Rick would’ve been comical if the situation had been different.
“We cut the son of a bitch open, made sure."
Carol’s breaths were coming in heavy and she could only stay supported by the guardrails at that point. "How could you just leave her out there to begin with? How could you just leave her?” She began crying, throwing her grief at Rick yet again.
I think we all felt it.
Nobody wanted to blame Rick, but nobody could blame Carol for feeling how she felt either. No matter how much reassurance Shane tried giving Rick, and no matter how much Rick apologized to Carol- - a piece of the group cracked that day. A piece of Rick cracked that day.
Hours later, I settled in a truck bed next to Carol. She’d asked to be alone for a while, but I was about to go to bed and I felt the need to provide what little bit of consolation I could. We didn’t talk for a few minutes, just gazed at the tree line, trying to use the force to bring Sophia from wherever she was. We all knew the struggle that Carol and Sophia had gone through up until Ed got bit— they were both adjusting to life outside of abuse. It had been a while, but I knew what that was like. In the old world it had been a difficult thing to conform to, there was no telling how it was these days. Was it even an escape? It seemed like it was out of the pot and into the frying pan kind of deal.
“Hey,” I finally mumbled out, leaning my head on Carol’s shoulder. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, but she pressed her cheek against the crown of my hair. “Daryl’s got a trail, and we’re all going to look tomorrow. We’ll find her. She can’t be that far.”
“Everyone keeps saying that, but why didn’t they find her today if she was so close?” Carol didn’t miss a beat.
I bit my lip and considered what she said. Daryl wouldn’t have lied— not about that kind of thing. If he had a trail, he had a trail. But Carol’s question was just as valid. “I’m not sure,” I admitted plainly, “I wish I had better words for you, but even if I did, they wouldn’t matter unless Sophia came out those woods right now.”
Carol let out a humorless chuckle, “Yeah. You know, she likes you; Sophia.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“You talked kindly to her. She said that your hair was pretty that night at the nursing home, but I don’t think you heard her.”
I shook my head slowly, trying to recall Sophia talking to me at all. The only real exchange we had was when I told her that I liked her sparkly shoes. “She speaks very softly,” I nudged Carol and tilted my head back up. “A lot like her mom.”
“Do you think he really has a lead on her?”
“Mhm,” I nodded reassurance while sliding out the truck, “If I was lost somewhere, especially in the woods, I’d put my money on Daryl.”
I woke well before sunrise the next morning— sleeping in the back of a crossover is probably the most uncomfortable sleep I’d ever gotten. At least— so far.
Daryl was puffing on a cigarette, a breakfast of champions. “Nice shirt.” He looked me up and down.
It’s a strange thing, the pit in your stomach that forms when you feel like you’ve been caught sneaking in late at night. I felt stupid all of a sudden- - wearing another man’s shirt while standing right in front of the guy I slept with a few nights before. It wasn’t like we were dating or anything though, he’d made it clear that it was nothing like that. I was okay with it being that way too. The lack of emotional attachment was necessary these days. Even then though - I knew I was already in deep with him. Him, Glenn, Rick, and Dale— they were members of an elite club that they had no idea about; it only existed in my mind.
“I used my last clean one to wrap T-Dog’s arm.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Shane threw it at me when we got back, said it was gonna get cold.”
He grunted before offering me a cigarette that I refused.
“Stay close, I’ll try’n show ya some stuff while we’re out today. Trackin’ a person ain’t that different n’ ya already know the basics.”
“Thanks for letting me come yesterday.”
His gaze was focused on stomping out the burnt down cigarette, “S’ our thing right?” The recall of my words coming from him made me smile. “Yer a quick learner.” Then his eyes trained on mine- - I think that was the first time I ever really noticed his eye color. He had cat-like eyes and we hadn’t really been in a position to stare into one another’s orbs, so it made sense that the true blue color hadn’t yet settled into my memory.
“Told ya.” I winked, a small laugh trickling out my lips.
God he was so attractive.
I had fucked that.
Or vice versa.
The morning continued typical — er, as typical as it could be. We split up some food to enjoy as breakfast, Rick made a game plan officially putting Daryl in charge, Andrea was having a hissy fit because Shane wanted to take the guns and give them to Dale. Judging from some of the conversation, they must have already argued about it before. It didn’t bother me, I had my bow and I was decent with a knife. Sure, getting used to using a gun probably wouldn’t hurt, but we were on the hunt for a missing child, not facing off against a herd.
"The idea is to take the creek up about five miles, turn around and come back down the other side," Daryl chewed at his lip, "Chances are she'll be by the creek. It's her only landmark."
"Stay quiet and stay sharp, keep space between you but always stay within sight of each other." Rick announced.
Daryl nodded at me to follow behind him, “Not you, you stay with me.” He muttered under his breath, “Get some learnin’ in, like I said.”
“Yes, sir.”
“S’hot,” he leaned against a truck and wiped his forehead.
“I know you are, but what am I?” I teased, pushing against his side.
Daryl snorted out a half-laugh, “Shuddup.” He pushed me back over. “Ain’t no way yer hot wearin’ them short shorts.”
My mouth dropped dramatically open and a small gape of fake disbelief left my mouth, “I’ll have you know, most men love my short shorts.” I dropped my shoulders, “but I get it. Rick’s probably more your type. Maybe I’ll see if he wants to borrow a pair.”
This time he scoffed and adjusted his crossbow. The banter was quickly ended by Andrea’s argument with Dale. I could one thousand percent see both of their points, but if I needed to choose, I’d have chosen Andrea’s side. Not everyone could deal with the loss of their family— especially right in front of them. I seriously don’t know if I could’ve just continued on after watching my sister get ripped open. That was a little solace to my situation; not knowing. Andrea knew, she witnessed it, and that would have destroyed a lot of people. Dale had a savior complex though. It wasn’t malicious or even slightly ill-intended— he was just trying to protect what he had salvaged out of the end of the world. He still had no right to take that option away from Andrea, not with how shitty the world was now. Suicide had crossed my mind a lot of times, but my will to live was a lot stronger than dying.
When Daryl made the move to head to the woods, I followed at his side along with the rest of the group. The weight of the argument held all of us in silence; our steps a mere lullaby to keep voices down.
A few words here and there -- nothing over a whisper for miles. Daryl gestured to a few things on the ground, indicating how to know certain things. Then we wandered right onto a dud of a tent. Just a man who’d committed suicide— ironic really; considering the argument from earlier. And the church bells rang, but that had only ended in us being attacked by walkers. A very very morbid scene indeed. But the bells were on a timer— a stupid fucking timer.
Our group scattered after that.
Some went into the church, others walked around the cemetery, I took refuge underneath a shady tree. We should’ve found Sophia by now. Unless that little girl wandered off all through the night, she shouldn’t have been but a mile or two out.
“You and Shane?” Glenn questioned, standing above me and blocking out the peaking sunshine that wasn’t quite falling on my face.
I looked at him quizzically, wondering what had stirred that on, then remembered the shirt I was wearing. It could’ve been either Shane’s or Rick’s, but only one of them had been around when I began adorning it. “No,” I sang, “not me and Shane. I just didn’t have any clean clothes, and it was before we scavenged the cars completely.”
“Okay, okay, I was just joking, but I’m not joking about you and Daryl?” He rose his eyebrows teasingly. “He’s been keeping you pretty close.”
“He’s,” my face turned red, and I knew it wasn’t from the heat. I sighed deeply, closing my eyes and trying to hide a smile. “He’s teaching me things…and we may have…” I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, “possibly had sex at the CDC.”
A rush of air whipped down beside me and the overwhelming presence of somebody sitting next to me, gave me the memo to open my eyes.
“No.” The word was low, but not entirely whispered.
All I could do was nod and crinkle my nose up. There was zero privacy to discuss anything more important or intimate than television shows and video games since we’d left the city. This was actually the most time i’d spent exclusively with Glenn since the quarry. Our fun little routine of talking about nonsense each evening and snacking on whatever he’d found in Atlanta had ended so abruptly that we never really got to say goodbye to it. To have a final time doing that. Maybe when we got to Fort Benning, things could go back to how they had been. Or at least something reminiscent of that.
A year ago, nothing could have prepared me for missing eating sour patch kids in a tent with a pizza delivery boy.
A year ago, nothing could have prepared me for the dead rising and trying to eat me either.
Weird how those two interlace with each other.
Still— we talked about his god awful experience at getting drunk, and how he’d adventured down to the basement of the CDC. Then when his heart was going to beat out of his chest because he thought Shane had been a goner when the Jeep caught fire.
Eventually we saw the others gathering and decided we should probably join in.
Shane began spitting out the plan to everyone,
"Y'all’re just gonna follow the creek bed back, okay?" he then looked to the archer that wasn’t me. “Daryl, you're in charge. Me and Rick, we're just gonna hang back, search this area another hour or so just to be thorough."
"You're splittin' us up.” Daryl stated, looking to Rick. "You sure?"
"Yeah, we'll catch up to you," Shane answered instead.
"I wanna stay, too, I’m her friend.” Carl interjected.
Lori looked at Rick briefly before looking back at their son. "Just be careful, okay?"
"I will.” The boy responded happily.
"When did you start growing up?" Lori pulled him close and gave him a kiss on top of his head.
"Here, take this.” Rick shoved his pistol to Lori after she gave him a quick peck. “Remember how to use it?"
"I'm not takin' your gun and leavin' you unarmed.” Lori shook her head.
"Here," Daryl interrupted and held out a gun of his own, offering it to Lori. "I got a spare. Take it." Rick seemed to appreciate that, giving Daryl a small smile. “Why don’t you stay with them?” He turned me, fully addressing me for the first time in front of the entire group. “Try’n keep on that little girl’s trail. They need someone that knows what they’re doin’” His tone was unsure, but still firm. Yeah—still firm.
I looked over to Rick, almost asking for permission, but he was already smiling in agreement.
Rick ducked into the church for a few minutes, then back to the woods we went. I was a little nervous at the fact I was taking the lead and was at the front lines of something. It wasn’t that serious or anything; just searching for a little girl like her life depended on it—except it did.
“Hey,” I whispered to the three guys after I’d taken note of deer tracks. “Look.” We’d been walking for about an hour at that point and the sun was getting ready set. Showing Carl the set of prints wouldn’t do much, but it would maybe boost his morale. Kid’s were easier to appease than adults in times like these. “Deer tracks.” And the way his little blue eyes lit up made up for all the depressing shit that was going on.
“Cool.” His voice was in awe.
Without any time for him to really soak it in, a branch snapped not far from us and it was back to reality we went. Then— like the world knew we needed an extra boost, a massive buck stepped out of the bushes. The large animal was such a serene sight, beautiful and paying no mind to the group of us. When Shane aimed his gun, Rick stopped him, just as Carl approached the deer. Step by step, Carl inched closer and closer, reaching his hand out to touch it.
He was so taken in by the animal- - we all were - - then when he little body dropped to the ground reality set back in.
A reality nobody had ever expected.
.and he never lies or picks up his phone.
Chapter 7: Leave you as bait
Summary:
“I was on the way back, a couple walkers snuck up on me at the top of a hill over there,” Libby explained, waving her hand in the general direction, “I handled them, but not before taking a pretty rough fall.”
I examined her ankle with my light, double checking that she was, in fact, capable to walk. “Don’t look too bad,”
Notes:
So there’s some Daryl POV in this chapter, and I’m pretty nervous about it. I get so insecure when writing from perspectives I’ve never dabbled in before.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.your wife waters flowers.
I ran as quick as my feet could carry me through the woods and back to the others. That was all the support I was able to provide— to run back and let them know what had happened. That Carl, the sweet freckle faced kid who just wanted to look for his friend, had been needlessly shot. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to stop and cry over what I’d witnessed, not when the little boy’s mother was somewhere without an inkling to what happened to her baby.
The only thing I could bother to do was watch where I was going and try to recall vague navigational skills that Daryl Dixon had taught me. I knew they were supposed to be going back along the creek, and that the creek was on lower ground and due north -- closer to where the church had been.
I took a short breather to swallow down some much needed water and began my trek again. Unless the other part of our group had started double-timing it, I couldn’t be that far behind them. At least— not if I was going in the right direction.
Untucking my shirt, I pulled it up and wiped sweat from my face and continued jumping over a fallen tree. I really hoped Carl was okay; that somehow they’d magically transported him to a hospital with the best surgeons and they were fixing him all up. Maybe they’d even send him home with his favorite color lollipop. Between Carl and Sophia, there was a lot of hoping and praying going on in the group.
Daryl POV
We’d been doin’ pretty good on time, the sun was still shinin’ decent. A gunshot went off further south, n’ Lori wouldn’t stop lingerin’ on the matter. She talked about wantin’ to turn back— to check on our people. If we did that though, we’d run our chances of bein’ out past dark, n’ I wasn’t ready to become walker bait cause these people couldn’t keep their mouths shut.
Lori sighed deeply at Andrea’s comment about her still bein’ worried about the gunshot, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that she was, “It was a gunshot.” The woman replied.
"We all heard it.” I added on. I’s gettin’ real tired of constantly slowing down. We needed to find that little girl and get back to the interstate.
"Why one? Why just one gunshot?" Lori implored, her attitude towards my words clear.
"Maybe they took down a walker." I responded nonchalantly. Even though my own concern was rising, knowing her point wasn’t completely mute.
"Please don't patronize me, you know Rick wouldn't risk a gunshot to put down one walker,” she snapped, “or Shane, Libby has a bow. They’d do it quietly.” The woman had made her point.
Then Carol looked to me as if I had all the answers, “Shouldn't they have caught up with us by now?"
"There's nothin' we can do about it anyway,'' I turned fully around and began moving closer to where the group had lagged back, "can’t run around these woods chasin' echoes."
"So what do we do?" Lori now looked at me, the same look as Carol -- like I had all the answers.
"Same as we've been, beat the bush for Sophia, work our way back to the highway." I tried making my words final, like I’d come to the ultimate conclusion. Truth is— I ain’t got a clue what I’s s’pose to be doin’ ‘cept look for that little girl.
Then we pushed forward a few steps… they were hanging back again. This wutn’t no damn book club, ain’t nothin’ was gonna get done. If they wanted some idle chit chat, they shoulda stayed back at the RV. Only person in them woods complainin’ shoulda been Carol; it was her kid that was missin’.
"I'm sorry for what you're going through," I heard Andrea soothing Carol, “I know how you feel."
"I suppose you do. Thank you.” The short haired woman responded. "The thought of her out here by herself… it's the not knowing that's killin' me. I just keep hopin' and prayin' she doesn't end up like Amy." Carol’s eyes widened in shock of her own words, as if she just slapped Andrea’s face and left a mark. "Oh, god. That's the worst thing I ever said." It was obvious how guilty she felt for saying those words.
I didn’t think it was that bad -- and my brother was still missin’, at least Andrea knew her sister was dead and buried. That poor woman’s little girl was somewhere out in the woods, not knowin’ nothin’. Probably scared n’ hungry. Maybe I’s just an asshole though.
"We're all hoping and praying with you,” the blonde smiled sympathetically. I knew she thought Sophia was dead though, and that ticked me off. Just cause her sister died, don’t mean every missin’ person was dead. Not everyone had to grieve their losses. “For what it's worth.”
"I'll tell you what it's worth," I butt in, not willing to let the hope of Sophia being alive settle into Carol’s mind. “Not a damn thing. It's a waste of time, all this hopin' and prayin'.” I wutn’t the sympathetic type, but I’s tryin’. “Cause we're gonna locate that little girl, n’ she's gonna be just fine. Am I the only one zen around here?" I ask, not really wanting an answer. “Good lord.”
Turning my back, I began trudging back up the hill and towards the interstate.
Sophia was gonna be fine. I’ll find her -- if Liberty kept on payin’ attention, maybe she’d do good at huntin’ for her too. The red-head seemed to be pretty focused on the task the entire time we’d been out there before they split up from us, and Rick was a shit tracker. I tried showin’ him a little while I’s teachin’ Libby, but he’d of walked smack inta that tent earlier if I wouldn’t have pointed it out. He wouldn’t know there’s a snake under his foot til’ it bit ‘im in the ass. He had good intentions though-- so he had somethin’ goin’. N’ these people tend to listen to what he has ta say, myself included.
I could walk away though. Ain’t nobody would miss me. After I locate Sophia - - I’d leave then.
Ain’t gotta follow Rick Grimes.
Ain’t no sheep.
Just can’t leave that little girl out in the woods by herself. Not when her momma’s lookin’ at me ta find’er and Libby nudged me to take the lead.
Libby.
She should’ve been back by now. Her, Rick, Shane, and Carl. I’d only finished berating Lori about worrying earlier, but she was bein’ so loud about it. It don’t bother nobody to worry to yourself. The interstate was probably two miles away at that point, and the speckles of sunlight were sinking. We needed to really start headin’ back -- but what if she’d gotten them lost.
Maybe I put too much faith in her.
Maybe Lori’d been right all along and somethin’ had happened with that gun shot.
Maybe I fucked up.
Lori can decide, "We'll lose the light before too long," I looked to the woman directly, half-expecting her to mention her husband’s group, “I think we should call it."
"Let's head back.” Lori agreed with me instead.
"We'll pick it up again tomorrow?" Carol asked.
"Yeah, we'll find her tomorrow.” Lori assured.
Rick wutn’t dumb. He might not know nothin’ about survivin’, but he can handle himself. So can Shane and Libby. Carl was in good hands.
I’s worryin’ for nothin’. But somethin’ about that red-head made me feel weird -- like I needed to keep an eye on her, keep’er close. S’that lust? She was hot n’young, didn’t seem to mind gettin’ on her knees real quick for me. It felt wrong at first, but she wasn’t barely legal or nothin’, just…younger. It did piss me off how good it felt when I think about it, really think about it. I buckled right under her pretty little lips, played into her hands like a dumbass teenager. Even if she was a stripper, that didn’t make me feel any less hormonal. Made me feel like a bigger mess. I’s old enough to be her daddy.
Then again, Libby made it clear she had shitty parents too, and I felt oddly comfortable around her because of that. I didn’t need to know her whole life story to know she’d been hurt some kind of bad.
What if she knew that about me? What if I’d let on too much and she felt sorry for me? Wutn’t she some kind of doctor or somethin’ for that shit? That’s probably why she fucked me. She felt bad. I’m such a dumbass.
"How much farther?" Andrea asked, sighing as we went down another hill.
"Not much," I said, looking up and around briefly, “maybe a hundred yards, as the crow flies."
"Too bad we're not crows.” She was clearly gettin’ sick of walkin’, and I couldn’t stand to hear it.
She fell back out of step behind me, and I’s thankful. Whining wutn’t gon’ get us nowhere. S’what Merle always said. Somethin’ bout hookers too, but I didn’t pay mind. Then that same woman began shoutin’ her head off from a distance. How far had she fallen behind?
We took off in the direction of her screams though, not wastin’ any time to bitch about it only to find her several yards away with a walker clawing to get at her. Before I had a chance to raise my weapon, some dark haired woman on a horse galloped by, knocking the geek back with a baseball bat - - like she was Wonderwoman or something.
“Lori?” She asked, looking down at the blonde woman while the rest of us stood in confusion. “Lori Grimes?”
Then the actual Lori stood firmly at my side, “I’m Lori.”
"Rick sent me, you gotta come now.” The woman said firm, but frantic.
"What?" Lori’s eyes were wide.
"There's been an accident, Carl's been shot, he’s still alive but you gotta come now. Rick needs you, just come!" And sure enough, Lori was scrambling herself up on the horse.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I held my hands up in protest. "We don't know this girl! You can't get on that horse."
"Rick said you had others on the highway? And a girl named Libby in the woods lookin’ for y’all?”
“Libby?” Carol asked, frantic at the mention of the girls name.
“Rick said she’d be comin’ up on y’all soon, back at the highway, that big traffic snarl?"
"Uh-huh.” Glenn nodded at the girl, staring with his mouth agape like he’d just seen heavens gates.
"Backtrack to Fairburn Road, two miles down is our farm, you'll see the mailbox, name's Greene. Hyah!" And then the girl was gone.
The group of us stood there, all wonderin’ if what just happened had really happened. Then that geek that almost bit Andrea sat up, “Shut up.” I snapped before shooting an already loaded bolt at it and began trekking towards the highway again.
“What about Libby?” Carol asked, willing me to turn around. “She’s somewhere out in the woods.”
Her eyes were desperate. Guilt gnawed at my insides — I shoulda turned around earlier. Shoulda listened to Lori. I probably done wasted all the daylight I coulda spent lookin’ for another lost girl in the woods.
It just pissed me off that I’s who that woman was lookin’ at though— there were other people around too. “She’s a big girl. Ain’t got the daylight to be lookin’ for no other kids. She’ll turn up or she won’t.” I turned back to continue walking.
Liberty POV
I looked to the ground, carefully inspecting the footprints along the side of the creek. They’d been there. It couldn’t have been all that long ago, maybe half an hour. None of the footprints showed any signs of walkers or Sophia, and a brief sadness filled my heart. They hadn’t found her yet. There was still hope though— maybe within’ the last half hour they did and this thing with Carl wasn’t going to turn into an inevitable set back on their search. Though - if I had faith in anyone, it would remain in Daryl Dixon.
Even the alliteration of his name sounded like it belonged in one of the Marvel movies I’d spoken about with Glenn.
Peter Parker
Bruce Banner
Stephen Strange
Daryl Dixon
Bucky Barnes
It fit right in.
It was rather silly of me to think of him that way though -- he lacked the finesse and charm that most superhero’s carried. The tragic backstory? Potentially. A particular set of skills that would become ineffably valuable? Without a doubt. But that smooth talking, dashing, elegance? Not a chance. I quite liked it that way though. Much like I liked his physical appearance, I liked that he was rugged and raw underneath it all. I didn’t need to know the unfortunate events that took place in his past to know they’d happened - - or to value him for who he was now.
A man - no, a stranger looking for someone’s little girl in the woods for the sake of nothing more than a small thanks. A thanks that he’d likely not even take once given.
Of course; there was probably something inside of him that was doing it for himself. We all do things like that for ourselves - the majority of us do anyways. People always say it’s completely selflessness when they involve themselves in situations like looking for lost children, and for the most part it is; but there’s typically something underlying all of that. Something that inspired it. And a lot of the times, it’s a scenario of one’s past or a need inside of that particular person. Many lack the self-awareness of that though - never admitting to themselves that their selfless act was really for their own benefit - much less admitting it to others.
I knew that half the things I did was for acceptance. The need to be good enough. That’s my deep dark secret as to why I’m searching for a group I’d become a member of to let a little boys mother know he’d been shot.
Maybe I’d feel good enough then. Maybe if I found Lori and somehow took her back to Rick, I’d be a valued member of the group. Maybe Shane would finally stop trying to coddle me. Maybe Daryl would be impressed. Maybe Glenn wouldn’t be the only person I felt good enough with.
I just needed to find Lori.
As the woods drew on, I had taken notice of scattered tracks, like something had mixed the leaves all up without any sense of direction. Quick as I was to catch the tracks, I wasn’t quick enough - cold, clammy hands wrapped around my right shoulder and a growl shuddered in my ear. I screamed out of shock, but not before spinning around and pushing the geek away from taking a bite out of flesh. In doing so, I took a nasty tumble down the hill I’d hiked upon -- three walkers coming right on after me. Once I hit the bottom I wasted no time getting my ass up, and scrambling to find my bow and arrows, thankful I hadn’t landed on or broken any of them. My ankle buckled underneath me, an acute stinging pain shot up my leg, but with the looming threat of the walkers, adrenaline pumped it into the back of my brain.
Grabbing my bow from where it had landed at the bottom, a few feet away from me, I quickly adjusted an arrow into the string and let it fly into the geek closest to me. Then took down the following duo. “Fucking assholes.” I literally spat down on the first one while retrieving my arrows.
The hot sensation in my ankle began settling in when I started making my way back up the hill and it became abundantly clear that I probably had less than thirty minutes of daylight left. There was no way I was finding anybody - especially not with this ankle. It definitely wasn’t the most severe injury, but I needed to stay off of it, at least for now.
I made the call to throw the towel in on trying to be worth something; looking for somewhere close to take shelter for the night. The hunger in my gut became more pronounced once I’d settled uncomfortably inside some abandoned tent of a guy who didn’t even know the right way to commit suicide. Scouting through the dead man’s things in vain, that threat-less walker outside died with a full belly. Lucky for me, I had a can of green beans tucked in my sack and that would have to tide me over til I was able to make it to the highway the next morning. The only reason I kept the guy outside alive was to ward off any threats - undead or otherwise.
Daryl POV
T-Dog went with Glenn to scout that farm and hopefully get himself taken care of hours ago. The effort that Liberty had made in keeping his wound clean was pointless - he’d somehow still managed to get a blood infection. The old man up top tried convincing me to go look for her, Liberty, after the other two men had left, but I refused. Still irritated from all the bitching and moaning of the day. I ain’t ever leadin’ no search party again - Rick n Shane can dick around with who’s bein’ a leader from now on. They ain’t gotta worry bout me arguin’.
Plus, Libby wasn’t a kid - she’s far from it. Don’t matter what I said earlier, she was grown. She’d made it perfectly clear before that she didn’t want no savior on a horse to sweep in and save the day; that she could handle herself.
Didn’t stop that achey feeling from bubblin’ in my stomach when it was well past eight o’clock n’ she still wutn’t at the rv. That’s where that girl on a horse said she was headin’. Between Carol’s sobs, Andrea’s determination to reassemble her gun, Dale pacing on top of the rv, and my own longing to find that stupid red head, I wutn’t gettin’ any sleep.
Lifting myself up from the floor, I walked up the steps to the main cavern of the rv and slipped the strap of my crossbow around my back. “Gonna need my clip now,” I held my hand out to Andrea, who placed it into my palm without complaint. “I’m gonna go walk the road. Look for the girl, try’n see if Libby’s out there too.” I let her know.
When the words left my mouth Carol’s sobs stopped briefly. She eyed me from the back of the rv, and I nodded to her softly. If anyone deserved to cry all night, it was her. Then I headed out and as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I’ll be damned if Andrea’s hadn’t followed me. I’d already snapped at people enough for one day - maybe she wouldn’t be half bad by herself. “I'm gonna go for a walk," I tell Dale who was looking down from the roof, "shine some light in the forest. If she's out there, give her somethin' to look at." When he questioned me, the blonde woman responded - hell, I sure wutn’t askin’ for permission, so I just followed behind her.
We veered off into the woods a little ways down the road, not too deep, just enough to not pull any walkers out onto the road. Last thing we needed was to attract a group of ‘em, especially with me bein’ the only one that could use a damn gun the right way.
Maybe that’s what it was that put a bad taste in my mouth when it came to Andrea. Her weird and sudden fascination with guns, like it was the biggest problem in the world. Yeah, she probably should learn how to use one, but bitchin’ so much about it when we were all goin’ out to look for Sophia - like she didn’t have plenty of protection. It ticked me off that she was more concerned with havin’ a gun in the woods, when we was s’pose to be lookin’ for that little girl. Ain’t nobody else put up such a stink about it; not even Libby. Normally Libby was buttin’ heads with Shane about shit like that, and I half expected her to, but she gave it up without a fight.
"You really think we're gonna find Sophia?"
"You got that look on your face, same as everyone else," I sneer at her, holding my light up to look at her face in disgust, "the hell's wrong with you people? We just started lookin'."
"Well, do you?” She didn’t let up.
"It ain't the mountains of Tibet, it's Georgia. She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere. People get lost 'n they survive, happens all the time."
"She's only twelve."
"Hell, I's younger 'n her and I got lost.” I scoff, not havin’ fond memories at all, “Nine days in the woods eatin' berries, wipin' my ass with poison oak."
"They found you?" Attitude dripped from her voice and I wanted ta snap, but I didn’t — the ignorance of her question stoppin’ me.
Nah, they never found me. I’m still a missin’ kid.
"My ol' man was off on a bender with some waitress," I shine my light at the trees and part of me wonders why I’m telling her this, "Merle was doin' another stint in juvie. Didn't even know I was gone. I made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear, ‘cept my ass itched somethin’ awful," I finish.
The blonde tried holding back her laughter and I tried my hardest to send her a nasty look, "I'm sorry," she stifled a giggle, "I'm sorry, that is a terrible story." But it was a funny story now that it’s done n’ over with, so I chuckled a little with her.
She wutn’t all that bad when she wutn’t bitchin’ bout a gun or wantin’ ta kill herself.
“Only difference is Sophia's got people lookin' for her, I call that an advantage."
We walked in silence for a few minutes longer before she started yappin’ again, “What about Libby?” She shone her light at me this time, lookin’ at my face like she’s expectin’ somethin’, “Do you think she’s alright too?”
“Shit girl,” I scrunched my eyebrows, “Just cause they’re mixed up in the woods don’t mean they’re dead.”
That red-head wutn’t dead - she was fine. Just like Sophia. At least Libby knew what she was doin’, might not be as hard to find her. Sure as hell wouldn’t be sending her out alone anymore though— it shouldn’ta been that hard to make it back to the highway. Not knowin’ what she knows. Maybe somethin’ had happened.
No.
No. She was just turned around cause it got dark.
Why did it matter so much to me? She’s just some girl that gave me a little attention n’ she was already wearin’ Shane’s shirt earlier. I wasn’t special. Didn’t matter if I was anyways, she ain’t. Just some girl.
Liberty POV
I was infuriated with myself for being so reckless and thinking I could find my way back without any help. Like a couple of tracking lessons from Daryl would do me any good - I was probably miles away from the interstate, lost in the woods, a swollen ankle, propped up in some dead bastards tent. Try as I might, it was becoming harder and harder for me to look on the bright side; alone with my own thoughts and lacking some much needed sleep.
I’d wanted to be was a reliable, strong, independent member of the group. I strived to be capable of handling myself -- holding my own. All I had done was become a burden; another girl lost in the woods.
How long would it take them to look for me?
Would they look for me?
Self pity wasn’t going to get me anywhere - I needed to stop. Everything had gone sideways through no fault of my own mostly. Carl being shot, the walkers attacking me, my ankle being hurt — it wasn’t completely avoidable; but I could stop that gnawing guilt inside of me. Tomorrow morning I’d find my way back to the highway.
My eyes shot open when a flash of light outside flickered through the trees and shone into the tent, casting a shadow of outside. I shallowed my breaths, suddenly pissed off that I let Shane take my gun. After five minutes of distant footsteps approaching closer and closer, I clenched my knife tighter in my hands, ready to defend myself as best as I could. If I was discovered, I wasn’t going down without a fight. Maybe they wouldn’t— but if my group found me bloody and battered, they’d know I tried.
Then my heartbeat quickened in what I could only describe as a dream come true, "What the hell?" A familiar voice asked, "Got bit, fever hit, world gone to shit, might as well quit,"Daryl scoffed, right outside the tent "Dumbass didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Turned himself into a big swingin' piece of bait, and a mess."
Then another voice sounded that made me frown and my heart sink, "Trying not to puke." Andrea.
What was he doing out there with her? I had no reason to be perturbed by it, but I was. Plundering into the depths of my memories, I tried to think back to any times they’d interacted, but nothing came up. Just a snide remark back at the nursing home after she’d been bitchy to him. Had they made up during the time I’d gone with Shane and Rick? ‘Ain’t yer boyfriend or nothin’. His words rang true in my mind— maybe he was just one of those guys. I just didn’t make him out to be one of them.
I heard Andrea vomit over something and I hated that I took a little joy in the fact she was at least partially miserable. That was - til I heard Daryl say that she’d made fun of his ass and I felt bile churn in my own stomach. He was like that, and I was stupid enough to throw myself right at him. The whole age question had just been for his own conscious, not to make me think he actually gave a shit. I knew I was being immature, petty, and stupid, but frankly, it ticked me off.
We weren’t anything special, I needed to keep that fresh in my mind. He could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. My emotions had to stay in check though— it was the only way I was getting out of those woods. “Daryl,” I whispered loudly after hearing they were about to walk away.
Daryl POV
It was low, it was hushed, but I heard it. The faint sound of my name being called — I shushed Andrea quick, halting her and nearing towards the seemingly abandoned tent. Pulling back the flap of the shelter, I shone my flashlight inside, a sense of relief I’d never felt before rushed over me, “Libs?” I passed Andrea my light before I dipped down, “The hell happened to you?”
The woman wiggled her ankle, indicating that she was quite obviously injured, “ I was trying to make it back to camp. Carl, he-“ she paused, her face dropping, “ Daryl, you need to leave and get back to Lori. Carl’s been shot, he-“
“She knows,” I murmured scanning over her body, looking for any sign of further injury. “How’d you get all beat up?”
“She knows?” Libby asked.
Of course Libby didn’t know that Lori knew, she’d been out here for… who knows how long. She wutn’t even that far from the RV, I coulda found her in minutes.
I’m a damn idiot. I should’ve looked for her for a little bit.
Andrea had been explaining what all happened since she was gone, while I began adjusting her bow strap to sling over my shoulder. Ain’t no way that girl was gonna make it back carryin’ all her shit. As I situated it across me, I realized how easy it was to forget how lightweight a compound bow was. I think she said her uncle got ‘er this one, and he knew what he was doin’, this thing’s nice.
“I was on the way back, a couple walkers snuck up on me at the top of a hill over there,” Libby explained, waving her hand in the general direction, “I handled them, but not before taking a pretty rough fall.”
I examined her ankle with my light, double checking that she was, in fact, capable to walk. “Don’t look too bad,”
“How far out am I?” She looked at me, disappointment clouded her eyes
“Bout twenty minutes. If you’da kept goin’ north over that hill, you probably woulda been at the rv in ten.”
Her disappointment disappeared, almost like she saw a light at the end of a tunnel. Had she thought she was lost too? If so, that made me feel like an even bigger piece of shit for not lookin’ for her sooner.
“I can make it as long as y’all don’t mind me slowing y’all down.” She smiled brightly between Andrea and me.
“Nah,” I shook my head, “If a walker comes we’ll just leave you as bait.”
.I want to kill her.
Notes:
So we have some cute little…angst and jealousy. We love to see Daryl unfamiliar with his feelings and we love to see Libby doubting herself.
Chapter 8: You look like a damn sardine
Summary:
“I hated it, but I felt like James Bond!” Glenn chuckled, “And if it wouldn’t have broken in half with its guts spewed everywhere, it would’ve worked.”
I threw a snack pack of Sour Patch Kids at him, “Gross.” Then I ripped into a bite size Snickers, “These might have been the best find.”
“It probably means it’s a little past Halloween.” He shrugged, tearing into the gummies. “You remember what month this all started?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.lookin at you got me thinkin nonsense.
The swelling in my ankle wasn’t all that bad, but about ten minutes into the hike back to camp, I ended up getting an honorary piggyback from Daryl Dixon himself, while Andrea carried most of my things. It was a little shitty of me to feel happy about that part, but I just couldn’t get over the fact they were out there alone together. Carol and Dale were awake and a small wave of relief looked like it passed over Carol’s features when she saw me in tow -- but I also think it was because she had hope that it was her daughter being carried back instead. Somehow, small and large miracles had been happening recently though, so I had faith that Sophia would be found. Carl had managed to find a doctor that could help him, I’d landed perfectly in the path of Daryl and Andrea, and surely Sophia would be the next one to be rescued.
When morning came, what was left of our group packed the supplies we’d gathered and set our sights to the farm. Daryl and Dale had both looked at my ankle at different points of the early day, commenting that it again, wasn’t too bad, but I needed to keep it propped up. When I propped it up on the dash of the rv, Carol had said that if the airbag came out I’d lose my leg, which is what we had been talking about as our caravan pulled into the Greene farm.
Dale walked straight to Rick, and I was happy to see that Carol had at least remembered that I’d have some trouble dropping down from the rv. With her and Andrea’s help, I made it to the ground safely. While the burning in my ankle was still there, it wasn’t nearly as sharp and I felt a lot more comfortable limping.
“Hell happened to you Libby Lou?” Shane asked, the first to notice my newfound injury apparently.
I raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but smiled when I noticed his new hairdo and overalls, “Had a run in with some walkers, took a tumble,” I said nonchalantly before pointing at his head, “They find out you had lice or something?”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “get outta here.”
By the time the funeral took place, everyone had their time to reunite and fill each other in on what all had transpired. Carl would be fine, which was a blessing. The Greene’s lost their farmhand, Otis, in an unfortunate event while on a medicine run for the boy. Shane apparently played a big part in that, but the way Dale looked at him while he was giving his speech had me weary. I wasn’t an expert at body language or anything, but Dale had good judgement. He also talked a lot, so I’d probably hear what he had on his mind later that evening. it wasn’t any of my business though - Carl was alive.
Our original crew, regrouped after Shane finished his little piece, letting the Greene’s mourn by themselves for a little while. Glenn ordered me to sit on the porch with him so he could examine my ankle as well, like it was some famous painting that was stolen from a museum.
“Jesus Liberty,” he poked at the bruise, causing me to flinch away, “Thought you didn’t want to be a damsel in distress.”
I moved my foot away from his lap and rolled my eyes, “Shut up. I wasn’t, I just - Daryl and Andrea had been out on a stroll and happened upon me. I was going to make my way back to the highway.”
“Wait, why’d you say her name like that?” He had a confused smile on his face.
Gosh; I was a child. “I’m pretty sure they were out…” I mumbled, looking down at the floorboard of the porch, “you know.”
“Huh?”
Sighing heavily, I dropped my shoulders and looked at Glenn more direct, “I think they were out there, together, alone, you know?”
The dawn of realization crossed his face and a pink blush rose into his almond colored cheeks. “Really?” Glenn peaked around, looking for who I could only assume was Andrea or Daryl. “You think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Are you gonna say something?”
“I can’t.” He looked at me puzzled, “I- I mean, like, we aren’t together or anything. He can do what he wants.”
“Yeah, but-“
“This Libby?” An excruciatingly sweet southern voice asked. I turned to see a woman around our age, with short chocolate colored hair and big brown eyes.
The pink in Glenn’s cheeks got ten times brighter and he stumbled over his words, but managed to get out, “Oh, yeah! Yeah. This is… Maggie. I mean- this is Libby. But Libby, that’s- uh,”
“I’m Maggie.” She held her hand out.
I shook it gently with a smile, “Libby.” I smiled.
This was definitely the girl that Daryl has said rode in on a horse and took Glenn’s breath away. She was pretty in the most simplest of terms. Her smile, her hair color, her doe eyes, everything; Maggie Greene was gorgeous. I decided then, that I liked her. There was nothing else I needed to determine whether or not she was a good person- - I could just feel it.
And Glenn was in awe of her, so she had to be special.
“C’mon,” she offered me her arm, “I’m bringing this map to your group. I can get daddy to look at your ankle. I noticed you were limpin’” So I graciously took her arm and hobbled alongside her, over to the group that had surrounded the Cherokee. She sprawled the map on the hood, “County survey map.” Maggie said, pointing along the paper. “Shows terrain and elevations."
"This is perfect, we can finally get this thing organized.” Rick nodded firmly, looking at the map. I eyeballed it, trying to read it but not really knowing how to. "We'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams."
"Not you," Hershel shook his head disapprovingly. "Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passin' out, and your ankle," his gaze fell on Shane. "Push it now, you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."
"Guess it's just me," Daryl announced, “I'm gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there.” I caught his eye when he looked up from the map and I hadn’t meant to be upset, I wouldn’t be any help out there with a gimp ankle, but the exclusion hurt. That’s probably why he snapped about it, “Y’ain’t comin’, y’already got a busted foot. Get that checked out so you can help tomorrow if I don’t find her today.”
The hot feeling in my ears indicated to me, that my cheeks were probably burning red in embarrassment. Had I really looked that pitiful? I blinked back the tears that I knew were prickling in my eyes at his harshness.
"I can still be useful," Shane continued the conversation, and for once I was thankful that he was a yapper. "Drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back."
"All right, tomorrow then, we’ll start doin' this right." Rick settled.
"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives, they need the gun training we've been promisin'." Shane directed to his friend, and my ears perked up.
“I’m good with a gun. Got my permit and all.” I wanted to be useful too.
Then another blow, but this time from Hershel, "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property," he insisted. "We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."
"All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here-" Shane started.
"Look, we're guests here." Rick interrupted, giving Shane a look of warning, “This is your property, and we will respect that,"
Both policemen laid their weapons down, but I had nothing to give - I was still without my gun since Shane had taken mine yesterday. Just because we couldn’t carry on the property didn’t mean we couldn’t out in the woods, which is where I wouldn’t be going again without proper protection.
"First thing's first, set camp, find Sophia." Rick instructed.
"I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody's got to," Shane sighed, “What happens if we find her and she's bit? I just think we should all be clear on how we handle that.”
I bit my lip at that ultimatum- it wasn’t something I wanted to think about. The little girl had been missing for three days, and maybe that day could be her lucky day. Maybe with just Daryl out there looking, she’d be discovered and brought back to the Greene farm safely -- just like I’d been the night before.
Rick dipped his head, his hat covering his eyes a bit, "You do what has to be done.”
"And her mother? What do you tell her?" Maggie asked, shock - heavy in her voice.
"The truth.” Andrea said bluntly.
"I'll gather and secure all the weapons, make sure no one's carryin' til we're at a practice range off site.” Shane said, pushing away from the truck, “I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale's got experience."
Rick seemed to agree with him on that one and turned to Hershel, "Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," The older man looked a bit reluctant, but nodded his head nonetheless. “Thank you." Rick said.
It took me all of thirty seconds to block Daryl’s path as the group spread out. I could stay angry and jealous at him, or I could suck it up and continue on with the friendship I’d struck with the man. Even if I wasn’t in his radar as a partner -- not that I thought I even wanted to be exactly, I did still want to remain his friend. He’d taught me so much, and helped me thrive in this world with what little time we’d spent together.
“Be safe,” I smiled, choking back the memory of his harshness moments ago, “Thank you, for… helping me last night. And I’m sorry for interrupting whatever it was you were doing with Andrea.”
I may have added that last part on just to try and pull some information out of him. There was no clear indication if he knew what I was doing in saying that, but he did twist his face up before responding, “Hell’re you on about girl?” He asked.
“You and Andrea?” I furrowed my brows, “last night?”
Daryl scoffed before adjusting his crossbow, “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between us,” he defended, chewing at his bottom lip, “Ain’t none’a yer business anyway. I done told ya, I ain’t yer-“
“Boyfriend or nothin’,” I finished his sentence. His words sent little flurries in my stomach, just confirming that he and the blonde woman hadn’t been out there doing anything unbecoming. “I know.” I smiled at him, purposefully batting my eyelashes, “Maggie’s gonna get my ankle looked at, then I’ll hopefully be back in commission tomorrow.”
“S’good.” He stood there awkwardly, and I could tell he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Be safe, I hope you find her today. If not -- you’re gonna have some serious competition tomorrow.” I bragged over-dramatically, “I happen to have been taught by a professional tracker.”
A choked laugh came from him and I felt fairly accomplished to move out of his way. “Stop.” He said, walking past me and towards the tree line.
Just a small sprain. A silly injury that I’d had more than enough times to know what it already was, I didn’t need a doctor to tell me. The anti-inflammatory pills would help though. I wouldn’t be useless tomorrow. I’d rest for the day, stay on watch with Dale and keep my foot elevated, but tomorrow I’d do something. I’d help the search.
I still hoped Daryl would find the little girl while he was out though. Carol was going stir-crazy in the rv, tidying it up and all. T-Dog offered to put my tent up, to which I graciously let him. There had been a mishap with a walker in a well and I missed all the action. Glenn made sure to brag about it when he and Maggie got back from their run to the store - amongst other things.
“I hated it, but I felt like James Bond!” Glenn chuckled, “And if it wouldn’t have broken in half with its guts spewed everywhere, it would’ve worked.”
I threw a snack pack of Sour Patch Kids at him, “Gross.” Then I ripped into a bite size Snickers, “These might have been the best find.”
“It probably means it’s a little past Halloween.” He shrugged, tearing into the gummies. “You remember what month this all started?”
“A few days after September 11th,” I reached into the bag, searching for a new chocolate treat, “I saw some post on Twitter about 9/11 I think a day or two before I got on the interstate at least.”
“That sounds about right. They had a few cases of Halloween candy stuffed in the back, so that’s right around the time seasonal items come out.”
“That means I’m an entire quarter of a century.” Glenn looked at me, his head tilted while he picked a gummy from the back of his teeth. “My birthday’s November third. If it’s after Halloween, it’s probably past my birthday. I’m twenty-five.”
“I’ll be twenty-four in July.”
“How old’s Maggie?” I sang her name out, shoving his shoulders playfully.
With a sweet blush on his face, he shrugged, “I don’t know. She’s got to be around our age though, right?” He looked to me like I knew.
“I can ask.”
“Do you know how old,” he looked around in a boyish, sneaky way, “Daryl is?” He whispered.
I giggled at his attempt at being secretive, it was much appreciated. “Nope. I mean, maybe like, forty-ish?”
“I bet Dale knows.” Glenn suggested, “Dale knows everything.”
Shaking my head furiously, I sent him a repetitive line of “No.” The last thing I needed was Daryl finding out that I’d been prying into his business. If there was ever a next time between us, I could always ask him then.
Twenty-minutes passed in silence. Once Dale called for Glenn to come down and help with something, it was nearing nightfall and the call of a Mourning Dove echoed across the land. It was a tranquil moment to acquaint with; a steady setting sun on a green pasture, nature making it’s everlasting and beautiful sounds, and a particular hunter cutting out the tree-line in the distance. It was picturesque, one that could perfectly describe that season of my life. I’d only wished he’d been coming out of the woods with a little girl wrapped up in his arms, longing for her mother.
During the time it took for him to get to the RV, I searched deep for a way to make conversation with him -- I felt like so skittish around the man. Ever since that night at the CDC when we’d made eye-contact while he was in between my legs, my entire world changed.
I was never one to have boyfriends; It took me a while to build up any self-esteem and I was socially awkward for so much of my life. We were poor, and my parents sucked at parenting— my sister was the only reason I got bathed properly and went to school on time. Nobody wanted to be friends with me, and especially date me. Then when I was basically adopted by my uncle and aunt, I was the new girl and my social skills were lacking tremendously to be fourteen years old. Put aside all the physical and emotional trauma, being a teenager is hard just in general. Once I finally found myself, I still only had handful of friends, and they weren’t even real friends - more like people I associated with if our every busy schedules lined up. My co-workers… I chose not to form any attachments to them, addiction ran heavily in my family and being a dancer, the association with drugs were always too big of a risk for me. All that being said; I’d had one boyfriend in my entire life and he made me feel like an absolute piece of hot garbage and tried to convince me to quit my job. It was for his own masculinity and insecurities, so it wasn’t my problem. I swore off men after that - sure, I used them for sex, but that was it. Even then I preferred to just get myself off. It was less of a headache and provided for a comfortable exploration of my own body.
There was only one thing I was sure of, and that was my looks. My natural tendency of just being sexual - I loved it. It’s part of why I adored being a stripper. I could embrace myself; feel comfortable. I used to wish I could always be like that. Radiate confidence and be so naturally flirtatious and fun like I was in the club.
Something always stopped me though - rejection.
But the way Daryl just, sauntered into the rv five minutes ago, not knowing I’m having a crisis about how to talk to him on top of it, made me want to bang my head on the roof.
I was such a fucking loser.
The rv shifted back a bit, indicating someone climbing up, and low and behold it was the man himself; Daryl Dixon.
“You been up here all day?” He asked, looking at the discarded candy wrappers underneath the folding chair.
I blushed, like I’d been caught sneaking food when I knew I wasn’t supposed to, “Mmm, gotta stay off my foot if I’m gonna help find Sophia tomorrow.”
Most times I appreciated him not covering his arms, he had nice arms - but I was about eighty percent positive my hormones were out of wack and I was excruciatingly horny. It should’ve been illegal to walk around all -- exposed like he was. Gosh, and now he was looking at me funny; probably because I kept giving him lecherous stares.
“I found a house,” he informed me, his eyes now boring holes into me, “Big farmhouse like this one. S’run down though, but someone had been there a little bit ago.”
I turned my body to face him entirely, careful not to ogle him anymore. He was talking to me, giving me willing attention, and I didn’t want him to stop. “You mean earlier today, or a few days ago?” I asked, staying genuinely interested.
He grunted, “Can’t tell. They ate some sardines though n’ that can was pretty fresh. Couldn’t’a been more than a couple days.”
The prospect of canned sardines made me physically repulsed, I wretched by no choice of my own. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards at my obvious disgust, “Asshole.” I muttered.
“Hell’d I do?”
“I saw your little smirk. You ain’t slick.”
“Sardines ain’t that bad, wuss.” He had the nerve to pick on me, and despite my little crush, I was not going to take it.
“You look like a damn sardine.”
“Least I don’t smell like one.” His eyes widened quicker than mine had, but my mouth fell agape at his insult. We both clearly knew what that meant, and even though it may not have been genuine, it still hurt. “Libs,”
“Uh-uh,” I shook my head in disbelief, “Liberty. My name is Liberty, and you can go-“ I struggled to find the right words. I didn’t want them to be overly harsh, but I still wanted them to have a little bite. My face settled in satisfaction before I lowered my voice a notch, “Maggie’s letting me get a shower tonight, so while i’m getting all nice and cleaned up,” I dropped my gaze to scan over his body before making eye contact with him again, “naked and soft. You can just imagine,” instinctively I rolled my hips, adjusting myself, “all the mean and hurtful things you said to me. Just…you and your hand. A shame, really.”
His adam’s apple bobbed harshly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he just looked at me with that intense, icy blue gaze. So I batted my eyes, serving him a sweet smile.
“Libby! You need some help down? I just finished in the shower, it’s your turn.” Glenn called up, and for the first time, my own words settled into my brain.
I’d really just talked to him like I was going to give him the night of his life. (That he’d paid a good penny for of course). Maybe-- maybe I didn’t need to overthink anything. Maybe…he liked being flirted with a little bit.
“Nah! I’ve got it!” I peaked over the side of the rv and sent him a smile of reassurance.
.cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in.
Notes:
Okay Ms. Liberty, purr. We love that she’s coming into herself and her own ways. Literally her sexual energy is oddly enough, a big role in this story, just not in the way I think anyone is going to expect. I got some big plans my guys.
.But yeah, she’s canonically always listening to ovulation songs lmao.
Also, I hope y’all are all Glenn lovers, bc he will always have screen time in this story.
Chapter 9: Not one of these, but save a horse ride a cowboy right?
Summary:
The memory was a lot more amusing now than it had been back at the quarry. I hadn’t taken part of the conversation, still weighing the Dixon brothers out. Glenn was the only one who truly knew my overzealous opinions on cryptids.
At least until now, when I couldn’t help but join in the conversation, “If any mythical creature is real, the chupacabra is at least believable.”
“You see one too?” T-Dog asked, scrunching his brows, a bright smile still on his face.
“Well…no,” my face dropped when I couldn’t attest to the belief of the chupacabra “But goat-man has a bridge that I visited once!”
Notes:
I am SO sorry at how long this chapter is! I was gonna keep going but OMG! This is one of my favs though! We love bonding moments
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.if i was a rip tide, i wouldn’t pull you out.
When I got into the shower that night, I replayed what I said and how I said them. I’d already been thinking about my previous endeavors of stripping, so it flowed naturally into the conversation, and I think he liked it. It wasn’t anything outrageous - just a little suggestive line and change of tone - but I couldn’t get the way his Adam’s apple had bobbed or the tension in his jaw.
And I didn’t feel awkward in the slightest.
As a matter of a fact, I felt like I was on top of the world in that moment. Even when I awkwardly maneuvered my way down the RV, the intense gaze of his eyes boring holes into the back of my head didn’t make me nervous. (Maybe it did, but only a little) I had no business letting myself feel this way, so confident and sure of myself - ’he ain’t my boyfriend or nothin’. I just - I just really liked him. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. Each time we spoke, I felt like I was unwinding another thread amongst a thousand that made up Daryl Dixon. So much of the last month or so with him, I’d been unsure of myself; wary and cautious of the unusual man. Even as I laid underneath him, his body melding into mine, I was so awestruck by him. But on top of that RV, I’d been poised and the thought of him rejecting me wasn’t even on my mind.
Whether it was an inebriation of my confidence, the shower had reset my life order for the time being, or the fresh clothes Maggie had given me, but I walked back to our little circle of tents with a satisfied smile on my face. There was a faint hunger in my belly that rumbled, the sweet relief Halloween candy provided didn’t curb true hunger unfortunately.
“Sweet peas and Chef Boyardi,” T-Dog handed me a plate of an unlikely meal that he and Glenn had already passed out to the others surrounding the fire, “Dr. Thunder or Root Beer?” He asked, walking over to what I assumed to be where the drinks were held.
“Root Beer.”
“Looks like your ankles feelin’ pretty good again too Libby Lou,” Shane nodded to my fairly healed foot.
No matter how many times I’d reverberated that it wasn’t a serious sprain, the level of concern through the group was at an all time high. For both Shane and me of course. “A little sore, but I’ll be fine.” I smiled softly at him.
He’d been — different, since I last saw him -- that being two days ago. Shane’s routine demeanor towards me had shifted from sexist and overbearing, to lighthearted and almost kind. We didn’t typically see eye to eye, nor was he my first choice of people to converse with, and as far as I knew, he thought likewise.
Had losing Otis so brutally warped him?
Was that why Dale looked so shaken up at the funeral?
I didn’t have a problem with being friendly towards Shane. He hadn’t done anything so drastically horrible to me for me to cut the idea out completely. It was just -- odd.
No matter - he wasn’t getting his shirt back.
Morning broke and I was still riding on that high from the evening before. The smell of eggs made my current life just a smidge better. It’s the little things. A squirrel scurried right past my tent and it reminded me of the overnight trip with Daryl a week or two prior; before the quarry was overrun and things were still decent. We’d got a lot of the critters that trip.
Only one other body was in the rv at the time I went in to change, and I passed the man I so shamelessly flirted with last night as he exited. I didn’t dare speak at him alone - not yet willing to risk the string of tension that I had carefully weaved. The right moment would come, but not then; not with such little privacy. So I gave him a small smile, just enough to entice. Then I slid the door to the back room shut and swiftly changed clothes, before meeting up with the group that was surrounding the Cherokee.
"All right, everyone's gettin' new search grids today,'' Rick instructs, pointing to different parts of the map. "If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might've gone further east than we've been so far."
A kid, probably eighteen or nineteen cut in, I can’t remember his name though, “I'd like to help, I know the area pretty well and stuff."
"Hershel's okay with this?" Rick questioned.
"Yeah, yeah, he said I should ask you."
Rick nodded in appreciation, “Alright then, thanks.”
"Nothin' about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me, anyone could've been holed up in that farmhouse." Ah. There’s that asshole that had been hiding underneath whatever facade he’d put on yesterday.
"Anybody includes her, right?" Andrea snapped back.
"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger 'n yay-high.” Daryl put his hand in the air, a little higher than his waist to indicate the height.
"It's a good lead." Andrea agreed.
"Maybe we'll pick up her trail again," Rick said.
"No maybe about it, I'm gonna borrow a horse," Daryl eyes the map, pointing to a spot, "head up to this ridge right here, take a bird's eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, I'll spot her."
"Good idea. Maybe you'll see your chupacabra up there, too." T-Dog picked at Daryl.
Rick looked between T-Dog and Daryl, obviously confused. I couldn’t stop the little smirk that played on my face. "Chupacabra?" Rick asked.
“What, you never heard this?" Dale leaned into the group, "First night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of the time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra."
The memory was a lot more amusing now than it had been back at the quarry. I hadn’t taken part of the conversation, still weighing the Dixon brothers out. Glenn was the only one who truly knew my overzealous opinions on cryptids.
At least until now, when I couldn’t help but join in the conversation, “If any mythical creature is real, the chupacabra is at least believable.”
“You see one too?” T-Dog asked, scrunching his brows, a bright smile still on his face.
“Well…no,” my face dropped when I couldn’t attest to the belief of the chupacabra “But goat-man has a bridge that I visited once!”
Then the teenager cackled. Asshole.
"What're you brayin' at, jackass?" Daryl sneered.
"So you believe in a blood sucking dog?" The kid asked sarcastically.
"You believe in dead people walkin' around?" Daryl snapped back, a valid point. Not very long ago the reality we’ve became accustomed to had been something out of a movie; far-fetched as it was.
The teenager didn’t retort, instead he reached passively for a gun, “Hey," Rick placed a hand out to prevent him from snatching one up. "Ever fire one before?"
"Well if I'm goin out, I want one.”
"Yeah," Daryl started, “And people in hell want slurpees.” He heaved his crossbow on his back, heading off to the stables to find a horse. I wasn’t sure whether to follow him or stay put and wait for direction from Rick.
My confidence continued to soar, so I didn’t necessarily mind where they put me, but I wanted to go with Daryl. Not so much that I’d argue back about tagging along with someone else; our goal was to find Sophia, not pick partners for a science project. Andrea and T. Rick and Shane.
“Why don’t you go see if there’s somewhere else in mind that Daryl might want you lookin’? If not, you can tag on with me and Shane.” Rick took a step closer, “He don’t, uh, seem to mind workin’ around you.”
I knew Daryl had a hard time working with others, he’d said as much before. It just happened that he’d taken an out-of-character shining towards me. In both of our defenses though, the majority of the time we spent together had been consumed with the primary focus on surviving. Leisurely chats and personal bonding were kept short. Even the sex was rather quick. Regardless on what we spent doing, I enjoyed the silent presence of the man. Being alone without really being alone.
There was also the lingering tension between us that I’d yet to play with that inspired me to agree with Rick. Readjusting my bow, I walked slowly towards the stables, not wanting to rush and screw my ankle up again. When I entered the stable, the overwhelming stench of ammonia and wood chips whiffed through my nostrils, but considering the usual smell of rotting flesh I’d gotten used to, it wasn’t so bad. Daryl emerged from a stall on the further end, a well-nourished horse following him out. He spoke softly to the creature while tacking it up and getting ready for his escapade of the day.
It was rather attractive to watch him work in silence while doing a mundane task. Just admiring how broad his muscles were; how they tensed while lifting something particularly heavy. I almost felt bad for objectifying him, but it wasn’t like he could hear my thoughts.
“Hey,” I said, much softer than intended. He carried on with his tasks as if I wasn’t there, like he hadn’t heard me, but I knew better. He had eagle-like hearing — humiliation caused my heart to race once I realized he’d known I was standing there watching him all along. When I first walked into the stables I hadn’t had any reason to try and quiet my steps. Daryl might not be able to hear my thoughts, but me just standing there staring at him had to have made me look creepy.
Both him and the horse he’d gotten ready, walked towards the middle of the stable where I stood, stopping only a foot away from me, “You just gonna stand there all day?”
Being caught -- or at least practically being caught ogling him was so not sexy. The sexual tension had dropped tremendously, my confidence going with it. “Where do you want me?” I blurted with no other explanation.
“Thought Rick said he had search grids for everybody.”
“He told me to come for you-“ my mortification continued flourishing under pressure, “to come to you, he told me to come to you and see if you wanted me in a certain posit- spot.” I rerouted my word midway through. Running my hands over my face, I started over. “Rick told me to ask you if there was anywhere you had in mind for me to search. If not, I could just go with him and Shane.”
Daryl studied me, but didn’t reject me.
He just forced out a sigh.
“I’ll drop you off a few miles east of that farm house. The creek leads up that way, works your way upstream, scan the area,” Then his eyes found mine and he nodded over to the horse, “Y’ain’t gonna get far out on that gimped up ankle.”
The awkwardness evaporated slowly, allowing me to feel comfortable enough to scoff at his words, jackass.
Getting on the horse proved to be a lot more difficult than in the movies. I wasn’t exactly skilled in horse riding, (I’d never rode a horse before in my life) so I was nervous my first three times trying to sling my leg over the saddle. My fourth try though, Daryl boosted me up gently so my left thigh finally made it over the horses back. Loathing to disappoint him, I didn’t dare pay too much attention to just how far up I was. He was probably already regretting his decision to bring me with him.
Then he readjusted his weapon across his back, tightening the strap so it didn’t hand as far down. “Move forward.” He ordered, waving his palm indicating me to shift up. “Give me your bow.”
“Why?” I may have asked the question, but I wasn’t objecting.
He took the bow from my hands and heaved it over the shoulder his own bow wasn’t pointing out from. “Don’t need it hittin’ me all in the face while we’re ridin’,” he explained.
“Well, why can’t I ride in the back?”
“Y’ever rode before?”
I bit my lip before smirking at him playfully, “Not one of these, but save a horse ride a cowboy right?”
Daryl scoffed out a sound reminiscent of a laugh, “Shut up.” Then he eased himself into the saddle behind me. I wasn’t done though, my coquettish behavior gnawing through.
“You gonna make me, or?” I teased.
He didn’t need to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’, the horse suddenly moving once Daryl pulled on the reigns was enough to cause my entire body to tense up. It started moving leisurely out the stables and through the field. Just as I began feeling content on the equestrian, I felt Daryl’s legs shift and saw the reigns move again, while the pace picked up. The only comfort I found was that there was a strong arm on either side of me, giving me some sort of reassurance that I might not fall off.
After five minutes at a steady pace, we were deeper into the woods and heading uphill when he slowed the horse down, to which I was grateful, “Ain’t gotta be so tense girl,” he muttered, the rumble of his chest vibrating my back, “they can tell when your scared.” I felt him maneuvering behind me, before I realized he was getting his bow out. “Lean ta the left and stay steady girl, gon’ get us some dinner for later on.” He ordered. I trained my eyes, looking for where exactly it was he was aiming, but the arrow flew quicker than I could figure it out. “Shit girl, you think you got this thing strung tight enough?”
Turning my head, I saw that he’d used my bow instead and was currently inspecting the strings closely.
“What? Was it too hard for you to pull back?” I fake pouted, then taunted him, “You ain’t the only one with pretty arms.” To add a little more umph to my comment, I flexed proudly.
He muttered something sarcastic about ‘pretty arms’ while slinging the bow back behind him and guiding the horse to the tree that he’d so effortlessly pinned a squirrel against. No matter how many times I’d seen him shoot an arrow before, I don’t think I’d ever be used to how marvelous his aim was. Even with a foreign bow, strung to the likes of another person ten times smaller than him, he’d expertly killed several more squirrels on our trek through the woods. Thirty minutes, and twelve rodents later, I adorned a very beautiful necklace of squirrels. It was mildly disgusting, but I wasn’t about to complain -- not when his fingers brushed along the skin of my neck each time he tied a new kill to the rope.
What has this world come to? I was embarrassed that I had been getting vaguely turned on, just by the graze of a man’s fingertips while he attached dead squirrels to my neck. I was tempted to play around and wiggle my hips back against him, but decided against it.
There was a time and place, this was neither.
When he stopped the horse suddenly, I expected to feel him getting another kill-shot prepared, but instead he nudged me. Was it my stop finally? I’d started to think he forgot he was supposed to drop me off -- but I saw exactly why he alerted me. Sophia’s doll. “Be right back.” Daryl mumbled, sliding off the horse and tying it to a tree. It wasn’t worth me getting off anyways, the doll laid on the muddy creek bank about ten yards away.
We’d found something. Finally
Daryl POV
It’s about damn time. ‘Nothin’ about that farmhouse screams Sophia to me’ my ass. This would be north east of that damn house, she’d of had to come through here. I knew what I’s talkin’ about.
“Sophia!” I hollered around, just for good measure.
I wutn’t really expectin’ her to come out or anything, but better safe than sorry. I stepped back through the water, doll in hand, and pulled myself back up the short incline that dropped into the creek bed. Libby had a giddy smile on her face, lookin’ at the newfound item I held. Before I holstered back onto the horse, I tucked the doll between my belt. It wutn’t much, but it was somethin’.
“I might be wrong, I’m still not that great with directions yet, but we found the doll here and that farmhouse you saw yesterday,” the redhead turned back to look at me, “She would’ve passed through here to get there right? Like - that could have really been who was holed up in that house.”
“Could be,” I agreed. I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but there was part of me that was secretly proud of her navigational skills. She couldn’t tell what way she was facin’ the first day I took her out at the quarry, but she clearly had a knack for catchin’ on quick. Then again — as the horse started forward, her body tensed in front of mine for the dozenth time that day. The girl wutn’t no horseback rider, that’s for damn sure.
We ain’t made it but a hundred or so yards, n’ some birds fluttered out the trees, burstin’ through the branches, screeches and caws echoin’ in their wake. “Woah, woah,” I calmed both the horse, and the girl. If my arms wouldn’t’a been caging her in, Libby would’ve bailed off without a second thought. I got a skittish horse and a skittish girl.
Well -- she wasn’t my girl, but she was still with me for the time being. I’s responsible for her of sorts.
I smooched my lips together, pulling the reigns tighter to the left, redirecting the horse back to the path we’d previously been on. Libby seemed to relax again, but I could see her diggin’ her thumbnail into her skin. From the looks of it she’d been scratching herself some kind of bad - her wrist was rubbed raw with fading fingernail imprints.
Libby wutn’t so bad, she was a lot easier to be around than most of the group. I just couldn’t figure out why she was bein’ all weird with me — tellin’ me to think about her naked, lookin’ at me like she did earlier in the rv, stumblin’ all over her words - somethin’ was off with that girl. I didn’t mind that much though, s’long as she kept her focus on finding Sophia.
Took us an entire three minutes before the horse was actin’ up again. Bucking up and whinnying, it couldn’t be soothed this time. The girl in front of me reached one hand down, gripping my knee tightly while I tried to calm the horse. I let my free hand drop to circle around her waist - if she fell off now, she’d get trampled and we’d have another tragedy on our hands. “Woah, woah,” but with a final, powerful kick, we were launched off the saddle, crashing to the ground with tremendous force. Libby yelped in front of me and I hoped it wasn’t because my grip on her waist had tightened -- I also hoped it wasn’t the result of a serious injury either.
Liberty POV
The strength of our fall, caused us to tumble down the incline then to the edge of the gorge we’d been riding beside. With nothing to prevent our constant rolling, the two of us dropped right off the ravine and managed to hit every obstacle on the way down.
Between the weight of Daryl — who had only held me to him tighter — and several tree trunks colliding into me as we fell, I wasn’t sure what way we were even facing by the time the forest floor was exchanged for slick rock. A sudden stinging sensation ripped through my thigh, and I decided that those would likely be my last moments. I squeezed my eyes shut, tucked my face even further into Daryl’s chest, and tried to find a happier place to be.
My body was then plunged into a burst of icy water, shocking me back to life as the grip around my waist loosened, allowing me to roll into an upright position. “Son of a bitch!” Daryl was groaning, face-up but his entire body submerged, all while I was trying to assess the damage that had been caused. My hand immediately flew to where my thigh had been on fire and I knew it before I saw it— inspecting my hands, thick red blood soaked my skin. Besides what I could only assume was an intense laceration, I saw more minor scrapes but nothing significant. The hold Daryl had on me as we went down definitely protected me from suffering too much, and as I went to check on him dread plunged into my stomach.
He was hurt far worse than me.
Of course he was — he’d taken the brunt of it all.
I gauged his injuries: a bleeding abrasion on his forehead, some minor scrapes that matched most of mine, - but the big stepper of them all - an entire bolt impaled through his side. “Daryl!” I shouted, the shock finally settling in. “Fuck. Shit. Dar.” I scrambled closer to him, inspecting his major injury even further.
What was I supposed to do? I was just a twenty-five-year-old with the knowledge of a mere college student, not a survivalist or more importantly - a medical professional. We were in the deep woods of fuck-all, Georgia, inside a bowl-like ravine, surrounded by steep, shifty soil on one side, and slippery rock on the other. We weren’t dying; not yet at least.
“Libs?” I could vaguely hear his voice calling me back to earth, but my concern was how we were going to get out of this hell-hole. “Liberty? Damn, girl. You okay?” He was now panting heavily in front of me, one hand holding him steady while the other was clutching at his wounded side.
I swallowed hard, but nodded. I didn’t entirely believe myself and mostly nodded to give him one less thing to worry about. He had enough on his plate already, he didn’t need a panicking girl to unload her deep-rooted worry of impending doom.
The hand that had been nursing his side shot out and rested on my shoulder, “Are you hurt?” He asked, his tone calmer now. Again, a few nods was my best answer. This time, I turned to show him the back of my thigh while trying my best to catch a peak of the injury as well, but all I could see was blood from my position. He swore under his breath and when he briefed his hand over it I flinched away.
We conversed for only a second before deciding we’re better off out of the water and on the sandy shoal about five yards away. Leaning on one another here and there — we made it, but the stinging in my thigh only worsened and I felt like I needed to throw up. While he took to cutting his soaked sleeves off and knotting them around his waist, keeping the arrow sticking from his side steady; I maneuvered myself to a laying position where I could get a better look at my own wound.
Yeah — I needed to throw up.
The adrenaline that was rushing my system had downplayed my injury a heap. It hadn’t been a lousy abrasion, this was a jagged gash that started below the curve of my ass cheek descending to an inch or two above the back of my knee. Dead people walking around; I could handle. My own flesh gaping open revealing things I need not see; absolutely not. There was minor resolve in knowing Hershel could handle our injuries, but getting out of our current predicament was still a task that we’d need to work on first.
Daryl grunted in pain as he readjusted his body, moving with the arrow as an accessory couldn’t have felt good. “Y’alright?” He asked, wincing as he let out a breath.
I tried situating myself back in a sitting position, but it seemed now that I was aware of the not-so-minor cut on my thigh it stung a little extra when I moved. “If I give you my shirt, you think you could wrap it around? I can barely see it.”
He agreed, and I passed him the drenched top. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the agonizing pain I felt after he’d cut my shirt up and began working it around my thigh. Whether he was rushing his way through or trying to be gentle; I don’t remember. All that was constructing in my mind was white-hot pain and then throbbing when he was finished.
Daryl POV
I felt bad for the girl. She didn’t need ta be out here with me, wutn’t s’pose ta be. We lolly-gagged around and found a good lead; didn’t see a point in hurryin’ up to drop her off when we could’ve had a trail.
Now I’d fucked up and the girl couldn’t move without whimperin’. Not to mention the damn bolt in my side.
My eye trailed upwards slowly, taking in the full fifty-foot drop the two of us had been thrown down by that dumbass horse. The only way out was up and neither me or her were in any condition to climb, much less fifty-feet. The first little bit wouldn’t be so bad, but the cliff protruding near the top would be our biggest obstacle. We needed to find another way.
“Hey, wait up.” The red-head called behind me once I’d struggled up from the embankment to start searching for another way out. Small whines accompanied her as she slipped into the water behind me.
I couldn’t withhold the ragged exhales, no matter how weak they made me feel, but I found me a good walking stick. Then I heard rustling in the bushes and Libby paused her motions behind me — the lack of my crossbow was yet another obstacle I’d have to figure out before moving forward. When the noise had settled and nothing emerged, I turned to inspect Libby’s injuries as a whole for the first time. Daylight was only gonna last so long and we had a trek ahead of us. She seemed to be moving about as well as me, which ain’t sayin’ much. Her body was covered in scrapes, and bruises were starting to appear all around — she looked like shit.
She stumbled towards the creek without saying a word and plunged in, working her way to the area where we’d landed. “You good?” I asked, not entirely sure what she was doing.
By the time it clicked, she’d already responded that she was looking for our weapons. It was apparently obvious that I was reaching for my bow.
I took one last look at the hill we’d have to climb before joining her in her search. I was glad she kicked things into gear without needing complete direction, she just started doing. Even if she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to the outdoors, she tried. I could appreciate that.
After five minutes of digging around in the murky water, she’d found her bow but I ain’t had any luck. I tried telling her to go take a rest, but she wouldn’t listen to me. The stubborn girl kept searching like her life depended on it til I finally knocked on something with my stick. It was embarrassing how hard it was for me to pick up my crossbow, it suddenly weighed me down like I was a little kid.
Libby scrambled beside me and we worked our way to the hill that we’d need to ascend in order to escape our current situation. I tried not to think about the close proximity in which we’d grown accustomed to over the last several hours; her body shifting in front of mine as we left the farm, securing my kills on a necklace-like rope around her neck, leaning against one another to move around, feather-light touches while inspecting each others wounds. It was a lot -- I wasn’t used to the constant physical presence like that. And I didn’t necessarily mind it. It was always me and Merle before all this (the end of the world), and he wutn’t a touchy or comforting kind of brother. Not that I needed it or anything— I was fine on my own, but Libby was nice to have around. The closeness was just - new.
Once we were both passably steady on our feet, she gave me some version of a smile. It was small -- weak, but it knotted something inside of me to get us both out of here. “Any awesome plan you’ve thought up? Or are we really about to climb a mountain?” Libby asked, somehow still pulling off a humorous tone.
One glance up the ledge, then back down at her, I ran my palm over my face in frustration. There were no other options. None that would have us back on the farm by nightfall at least, and we didn’t stand a chance out here without any real weapons. “I’ll go up ahead of you, make sure we got some good ground under us.” I moved towards the base of the hill, not looking forward to moving further up.
Not five minutes later and I was struggling to keep my balance. Moanin’ like a damn bitch in heat to stay steady and find some solid dirt to plant my feet on. I’s usin’ this fuckin’ walking stick to bear my entire weight knowin’ damn well it was doin’ more harm than good. Ain’t no way in hell I was gonna make it up without some sort of support though. The bolt in my side hurt like a bitch, made my entire waist throb anytime I let out a breath, and my head was achin’ somethin’ awful. Still — I pressed on, cause ain’t nobody comin’ out to get me. S’just me and Libby out here. Each time I pressed my stick into the ground, I heaved myself up about a foot or two. Libby wasn’t far behind me, somehow managing to power through her own pain and pull up on whatever she could grab ahold of. She wutn’t jokin’ when she said she had nice arms, cause them’s the only thing’s movin’ her. The girl had some upper body strength, that’s for damn sure.
We worked our way up a little further and the incline increased a bit when we reached a rift where some branchy trees peaked out. Ain’t no damn way they was gonna support my weight. But I’ll be damned if that girl wutn’t pullin’ herself alongside me. “If you can manage another five feet with just the stick, there’s a ledge you can get a better grip on.” She nodded towards something I couldn’t see very well, but I didn’t have many choices but to trust her. “I probably can’t catch you if you fall, but uh, I can be a cushion just in case.” Her soft voice muttered out when I dug the stick into the ground and moved ahead of her once more.
“We might as well say our last words girl.” I said between grunts, “Cause we ain’t gonna get back up after another fall.”
Libby giggled behind me, actually giggled, in a time like this. I almost wanted to bark something back about this not bein’ a joke, but ain’t no point in upsettin’ her right now. “I mean, if we’re confessing our sins or whatever, I’ll have you know that I may have told you to think about me while I showered, but I’m pretty sure it was the other way around.” If I hadn’t just reached that ledge she’d been talkin’ about, I might’a just fell out.
She was so — frustrating. We almost just died and she’s talkin’ about sex like it was on her regular to-do list. Thinkin’ bout me while she’s in the shower, my ass. I didn’t need that image in my head right now. “Shut up.” I called back to her, not nearly as harsh as I wanted to. But she listened. I looked down at her briefly to see whether she was truly offended by my words or not - not like I cared - but I didn’t need her gettin’ emotional. Libby held onto a tree behind me though, that same small smile on her face.
Looking down past her, I saw that we were nearly halfway up, but it felt like it was a million years away. If I could just maneuver myself up a little further, there was a clear path of trees and brush— but the soil only got looser the more I tried digging my stick into it. We were essentially vertical at this point and no matter how tough she may be, neither of us could stay that way for much longer. I was soaked with sweat, blood, and muddy water, but surprisingly the pain in my side had subsided; or gone numb. Assessing my situation, I knew I’d have to some how pull past the godforsaken skinny tree in-front of me and this stick wutn’t doin’ me no good anymore, so I tossed it. “Y’alright?” I asked Libby, who seemed to be taking a breather.
“I’ve been better, but I think I’ll make it.”
I nodded at her response, glad she wasn’t giving up on me yet. Facing the obstacle ahead of me again, I grunted, not looking forward to moving. As a matter of fact, I could feel my body buckling, “Oh, come on,” I muttered to myself, “you’ve done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy.” I slung my arm up, making a weak attempt at pulling myself further up before the soil gave way underneath my feet.
.i don’t want to be anything, but i would do anything just to runaway.
Notes:
so, we are gonna vibe in Daryl’s pov for a while because his internal emotions matter and their bonding does too!
Chapter 10: His grotesque sense of style
Summary:
I watched his mouth open to say something but it closed again, he answered me with just a few nods. “You good?” He asked me, that blank stare finally leaving his eyes.
“Mhm,” I squeezed his arm in reassurance, glad that he seemed to be back on planet earth, “Let’s get back before we lose the light.”
“Yes m’am.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.we lay here for years or for hours, thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw.
Daryl POV
It took no time for us to undo what we’d worked so hard to accomplish. I wanted to sit up, check on Libby, find out if I’s paralyzed or not, but I couldn’t. The only reason I knew I wutn’t dead was cause I kept comin in and outta consciousness — for how long, I wasn’t sure. Maybe a couple minutes, maybe an hour, all I was aware of was the throbbing pain in my side had restarted again and there were blue skies above me.
One minute I was lying in the dirty water; the next I was trying to keep my eyes open because I’d heard a sound; then Merle was kneeling over me -- because of course he was. "Why don't you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better."
"Merle." I think I managed his name out.
"What's goin' on here?" he asked, I could feel his eyes looking me over. “You takin' a siesta or somethin'?"
"Havin' a shitty day, bro."
"Like me to get your pillow? Maybe rub your feet?"
"Screw you."
"Uh-uh. You're the one that's screwed from the looks of it. All them years I spent tryin' to make a man of you. This what I get?” He was lookin’ me over again— I probably did look like shit, “Look at you. Lyin' in the dirt like a used rubber... you gonna die out here, little brother. And for what?"
"A girl.” I groaned. “They lost a little girl."
"So you got a thing for little girls now?"
"Shut up."
"'Cause I noticed you ain't out lookin' for ol' Merle no more."
"Tried like hell to find you, bro."
"Like hell you did. You split, man. Lit out first chance you got."
“You lit out. All you had to do was wait.” I made a weak attempt at arguing. It was always useless to argue with Merle. “We went back for you. Rick and I, we did right by you."
"This the same Rick that cuffed me to the rooftop in the first place?" Merle shot back with more force than I cared to pay attention to. "Forced me to cut off my own hand? This him we're talkin' 'bout here? You his bitch now?"
"I ain't nobody's bitch."
"You're a joke is what you are, playin' errand boy to a buncha pansy asses, niggers, 'n Democrats. You’re nothin' but a fuckin’ freak to them. Redneck trash. That's all you are. Yeah, they're laughin' at you behind your back. You know that, don't you? Even that pretty little red head.” He sneered, but the mention of Libby almost made me ask him to check on her. He’d only tease me more though, so I didn’t bother. “What, you think you gon' bring that little girl back? Maybe sweet Libby’ll let ya get your dick wet again? Got a little news for you, son. One of these days, they gon' scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit."
My consciousness began slipping again, fading deeper into whatever hole I was in until he smacked me awake, "Hey! They ain't your kin. Your blood. Hell, you had any fuckin’ nuts in that sack of yours, you'd go back there 'n shoot your pal Rick in the face for me. Now you listen to me. Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Ain't nobody ever will. Come on. Get up on your feet 'fore I have to kick your teeth in. Let's go."
Then he’s jerking at my leg, determined to get me up, and I hear my name being called by the sweetest voice. It sounded like milk; I could lull into a peaceful sleep if Libby would just stop hollering so loud. Libby. The world stopped all at once and I came back to earth. It was all a figment of my imagination, he wasn’t there. It was a walker clawing at my leg instead. I shoved my foot down, knocking the geek off me as I mustered up all the strength I had to reach for my crossbow. Once I grabbed it though, the dead bastard was grabbing at my arms. All I had for defense were my hands and a stick, there must have been a group of them too - cause I could see out my peripheral that Libby was struggling with one as well, while another lay dead a few feet away from where I’d been laying.
I managed to overpower the geek I’d been going at it with, pounding the stick into its face. Just as I was done with that one though, another stumbled out the trees. Not giving much thought other than surviving, I began yanking the arrow through my body. It burnt like hell, but the adrenaline must’ve been pumping a lot of that pain away considering I loaded the bolt with only a minor struggle.
I looked to Libby after I’d fired the bolt to see if she was okay, only to find her with her head between her knees, panting for breath. “You okay?” She asked, not bothering to look up.
“Yeah,” I collapsed flat on my back, “you?” Blood was pouring out my side, I knew that much, and I was slipping again.
When my stream on consciousness focused again, Libby was kneeling over me this time. One hand was on my neck while the other was pressing against the wound at my side. I could’ve laid in that position for a lot longer if the impending lack of light wasn’t upon us. Her delicate fingers were working against my skin so well, and fuck I was such a little bitch. I didn’t need her to take care of me. “Hell’re you doin’ girl?” I spat out, pushing her back. For the first time, she flinched back at my words, and fuck it all if I didn’t feel like a piece of shit.
“I’m sorry,” Her voice was small. “You’ve been in and out since we fell, and that last time you knocked out pretty hard. Probably from taking out that arrow. I was just checking on you, making sure you were okay.” The way the words spilled from her lips all at once, not a single breath was taken in between, I ain’t ever seen her so skittish. “I’m sorry.”
I’s bein’ a dick, but I wasn’t sure how to apologize to her, so I just shook my head before I started examining her new injuries. The most prominent being on the front of her right shoulder: a reddish purple bruise that was bubbling up into a knot. That and a busted forehead, but it was probably superficial.
“You been awake the whole time?” I asked, sitting upright and crawling lamely to the base of the hill we’d tumbled down.
Her smile wasn’t present anymore, but she responded quickly, “Mhm. I was checking on you and you responded a little, which I thought was a good sign. Then four of those bastards came out of no where — I only got my knife, and you were talking to yourself, and then the walker got on top of you, and…” she blinked back tears, her thumb coming to scratch at her hand like it had earlier that day while we were still safely on the horse. When she was anxious. “I thought you got bit. You were talking, but you weren’t listening — I couldn’t make it over to you in time Daryl. I tried to keep you safe and I couldn’t, and I’m sorry.” And there were the tears, streaming hot down her face.
No point in wastin’ time talkin’ when I could be gettin’ shit done though -- so I unbuttoned my flannel and began folding it up, “It’s fine Libs,” I put the folded up shirt directly around my wound, tying it in place with the sleeves that I’d already been using. “Y’ain’t gotta worry bout me.” I inspected my new dressing and rolled my eyes, “Son of a bitch was right.” I mumbled to myself, thinking back to that hallucination.
“Don’t say that.” She snapped, stopping my actions. Libby’d been lookin’ at me all sad and shit since I started moving around again. “I am worrying about you Daryl. You’re important, so don’t tell me not to worry about you. I thought you died, and I was mentally preparing myself to stab you through the head.” In the condition she was in, crying made her look like more of a mess: Dirt, grime, and gore covered her face while she was rubbing it all in, trying to clear her eyes of the tears. “You can be an asshole if you want, but you don’t get to tell me not to worry.”
My eyes diverted from her, guilt for making her so upset rose in my gut and I unintentionally began chewing on my bottom lip. Why’d I matter so much to her anyways? She ain’t helpless — she could probably pull herself outta here quicker than I can. It’s not like she’s doubling over in pain anymore.
It took her a mere two minutes to get up and urge me to follow her. To my own shock, I didn’t flinch away when she reached for my hand -- like she hadn’t just gotten emotional over me snapping at her -- and guided me to a log not far from where we’d gotten comfortable. We probably looked pitiful to a passerby(if there was one); leaning dependently on one another to just make it a couple of feet. After we’d adjusted ourselves on the fallen log, I recognized the string of squirrels that she once had around her neck. “We need to eat something, we both lost a lot of blood and resting isn’t in our near future. We need to at least get something in our stomachs.”
“You go swimmin’ for these?”
“My uncle had said something about squirrels being relatively safe to eat without cooking if you need to when he was cleaning some one time.” She shrugged, passing me her knife. “I didn’t pay any attention to how to clean one though.”
“Uncle was a smart man.” I mumbled, cracking open the squirrel, shocked that she was watching my hands work so intently. Anytime I glanced up at her, she was focused, but had a far-off look in her eyes. Probably cause I’s such an asshole to her. “How long d’you say ya lived with him?” I didn’t really care — girls liked to talk though. At least I think they did.
“Fourteen.”
“You and your sister?” Finally, something other than that damn blank stare. She looked at me, scrunched eyebrows, kinda cute in a weird sorta way. “Y’said somethin’ bout yer sister back in Atlanta, when we’s lookin’ for Merle.”
She seemed to accept that as reasonable explanation. Not that it mattered that much to me or anything. But her eyes face did relax more, and that’s what I was aiming for. “Nope. Just me. My sisters are a lot older than me— they were out the house by that point.”
I found myself asking how much older, curious if their age gap was similar to mine and Merle’s. Eleven and sixteen years. The little smile she gave me when I told her that I was the youngest by eleven years too was enough to satisfy me. She was more at ease and maybe she didn’t see me as that big of a dick anymore. I didn’t want to be — not to her; she didn’t deserve it.
Libby popped the piece of meat I placed in her palm into her mouth, shuddering as it went down, but didn’t complain. Not a bit. She didn’t even look at me funny when I licked my fingers clean of the unfavorable source of protein.
“How old are you?” She asked when she’d finished with her serving. “No, wait; let me guess.” I suddenly felt immensely uncomfortable with the way her eyes took in every single feature of my body. Something inside of me depleted — knowing that she’d find something wrong with me at such close inspection. “Definitely between like, thirty-five and forty-five,” a few more seconds passed, “forty-two?”
“Why’s it matter?” I scoffed, but my interest was piqued.
Libby POV
I shrugged casually at his question, not totally keen on telling him I’d gossiped to Glenn about our situationship. “You know mine, I’m not allowed to know yours?”
“Forty-two in February.”
Daryl was such a peculiar man; eyeing me like finding out how old he was might make me flinch back in disgust. What would it actually take for him to realize I think he’s attractive? I’d already spread my legs for him. Most guys would take that as a clear indication of interest.
Daryl Dixon wasn’t most guys though. Far from it.
That had been the end of our conversation, and I was just thankful he’d leaned into my curiosity. Between downing a couple more random arrangements of squirrel guts and rinsing it down with bacteria infested water, my thigh and shoulder had both began numbing down. The impact of Daryl’s boot crashed on the front of my shoulder when he first slipped, and I honestly hadn’t even realized the intensity of the bruise until I saw his gaze lingering there. I’d made it clear to him that I was going up first this time though — if he fell again, I could manage my way back down by my own accord. With any luck, there wouldn’t be another fall.
My injuries probably couldn’t take it. Sure, I was powering through, but a lot of that was just for my companion. Seeing that walker on top of him -- chomping down on his foot -- it was horrifying. In those following moments, I didn’t know whether or not I’d have to go back to the farm all by myself and break the news to the others. I wouldn’t let him turn; it’s not what he would want, he’d said as much. The pain I felt, was at the back of my mind and I hoped it would stay that way. Just long enough to get out of these goddamn woods and back to Hershel and the rest of the group. Maybe Sophia would be there this time. We’d found her doll — she could be happy about that.
Daryl grunted loudly as he heaved himself up from the log and made his way over to that very doll I’d just been thinking of; it must have slipped out the loop in his pants during that last fall. He tucked it right back in though, and continued over to the geeks.
I thought my squirrel necklace was an unconventional fashion choice, but Daryl continued to surprise me with his grotesque sense of style. For the next fifteen minutes he got to work with his knife, hacking off the ears of the expired walkers, and stringing them onto one of the owners bootlaces, before tying it around his neck. A trophy. An ear necklace. A symbol of his near death experience. (As if he wouldn’t have scars to show for it already). That should’ve likely been the moment when I decided entirely against him as a crush; key word should’ve. Instead, I was even more interested. Not necessarily out of attraction for the strange and unusual, but what made him tick that way. Yes— I still found him physically attractive; now though, I was attracted to what might be underneath it all. A man doesn’t just waste time cutting off ears of dead people for the sheer pleasure in doing so.
After he’d secured his items, I noticed I’d just been sitting there watching him like a weirdo. Not like he had any room to talk though. Fucking ear necklace.
The second I shimmied off the log, I fell to the sandy floor in raging agony. Curses flew from my mouth quicker than Daryl limped his way over to me. “Son of a fucking fuck,” I cried, my hands flying to the back of my thigh at once. “Fuck me, fuck.” So much for that hope of the numbness lasting til the farm.
“Shit, Libs, damn.” He tried to steady me, but I was belly down on the ground, barely supporting myself with my knees. “Shit, girl. Hold up.” His words were frantic and I couldn’t see what he was doing; just the sounds of him whining in pain, a few rips, and then the pressure on my thigh became firmer. His face eased down next to mine — if he was any other man he might’ve brushed pieces of my hair back and soothed me a little. This was Daryl though, “That cut on ya thigh ain’t lookin’ hot. We needa head out ‘fore it gets worse. C’mon, I gotcha.” As if he, himself hadn’t been suffering a bit, he snaked his neck underneath my arm and began pulling me up with whatever strength he had left.
Every fiber of me wanted to remain on the ground. To become one with the sand; mold into a tiny grain and coexist for the rest of eternity. Daryl wasn’t going to let me though. He’d keep disrupting my wants with his own, and part of me thought he’d carry me up that incline if I wouldn’t cooperate, (Or die trying). So I complied, and pushed through the pain.
We scrambled over to the bottom of the hill where I could lean more comfortably against a tree. Comfortable was a very vague term in that context; I was just more satisfied knowing that the tree wouldn’t buckle if I put my entire weight on it for support. I couldn’t trust my thigh or Daryl for that.
“You think you can climb it?” Daryl asked me, his eyes creasing nearly shut as he paid close attention to my injured leg.
I didn’t want to think too hard on it -- not when he was looking at my thigh with such a ghostly expression. Getting in my head would only cause more peril, “Don’t have a choice,” I sent him the closest thing to a smile that I could manage before locating my bow a few feet away from me. The moment of truth. I hobbled over, doing my absolute best to ignore the pain I’d desperately wished would’ve stayed numb, and holstered it onto my back.
Daryl nodded at me once I had reached the base of the incline, and my confidence soared. In a time like this, the hunger for any sort of approval powered me through. The first stage of our journey uphill would be simple, it was the second that I was worried about. Nevertheless, I was determined to make this journey a success. With nothing but fierce impediments ahead of me, it was hard to stay in that headstrong mindset, but I had to.
We found Sophia’s doll.
We nearly died and it had to mean something.
Daryl POV
Libby was somethin’ else.
That gash on her thigh wasn’t doin’ good at all, it was no doubt infected. The shirt I’d wrapped around it had loosened up, probably causin’ all kinds of problems. But there was Libby, two feet at a time, pullin’ herself up the hill like it was nothin’. If we weren’t in such a rough predicament, maybe I would’ve paused to admire her for a few seconds. Stupid of me to even think that though— she’d be done with me soon enough.
The steepness of the incline was starting to rev up, and I began getting winded. Fuckin’ pitiful. I wutn’t gonna let some damn hill kick my ass.
The cawing of birds shook both me and the red-head in front of me. It reminded me of the ones that had flown from the branches and spooked the skittish horse earlier— how Libby had gotten so nervous; nearly bounding off the thing. Now she was climbing a steep fifty-feet with a bundle of injuries. Her fear of the horse had to of been a mere memory. She was tough. I hadn’t even realized she’d moved on, til a perturbing voice called down to me, causing me to look up from where I’d paused.
“Please, don’t feed the birds.”
Five more feet. That was it— just five more feet. Libby must’ve already gone over the ledge. I hope she had at least. I’s fading again and she coulda fell for all I knew.
"Oh, what's the matter, Darylina?" Merle taunted me, cackling a little as he did. “That all you got in you? Throw away that purse and climb."
I looked at my surroundings frantically, willing myself to make it that five feet. His fuckin’ laughing pissed me off. "I liked it better when you was missin'.”
Another god damn laugh "C'mon, don't be like that, I'm on your side."
"Yeah?" I panted, hunting for something to pull me up, "since when?"
"Hell, since the day you were born, baby brother, somebody had to look after your worthless ass."
"You never took care of me," I snapped. “You talk a big game, but you’s never there. Hell, you ain't here now. Guess some things never change."
He was sayin’ shit to piss me off. I knew it -- just as much as I knew this was just a figment of my imagination. Merle ain’t there. Libby was though. She was over that edge, waiting for me to pull myself up. She’s waiting for me.
"Well, I'll tell you what," he smiled coyly, crouching down as I struggled to get to the top, “I'm as real as your chupacabra.”
"I know what I saw."
"Yeah, n’ I'm sure them shrooms you ate had nothin' to do with it, right?"
"You best shut the hell up!"
"Or what?" he taunted even louder. "You gon' come up here 'n shut my mouth for me? Well, come on 'n do it then, you think you're man enough," he chuckled, really getting off on my pain, “Hey! Kick of them damn high heels 'n climb, son. Me n’ red might get busy if ya take too long.”
Why? Why did it have to be him that showed up?
His laughing; watching; waiting; taunting. I could do this without him, I didn’t need him. I’s more than just a piece of trash for him to keep kicking around.
"You know what? If I were you, I'd take a pause for the cause, brother. 'Cause I just don't think you gon' make it to the top." He continued on with his bullshit. This was a different kind of hallucination than anything shrooms could do; this was authentic. I half expected him to kick my fingers from the ledge and make me redo my journey yet again. "Come on!" Merle fake soothed. "Come on, little brother. Grab your friend Rick's hand."
Bullshit
I felt the turn of soil underneath my palms. The radiating pain in my side reminded me that I was still alive. One more push, just one more. Then there was Libby.
The wavy-haired red-head, peering into my soul like I’d gone mad, all while doing her damndest to pull me further up. I could tell she was worried about me falling back by how tight her grip was around my arm, but I wutn’t goin’ anywhere. Except to chase that piece of shit shadow away — the one that had already disappeared. "Yeah, you better run!" I hollered, looking past Libby and into the barren woods. If she didn’t think I’s crazy before, she did now.
“Dar,” she soothed me, really soothed me. Checking over my body for further injury. “Hey, you okay?”
Libby POV
He chewed at his bottom lip, staring at me blankly. I’d listened to him have it out with someone that wasn’t there for the past five minutes, and the entire time I was worried he was going to pass out. The last time he talked to himself like that had been on the creek bed when he was in and out of consciousness.
I watched his mouth open to say something but it closed again, he answered me with just a few nods. “You good?” He asked me, that blank stare finally leaving his eyes.
“Mhm,” I squeezed his arm in reassurance, glad that he seemed to be back on planet earth, “Let’s get back before we lose the light.”
“Yes m’am.”
Of all times he could say that to me, of all times, it had to be in the most diabolical situation we’d experienced as of yet. I couldn’t even enjoy it to its fullest with how utterly exhausted I was.
We walked in parallel silence, pausing several times to take a breather, and use each other for support. Hours passed — but we were making it. Slow and steady progress was still progress. Creaking trees, a few squirrels that Daryl made no attempts at mauling, and most importantly - - zero walkers. It may not have been the luckiest time for either of us, but we’d at least gotten by with only the few in the gorge earlier that day.
The lack of adrenaline and need to fight for my life had heightened the pain in my thigh and shoulder. My shoulder especially. I hadn’t realized how horrible it felt until I was able to focus on it, and unlike my thigh, I could see this injury.
Daryl had nailed me hard. A huge knot had formed about an inch under my collarbone and the shades of purples and pinks were that of a princess’ wardrobe. Like most girls, mysterious bruises appearing all over my body was nothing new. Even nasty looking ones that my uncle always had the need to ask, ’Now if someone’s hittin’ you at work Libs, you better say something’, I just never knew where they came from. This one — I might have had to really question my previous nights activities if it just randomly appeared.
“How much further we got?” Daryl asked, knocking my focus from the pain. I scrunched my eyebrows and looked at him in confusion. Was he slipping again? He was the expert. “Libs?” He asked again, flinging his hand up a little. “You gon’ answer?”
I shifted my gaze to the setting sun — we had about thirty minutes left until it disappeared. The ground didn’t have any tracks that I could make out, but if we were going towards the farm already then we’d be facing south. I worked out the measurements of time and relative distance in my head for a few minutes. “No more than ten minutes.” With each word I said, a smile brightened on my face.
He hummed in approval.
That son of a bitch already knew where we were.
Both of us quickened our gimpy stride ahead; the promise of getting our wounds treated and something decent to eat, lit the fuse. Not five minutes later we stumbled out of the tree line. And when I say stumble, I mean stumble. This was the largest clearing we’d come into and we finally decided to break away from leaning on one another. I was practically pulling one of my legs with all the strength I still had, lagging a foot or two behind Daryl. He wasn’t doing much better than me; slinging his arm around lazily, leaning more to his injured side, and dragging his crossbow behind him.
When part of our group ran to us, I was ready to throw my arms around whoever was closest. Glenn, T, Shane, and Rick though — they were all armed, ready to attack us at the drop of a hat. If Daryl so much as grunted, I feared they’d mistake it as a growl and knock him dead in his tracks.
“Liberty?” Shane asked, dropping his weapon.
“That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head, you gon' pull the trigger or what?" Daryl asked, who I could only assume was Rick, as he was the only one with a gun.
I opened my mouth to inform Glenn that I had some exciting stories to tell him about my adventures - but all that came out was a loud shriek after a gunshot rang. My companion; my partner; my trauma-bonded buddy; had just been dropped effortlessly to the ground by gunfire. We’d gone through hell and back together, and he’d just— thudded.
The next few seconds were blurry. Somehow, Daryl managed some kind of snarky remark to being shot — which eased my worry a little. Then T pointed out the doll that we’d rescued. At some point Glenn’s neck was under my arm, supporting me on the short journey back to the farmhouse.
“Libby, what the hell happened?” Rick asked, once both Daryl and I had been plopped upon a bed in a random room of the farmhouse. This place was amazing— beautiful. I wondered how many bedrooms it was full of; and all the memories. “Libby? Hey, you with me?” The same man asked again.
Patricia worked on unwrapping my thigh, the pain stung even harsher than when the injury took place. I was made to roll onto my stomach— in doing so, I saw that Daryl was still unconscious, but breathing. Hershel was maneuvering around all the blood that covered Daryl’s face, and for the first time I realized just how dead we must’ve looked. They’d mistaken us for walkers; rightfully so. My cheek was pressed against the plush pillow, facing my partner through all of this, happy that we were still alive… then fingers prodded around my thigh and I cried out like a little kid. My eyes squeezed shut and my body shook full of sobs; even the hand that had unconsciously reached to grab mine couldn’t soothe me.
.so long, we’d become the flowers, two corpses we were, two corpses i saw.
Notes:
We love accidentally trauma-bonding with someone just to watch them get shot when your finally in the clear lmaooo.
Chapter 11: he’s my friend, it’s fine!
Summary:
“Y’ain’t been up five minutes n’ yer already goin’ on?”
“Be nice to me. I’m injured.” I pouted.
Notes:
TW// mentions of sexual assault on a minor
Chapter Text
.oh, been breaking daily, but only me can save me.
I’d toppled down dozens of feet, twice, fought walkers, and walked miles back, only to faint from some pain. It was stupid of me to think that I was weak - I know. My body had gone through a plethora of things that it wasn’t designed to withstand. I should give myself a little grace, but it infuriated me.
The sound of a door opening was the first noise I heard when I woke and the shifting from the opposite side of the bed riled me enough to stay awake. Good to know I wasn’t the only one still laid up. I didn’t dare peel my eyes open yet; after all, this wasn’t a movie, and I was adjusting to exiting a peaceful slumber.
"As good as I look," Daryl responded to somebody, but I could not quite make out who yet.
"I brought ya’ll some dinner," Carol said, the clinking of what I could assume was said ‘dinner’ echoed within the walls, “Y’all must be starving."
A brief silence passed, "Watch out, I got stitches.” Daryl muttered.
"You need to know something. You two did more for my little girl today than her own daddy ever did in his whole life." Hearing her say that made my heart ache for many different reasons — a large part being that I related to Sophia on a deep level. I’d been there before - not lost in the forest, but at the endless hands of abuse from my father.
"Didn’t do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't have done.”
"I know.” She responded quickly, “You’re every bit as good as them. Every bit."
And he was. Maybe even better. I’d witnessed what was probably a rare side of Daryl earlier that day -- a vulnerable, raw, and unguarded version that likely didn’t see the light of day regularly. The partnership that we’d formed might deplete once day breaks, but we bonded during those hours under the sweltering Georgia sun, and we witnessed sides of each other that dissipated in front of others.
In front of ourselves.
Daryl POV
I did more for that little girl than her own daddy did cause her own daddy was a piece’a shit.
Before I turned back over, I eyed the food suspiciously — I ain’t ever been brought nothin’ like that before. Didn’t matter how sick I was. I tried to convince myself that most of it was for Libby, but there were two plates stacked full of the same amount of food. I rolled over to check on the redhead again - diverting my attention from the hunger in the pit of my stomach. I’d eat when she was good and awake, too.
She’d been out for about an hour or two now; fainted when that woman started workin’ on her thigh apparently. With how nasty that gash appeared to be, I don’t blame her for passing out. Her cries had been what brought me to, while the doctor was cleaning my wounds. She sounded broke apart - like she was dyin’. Only thing I could do was hold her hand, not that that would really provide a buncha comfort, but girls liked that kind of stuff n’ I just wanted her to stop cryin’. It didn’t piss me off, but it just - I don’t know - it made me angry that she was in so much pain.
S’dumb; I don’t understand it.
I don’t understand why I’m staring at her like a creep right now, either. The whole time Carol was in here I’s waitin’ on her to leave just so I could turn and watch her again. Wutn’t like she was gonna die if I looked away for a few minutes, but something in me worried that it might actually happen.
Libby POV
Squeezing my eyes tight, I felt the mattress readjust next to me right before I opened them.
My cheek was still pressed into the pillow, and the man who’d been unconscious last I saw was staring at the ceiling. I shifted some - giving him a hint at the new focused presence in the room. But I knew that he already knew I was awake.
“Anything fun happen since I’ve been out?” My mouth felt like sandpaper when I finally spoke, regretting opening my mouth instantly.
Daryl didn’t move an inch; he just stayed focused on the ceiling as though his life depended on it. There wasn’t a set template on how to begin a conversation with someone who had gone through what we’d gone through together just a couple of hours prior, so I settled on just staring at him.
He’d gotten his head wrapped up nicely, and it was no secret that he was shirtless - with a puncture wound to the abdomen, it only made sense. The sheets were pulled all the way up to his chest, though, as if he were self-conscious. Daryl, of all people, had no reason to be self conscious about his body -- but who am I to tell him that? All people have things they’re insecure about; it sucks, but it’s true. He also looked exceptionally cleaned up, and I couldn’t stop the small smile from cracking on my lips when I pictured somebody giving him a sponge bath before dread loomed over me.
“Ya just gonna stare at me all night?” Daryl blurted but remained still.
Deep down, I knew l shouldn’t tease him — it was inappropriate and uncalled for… that didn’t change the opportunity he’d left open for me, “I’d love to do some other things with you all night, unfortunately we’re both out of commission for a couple days.” And in the dim lit room, I saw Daryl Dixon blush.
“Shut up.” He scoffed - but I could see the shadowy glimpse of his lips turning up.
I sighed deeply while kicking his foot under the thin, sheet-like blanket we shared, “Seriously though, anything new? Are we grounded? Are we dying? Is that water over there? Did Andrea apologize?”
Bloviating a repetition of questions might not of been the best way to engage him in conversation — but it worked.
“Y’ain’t been up five minutes n’ yer already goin’ on?”
“Be nice to me. I’m injured.” I pouted.
Once turned on his side to face me, Daryl began peering into my soul - a horrible habit he has. There was an unfathomable craving, deep-rooted inside me, to know what all waltzed within the brinks of his mind when he stared like that. His eyes routinely squinted, while the seemingly always chapped lips drew in a loose, speculative line, and his eyebrows moved just a little bit closer together. I was under a microscope until he deemed fit - his criteria a mystery.
“Carol brought the food,” he pushed himself up into an upright position, pulling the blanket with him.
I smiled weakly when he checked to see how well I was managing to copy his movements, and while it took me some more time, I eventually sat beside him. Daryl set up our scrumptious, most elegant dinner layout - a single tray with matching porcelain plates, forks, and clear glasses of lukewarm water. Filling the plates were: baked potatoes, green beans, corn, and seasoned chicken breast; even if it wasn’t the end of days this would have been more than a mere decent meal.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Daryl had softened ever the slightest. Ever since Merle went missing, it wasn’t a secret he’d been looking for an out — a opportunity to leave and venture off on his own. He didn’t have to go looking for Sophia, not with how organized the search was becoming, but he still did. Sure; I encouraged him to do it, but he had already seemed willing to offer his services without the push. Daryl was a good person and he’d contributed more than his fair share for our little group. There was still a long way to go mentally for someone like him - it was what I excelled at in college, he’d had a rough life. And with how we sat together now, I could see the faint outline of the scars on his back. He needed more than just some nudges in the right direction. At least for him to accept himself as a human being worth something. Everyone else had already done that.
I wanted him to see himself the way that I saw him - more than useful - valued.
We finished our supper in record time, and I hated the silence bouncing around the room. There were no guarantees, but I think we both assumed Hershel would probably be coming to check up on us within the next little while.
“Did Rick say anything about the doll?” I asked as I relaxed onto my back again, inhaling sharply at the pain.
Daryl followed suit, propping his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, “Said it cut the grid in half, then said somethin’ bout a curfew.”
I snorted, “a curfew? Like we’re teenagers again?”
“If somethin’ happens again like it did today and everyone ain’t back by the time sun gets ready to set, they’ll come lookin’” he explained. It made since — of course it did, it came from Rick. He seemed to always have a plan for everything, even when he didn’t.
“You feeling okay?”
He turned his head to look at me, “No worse for wear.”
“My ass.”
“Ain’t like I’m gonna die or nothin’.” Daryl was getting defensive, not intaking the lightheartedness of my words. “I’m fine.”
“Dar,” I rolled my head to the side to look into his eyes, “We went through a lot today. We’re allowed to be in pain.” My words came out even softer than I intended. “You’re alive, but are you feeling okay? My thigh is killing me - anytime I move my arm I’m reminded of that fucking bruise.”
I saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed harshly, then he began nodding slowly, his eyes narrowing, “M’sore all over. That graze burns like a bitch.”
Then we laid in silence again — heads facing one another, but not necessarily staring, just observing each others faces.
Hershel eventually came in and he looked pleased to see I was awake. After checking that all was well with my wounds, I was briefed on what procedures had been done on me. Stitches - and lots of them. My ankle swole back up, so it now had a wrap on it with order to keep it elevated. There wasn’t much that could be done for the bruise on my shoulder, but he’d like to keep an eye on it just in case.
“Patricia will be by with some fresh clothes of Maggie’s and some water for a sponge bath,” he eyed me carefully, “I’m sorry we don’t have anymore spare beds.”
Before I let those words settle too much I dismissed him, “He’s my friend, it’s fine!” Smiling my most dazzling smile, I continued, “I’m afraid of sleeping in unfamiliar places alone anyways, so it’s good that he’s here.” That part was a lie, but I didn’t need this man thinking ill of Daryl. Especially not when the man in question looked as uncomfortable as he did in that moment.
“I’ll send some pain medicine and antibiotics as well. The sore on your thigh isn’t pretty.” And with that, he left.
A few seconds of silence passed, before I tried to relieve any tension that had trickled its way into the room, and partially as my own distraction, “Still not a cuddler?”
Daryl scoffed, not giving me a response to the question I already knew the answer to.
With him not biting the bait, I struggled to shove the unwelcome thoughts away. A sponge bath. Or a whore-bath as my dad called it. You’re assisted in stripping off the barrier between you and another person, then you allow said person to scrub you reasonably clean with soap and water, finally they’ll help you redress and then they’ll be on their way out. Unless of course — you’re my dad. My sponge baths went many different ways, but none of them involved getting clean.
Any trivial impairment called for a whore-bath. And that was convenient considering a large percentage of my injuries were inflicted by the man himself. Most of the abuse I endured in those later years had just been excuses for being continuously stripped of my innocence.
Patricia knocked on the door before opening it, Maggie shadowing behind her with a deep, plastic container full of soapy water. Patricia held two glasses of water and had bundles of clothes under her arm. She settled the glasses on my nightstand, slipping me two pills after, to which I was grateful. I insisted relentlessly that I’d be fine giving myself a little wash. The younger woman repeated my injuries to me, reminding me that I shouldn’t be on my feet, but I persisted I’d be okay. Though reluctant; Maggie agreed - as long as I promised to holler if I needed any help.
Even though I promise…I wouldn’t keep it. I felt guilty.
Once the women left, I remained on the mattress; scared to get up and almost regretting my decision. How I climbed out of that ravine - I don’t know. I’d stretched myself so far, maybe even too far. But getting bathed like that — it was too much for me to handle. I couldn’t do it.
Pushing myself back to a sitting position, I began easing my way to the edge of the bed to test the waters. Daryl shifted upright behind me as well, but he didn’t make any other moves. I couldn’t see him -- still, I knew he was staring at me. “Who gave you a sponge bath?” I snarked. When I slid off the bed it made the back of my thigh sting sensationally.
“Nobody. I did that shit myself.” He retorted, just as my bare feet made contact with the floor. I wobbled over to the chair where my change of clothes and water sat, shakily removing my shorts. “Libs, yer gonna fall.” Daryl was tossing the blanket to the opposite side of the bed in my peripheral.
Tears pricked in my eyes, pain coursing through my body, “I’ve got it.” I snapped, right as he started out the bed.
“Y’ain’t got it, girl.” He snapped back. Daryl was moving slow, but a lot more steady than I had been.
I was emotional, embarrassed, and ashamed. My bones ached - I wanted to crumple.
“I want to do it myself.” I squeaked. “Please,” When my eyes squeezed shut to hold back tears, a sob shook through me.
“Libs,” I flinched away when his hand brushed along my upper back. “Libby, c’mon. Sit down and do it.” He urged, but he didn’t touch me again. Seconds went by before I opened my eyes, but when I did I saw Daryl bent over in front of me, grabbing the clothes and washcloths from the floor. Salt water ran into the edge of my lips - this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. But the man tossed the fabric onto the mattress before he began toting the water towards the nightstand, wincing as he did so. “Come on.” He called from his side of the bed.
By this point, the tears that flowed down my cheeks had started drying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Just come sit,” as if to instruct me in how to do so, he sat on the mattress then patted the spot next to him. “You want me to leave?”
Did I?
There was nothing wrong with Daryl - he’d done everything right; at least to the best of his ability. Though it was still touchy, I struggled over to the spot on the bed. Instant relief as I sat down.
“Don’t go.” I said, a notch above a whisper.
Daryl looked away as I took the rest of the disgusting, sorry excuses for clothes off. Despite the fact that he’d seen me naked, it was a notion of human-decency and I admired the token of respect.
When I began scrubbing away, I grimaced at the sight of my shoulder; a watercolor of the most grotesque pinks and blues painted on my tan skin. There was a surfeit of other similar bruises on a smaller scale scattered around my body, decorating me like an empty canvas. It was morbidly beautiful. The sudsy water had turned a murky shade of brown by the time I reached my lower areas, the dread of figuring out how to maneuver around was ever present in the pit of my belly.
Daryl moved when I moved, shadowing my sluggish motions. I knew what he was doing - spotting me just in case - I appreciated the level of concern he seemed to have for me all of a sudden.
Without asking, I used his arm to support me while I brought my injured leg onto the bed. As soon as I let him go, I regretted it instantly. My ankle buckled underneath me now that it carried my full weight, landing me in the most awkward position imaginable until Daryl shifted me upright again.
“Shit, Libs,” he groaned in my ear, obviously struggling to keep me standing. “You good?”
The sharp pain was unmanageable, lying would be futile, so I shook my head while holding back hot tears.
He ducked his head under my arm swiftly and drug me backwards a few steps until my leg fell from the bed. “C’mon Libs,” he muttered into my ear as encouragement. It was different to see and hear him like this — genuine regard for my well-being. “Lay on your stomach.” Daryl guided me forward, providing me more support to get on the bed.
He didn’t criticize my whimpers or the tears streaming down my reddened cheeks again. I felt humiliated, but his hands soothed me in such a bizarre way.
When my face hit the mattress I finally let myself breakthrough with sobs. The spot next to me dipped, but no words were said — they didn’t need to be. I didn’t feel like I needed to explain anything to him for him to know my pain wasn’t solely because of the external injuries.
So we laid there until I was finished crying. I turned my head to meet his eyes, my own were tired while his looked dim -- shallow almost. “Thank you.” My voice was hoarse and unsteady, much like my body.
“You still wanna clean that wound by yourself?”
The truth of the matter was that I did not want to clean it by myself. But I was scared and traumatized from abuse, not to mention humiliated by the fact I was laying butterball ass naked blubbering like an infant without their bottle in front of a guy I strived so hard to impress. The anxiety was building up heavily within me again just considering the prospect of accepting his help.
“I don’t,” my lips drew in a tight line, “but I’m scared.”
Daryl POV
Scared?
She wutn’t scared, she was petrified.
Liberty had been so poised all day long — even during the rough parts that would bring a lot of grown men to their knees, she stayed headstrong and confident. Sure; she had her moments, but this girl wasn’t no pansy. A little naive and cocky — not easily frightened though. Something with this whole sponge bath thing had her trembling.
“I can be quick.” I tried again. God forbid one of them people walk in on her laying facedown on the mattress, naked and weepin’ like I done hurt her or something. And she had to have been gettin’ cold. There wutn’t no heat in this house and Libby was exposed entirely. “However you want, Libs. Yer freezin’.”
Minutes passed — her sniffling died down and her brown eyes looked heavy. “Please.” I don’t think I’ll ever get over how soft her voice is, even as brittle as it was in that moment; it was so astonishingly soft.
I tried my best at giving her a bona fide smile before I left her side and began working away at the dirt that had taken home on her skin.
Never in a million years did I think I’d be bathing someone else - much less a girl like Libby. I couldn’t imagine what Merle would think about it. He’d probably give me shit; tell me I’s outta my mind doin’ scud work like this. But he wasn’t here. He wasn’t. And Liberty was - she saved my ass a couple of times already, and the least I could do is help her. It felt weird, probably something I’d never admit out loud, but I didn’t mind taking care of her.
It wasn’t my business why letting me do this was such a big deal, but I had a few guesses. She was vulnerable and defenseless; from what I’d pieced together about her life, hers wutn’t too different from mine. She was lucky though - she got out. That still don’t just erase the abuse.
I patted around her thigh with gentle hands, trying not to reignite any tears. “You want me to finished up, or just that spot?”
She took a few moments to decided, giving me the affirmative to keep going. A peculiar prick of pride beamed inside of me at the small agreement.
Libby was different — I think I could have a thing for her.
Libby POV
Daryl finished patting my back dry, then once I’d rolled over he gently pulled me up. Before I reached for the clean clothes though, he stopped me cautiously. “Y’didn’t get yer face.” His words were musing as he brought the dirty rag up to my face and began rubbing off the filth.
The way he studied my skin was reminiscent of how he got so fiercely concentrated when he was on a trail — this time his ‘trail’ being the blood and grime that covered my face. It was a strangely intimate moment; much like it had been all evening.
Our relationship altered in those hours.
I’d started my morning with the intentions of flirting with Daryl Dixon — just some lewd words and convenient touches. Now we were settling under thin blankets together after our taxing day; and he may not have been a cuddler, but he didn’t flinch away when my arm looped around his.
And for now, that was more than enough.
.so i’m capitulating, crying like a silly baby.
Chapter 12: but fuck - my stupid conscious.
Summary:
“Thank you, by the way.” I looked over to the man matching my steps. “It fits perfect.” It swallowed me whole (the flannel).
Daryl was chewing on his lip and nodded up in acknowledgement, “Looks good.” Then his face turned a deep scarlet as he lagged back a little. He was so obviously shocked by his own words. Meanwhile, butterfly wings tickled the inside of my stomach.
Daryl Dixon told me I looked good in his shirt.
Notes:
just a fun little tid bit in case anyone is interested -
I’m looking for a beta reader! this is hard work and I’d love for somebody to give me some pointers and tell me what I need improvement on!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.got a secret, can you keep it? swear this one you’ll save.
In the first minutes of consciousness, I’d felt my hair being brushed off my forehead and calloused fingers thumbing across the sore spot at the top of my eyebrow. Had it not been so chilly, maybe I’d’ve laid a little longer to relish in the tenderness of it all. Instead, I rolled away from Daryl’s touch before squeezing my eyes tightly to adjust to waking up.
“Morning, sunshine.” I mumbled before letting out an embarrassing yawn.
He didn’t respond, but I felt the bed move next to me. Deciding not to press on, I stared at the ceiling for a handful of minutes. The events that took place over the course of the last twenty-four hours settling in my mind. I’d been an emotional wreck that last hour; weak and exposed. And Daryl tended to me like a caretaker does their ward - carefully washing away my imperfections with gentle hands.
So different from how he typically was.
In light of everything that had happened, yesterday was technically a success of sorts. We found hard evidence that Sophia had been in that area. Nearly dying a few times hadn’t all been for nothing.
I began watching Daryl from the corner of my eye, as much as I enjoyed talking to him, my heart was content with staring at the ceiling with him. It was a good thing for both of us I think.
It was just nice to be together.
The sunlight shone in from the window and I wondered how our group outside was doing. Whether they were all awake now or still snoozing away in their tents and the RV. Had Rick already thought of a plan to search the area where Daryl and I had found the doll? Five days had passed since anyone had seen the little girl, she’d be starving and moving a lot slower now.
My arm fell from where it had been wrapped around Daryl’s arm as he shifted it free. As quick as he’d done that, he scooped it back up, “Damn Libs, yer freezin’,” he ran his palm up and down my arm a couple of times before moving his leg against mine, causing me to chuckle at the rushed and sudden contact. “Ya shoulda said somethin’, girl. Yer liable to get hypothermia.”
I moved back to face him, amused by the growing concern. “I’m anemic, I’m used to it by now. My immune system is shit.” Maybe if I hadn’t said that so casually he wouldn’t have given me such a wild look, but his reaction made me smile.
“Y’ain’t got a jacket?”
“I think I left it back at the CDC or maybe in my uncles truck.” I bit my lip.
I had left a lot in that Chevy, more than just a good chunk of my clothes. There were pieces of my uncle there that I would mourn forever. Since we couldn't carry a lot of things, I had to determine what would be relevant enough to bring on the road. The heat had been sweltering at the time, so a jacket didn't seem essential.
“Ya need ta ask one of them girls for a jacket Libby. And some damn pants, ain’t no reason for you to strut around in them short shorts anymore. It’s gettin’ cold.” He buzzed on some more about me needing to be responsible and to consider the weather. His hands ran over me repetitively as if they were the line between life and death.
There was no reason for him to be concerned, not really, but it was endearing that he was.
And as expected, once Hershel entered the room all traces of his skin against mine dissipated. I composed myself as well as I could — all things considered, and was pleased to have been brought some more pain medicine. After reluctantly agreeing to take it easy, Daryl insisted we were good to go back to our tents (he’d taken it upon himself to make that decision for me). The door shut a few minutes later and Daryl explained that Rick didn’t want us staying in the house any longer than we had to. Apparently things were pretty rocky with the Greene’s right now so we were keeping some distance.
Carol brought us breakfast - but saying Shane would be over to make sure we made it to camp had Daryl herding her out and kicking my ass into gear.
“C’mon girl, ain’t about ta let him come in here n’ play Superman.”
I hated him, and I hated how easy it was for him to jump right back into action like he was Bruce Willis or someone. I felt miserable rolling onto my side - even more when I stood up. But by that point, Daryl had our things gathered into a pile on the mattress…so my personal triumph felt less victorious.
_____________
Nothing was more boring than lying on a cot, staring at the lime green polyester roof with nothing to do but reread The Hobbit. Entering Middle Earth and becoming engrossed with the details so much that I felt like I, too, was going on an adventure with the company of dwarves, which used to be a pastime I greatly enjoyed. For so long, that was my only escape from my neglectful childhood— from all the terrible things I shouldn't have experienced. Horrors. Albeit different horrors, I was geared up to get back out and face them, to look for Sophia—more than willing to toss aside the escape of fighting dragons to fight undead humans instead.
I was grateful to be alive. It was much better than being at the bottom of a ravine with an infected wound. But I hated being laid up when we’d gotten our best lead yet.
And to make matters worse (in my mind, at least), I was missing out on some seriously needed marksmanship practice. Don’t get me wrong - I had no problem with my bow; it would always be my weapon of choice. But there was no telling when I may need to use a handgun…where my proficiency was much less refined.
The lot of them hadn’t been gone ten minutes before my tent flap was peeled open, drawing my attention away from Bilbo Baggins. “Hey.” A nervous Glenn smiled as he sat on the floor of the shelter. “How’s your uh— everything?”
“Dixon kicked me some kind of awful when we fell the second time and bruised the shit out of my shoulder. Oddly enough, that hurts a lot more than the 5 inch gash running down my thigh.” I tried laughing off the traumatic events.
With someone like Glenn, though, nothing could be brushed off. He was the sort of guy who reveled in the full story - asking questions along the way. That wasn’t to say he enjoyed hearing the awful things that happened to his friends or rolled his eyes at someone else’s misery; it was just the way he ticked—an audible learner vs. a visual one. And as I told the tale of our unfortunate endeavors, Glenn marveled that we didn’t die after the first crash down the hillside. I left out the details on most of Daryl’s end — that was his story to tell, not mine, focusing only on the parts that had me front and center. Honestly, I'd never repeat those moments where Daryl had been talking to himself, in and out of consciousness. Not only were they not my business, but he was emotionally and physically vulnerable. I don’t even know if he remembers it.
The entire time I recalled the events and Glenn quizzed me — he kept darting his eyes to the exit like walkers were going to pour through with a vendetta against the two of us specifically.
Two solid minutes of lousy interrogating and,
“Glenn Rhee, you think a bucket of peaches and beef jerky is going to smooth over the fact that there are dozens of human eating machines right next door? What are you - are you insane?”
“I know, okay. Dale said that he’d talk to Hershel.” He defended. Someone in their right mind knew, so that was a good thing.
My hands brushed across my face. “This is bad. Everyone deserves to know and decide if this is really where we need to be staying.”
“What? And leave Sophia behind? You and Daryl just got a good lead.”
“No, I’d never just abandon Sophia. But we could hole up damn near anywhere else.” I explained as if it were obvious. “Daryl found that farmhouse just a couple miles from here. When that barn gives way, we’re all toast.”
Biting his lip, Glenn sighed out: “I know.”
I had sympathy for him — in the span of a few days he’d become heavily involved with the farmers daughter, discovered Lori was pregnant with hopefully her husbands baby, and had the weight of a dozen or so walkers on his shoulders simultaneously. There, in that moment, I realized what he wanted me to do.
“Glenn,” my shoulders dropped, “Glenn, I can’t tell you what to do. This is-“ Gradually, the man’s eyebrows drew together in desperation, “I mean - seriously?”
“I promised Maggie I wouldn’t tell, Lori told me to stay out of her business, and I’m the worst at keeping secrets like this.”
Half an hour later, Glenn and I had worked out the details, agreeing to reconvene after hearing how Dale’s talk with Hershel goes. And the minute she sent Glenn and Maggie out to get plan b pills, Lori had made some of that, Glenn’s business. Maggie had nearly died in the process, for fuck’s sake - she could’ve become a casualty due to Lori‘s lack of responsibility.
_____________
Halfway through the book and, I was beginning to get irritable again.
Glenn left to take watch, leaving me to my thoughts — which, despite the breakdown the night before, hadn’t been all that horrible. I mean… If you didn’t count the exponential dread in my stomach when I remembered the flesh-eating monsters living next door. The brain was a funny thing; how does one hyperventilate so easily over their trauma, but not the fact that they were about a football field away from certain death? When I chose to take the path of childhood psychology, I’d been tempted to take an even further path to study the nervous system. There were heaps of matters that interested me -- that I wanted to unravel: Alzheimer’s, schizophrenia, PTSD, to name a few. I was happy with the field I chose, though. But maybe in another life, I was a high-class neuroscientist or a groundbreaking neurosurgeon.
In that life; Edwin Jenner was wrong and there was a remedy for the viscous conditions that we dealt with now.
The complexities of my thoughts were halted when a zipping sound alerted me of more company. But I was only met with something being tossed on the floor of my tent and the flap being resealed. My gaze shifted to the nylon floor: a worn in flannel.
I clambered off the cot as swiftly as I could, stumbling to the exit. But once I peaked outside, no one was there.
Rolling my eyes, I snatched the top up and limped to the next tent over, “You could’ve came in,” I held the flannel up as if it were cold-hard evidence left behind at a crime scene.
“Figured you was restin’” Daryl murmured, fiddling with his pocketknife.
I snorted, “Yeah, like you’re supposed to be.”
His lips were downturned into a scowl, not paying attention to me. He seemed to be just as restless as I was. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his company until then. The misery was a little more tolerable when someone was there with you.
“Come on.” I ducked into his tent, leaning closer to the man hunched over and holding my free hand out.
It offended me slightly that he looked at my hand as if it were poison, but I also felt stupid holding it out in the first place. “What?” He asked, his eyebrows drawn together.
“Let’s go on a walk. A little makeshift physical therapy won’t hurt, and I’m tired of sitting around.” I explained. It wouldn’t be much longer before the rest of the group would be back anyway, and this was our only real opportunity to escape without being berated.
Daryl didn’t take my hand, but he did push it down as he began standing up.
In reality, we probably should be taking it easy — with the new knowledge Glenn provided, though, I wanted to make sure we could move around if the time came when it was necessary. When the trucks threw gravel down the driveway, we were far enough away that, hopefully, nobody would bother us. I was sure Carol would be agitated that we weren’t resting, but I doubted she’d venture out there to scold us.
“Thank you, by the way.” I looked over to the man matching my steps. “It fits perfect.” It swallowed me whole (the flannel).
Daryl was chewing on his lip and nodded up in acknowledgement, “Looks good.” Then his face turned a deep scarlet as he lagged back a little. He was so obviously shocked by his own words. Meanwhile, butterfly wings tickled the inside of my stomach.
Daryl Dixon told me I looked good in his shirt.
The more time I spent with him, the more I’d grown even fonder of the man. My flirtatious muses had been placed on a back burner due to how hectic things had become the day before, but nothing was stopping me now. Nothing except rejection.
Instead of a snarky response, I simply responded; “Thank you.” With a soft smile, while he eased back into a pace beside me. “Tell me something about you.” I knew he wouldn’t dare start a conversation after letting a compliment slip out of his mouth, so I had to. It would be more awkward to just walk in silence.
“‘Bout what?”
“I don’t know - something.”
“Why?” He got slightly defensive, like I was going to interrogate him for something.
I chuckled once through my nose. “Because I want to get to know you, Dar. We’re friends.” His eyes were on me -- I didn’t need to see him to know it. He was definitely glancing down at me. “Come on, tell me… bikes! You love that motorcycle. Have you always been into them, or is that one special cause it was Merle’s?”
And that was how you got Daryl to start talking. Maybe it was that way with everyone — you find something they like and focus on that topic, but Daryl Dixon wasn’t a man of many words. Now though? I’d feel bad if I acted bored because he was so cute when he talked about something he was interested in. Cute in a very… mature way - but cute nonetheless.
I listened to him tell me about the mechanic shops he worked in throughout Georgia and the odd jobs he picked up due to his knowledge. That was how he got into motorcycles; not through his brother, which surprised me. Then, when he tried explaining the bike to me, he started telling me he’d show me what he was talking about when we got back. The promise of more one-on-one time made me giddy about learning about mechanics.
Of course, all good things must come to an end and just as I’d suspected — Carol was waiting for us beside the RV when we approached, our conversation having died down. She criticized our ‘physical therapy’ before shoving food at us and ordering us to take a break from walking.
_____________
“Hey, Daryl.” I whispered into his tent later that night, hoping he hadn’t already been asleep.
The shifting of a sleeping bag echoed, “Y’alright?” It wasn’t an invitation, but I entered the space and zipped it closed once I had.
That secret was eating away at me, but I promised Glenn not to say anything to anyone — to let him handle it. But I really liked Daryl. I didn’t want him to be entirely blindsided.
“Yeah,” I assured him, squinting to make out my surroundings. “I just, um…can you do me a favor?”
I could hear him fumbling with a lantern, a few seconds later I saw his face in the flickering light; he had been asleep. Embarrassment rushed across my features. “What?” He asked plainly. He seemed so unbothered that I’d just disturbed his slumber, only making me feel worse.
“Please, just trust me. I know we’re technically safe where we’re at,” My neck turned on instinct, checking to make sure nobody was sticking their ear inside the tent. “But look… we aren’t. We aren’t safe and I need you to not let your guard down okay? It’s asking a lot -“
“The hell’re you talkin’ bout, girl?” His face turned sour.
“I can’t - I can’t tell you exactly. I need you to just trust me.” I pleaded.
Daryl moved to a sitting position, the displeased look still plastered across him, “Uh uh, nah. What the hell’re you on about?”
I studied his face before chancing eye contact. Somehow, someway, I tried to make him understand non verbally. Glenn said he’d handle it tomorrow and I trusted Glenn. And I understood why Dale wanted him to wait - it had already been so late in the day, nothing would’ve been able to be handled. Everyone would be sleeping with one eye open. Maybe I shouldn’t have peeped a word to Daryl.
But fuck - my stupid conscious.
“I promise we’ll be okay tonight, and I need you to trust me-“
“Why ain’t we safe?” He snapped back
Hurriedly, I shushed him. “Can’t you just… meet me half way? We’re friends and I’m trying to warn you-“
“Bout what?”
“Walkers.” I hissed. “I swear we’re okay tonight, but this isn’t a safe place anymore. That’s all I can say for now Daryl. Please.” My eyebrows drew together, begging him to calm down.
I’d already revealed too much. I might as well go ahead and spill the beans - but I couldn’t. Daryl had noticed my hand beginning to softly claw at my neck as my nerves built up, then reached out to pull it away. He huffed out a heavy breath.
“Why’re you tellin’ me now?”
That. That was the question of the hour. What? Was I supposed to say ‘I think you’re hot and I want you to know about the threat that’s right next door’? Or ‘I like you and we’ll be safe for tonight. But I still want you to sleep with one eye open because your lack of sleep might help you find me attractive’?
No.
“Because, I - “ I sighed in defeat, looking anywhere but at him, “You’re not my boyfriend or anything, but I like you. And all hell is going to break loose a lot sooner than later — I just want to give you a forewarning.”
We sat there in silence for a few seconds before he nodded, accepting my answer as good enough. My mouth went dry as I exited the tent and saw Shane pacing frantically on the other side of the camp. Had he heard? In fear of that answer being yes, I hobbled over to him — though my hobble had become more of a janky stride.
“Busy night?” Shane eyed me warily. The assumption was written all over his face and I hoped the night sky would hide my embarrassment. It wasn’t like that; not really. Daryl and I had had sex, but only the one time. Back when things were supposed to be more permanent: at the CDC. What Shane was implying now; that this was some sort of walk of shame that he’d caught me in - made me shrink down internally.
“It’s not like that.” I defended myself. “I just… can’t sleep. Same for you?” It was a lousy attempt at coming across interested — I could’ve done better.
“I go on watch in twenty.” Shane explained. “Tryna get good n’ awake.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, albeit awkward, but I felt comfortable that he hadn’t, in fact, heard my conversation with Daryl. Then I scurried away to my own tent and zipped myself securely inside. Sleep likely wouldn’t visit me. My mind was reeling with scenario after scenario after scenario of ways the barn situation could go wrong - scratch that — would go wrong.
There was no good outcome for any party. I, sure as hell didn’t feel safe staying on the farm anymore. And the fact we weren’t even allowed to carry guns on the property— when we were catching Z’s next to Mr. Roger’s neighborhood of the walking dead.
_____________
Breakfast at the camp was typical, except I wasn’t allowed to help prepare anything because I was still ‘healing’ according to Carol. She was a meek and mild woman, but I wasn’t about to test her patience. Her generosity had been extended to Daryl as well — he was served his plate of food and given refills on his drink attentively. We were both being spoiled by the woman.
I’d been situated in a lawn chair beside Andrea when I saw Dale nod his head in the direction of Glenn.
Glenn couldn’t stop stealing glances between the camp and Maggie, who stood on the porch of the farmhouse. He had frantically piled into my tent this morning, going on about hating his life. The situation was unfortunate, even more so now that I knew Lori was pregnant and we needed somewhere semi-permanent to stay. Once the truth was revealed, there was no way a compromise could be made. And when Glenn walked by me, I gave him my best reassuring smile before giving our camp a once-over.
The calm before the storm.
“Guys…so….the barn is full of walkers.” Glenn said nervously, diverting his attention to the ground once his announcement was made.
I chanced a look at Daryl who had already been eyeing me suspiciously. Now he knew. I hated how well he hid his emotions -- his poker face never faltering. My awkward apologetic smile wasn’t enough, I knew that much. He’d want a better explanation later.
For now though, everyone had been abandoning their breakfast and starting towards the barn. As we neared it, the scraping and shuffling of undead bodies and low growls could be heard within the walls. I was nervous to be so close - especially now that the wooden planks were shaking due to fresh bait patrolling the exterior. As expected; terror spread amongst everyone. Shane peered through one of the slats in the walls to get a better view before fiercely turning around and pacing like a mad man. Rightfully so.
He shoved furiously past Rick, his jaw clenched so tightly I feared for his facial structure, “You cannot tell me you’re alright with this.” Rick — ever the peace keeper shook his head as Shane paced angrily back and forth.
“No, I'm not. But we're guests here. This isn't our land." Rick reasoned.
"This is our lives, man!" Shane countered rather loudly.
"Lower your voice.” Glenn pleaded.
"We can't just sweep this under the rug," Andrea added.
"We've got to either go in there, we've got to make things right or we've just got to go. We've been talking about Fort Benning for a long time." Shane continued on.
I stood next to Glenn, watching the entire thing unravel. I didn’t want to leave, not when Daryl and I had nearly died after finding some hard proof that Sophia was out there. But that didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t safe to be where we were anymore.
"We can't go!" Rick shut down Shane’s suggestion.
"Why, Rick? Why?”
"Because my daughter is still out there.” Carol piped up. She was so quiet and blended into the background so easily, I’d almost forgotten she’d treaded over there with us. But she was just a shoulder length’s away from Daryl, who had also been standing to the side.
Shane puffed, then ran his hands over his face “Okay…okay, I think it's time we all start to just consider the other possibility."
"Shane, we're not leavin' Sophia behind.” Rick shot him down again.
"I'm close to findin' this girl!" Daryl came from the sidelines loudly, “We just found her damn doll two days ago."
"You found her doll, Daryl," Shane scoffed. "That's what you did. You found a doll."
A few beats went by before Daryl threw his arm forward, "You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about!"
Daryl moved towards Shane, but between Carol and me, and Lori and Rick, they both had a few obstacles to go through.
"I'm just sayin' what needs to be said here, now you get a good lead, it's in the first forty-eight hours!" Shane shouted over Rick and Lori’s attempts to quiet things down. “And let me tell you somethin' else, man, if she was still alive out there and saw you comin' all methed out with your buck knife 'n geek ears 'round your neck, she would run in the other direction, man!"
Daryl lunged at Shane more aggressively this time, knocking me to the side where I struggled to regain my balance. In an instant, Carol had abandoned her position in the argument and steadied me. While the argument died down, I watched from the sidelines, pissed that I’d been so easily knocked out the way.
They kept going back and forth, Shane arguing that we needed to leave and Rick arguing that we needed to stay. Daryl was next to Carol’s other shoulder, but he peaked around to look at me briefly, “Y’alright?” He asked. His face had softened up, and his eyes trailed my body.
“I’m good.” I assured. He hadn’t purposefully shoved me — I’d put myself in that position.
"If we're gonna stay. If we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. It's his land." Rick kept arguing with Shane.
Then Dale cut in, "Hershel sees those things in there as people, sick people. His wife, his- his stepson."
Rick whirled around, his face full of disbelief "You knew?"
"Yesterday, I talked to Hershel." Dale nodded.
"And you waited the night?" Shane asked in an accusatory rage.
"I thought we could survive one more night," Dale defended harshly. "We did. I was waiting til this morning to say something, but Glenn wanted to be the one.”
"The man is crazy, Rick! If Hershel thinks those things are alive or not.”
I felt Daryl’s gaze falling on me in brief stunts as the conversation took place, only leaving permanently once the barn doors began rattling. The walkers had been riled amidst all the chaos.
.better lock it in your pocket, taking this one to the grave.
Notes:
kinda short n’ sweet.
next chapter is a DOOZY. so like — stay woke
Chapter 13: you don’t get to call me a whore
Summary:
My eyes traveled up from the ground until they landed on the skin that peaked from Daryl’s slightly unbuttoned shirt. I caught sight of the tattoo I’d briefly seen a few nights before and took a step forward while reaching my hands out. He didn’t move away, but his body stiffened when I pulled the front of his shirt aside to get a better look, “Who’s Norman?”
It was an unintentional steer from the topic in my own mind, but he surprisingly answered me, “my grandpa.”
Notes:
Putting a massive trigger warning for this episode because frankly, it was difficult for me to get through writing it. There is fairly descriptive mentions of dissociation and its effects. If you aren’t familiar with dissociation, the pacing towards the end of the chapter might feel a little funky. Due to that coming into play, I tried making this episode a little lighter throughout.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.nobody knows where they might end up, nobody knows.
There was no point in idling around the barn. Rick had gone to talk to Hershel about an hour ago while the rest of us carried on with a normal day. Not that I was necessarily looking, but Daryl had disappeared from the camp site and just when I was going to go looking, Glenn rounded the corner with egg yolk pouring from his hair.
“She cracked a rotten egg on me.” He stalked up to me and pointed to his head, as if I were blind. “She hates me.”
“She actually talked to you?”
“I’ve ruined any chance for her to do it again.” Then he brushed by, heading for his tent to presumably clean himself up.
Our group was slowly unraveling right before my eyes. I missed the quarry. Things had been so sticky-sweet there and we didn’t even know what we had until it was gone. Amy, Jim, and Jacqui were alive, I still had my one on one time with Glenn, Sophia and Carl spent a lot of their time running around youthful freedom. It had been such a beautiful thing that got spoiled so quickly.
I knew it was for the better. The world was changing rapidly and the dead were rising quicker than we could adapt. Logic told me things were only going to go downhill for a while, but I still wanted so bad to believe that we were a strong, well-knitted group. I looked back at the farmhouse and mourned something that we hadn’t even lost yet — nothing would be the same after this morning’s news. Just like the quarry.
Then I watched Daryl peel past me and stalk into his tent in an angry fit of rage. What was up with all the spiking testosterone? Tainting whatever friendship I had with him was not on the train wreck agenda though — so I steered clear of him and headed inside the RV to get some water.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I’s tired of people tellin’ me what I can and can’t do. Treatin’ me like a damn kid.
Didn’t mean Carol deserved that verbal lashing I just took out on her. She was just tryna look out for me cause I’s lookin’ for Sophia. But when she told me she was losin’ faith in her own daughter coming back home, it pissed me off. I expected it from Shane — all high and mighty, actin’ like he knows everything. But from Carol…it was like she was already accepting it as fact.
Then when I went back to my tent and passed Libby, she didn’t even spare me a second glance. I half-expected her to burst into my tent and start yappin’.
I was even a little disappointed that she didn’t.
She told me about the walkers — told me that we were friends. That she liked me. I wutn’t sure what she was tryin’ to accomplish by tellin’ me we wutn’t safe last night, but I found myself worryin’ more about her than the ominous warning she provided.
Between her and Carol, I ain’t ever felt so… worried about in my life. Part of me wanted to embrace the newfound feelings; they would both seek me out and choose to spend time in my company. Nobody ever wanted to do that before — not without a catch. They always wanted something. But Libby and Carol; they treated me like I was an equal. Like I meant something to them. Then that other part of me was just waiting for the shoe to fall. I’d practically ruined things with Carol earlier, snapping at her like that — I nipped the shoe falling in the bud. And Libby… she’d find something wrong with me eventually or I’d fuck up and lash out at her too.
Fuck.
The guilt was knotting up inside of me. I needed to do somethin’ about what I’d said to Carol.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
With no one around to stop me, I busied myself hanging laundry on the line. For there to have been so much chaos erupting within the farm earlier, things had quieted down immensely. Lori had taken to peeling carrots, and T was keeping a small fire lit, but other than that, the space was quiet.
About twenty minutes earlier Daryl had left the camp with his stride in a pointed hustle. I wanted to call out to him — ask him why he was in such a rush, but I kept quiet.
Once I was done with the laundry, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting as I relaxed back into my tent. Bubbling away the collection of problems that had formed in the past few hours, I unlocked the door inside my brain and traveled through. My thoughts ran rampant with ‘what if’ scenarios. What if: I’d never met Dale on the highway; Andrea stayed back at the CDC; I met Glenn before the end of the world; Sophia never went missing. They were all such small details that could’ve led to drastic changes in the life I was living right now. What if I hadn’t gone in the woods the day I met Daryl? Maybe the two of us were supposed to meet — maybe in the future we’d sit down and figure out that there was some invisible string tying us together.
I flushed thinking about an actual relationship with Daryl Dixon. Our group was crumbling to pieces outside my tent, while I daydreamed about a crush - - which only made my cheeks redden even more.
As if it were a simple cartoon: a lightbulb went off in my head.
I sat up from my cot and dumped my book bag upside down, scattering all the contents onto the floor. My eyes lit up when I saw the treasure pieces roll towards me.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
It didn’t take any convincin’ to get Carol to walk with me over by the duck pond. S’like what I said to her didn’t matter, which just made me feel even more guilty about bein’ such a fuck up.
“You see it?" I asked, picking my feet up higher after a couple briars got stuck to my pants.
"See what?"
I pointed towards the bush that had a couple flowers attached. We stopped in front of them and I let her take a minute — with all that shit Shane was spewin’ earlier, I couldn’t blame her for losing some hope.
"I'll find her.” I said firmly, not leaving any room for doubt to come creeping in. “Hey, uh, I'm sorry about what happened this mornin'."
"You wanted to look for her,” she brushed it off, actin’ like it wutn’t a big deal. "Why? This whole time I've wanted to ask you."
"'Cause I think she's still out there.” That was mostly the truth. I did think she was still out there — but looking for her; it gave me purpose. "Truth is, what else I got to do?" I added.
Carol looked back at me, weighing my words carefully before eyeing the flower once more. She took a step forward and brushed one of the petals. "We'll find her.” It was obvious her words were more for me than anything else. "We will. I see it." I gave her a half-hearted smile.
We idled by the pond for a while, not talking much, but being in each others company. It made me think about the time I spent with Libby. Comfortable silence. I wutn’t used to none of that. If I wutn’t in the woods or by myself, I’s with Merle. And Merle don’t shut up for nothin’, not unless he was on X — but that was never his drug of choice. So I was used to people yappin’ around me constantly, always wantin’ to talk about somethin’ or do somethin’. But Carol and Libby; they seemed to be okay with the quiet.
Only thing about them though; I couldn’t figure either of’em out.
It wutn’t no secret that Carol’s ol’ man used to hit her and Sophia til they was black and blue. When that bastard got what he deserved, it was just the two of them on their own in a changing world. Now, Carol was alone and missing her daughter — yet she held it together a lot better than I would’ve suspected. Her patience and kindness surprised me the most I think. With all she was going through, I expected harsh criticism on not finding Sophia or unwillingness to cooperate around camp due to Rick leaving her daughter in the woods. But she delivered the complete opposite.
And Libby. Nothing about her made sense to me, but I still felt like I understood where she was coming from completely. Seeing her gracefully move up the incline the first time we met, climbing trees like she was some figment of my imagination, I’d been coyly interested in her. It was stupid — no matter how much I shoved it down, I couldn’t not want to be around her. That’s the main reason I took her huntin’ with me the first time; to just be around her n’ teach her some shit. And then at the CDC…she was nothing short of perfect. I hated it. I hated how hooked I was after just a little sex. Maybe I still am - cause for some reason, I’m always lookin’ for her: in the mornings whenever everyone’s gatherin’ around, my eyes are waitin’ to see that red-head come from her tent; anytime we’re all scattered through the farm, I make a note of where she’s at; even now as we’re headin’ back for the campsite I’m scanning to see if she’s there or elsewhere.
I didn’t understand it. Not one bit.
Like she was readin’ my mind or somethin’, Carol broke our quiet walk, “You and Liberty seem to get along.” She said casually.
The hell was I s’pose to say to that? My face must’ve twisted in response, cause Carol went on.
“Y’all work well together. It’s a good thing.”
I bit the inner part of my lip before ducking my chin down, “She’s a’right.”
“Alright?” Carol’s pitch raised a bit, “She’s wearin’ your shirt.” I could tell she was just teasing and tryna joke around, but I wutn’t real used to things like that. Anytime Merle ‘teased’ it was a lot harsher — more kick behind his words. He always wanted to get a rile outta me, not just banter.
“She ain’t got no jacket n’ said she was anemic or somethin’.” I defended, tryin’ my best to make it lighthearted.
That seemed to work, cause Carol shot back, “She’s smitten.” When I peaked over, her blue eyes had a gleam I’d never seen before. Mischievous.
“Stop.” I scoffed, nudging her with a smirk.
That little spark within Carol only added to the mystery of things I didn’t understand about her.
And as we approached the camp there was somethin’ else I didn’t understand; why that red-head was zippin’ up my tent, “Aye!” I hollered, speedin’ my pace up. “Hell you doin’?”
Her little jump back was admittedly cute. And how she stumbled over her words.
Fuck. Do I really got a thing for her?
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
“Sorry! I was just — well, I’ve got a lot of them and figured you could use some --“ Of course I’d get caught in the act. “I mean -- I don’t even know if you use it on crossbows, but I think --“ And he was just looking at me with an almost smile on his face. Like he was trying not to laugh at me. I took a deep breath, starting over, “My uncle drove it in my brain to keep my bowstrings waxed. He really hammered it in. The tubes are so little, so I emptied what all I had into my bag before we left the quarry.” I swallowed harshly, “I put a few wax tubes on your cot.”
Before he responded, Carol shuffled by us, “I’m gonna grab a drink.” She commented, heading into the RV.
My eyes traveled up from the ground until they landed on the skin that peaked from Daryl’s slightly unbuttoned shirt. I caught sight of the tattoo I’d briefly seen a few nights before and took a step forward while reaching my hands out. He didn’t move away, but his body stiffened when I pulled the front of his shirt aside to get a better look, “Who’s Norman?”
It was an unintentional steer from the topic in my own mind, but he surprisingly answered me, “my grandpa.”
My lips quirked up. Sweet. I kept studying the mark as if it was an intricate piece of art and not just a name. “Do you have more?” My eyes looked to him in question. He nodded, but he didn’t make an attempt to show me — he just kept staring at me.
If he wasn’t Daryl and I wasn’t Libby, maybe it would’ve been a tender moment. One where we got lost in each others eyes before our lips touched; sealing the deal. But instead of holding my gaze for too long, he responded,
“On my back, n’ I got this one,” he looked down at the inner part of his bicep, twisting it at an angle for me to see it better. How had I never noticed that?.
I took my fingers away from his chest and traced them over the tattoo on his arm. He was practically offering it up on a silver platter in front of me, and after all, I’m just a girl. And again — not super detailed, but I padded my thumb across it as if it had real definition.
Daryl’s expression hardened when the door of the RV opened though; jerking his arm away from me. My face was painted with understanding on the outside, but internally it bothered me that he pulled back so quick; like I was scarring his flesh with my fingertips. I’d touched him in front of the others before — been close to him before, and he’d never reacted that way, so that had to have been why it hurt my feelings so much.
_____________
It took us a couple minutes to figure out we’d be better off heading towards the farmhouse where everyone else seemed to be gathering up, and see what all was going on. Nobody was on watch, the guns were missing according to Carol, and all the cars were still parked right where they were this morning. There must’ve been some kind of hold up, because Rick was supposed to leave with Andrea an hour or two ago.
I wish there’d been a reset button for the day; maybe then I could’ve tamed the chaos. It was a stupid thought — the only one taking any orders was Carl, and even that was questionable.
I took a note from Carol’s book, lagging a bit behind to tie my newly acquired flannel around my waist. It was ridiculous how misaligned the weather and season were. Why was it 90°+ in November? And why would it also be 50° that very same day?
When I did pick my stride back up, I cracked a smile watching the way Daryl strutted. It was — in the most endearing way — goofy. His arms slung wildly back and forth, chest bowed up, and I needn’t look - his eyes were definitely squinted.
"You haven't seen Rick?" I heard Glenn ask Andrea, just as we approached.
"He went off with Hershel, we were supposed to leave a couple hours ago." Andrea explained.
"Yeah, ya were. What the hell?” Daryl snarked, his tone twined with aggravation.
“What about Shane?” I added, jogging forward a little to shorten the distance between me and Carol. “Maybe he saw Rick.”
"Rick told us he was goin' out.” Carol argued lightly, equally as confused as everyone else.
While we stopped, Daryl kept strutting forward "Damn it! Isn't anybody takin' this seriously? We got us a damn trail!” He flung his arm violently back towards where we came from. Then in an instant, his chin nodded up in acknowledgment, halting the archer from being more dramatic. “Oh, here we go."
And there was Shane.
Heading towards our group like an angry bull. On his shoulder; the gun bag that Carol said was missing. Daryl met him half way,
“S’ all this?” He gestured to the bag of guns that was swinging by Shane’s waist.
A rifle was held out, waiting to be accepted, “Ya with me man?” It wasn’t much of a question, but still — Daryl said yeah.
“Time ta grow up,” Shane growled, then brushed off Andrea’s question on Dale’s whereabouts.
"Thought we couldn't carry?” T mentions as more of a question.
"Yeah," Shane scoffed, "well, we can and we have to." It was my turn in the rotation. There wasn’t an option to decline, a shotgun was shoved abruptly into my arms.
“Shane-“ I tried.
"Look, it was one thing standin' round here pickin' daisies when we thought this place was s'pose to be safe! But now we know it ain't.” He was on a rampage and nobody would be coming out unscathed. Offering him a weapon, Shane asked Glenn “How 'bout you, man? You gon' protect yours?"
There were looks exchanged between Glenn, Shane, and Maggie, before the gun was accepted. It was when Shane questioned whether Maggie could shoot or not, the eldest Greene sister spoke up,
“Can you stop?” she snarled. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."
Carl, in his oversized sheriff’s hat, stepped up like a miniature version of his father, “We have to stay, Shane.”
Coming from around the corner — likely prompted by her sons voice, Lori looked baffled, "What is this?" She demanded.
"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay.” Shane directed to Carl. “Now look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand. Okay, he - well, he's gonna have to.” He kneeled down, holding a gun out for the little boy. “Now we need to find Sophia, am I right? Now I want you to take this. You take it, Carl, you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes, you know how, go on. Take the gun 'n do it."
Even when Lori stepped down, firmly telling Shane he was out of line — I felt nauseated by the scene.
"Oh, shit .” T-Dog’s voice carried over the argument as he stood facing the barn in shock. I followed his gaze, hoping the walkers hadn’t chose this moment as the opportunity to bust down the doors.
Instead though, it was Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy emerging from the tree line — with them; two staggering geeks attached to catch poles. Jimmy was whooping and hollering, presumably to make the walkers follow his lead as they approached the fence a few yards out from the barn.
I think that was when I began dissociating.
_____________
All residents and semi-residents assembled in front of the eery barn.
To put it plainly -- Shane was unhinged.
A shouting match ensued, riling up the dead ones that inhabited the building we stood beside. Ultimately he broke the lock and forced us to gun down every corpse.
Then there was Sophia.
Fragile bones, milky eyes, dirty flesh, cannibalistic growling; Sophia.
And Carol’s guttural wails as Daryl enveloped her in his arm, preventing the grieving mother from scooping her daughter up. It was devastating. Nobody wanted Sophia back more than Carol, and there she was -- stumbling towards her mom, craving the blood that circulated through her veins.
Poor Sophia.
Poor Carol.
Poor Daryl -- who was so gentle with Carol. He shushed her, urging her to look away when Rick put a bullet through her daughter's brain.
The entire time though, all I could really focus on was how much I hated my hair. More specifically, how much I hated how it felt.
My sisters and I had unruly, voluminous hair. It wasn’t quite curly or textured, but the hair itself was thick and frizzy. As a kid, I used to pull it to distract myself whenever my parents would go on benders that would often times lead to rage episodes. If my older sister noticed, she’d lay me down and braid it into intricate little ropes. Once she perfected one style, she’d move on to the next — I was partial to the fishtail. When she left home, I went without having my hair woven for a while. The move to Georgia was stressful, as was all the therapy and figuring out coping mechanisms. One time I asked Aunt Bea if she knew how to braid -- ’only a plain one, but I sure do sweetheart,’ she’d told me. I took what I could get and never looked back.
All I needed was my hair loved.
Everything happening in front of me was a tragedy and yet - I wanted someone to care for me.
Instead, I would try to care for someone else. I trailed slowly behind Carol, keeping my pupils focused on her back; it was all tunnel vision otherwise. When we reached the RV, I think I whispered out an apology of sorts as I took a seat across from her.
______________
Daryl joined us in quiet solidarity a couple minutes later, and then the three of us sat there for an hour at least. We all needed that time to process what had just happened. But try as I might, I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything.
Lori came in — told us that everything was ready for Sophia’s funeral, but the lot of the words were muffled. All the noises and voices were just floating around the exterior of my head, none of them soaking in.
Nothing was soaking in.
Even when Carol left, I stayed, stuck in a daze. This wasn’t me. It was my body, but nobody was home. I had exited reality hours ago, back before Shane popped open the barn.
_____________
My feet had lead in them, yet I felt lighter than a feather as I walked through the field to where Lori had directed me. She said something about Rick being gone and Daryl snapping at her when she asked him to go out and find him. My body decided that we’d go see if he was okay, but my mind was still detached.
I was still floating outside of my own bones.
“Hey,” my mouth called out when Daryl came into view. If he said anything, I didn’t hear it. Neither did my ears apparently, because words didn’t come out. “Lori said-“
“Y’ain’t my damn keeper!” I heard that, loud and clear. “I ain’t yer boyfriend, or yer little friend. I don’t need ya shoved up my ass anymore, girl!”
My head drifted down from the clouds and my vision became clearer. The daylight fled, dusk was upon us now — several hours had passed since the barn. I wasn’t even sure why I was out there with Daryl or why he was yelling at me. He stood less than a foot away, hostility radiating around him.
“D’ya hear me?” He hollered again, forcing me to back up as he took a step towards me. “What? Ya think just cause I put my dick inside you, we was gonna be friends or something’? Huh?”
I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, shoving down the ache that pummeled inside my stomach, “Daryl, I don’t -“
But he was still going, “I’ve fucked a lotta whores, y’ain’t special, so go on!”
“You don’t get to call me a whore!” My voice was raised this time too, shocking both of us briefly. I spent a lot of my life around constant yelling, so I never made a habit of doing it myself.
“I said ya wutn’t my keeper,” His tone was lower.
I stood firmly, my face twisting into a sour expression. “What happened, back at the CDC, that was a two way street. And you came just as quick as I did, so you must not have been fucking that many whores.”
“Libby,” his face was still hard and rage filled, but the way he said my name was a weak attempt at being stern.
But I was fired up. There was a lot of things I could deal with, but slut shaming wasn’t one of them. Today had been heavy enough already, I didn’t need to listen to whatever bullshit Daryl was going to spew out — even if I knew he was dealing with his own emotions the only way he knew how.
“No,” I snapped. “We’re friends Daryl. I may have been the one seeking you out, but that’s only because you wouldn’t do it on your own. All the time we spent together, including the sex, you liked it too.”
We had a staring contest that could’ve gone on for hours had the wind not blown, reminding me of the flannel I was wearing. I wasted no time pulling it off and chunking it at him (for dramatic purposes only), “You don’t get to call me a whore.”
.oh, oh, suppose you’ll never know.
Notes:
If you’re a Grey’s Anatomy fan, then the lyrics to this one and the cute little end piece is all for you <3 I couldn’t stop circling back to that moment as I was writing their argument out.
Chapter 14: ‘do-it-yourself’ medical care
Summary:
“Y’ain’t a whore, Libs.” Something about his immediate response made me smile up at him.
“It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been called a lot of things and I normally handle it really well.” I bit the inside of my lip, “I just think everyone’s emotions were kind of high that day. It was a lot to process.”
Chapter Text
.it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you.
I was physically exhausted from the days worth of dissociation, I can’t even remember if I stopped and told Lori that Daryl wasn’t budging before I retreated into my tent. For the first time in a long time, the canvas I slept on felt like a marshmallow, welcoming me into a dreamless sleep. Once I woke up, years could’ve passed and I’d have been none the wiser. It was daylight now, and there was an obvious commotion outside signaling I’d likely slept in. But when I peaked out my tent, I saw that everyone had taken off to gather around the driveway.
Moving through the campsite, I stopped next to Carol who’d just come from inside the farmhouse. “What’s going on?” The sleep was so obvious in my voice.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” the woman said as she slung her arms around my neck. “I kept checking on you last night, but you were out cold.”
My chest tightened with guilt. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, “Is everything okay though? Why is everyone out here?”
In response, the woman filled me in while a mini reunion took place in front of us. I came to understand quickly that our entire group had been going through it. Beth worst of all. The sweet, soft spoken teenager had gone into shock and her poor body was probably outrageously exhausted.
The day prior had really done a number on everyone.
I avoided Daryl’s gaze the entire time the group socialized, but it didn’t escape my notice that those cat-like eyes kept lingering on me. That coma-esq sleep must’ve worked wonders on my end, because I felt satisfied that he kept stealing looks. Something was bothering him, and I had a feeling it was how shitty of a human he’d been to me. He acted like he didn’t care -- like nothing mattered, but I saw the cracks in that foundation.
Daryl cared.
He cared about looking for Sophia; he cared about keeping our group safe; he cared about being part of the group; he cared about bringing that doll back to camp; he cared about keeping my wound clean; he cared that I was cold; he cared about Carol; and maybe he cared about me too.
But he called me a whore, and I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of forgiveness just because he was looking at me with sad eyes. We were friends; I stood on that. So if he wanted to talk about it, we could. I wouldn’t go searching for that conversation though. It was his turn.
When we all scrambled inside, Daryl retreated back, not joining us to talk about the newcomer. Randall.
_____________
We were packed into the house like rats, having a meeting around the dining room table about what the plan was with Randall. A few minutes into the discussion and Daryl decided to make his appearance. He looked between me and Carol, but I turned my head in response. It felt a little cold to do that to him; it didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it though.
At T-dog’s mention of posting a guard my ears perked up, “I can start doing night shifts guarding. My immune system sucks, and I wouldn’t mind being indoors at night.” I offered, not hesitating to become useful.
“He's out cold right now, will be for hours.” Hershel noted.
“We do two people on night, two people on day once he’s up.” Rick agreed, looking from Hershel to me.
"You know what? I’m gonna go get him some flowers and candy." Shane pushed away from the wall and strutted across the room. “Look at this, folks -- we back in fantasy land!"
Stopping him in his tracks, Hershel followed the raging man, "You know, we haven't even dealt with what you did at my barn yet." Both men bowed their chests up, and despite the more powerful stance Shane took, Hershel stood his ground, "Let me make this perfectly clear, once and for all - this is my farm. I wanted you gone, but Rick talked me out of it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. So do us both a favor - keep your mouth shut."
With a scoff (and much like a teenager), Shane whipped back around, striding to the rickety side-door, nearly ripping it from its hinges when he pushed it open.
“We're not gonna do anything about it today.” Rick assured Hershel. “Let's just cool off."
That was our push to disband to our regular duties. I followed closely behind Carol on the way out, a little surprised at the slight animosity that Daryl seemed to be projecting towards her. Carol made no indication that there was anything foul between the two of them earlier, but then again, we were within our entire group and that wasn’t exactly the time or place to air dirty laundry. It wasn’t my business anyways.
_____________
A flash of anger ignited in my belly when Carol finally told me the story of her and Daryl’s fallout. He had no right to treat her that way. She was a much better person than me, because I wouldn’t have went back after the first time he said those words to me. It seemed to me though, that there was a lot more to Carol than meets the eye. Underneath the mild-mannered woman was someone else who was scratching to break out.
That was when I decided to induct Carol into the small group of found family that existed only in my mind. It was also when I bumped her higher than Daryl - who’d been sitting at a steady number two. There was Glenn, Carol, Daryl, Dale, and Rick now.
They were my family.
Even if they didn’t know it.
And it seemed like the more people that joined our band of misfits, the more likely the family tree would begin to fill up. Though - I highly doubted Randall would be one that made it past go.
The only good thing about that entire situation was being able to stay indoors at night.
November was settling in, slow and steady. Evenings weren’t nearly as miserable as they could’ve been — I at least had a few pairs of pants and a long sleeve. Daryl’s flannel wasn’t doing much, but now that the temperature had dropped along with the sun, I noticed the difference.
_____________
Autumn days on the farm passed by like words on a page that week.
At first light, Andrea and I swapped our night shift guarding the door, with T-Dog and Glenn. We’d go to sleep until a little after noon, then Carol would have our ‘breakfast’ made and waiting on us around the fire. The remaining hours of the day were spent doing domestic tasks, and getting ready to guard the door again. It was boring, but with all the chaos erupting in the world, I liked boring.
Maggie lent me a jacket in the middle of the week. It had dipped down in the 40’s and I finally sucked it up and asked to borrow one. Well - Glenn asked her for me. I wasn’t intimidated by Maggie at all, I just felt weird asking for things like that.
But — had I asked sooner, I probably wouldn’t have been coughing my lungs up in the middle of the night.
My immune system had been a failure from an early point in my life. If there were any dangerous germs within a five-foot radius of me, they’d attach onto my body like their little grimy lives depended on it. The anemia only made me more susceptible to whatever sickness was making its rounds. As a kid, my parents would just dope me up with medicine and cross their fingers that it did the job. I’d always eventually get better, so I guess in a sense their ‘do-it-yourself’ medical care worked — until I got sick for the first time in Georgia. Uncle Clyde took me to the ER because I wouldn’t quit wheezing when I had the flu. Turns out my parents mucked my lungs up by not bringing me to a doctor as a kid and I was admitted to the hospital for severe pneumonia and bronchitis, along with some nasty chest and lung problems.
Every November through March, I was diagnosed with some kind of sickness at least six or seven times. Working at a strip club did my lungs no favors, and I was a hot commodity when I actually showed up to work in those months. Now — with the temperatures dropping and the cold air seeping in, I could feel my chest preparing for whatever illness was coming for me this year.
“Hey,” Andrea set her crossword book to the side and scooted across the floor towards me. “You feeling okay?” She asked, a sisterly concern in her voice.
I nodded while suppressing a cough, “I think I’m gonna see if Hershel has any cough medicine or something once the nights done.”
She weighed my words warily, “You should. Why don’t you go lay down on the couch-“
“No, I’ll be fine.” I cut her off, my stubbornness getting the best of me.
“Liberty, you can see me from the couch. If I need you, you’ll know.” Andrea’s tone was soothing, remarkably gentle. But still; I shook my head.
Instead, I leaned my head against her shoulder and tried ignoring how horrendously scratchy my throat felt. Relaxing into the jacket, I began to wonder what the next few months would look like for my immune system. A rising panic filled my chest at the thought of being a benign tumor for our group. An entire winter of being utterly useless.
I wanted to pull my own weight. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since this whole apocalypse started. If I contributed and did more than what was asked of me, I wasn’t seen as weak.
But I was. With each passing moment, I could physically feel my body weakening. The coughs, my sore throat, how my chest was tight; it was red-hot evidence that this winter would be the same as the last twenty-four. In the next day or two, I’d be down with the sickness and useless for a week, maybe more. Shane and Rick were going to drop Randall off tomorrow though -- so at least I was able to see that task through.
“Hey,” I whispered, nudging my head slightly. “It might be a stupid question, but you had a little sister. Do you know how to braid?” Bringing up Amy was still a sore subject for Andrea. It was hard to believe that had all occurred less than a month ago — it felt like a different lifetime.
It practically was.
“I do.” said Andrea, looking down at the crown of my head.
“Could you braid mine?”
And then we bonded. Andrea brushed her fingers through my messy, ginger locks while telling me a story about Amy’s middle school homecoming. She forced Andrea to come home from college, assigning her older sister with the task of doing her and her friends hair. It was a little bittersweet to find out that like Andrea was the same age as my older sister, I was the same age as Amy. As much as I didn’t want to think about the harsh potential, I hoped that maybe if she didn’t survive; my older sister was taking care of Amy like Andrea was taking care of me now.
God, how I missed my sister and her slender fingers tucking my hair into a woven braid. And I missed my Aunt Bea — her chicken noodle soup always had a little too much salt; it was just right, in my opinion. Uncle Clyde, who hated hospitals with every fiber of his being, but stayed in them often because of me around this time of year. I even missed my eldest sister, Lacey, and the times when she wasn’t strung out on something - ever willing to keep our parents preoccupied in conversation so my other sister could tend to me without worrying about them pestering her about babying me.
All I wanted was one of them.
But instead I had Andrea — and she was kind. Her headstrong, outspoken attitude was the closest I would ever get to either of my sisters.
By the time she was done and our shift was nearly over, I heard the floorboards creaking several minutes earlier than usual. Typically, Hershel wouldn’t be up until after the roosters crowed, so I was embarrassed to see him coming into the little hallway we sat in with a bottle of medicine in his hands.
I hated Robitussin.
When the front door opened with mine and Andrea’s relief, I had a thermometer stuck underneath my tongue. It was reading, according to Hershel, unusually low. 96.5° to be exact. With a promise to check my temperature periodically, Andrea escorted me out the door and to my tent.
“Get some rest,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along my shoulder, “I’ll have Carol check on you later.”
I didn’t answer, but I engulfed her in a short hug before unzipping my tent and settling onto my cot.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Libby hadn’t been talkin’ to me too much after what I said about her. I don’t blame her - I deserved all she had to dish out. Unlike Carol, that red-head wutn’t so quick to forgive and forget. She sauntered around the farm all week like I didn’t exist, going out of her way to ignore me. The only time she acknowledged my presence was in a group setting. And Carol, not knowin’ how to mind her business, kept tellin’ me to just apologize. Only thing is, even if I knew how to apologize, Libby wutn’t lettin’ me close enough to do none’a that.
Anytime I saw her hangin’ out with another part of our group, I envied them. She made a point to talk to everyone — her stupid smile was so universally liked, even that kid Jimmy got to be part of her evening greetings. She appeared to be unbothered that I wutn’t part of that routine, not once had I seen her checking around for me.
It was dumb to let that shit get to me, but it did. That stupid girl weaseled her way into my head, just like Carol. Just like the rest of the group was tryna do.
Yet I liked it.
Buzzing far beneath the surface, a piece of me that I’d locked expertly away, thrummed. My relationship with this crowd of people was important to me. My relationship with Carol and Libby, of highest importance. None of them were blood - but they seemed like they cared about me - like they liked me. Rick sought me out regularly this past week, askin’ for my opinions and help on things. If I disagreed with him, he didn’t mock me or ignore me like Merle did; Rick actually listened to me. Carol insisted on having dinner with me every night and nagged about how being so far out was dangerous. And it didn’t bother me; her nagging. It was unnecessary, but the familiarity of her motherly concern grew on me.
Though I seemed to have been accepted, I was still wary of them getting tired of me. If my anger got out of control and I lashed out at someone else like I did Libby — they’d kick me to the side.
And I always seemed to fuck shit up.
I squash the worryin’ down though — Rick asked me to keep an eye on things while him and Shane were gone the next day. He trusted me enough for all that. He coulda asked Glenn or T, but he came to me first thing that morning’ instead. I had purpose for the first time since the barn revelation.
So far the only thing I’d have to worry about when they left would be Libby and her goddamn cold.
_____________
“Mornin’,” Carol greeted me after I saw Rick and Shane off. She shoved a plate at me, encouraging me to sit down. If that woman didn’t do anything else, she kept us fed.
Another coughing fit drew my attention over to the lime green tent positioned behind Carol, “She sounds like shit.” I mutter before taking a mouthful of eggs into my mouth.
“Andrea took her temperature a couple hours ago,” Carol poured me a glass of water, pausing to look over her shoulder, “I’ve got to get laundry done. Mind checkin’ in on her?” She wasn’t askin’ me, she was tellin’ me. She set the pitcher of water down before heading to the clothesline, not waiting to hear my refusal.
I rubbed at my temple, frustrated at the forced interaction. If Libby wanted to talk, she would’ve confronted me by now -- she wutn’t keepin’ her distance by accident. I said some awful things to her, things I didn’t entirely mean and if she never forgave me I would understand. That’s why I stayed out of her way.
It was difficult for me to acknowledge that I might have feelings for Libby. I wutn’t the type for all that lovey dovey bullshit a girl like her would expect. She was stunning; all you needed were two workin’ eyes to see that. Between her flowing ginger hair, small bouts of freckles scattered on her nose and arms, long toned legs, and that annoyingly enchanting smile — I could’ve spent days admiring her. And she knew she was pretty too; ain’t no way she didn’t. Libby was too smart to not be hyper aware of the fact that her looks could take her further than a degree could. She’d became a stripper after all. I could see her workin’ in one of them gentlemen’s clubs, not the kind I ever went to with Merle.
The only thing that didn’t add up, was why she decided to get down on her knees for me.
Before all this (the apocalypse), Libby never woulda looked my way. Hell — I never woulda taken her seriously if she had. Merle had a tendency to run women like her off with his crude mouth and I didn’t help matters much. Merle mighta been more strung out than me, but I tended to add fuel to the fire. That’s why us Dixon’s were looked at in a bad light by everyone except the other redneck trash. We wutn’t worth nothin’ to nobody but ourselves. Me lashin’ out on Libby was a prime example as to why.
She’d been nothing but kind and friendly towards me -- more than just friendly sometimes. From what I knew; her past hadn’t been all that nice to her, and yet she still handled things with more humanity than I ever could.
My eyes met her tent where she was going through another coughing spell. Even if she didn’t want to talk or see me, I needed to check on her. Make sure things were good. “Hey,” I muttered, notifying her of my presence as I pulled the zipper ajar. “Hey, where’s that thermometer? Needa check yer temp.” I peered around the nylon flooring, picking up a t-shirt and jacket to search for the damn thing. My eyes finally landed on it, but as I bent down down to pick it up, things suddenly began piecing together; her sleeping bag was pushed to the end of the cot, a jacket on the floor, clothes sprawled around. “Shit.”
With how cool it was today, this stupid girl was practically naked — a long sleeve shirt was all she had on, but she laid there shiverin’.
Shit.
“Libs, c’mon.” I nudged her. She was so pale. “Dammit, girl!” My voice was raised out of frustration, not out of anger. For some weird reason, I hoped she knew that.
Her lips were trembling and she was moving them to make out words, but I couldn’t understand a thing she was sayin’. I flung off my jacket and began wrapping it around her, footsteps falling outside the tent.
“What’s wrong?” It was Carl -- not Carol like I’d started to assume.
Groaning loudly, I dipped down to pick up Libby and struggled to get out, “Go get Hershel!” I ordered to the wide-eyed kid. “Now!” As Carl took off, new feet fell beside mine while I rushed to the farmhouse.
“What happened?” Dale asked.
Carol peaked over into my arms, “Is she alright?”
I didn’t respond to either of their questions. These people ain’t got no sense of urgency. Her legs were just as pale as the rest of her body, that shoulda been enough of an answer that she wutn’t alright.
Libby’s body curled into my arms so frail-like, I’s almost scared I’d break her if I was too rough with her.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
Based on the steady bouncing accompanied by panicked voices, I could assume things weren’t going so well in my favor. Daryl’s gruff, commanding voice shouted out orders that were beyond my comprehension and I didn’t care to flutter open my eyes to try and make sense of it either.
The feeling of a mattress and new characters entered the scene playing out behind my eyelids. More sounds. Hands prodded at my body. An immense warmth blew over my back as I was turned to the side.
Soft hushing noises were whispered into my ear, lulling me into a coma.
I was comfortable.
I dozed.
_____________
There was warm water against me, rushing against my skin — not literal water, but what felt like the warmth you get after drinking hot tea. I was inexplicably content with my position. For the first time in what could’ve been years, I wasn’t freezing.
But my body seemed to have run a marathon and a half.
Reality began settling in, my senses taking in everything I could feel. The warmth was a body, and my neck had something sticking into the side of it. As much as I would’ve liked to continue assessing the world around me without notifying the person behind me, a cough burst from my sandpaper-like throat without any warning. “Fuck.” I croaked.
“Hey sweetheart,” Carol’s angelic voice whispered behind me. I could vaguely recall her hushing sweet nothings in my ear earlier, but it seemed to have happened so long ago at the same time. The sound of a door closing encouraged me to open my eyes entirely, and everything began rushing at me in a thick, fog filled haze.
It was abundantly clear to me that despite my prior thoughts, I didn’t actually sleep all that well. The jacket that was bundled around me had buttons imprinting into my skin and I must’ve been in the same position for quite some time based on how much my right side ached. “What the hell?” I mumbled, doing my best to sit up.
Carol moved up with me, guiding her hand along my back, “Careful.” Though my vision was a bit foggy, I turned my neck to face her, confusion drafted over my features. “Glenn went to get Hershel, you --“ her eyes drifted over me, “Libby -- how do you feel?” The woman’s eyebrows drew together out of concern.
“Exhausted. Disoriented. Warm.” I listed off, a strangled cough leaving my mouth, “Sick.” I added.
A mild case of hypothermia, along with probably pneumonia or bronchitis - maybe both, Carol explained my diagnosis. Andrea and Daryl went into town with a list of antibiotics to bring back about two hours ago. Then she gestured to the jacket accompanied by a vest that was draped around my shoulders, “He found you half naked, shivering to death in your tent and ran out hollering for Hershel.” He, I could only assume, was Daryl.
My chest swole with admiration for the man. I hadn’t spoken to him all week out of spite, he called me a whore. But I didn’t hold any true animosity towards him. Holding grudges had always been a big fault of mine - I’d let someone choke before talking to them first. It’s not a piece of me I’m proud of, but it is a part of me, unfortunately. It was a significant reason why I never had many friends or really dated anyone; one little slip up and I’d have a personal vendetta driving me against you. I’ve gotten better as I’ve grown, but some things never change.
It was a hard day for everyone and he deserved a little grace. From what I knew about him - he had a rough past. But he was a good person.
And I liked him a lot.
There was a range of commotion coming from outside the door before it opened to reveal a clown car of people: Hershel, Glenn, Daryl, Andrea, Lori, Dale. One after the other, they all piled in, talking up a storm. It made me wonder if they’d left Carl on lookout duty.
“We get the right stuff?” Daryl asked as Hershel rounded the bed. His eyes were filtering over me like he hadn’t seen me in years.
Then Glenn piped up, leaning over Carol’s side of the bed, “Libby, what the hell happened?”
“Your temperature was fine when I checked you this morning.” Andrea added.
The veterinarian quickly instructed everyone to leave the room except Carol, insisting that I was sick and needed to rest. “Uh-uh, ain’t goin’ nowhere til them meds get in her.” Daryl refused, crossing his arms and tucking his hands neatly below his armpit.
“I’ve been here the whole time, I’m not leaving now.” Glenn’s voice was surprisingly raised, but I saw him shrink back a little before he murmured out, “sir.”
“Guys, I’m not dying. I’ll be fine.” My voice was so scratchy, that it wasn’t giving my words a lot of support.
A loud scoff echoed through the room before Daryl dropped his arms and headed out the door, not forgetting to slam it as he left. Glenn wasn’t far behind, but his exit was a lot less rage-filled. I felt guilty for dismissing them - like I was unappreciative of their support through my delirious state during the past several hours. I’d gone a significant chunk of my life being cared for by generally no one, and now I had people lined up to make sure I was okay. Turning them away felt so wrong.
But Hershel took immediate action as the men left the room.
My new temperature was a solid 97.2°; a drastic difference from my 92.5° earlier apparently. I was given two antibiotics, an iron pill and a breathing machine was being set up next to me to help with the bronchitis. If things didn’t get any worse, he gave me a recovery time of seven days. “You’re mighty lucky we got you warmed up when we did. You were gettin’ dangerously low.”
I thanked him sincerely -- he probably thought our group was a bad omen at this point. Carl got shot; Daryl got shot and impaled; I needed stitches; Sophia was in his barn; and now I’m engulfed with all kinds of issues. But the old man gave me a tight lipped smile before telling Carol that Maggie was making some warm soup for dinner, then leaving us alone.
_____________
I was so excited to get some food in my stomach, I didn’t even want to wait for Carol to finish putting her shoes on before requesting a little extra water to fill me up. My hunger ailed me more than it ever had before. Carol mentioned that it could’ve been from my body working overtime in an attempt to keep itself warm, along with my actual illness’.
When she headed for the door, my mouth got ahead of my brain, “If they’re around, you could see if one of them will bring it up instead.” I didn’t feel the need to indicate who ‘them’ was, she already knew which two I was talking about.
“I’m sure Glenn’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you.” She walked over, her blue eyes crinkling as her lips pulled up in a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” A soft kiss was placed onto my forehead before she left out the room.
And just as the creaking door closed, I sprang out in a coughing fit. My body was burning with exhaustion and I really didn’t feel like visiting with anyone, but Glenn had seemed so worried. The guilt of upsetting the people I cared about had me in a chokehold - it would probably be my downfall in this fucked up world.
Either that or my miserable immune system.
I could hear the creaking of the floorboards from the other side of the old house and stretched lazily, trying to motivate myself to stay awake for just a little while longer. A short conversation with Glenn as I downed my soup would be a splendid ending to my shitty day. There was a side of me that hoped it would be Daryl though - just so I could clear the tension that had built between us and mend what was broken.
One last haggard breath exhaled before there was a knock on the wooden door followed by Glenn poking his head in, “Carol said I could come up.” His tone was quizzical, waiting for permission.
“Hey,” I hated how horrible my voice sounded. “You bring soup?”
He inched into the room and gave me a look of confusion. “Was I supposed to?”
I furrowed my eyebrows. Internally I was disappointed it probably wasn’t ready yet, but externally I shook my head. “Carol said she’d send it up with you, but I guess it’s still cooking.”
That answer must’ve been acceptable as he continued over to my side of the bed. “I thought you were dead.” Glenn sighed defeatedly, “When Daryl came running into the house shouting his head off, I knew something was wrong. But after he laid you down…” Then he let his words trail off, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Hey, I’m fine.” That was mostly the truth. I still felt like shit and could definitely go for another long, dreamless sleep.
Glenn sent me a tight lipped smile, “You don’t sound fine.”
Thanks Glenn.
“I mean I’m still sick, but I’ll be fine. Hershel’s got me doing breathing treatments and taking medicine every six hours.” And I will be. I’ll take my meds, rest, and recover like a good patient. Anything to speed up my recovery time so I can pump the brakes on being a burden.
“Beth tried to kill herself.”
The blurted out sentence had me blinking slowly in shock. I swallowed carefully, attempting to hold back the cough that threatened to tickle out of my throat. Carol hadn’t let me know that there was any other chaos going on outside of my own little bubble of death. Probably was better that way, but Glenn never could keep his mouth shut. He was a gossip reporter - this was a more sensitive topic though. One I knew somewhat expertly, courtesy of my area of study in the old world. And yet -- I struggled to wrangle the proper words together; “How is she right now?”
At first, the explanation was gut-wrenching to listen to. Beth; soft spoken, fair haired, daddy’s girl -- had wandered into the dark trenches of her own mind. From Glenn’s re-telling of Maggie’s re-telling, it didn’t sound like depression as much as it did anxiety. For the first time in my years of being interested in and studying psychology, I didn’t blame her for wanting to do it. For the life of me, I couldn’t say that suicide was the worst option - not in a world blanketed with walkers. The girl had been herded into thinking her mother was going to be healed eventually, only to watch as the brutal reality settled in and a pick-axe was flung into the woman’s skull. Along with that, Beth’s body had gone through an intense spur of shock only a week ago. Her issue was more immeasurable than basic anxiety - it was genuine, full-bellied fear.
And she had a right to feel that way; to not want to watch anyone else she loved die in such a horrendous, savage manner. It wasn’t like it used to be. There used to be true alternatives for people who had suicidal ideations: therapy, medications, lifestyle changes. This though - this was a world that was meant for survivors and people who had the will to become one.
Who was I to tell someone that they should want to live in a world like this? Where their own flesh could be ripped from their bodies and they’d die an agonizing death, or worse; they have to witness someone they love die in that same way.
I hated that fear had crept into Beth’s mind so soundly that she was ready to end it all - but I would not blame her for it. I was just happy that she found that will within herself to survive (even if Andrea went about it the wrong way).
Glenn left after about twenty more minutes of conversation; you know, the kind where he does all the talking and I do all the listening. He hadn’t been gone for three minutes when I heard another knock at the door, and I almost audibly groaned until I remembered I was supposed to be getting soup soon. My hunger prevailed against everything.
The brass doorknob turned and the entrance creaked open, welcoming my new guest to the pneumonia filled bedroom. If my mouth wasn’t so dry, I might’ve smiled cheesy at Daryl when he shuffled into the room with a tray. Instead, I opted for a small one, immediately taking the glass of water from where he’d settled it on the nightstand next to me. The water rushing down my throat felt heavenly. It was as if I were a fish that had been released back to sea and this was my first inhale of H2O.
“Thank you.” I breathed out, placing the half empty glass back onto the tray.
He grunted, dipping his chin down a bit in acknowledgment. “Need anything else?”
Moving to where my back was pressed against the headboard, I struggled to cross my legs, but motioned for him to move the tray onto the bed. Daryl was a tricky man. I wasn’t too sure how to go about making conversation with him when I lacked ninety percent of my energy.
“I’m not mad at you.” The words were ill prepared - still, I didn’t want him leaving the room with a chip in his shoulder. Whenever I felt better, I wanted to pick up where we left off. Colorfully flirting with him had been a highlight of my time on the farm.
After a week of various shades of the rainbow lost within my pupils, I finally met a steel blue that I’d grown rather fond of. “Shouldn’ta said that to ya.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and began chewing at it, nerves obviously getting the best of him.
A silence fell over us. Not the kind we were used to though - the comfortable kind. But an air of unsureness and doubt.
“The last thing my sister ever said to me was that I was a whore.” My words cut through the silence as I looked down at the soup sitting in front of me. “It was when she found out I was dancing. And then I dated this guy,” I let out a humorless laugh. “He knew I was a dancer when we got together, it wasn’t a big secret or anything. But he hated it and tried to convince me to quit all the time. I liked it though — I felt free and… anyways, when we broke up, he got into my face and called me a whore more than a few times.”
“Y’ain’t a whore, Libs.” Something about his immediate response made me smile up at him.
“It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been called a lot of things and I normally handle it really well.” I bit the inside of my lip, “I just think everyone’s emotions were kind of high that day. It was a lot to process.”
The closest thing to a true smile appeared on Daryl’s face and I relished in knowing that it was just for me. I was down so bad for him and I didn’t even care. There were few things that would provide joy anymore - I’d take what I could get.
“You feelin’ a’right?”
I nodded, a jolt of energy shooting through my body as I remembered the jacket and vest bunched around my shoulders. “Here.” My arms worked their way out of the vest, quickly shoving it toward him.
“Nah,” he brushed it away, “M’sick’a hearin’ you hackin’ up and lung. N’ y’need’a stay warm, ya nearly froze to death earlier, girl.”
Still - I pushed the vest his way. “Oh, no. I’ll keep the jacket and I want that flannel back, but this vest can get fucked. Look.” I pulled down the neckline of my shirt to reveal a bruise from where a button of the vest had imprinted into my skin. This. This felt normal. My body was tired and I was still sicker than shit, but things were good between us again. And I didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about demanding his shirt back.
Daryl scoffed silently, but didn’t argue back with me. My boldness shining ever bright, I admired his arms as he threw his vest on.
Then we talked.
He settled at the foot of the bed and went over more details about what I missed throughout the day, while I gobbled my soup. Rick and Shane were back — along with Randall. The boy had let it slip that he went to school with Maggie, and with that knowledge there was too much risk in just letting him go. He didn’t fail to mention that Rick and Shane both came back all bloodied up - to which I indulged him in my theory of Shane being the father of Lori’s baby.
It wasn’t all that long of a chat and when it was over, I was exhausted. Those last few minutes were blurry, my memory not transferring everything as sleep took over - but I know he took the tray with him, and promised to come back in the morning.
.you’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town.
Notes:
okay, Libby holding some severe grudges might be a personal flaw I portrayed onto her… but like we gotta keep her realistic and being called a whore is honestly so rude.
also! editing the next chapter now and it’ll probably be posted today.
Chapter 15: i wouldn’t blink
Summary:
I watched him through the window earlier; making his rounds, just as Glenn said he’d be doing. I was foolish to think he, of all people, would forget about me. Dale forgot about nothing and nobody. “Heard you tried sneaking out earlier,” he smiled, making his way to the window that I stood in front of, “figured I’d come give you some company.”
Beaming over at him, I responded, “It’s boring up here, especially with all the excitement going on out there.” I’d expected him to shoot back with some sort of banter or words of encouragement, but instead, he cut right to the chase.
“You know about the Randall situation?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.though you can see when you’re wrong, you know you can’t always see when you’re right.
Daryl didn’t come back the next morning like he’d promised. It was Glenn who brought me breakfast, and Glenn who came back a few hours later to tell me the ultimatum with Randall. He sat with me for a while - torn back and forth on how he felt about the choice. I had to admit; the fact that everyone seemed to be okay with murdering a human being disturbed me more than a little.
All except Dale, which was to be expected. He always did have more humanity than anyone else.
“It just doesn’t feel like any of this is real,” Glenn sighed. “Like, this is just part of some video game and our path has already been picked out for us. I don’t feel good about letting this guy die, but it’s preset - he has to.”
“Except it’s not. This is real life and our choices matter.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t shoot back anything to argue. Our group was split in half - split in… well, I didn’t agree with killing the guy and neither did Dale, but we might be the only two so far. We were split in far less than a half. I didn’t even know if my vote counted considering I’ve been stuck upstairs. There was a lot of commotion in the bottom part of the house since Shane and Rick’s return, but neither man came to visit me and ask my opinion on the matter - so I think it was safe to assume my vote would be moot.
Glenn gave me a half-hearted smile before leaving the room, heading out to re-join the group I was isolated away from. My eyes flickered to the window in front of me, to where I could get a view of our camp. It had only been a day since my vacation in the house had started, a single day away from my little tent. The abrupt turn of my health drove me to a near death experience: shivering, pale, confused -- and now forgotten. It was silly of me to think everyone had dismissed me from their memory, but my insecurities held true. I feared that my presence wasn’t missed. All spread out along the farm, a group I’d worked so hard to be a part of, was making decisions without me.
A series of coughs filling my room, I turned onto my stomach to smother them inside the pillow. They’d become more contained since I started taking the medicine, but still, my head ached each time the hacking sound left my throat. It didn’t spin anymore though, I reasoned with myself, slipping from underneath the blanket to go lookout the window.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I heard him before he said anything, figured it was Glenn for a minute til the kid spoke up, “Did it hurt to punch the guy?"
This kid was gon’ get himself or someone else killed if he didn’t learn to mind his business and stay around his damn parents. He ain’t got no sense of awareness. But I still found myself responding to him, "I been hurt worse.” I nodded toward where his wound would’ve been, “You, too, buddy."
"Can you teach me how to shoot that?" Carl wondered aloud, pointing down at my crossbow with a smile. A smile that was so kid-like, it made me remember that that’s all he was - a little boy, tryna find something ta do.
"Your arm ain't long enough.”
"Yeah it is!" he insisted, reaching his arm out, indicating how long it wutn’t.
I scoffed, genuinely amused by the kid, "Stick to guns; takes less skill.” More footsteps crunched along the grass and I turned to see Carol making her way over. “Where's your ol' man? Why don't you go pester him?"
Guilt swam inside of me after I stood up and shooed Carl away. He wutn’t hurtin’ nothin’, he just wanted somethin’ ta do - someone ta talk to. This world was robbin’ him of his childhood. I guess some things never change -- didn’t mean he deserved it. Kids didn’t deserve shitty lives.
Before I could try and avoid Carol, she was shovin’ wet rags in my hands, “D’you get what you wanted? Approval? Thanks?" I don’t know why she always had ta come bring her savior complex all in my business. First, it was over me moving my tent away; then, cause I slammed the door on Libby yesterday; now, cause I did what needed ta be done. She just kept on, "Couldn't hit me, so you beat up a kid. Is that who you are, now?"
"He ain't no kid, n’ he’d do a lot worse than hittin' you if you gave 'im a chance." I shot back, scrubbing away the blood from my knuckles.
"That's not what this is about, you know it."
I narrowed my eyes at the woman, "What do you want me to do? Huh?” At the raise of tone, I turned away from her. I’s tryna get better about how I directed my anger. “I don't need this."
But damn does this lady make it hard, “Don't pretend like you don't care," she snapped harshly - harsher than I ever heard her. "You want your friendship back? Take it. Every kind and smart thing you said? Take it all back, I don't care. I've lost worse.” Carol took a step back, “But don't sit back here and tend to your bloody fists and pretend you don't care." Then she left, not giving me a chance to say anything back.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t need these people - didn’t need nobody but myself.
Carol don’t know nothin’ about me n’ she’s talkin’ bout ‘friendship’. Her and Libby both. All cause they had shitty pasts don’t mean they know what mine’s like. I’s different -- rougher. They could blend in with the rest of’em and the group would be none the wiser, but I stood out like a sore thumb. Carol just lost her little girl; she tended to the camp, took care’a things that needed takin’ care of. Liberty got along with everyone; she had that annoyin’ charm, hookin’ people for no damn reason.
My eyes lingered on the farmhouse ahead of me and I scoffed when I thought about Libby waitin’ on me. I didn’t mean ta not visit her this mornin’, but Rick needed someone that wutn’t Shane to get some answers outta Randall, and my dumbass obliged.
Just lettin’ myself get used.
Didn’t matter though; I’s headin’ out later, they could deal with that shit by themselves. I ain’t comin’ back.
_____________
Everything was packed and ready to go except my tent. I’s gon’ leave at first light n’ take it down then - didn’t need nobody tryna stop me. Probably be a smart idea to move my bike over here too, whoever was on watch when I decide to leave would have too many questions than I cared to answer that early in the morning. These people wutn’t my problem no more.
But I’s still torn on whether or not I should go see Libby.
I didn’t like it - but I wanted to go talk to her one last time. If I did that though, I might talk myself outta leavin’, n’ I needed ta leave. Even more so now that I’s almost admitting to myself that I had a thing for her. If I left without seein’ her, it’d be easier to forget that I might’ve liked her even more if I stuck around.
Sortin’ through my arrows, I’s tryna get a count of how many decent ones I had left so I could start a game plan for the road ahead of me. Then on my way to get my bike I’d decide whether I should go see Libby. I glanced up at the noise of footsteps approaching and scoffed when I saw Dale moseyin’ towards me, “The whole point of me comin' up here's ta get away from you people.”
“Gonna take more than that.” Dale replied as I continued sorting through my arrows.
"Carol send you?" I asked, unbothered.
"Carol's not the only one that's concerned about you, with your -- new role in the group."
New ‘role’ my ass. I’s nothin’ but they’re ‘garbage boy’, "Man, I don't need my head shrunk. This group's broken. I'm better off fendin' for myself."
"You act like you don't care.” He muttered, a suspicious look on his face.
Grabbing my jacket and vest, I pulled them over my shoulder, "Yeah, s’cause I don't.”
"So, live or die, you don't care what happens to Randall?"
"Nope."
"Then why not stand with me, try to save the kid's life, if it really doesn't matter one way or the other?"
”I didn't peg you for a desperate sumbitch.” The jacket I’s wearin’ didn’t fit all that great, s’tight, so I started adjustin’ it around my neck. Why was everyone on me bout carin’ so much. Even if I did, it wutn’t none of their business.
"Your opinion makes a difference.” Dale shot out.
"Man, ain't nobody lookin' at me for nothin'.” I grabbed my crossbow up, turning to leave, but that old man don’t let up. He’s worser than Carol.
"Carol is!" He raises his voice. "Libby did, in those woods when you two got all messed up. And I am. Right now." I eyed the man, unsure what he was playin’ at. "And you obviously have Rick's ear.”
"Rick just looks to Shane," I spit out, “Let 'im."
I turned to walk away again, only to be stopped again “You cared about what happened to Sophia!" Dale hollered again, continuing to keep my attention. It was irritating that I couldn’t just walk away from him -- he’d probably just follow me. "Cared about what it meant to the group. You saved Liberty’s life yesterday. Torturing people? That isn't you. You're a decent man.” He paused, eyeballing me up and down, “So is Rick. Shane…” Holding an arm out, he made a negative gesture while firmly shaking his head, “He’s different."
"Why's that? ‘Cause he killed Otis?"
A cold look passed over the man’s face, "He tell you that?" Dale asked, stepping closer.
"He told some story." I said, plainly. “How Otis covered 'im, saved his ass. He showed up with a dead guy's gun.” I’s honestly a little relieved that I wutn’t the only one that was suspicious of Shane. “Rick ain't stupid. If he didn't figure that out, it's 'cause he didn't wanna. S’like I said, group's broken."
Turning away a final time, I beelined it for the woods - figured if I stayed in there for a little while it’d give that old man some time ta wander off somewhere else. Hell’s he know anyway? M’tired’a them people tellin’ me that I care about things that I don’t. Only reason I stuck around this long s’cause I ain’t got nowhere better ta be, but now they’re gettin’ downright annoyin’.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I’d managed to sneak out twice in order to use the restroom, but when I tried tiptoeing downstairs with the excuse of looking for Carol, Hershel sent me right back up to bed. I felt like a child put on restriction. It was for the better, but the stubborn side of me wanted to be involved. Someone must have sensed my excitement to get in on the action (if you’d call it that), because a swift knock on the door made my face light up - a sudden rush of joy flowing through my veins at the sight of Dale.
I watched him through the window earlier; making his rounds, just as Glenn said he’d be doing. I was foolish to think he, of all people, would forget about me. Dale forgot about nothing and nobody. “Heard you tried sneaking out earlier,” he smiled, making his way to the window that I stood in front of, “figured I’d come give you some company.”
Beaming over at him, I responded, “It’s boring up here, especially with all the excitement going on out there.” I’d expected him to shoot back with some sort of banter or words of encouragement, but instead, he cut right to the chase.
“You know about the Randall situation?”
I shrugged, “Glenn told me what Daryl said about him. That’s about it.”
“Daryl hasn’t come to see you?”
“Not since last night,” I looked away, not willing to let myself become too vulnerable. I was sick enough as it was - a red face and tears would only worsen my symptoms I was desperately trying to get rid of. “Glenn’s been the only one up here today. Everyone must be wound up about the makeshift trial later on.”
Dale let out a humorless laugh, “Yeah. Doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be much of a trial.” There was a level of disappointment in his voice that I hadn’t heard before. It saddened me to think that nobody in the entire group had a shred of humanity except for Dale -- that he was the only one fighting for a young man’s life.
“For what it’s worth. I agree with you.”
“Nice to know that someone does.” He mumbled.
I looked out the window to see a few people straggling around, seemingly unbothered by the heaviness of their decision. “You’ve talked to everybody?” I asked. “Glenn’s kind of rocky and Hershel doesn’t seem like the type to be okay with murder.” After all, the farmer had been keeping walkers in a barn to wait for a cure, along with allowing a bunch of strangers to stay on his land and helping us get back on our feet. He also stood firmly that this was his property -- what he says goes.
“I’m gonna talk to Hershel on my way out.” He explained.
“If you get him on your side, you’ll probably have Maggie, Patricia, and Glenn.”
Dale explained the reactions from the rest of the group when he tried talking to them, and I was shocked to find out that Carol had elected not to state her opinion, stating that she was tired of all the arguing and split decisions. I knew there was more to Carol than she was giving us - it was only a matter of time.
“If he comes to see you, will you talk to him?” Dale asked as he shuffled towards the door, intending to catch Hershel before the meeting. Everyone would be gathering around in the next two hours or so, and Dale still had ground to cover.
I nodded, knowing exactly who he was talking about, “I will, but no promises he’ll listen.”
“You have more say than you think you do, Liberty. People listen to you.”
His words bled deep into my soul. The entire time I’d been a member of the group, I’d struggled to make my impression known. I tried endlessly to be an asset — someone people turned to — Dale just told me I was. Dale doesn’t lie. “If I wasn’t so sick, I’d come give you a hand in talking. I hate that I’m stuck up here. I could be doing more.”
And Dale looked at me, his features softening greatly, like he’d just reached an epiphany he’d been searching for after a great while. “Vienna waits for you.” He said, walking forward once more to place a hand on my shoulder. “The Billy Joel song, my wife -- oh, she was a big fan. That’s what you remind me of; Vienna.”
“I don’t think I know it.” I admitted, raking my brain for any song by Billy Joel other than ‘Uptown Girl’ and ‘Piano Man’. Dale’s eyes only got wider,
“Well I keep some of his cassette tapes in the side door of the RV, when you’re back on your feet we’ll give them a listen.” He said, a pep in his tone. I couldn’t tell if it was over Billy Joel, coming to the conclusion that I’d reminded him of a song, or reminiscing his wife, but his smile was so bright. Maybe it was all of those things at once.
Then he talked to me for even longer. He went on about some lyrics from the song, humming the tune as he did, and telling me what they meant. I learned about the concerts he attended with his wife, Irma, and more songs by the artist. But he left eventually, going to busy himself with talking to Hershel before he ran out of time, as it was quickly approaching the ‘hearing’
_____________
For the first time in ages, I woke with a genuine start - the sound of a gunshot shaking me out of my slumber. Whatever medicine it was that I’d been taking, had a tendency to put me into a nice, deep sleep and from the lack of sunlight, it was obvious I’d slept well through the meeting. My heart sank at what the gunshot meant; Dale’s objection to execution had fallen on deaf ears.
I wanted to be angry at everyone for not giving Randall a chance, but the truth is, I don’t really know where I stood other than I was against the death penalty. There were other options - ways to see if the guy could contribute and become a useful part of our group. Merle Dixon had been a member at one point, and for a while, people only saw Daryl as an extension of his brother. The younger Dixon was now an essential piece of the puzzle that was our camp. That’s not to say I had high hopes for Randall -- what Glenn told me sent shivers up my spin, but taking a human life was a step in the wrong direction. There needed to be a line that we wouldn’t cross in order to keep our humanity.
Every nerve in my body shot up when I heard the front door slam shut and weeping flowing throughout the house. Pushing myself to a sitting position, coughing a small fit as I did, I leaned over to look for the lighter and candles on the nightstand. I blinked a few times, adjusting my eyes to the scene that was illuminated by the flickering light. More footsteps filed into the house, a crowd forming below the floorboards that my bed rested on. In a hurried panic, I darted out from under the covers and to the window, checking to see if Randall’s group had located us and were now coming to seek revenge. But I barely saw anything. The moon shone brightly and there was a low fire going over at the campsite - not a single soul gathered around it though, and looking to the top of the RV, I couldn’t see anyone up there either.
My head snapped to the doorway where I heard footsteps approaching, awaiting the knock that never came. Instead; the door cracked open, revealing a shadowy silhouette. Should I have hidden? Maybe the reason nobody had been gathered around the fire was because they were all dead and now the killers were coming to finish me off: “You been lookin’ out there this whole time?”
Consolation embedded within the room once more at the revelation of Daryl. “Just woke up.” I said, the sleepy sound in my voice evident.
I quickly became suspicious when he closed the door quietly and sat on the bed - a drained look on his face. There was no sign of assurance that things were fine, despite his obvious concern at me looking out the window. He kept his gaze fixed on me though, surveying my body with heavy eyes and I wondered what he was thinking. The silence was deafening — but I had no idea how to break it. I wasn’t upset that he hadn’t kept his promise about coming to see me that morning, a lot had been going on, I gave him grace for that. Did he think I was angry about it? Or did the weight of witnessing Randall’s murder burden him?
“S’gettin’ cold outside.” Was how he sliced through the stillness in the room.
In an attempt to dig deeper into what was bothering him, I smiled cheekily, “You come up here to cuddle?”
But he didn’t shoot anything snarky back or tell me to stop — he actually laid back, across the foot of the bed and let out a deep sigh. I pushed away from the window sill, making my way over to lay alongside him, desperate to know what ailed him so ferociously. I didn’t want to ruin my chances completely, so instead of cozying up too close, I stared at the ceiling. “Randall ain’t dead. Rick let’im live.” He admitted after several seconds of silence.
“Really?” I asked, surprised by the news. “What’s the plan now? Who else agreed with Dale?” My questions spun out in a snow flurry as I looked over to Daryl.
His jaw tensed while his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, “you and Andrea.”
I furrowed my brows , “The three of us get that much say?”
“Carl walked in during all of it -- told Rick to hurry up and shoot him, so he called it off. He wutn’t gonna do it anyway.” Daryl mumbled, obviously frustrated. “Ain’t got the guts.”
“Daryl,” On instinct, my hand interlaced with his. “Glenn told me about this morning. You shouldn’t let yourself be used like that - it’s not your job to handle Rick’s dirty work.” The blame game was stupid. But it was Rick that left Sophia in the woods, and Daryl who nearly died looking for her. It was Rick that made the choice to save Randall’s life, and Daryl who had scabby knuckles after torturing him for information. It was Rick that decided to execute the guy, and Daryl who was probably going to be asked to do it instead.
Shockingly, Daryl thumbed over my knuckles softly, not pulling away from my touch, “S’gotta get done. That kid ain’t nothin’ but trouble.”
“He’s not a kid.” I pointed out. “And we could use more man power. Why are you so sure that he’s like the people he ran with?”
Daryl scoffed, turning his face to look at me. The obvious staring made heat rise to my cheeks, tinting them a nice shade of pink, I was sure. “He is a kid, Libby. And — he waited too long to tell me about what his group did to them girls. N’ when he was tellin’ me, he just -- he had this look in his eyes. Like he was gauging me to see if I was like him.”
That struck me differently — the tone in Daryl’s voice had reached an all time low. It wasn’t that I believed him blindly, but he was pretty convincing in his statements. “You’re so sure of that, that you’d be willing to kill him?”
Daryl grunted, “With all the women we got in camp -- I wouldn’t blink.” His words were firm.
Him saying that confirmed what I always thought to be true; Daryl Dixon cared about this group and his role in it. “You’re a good man, Dar.” I squeezed his hand tightly, meeting his gaze as best as I could in the dim candlelight. He was chewing the inner part of his lip in a fury and his thumb was rubbing against my knuckles harshly. I wanted badly to tell him feathered words to ease his nerves, he’d been going through a sort of metamorphosis over the last week and it was taking a toll on him. Closing my eyes briefly, I let out a deep breath to ground myself. My natural side trickled to the surface, “If it’s really gonna be cold tonight, you should stay with me.”
The lip-chewing stopped and I would’ve been easily convinced that his breathing did as well. But the words that left his mouth next explained why he’d been so timid since he’d come in. They would haunt me forever.
“Dale’s dead, Libs.”
Daryl did end up staying with me, but there was no snuggling or chaste touching. I wept until my coughing took over and medicine was coerced down my throat. At any other point, I would’ve been thrilled to have Daryl’s arms around my waist, pulling my body closer to him for warmth. Tonight was terrible though — my last conversation with Dale still fresh in my mind.
“You have more say than you think you do, Liberty. People listen to you.”
_____________
Dale Horvath made me feel safe.
From the very first time he introduced himself, I’d never felt more comfortable with a stranger before. He had a calming, steady voice, that eased the overhead fear of being stuck on I-85 all alone after napalm ruined the haven that Atlanta was supposed to be. Without my uncle or aunt, my sisters not answering my calls, and my two friends being out of state; Dale was the only constant I had during those early days. Every morning and every evening, I could count on him to pass by my truck and chat with me for a few minutes.
He was responsible for my joining the camp in Atlanta -- the proposition to move my truck closer to his RV had been what got the wheels turning on my end. If he hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t be here.
All the precious conversations we had together; he, Glenn, and I. After getting to know him better, I began to see the similarities between him and Glenn. I was so sure that I was getting a sneak peak at my friends future in Dale… my friend, that was only my friend, because of Dale. He’d been the man that started it all.
And as we stood around his grave — I ached for another small talk with Dale Horvath.
“Libby,” Carol came behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder, “I’ll get your tent packed up and bring your things inside. You need to go rest.” She instructed in a motherly like manner.
I didn’t want to go rest though. I was angry, and sad, and confused, and bitter. “I can do it myself.” I mumbled, brushing her hand off. The group hadn’t necessarily dispersed quite yet, so my response was heard throughout, earning me a few questionable looks.
One particular response, was Daryl’s, “Y’ain’t gon’ do nothin’ if you stay sick.”
I wanted to argue back, but I looked away as a cough tickled my throat like this was all a fucking joke. My croaking lost the argument for me.
Bullshit.
.you got your passion, you got your pride, but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied.
Notes:
k, but Dale would def be a Billy Joel fan and we get to see a pivotal point in Libby’s new life. Vienna and Dale’s death 💙
only one or two more chapters left until season 3. let me know how y’all are liking it, and if y’all would be interested in a full Daryl pov chapter in the future!
Chapter 16: get with it
Summary:
“Daryl, I can help.” I protested.
He moved towards me, “Liberty, y’look like yer gon’ pass out. Go get yer shit, some extra water, n’ be ready ta leave.” He didn’t leave room for any argument, joining in on Maggie and Glenn’s conversation.
Notes:
season finale !
wanted to give a shout out to two amazing humans on tumblr gothic-pumpkin & dixons-sunshine, who helped me get out of a writers block and take my story further down the road.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.might not be long, but baby, I.
Salt water lined my cheeks as I listened to the ending of the song for the sixth time.
’And you know that when the truth is told,
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You’re gonna kick off before before you even get halfway through, ooh
Why don’t you realize, Vienna waits for you?
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?’
Glenn, my best friend, who was also grieving the loss of our mentor, retrieved all the Billy Joel tapes from the side door of the RV and searched the attic for a cassette player that Hershel said would’ve been stored up there if he still had one. Then we settled in each others company for about an hour on the bed, listening to the music drift througout the room. Though we asked Andrea to come join us for just a little bit, she refused — she wanted to continue moving to keep her mind off the loss, opting instead to help Shane, Daryl, and T-Dog clear the field and set a firmer perimeter. I understood that. Had I not been under the weather, I too would’ve kept myself moving.
When Glenn left, I was alone to grieve and think about things. I never realized how attached I was to Dale until now, and that scared me a little bit.
Death after the fall was a difficult thing to navigate through and understand, I’ve come to realize. Uncle Clyde had urgently ushered me into the truck, forcing me to leave before I had to bear witness to his untimely demise. Then I got stuck in the traffic snarl on the highway all alone without a clue on where to go from there. I never truly got to mourn him or Aunt Bea, and I believe I was still in a state of shock over their deaths. Seeing Amy’s dead body had hit different merely because we were the same age - there was no real attachment behind the loss though. The snarling corpse of Sophia would haunt me for the rest of my life probably. I’d dedicated so much time and energy to bring her home, only to find out it was an impossible task from the very beginning. Her death was a finality that could only be described as a total tragedy.
But I had just seen Dale a few hours before Daryl told me the news -- the two of us had made plans to listen to Billy Joel together and reminisce about his past. It was still early in the afternoon now and a lump formed in my throat when I thought about the fact that Dale had been alive this time yesterday. He spent his last day disputing Randall’s case with everyone on the property, only to die not knowing he won.
I wasn’t a saint or anything - but I don’t think my soul deserves the pain this world was torturing me with.
Hours passed before anyone came upstairs, but the knocking at the door drew my attention away from ‘The Hobbit’, and to Daryl entering with my backpack, bow, and tent; all packed neatly up. “Hey,” he nodded his chin at me before setting my things down. “Rick and I, we’re about ta head out, you need anything?”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Her lips quirked up in a soft smile when she saw me and I reveled in the fact that I’d never seen her smile like that at anyone else — not even Glenn. She rolled onto her stomach, movin’ to one side of the bed, then patting the spot next to her, “spare me ten minutes?”
I dipped my head down in obedience as I started towards her. When Dale left me alone yesterday, he gave me a lot ta think about. I didn’t know him for a long time, but he wutn’t no liar, n’ he saw things that I don’t think a lotta people did. It didn’t mean I agreed with what he was tryna tell me about Randall, but I made the decision to commit to this group cause’ of him. Nobody’d ever know that, but he’s the only thing that stopped me from dippin’ out on these people. N’ I guess in committing to them, I’s decidin’ ta indulge myself with the chance that Libby might be serious about her flirtin’ antics.
It felt weird to let myself be attracted to her — not that I didn’t already find her attractive or anything, I just kept pushin’ it to the side. If I focused too much on those feelings in my stomach when we were together, it made things complicated on my end, n’ my body would betray me otherwise. But I think I had a thing for this girl. Especially when I’s layin’ next ta her n’ she wouldn’t stop inchin’ closer like she was doin’ now. “I reloaded yer mag, it’s right on top when ya unzip the bag.”
“Make sure y’all are careful.” Her fingers intwined with mine much like they had last night. “I don’t wanna lose anyone else.”
“Ain’t gotta worry bout us.”
Libby was easy ta be around, n’ I think that’s why so many people liked’er. But when she got that look in her eye like she gettin’ right now, I wondered if all them people would still think she was some all-around sweetheart. The girl was eye-fuckin’ me like I’s some magazine, her gaze shamelessly lingered across my body to the point I was becomin’ self-conscious. “Stay with me again tonight?” It wutn’t much of a question, other than the tone it was asked in. But as she turned onto her side n’ brought one of her legs up to rest across my waist, I found myself easily agreeing.
“Only cause it’s gon’ get cold.” I clarified, tryin’ to ignore the way her fingers whispered over my chest.
“And you’ll keep me warm?” She knew what she was doin’, n’ I couldn’t even bring myself ta stop’er from rubbin’ the inner part of her thigh against my damn halfway hard-on. I must’a been makin’ it too easy, cause the damn red-head brought our interlaced hands up n’ placed them right on her tits. “You can touch me, Dar.” Her voice was sweeter’n honey. It shoulda been a sin ta sound like that while doin’ the things she was doin’.
“Gotta go.” I said in protest as she released my hand, but I didn’t stop kneading over the clothed flesh. My voice sounded desperate, n’ I despised it. I’s a grown man, not some boy that didn’t know what he was doin’. Admittedly though — I only knew few things bout really bein’ with a woman… still wutn’t no teenage boy that was needy ta get his dick wet.
Her grindin’ didn’t stop, only got more intense. If anyone was needy it was Libby. N’if I didn’t have to go with Rick, I probably would’ve done whatever she asked me to. “Later?” The question was in reference to an unspoken situation, one where we satiated the desire that filled the room so heavily right now.
Despite the house being full of people, n’ it bein’ risky, her big brown eyes pleaded up at me to agree. So I did. “Later.” I struggled to pull away from her, not because she was holding onto me too tightly, but because I didn’t wanna leave.
When I’s nineteen, there was a girl that worked at the gas station I stopped at on the way home from work twice a week for a pack of smokes. Her name was Heather n’ I used ta wonder what it’d be like ta be with her. That was the first time I had been fully entranced by a specific woman before — but she stopped working there randomly n’ I quit goin’ ta that gas station not long after. Then the bartender at ‘Thunders’, Karla, she was always pretty ta look at, the sex wutn’t all that though. I figured since I’d been eyeing her for about a year, she’d be a good lay, but it wutn’t no different than anything else I had, n’ I lost interest in her pretty quick.
Libby had captivated me in a way I’d never been before. I’d lusted over dozens of women, but it never lasted — just sex. All those times I’d only been interested in gettin’ myself off n’ passin’ out; probably cause I was high, drunk, or both. Either way, the women I was with had all been in it for the same thing I was: to get fucked. I ain’t ever actually cared too much about what they looked like, who they were, or what they enjoyed. But Libby was different. Sure, she didn’t make it no secret that sex was on her mind, but she rarely acted on it. As a matter of fact, she ain’t actually come onto me like this since the CDC — other than that, it was all just seductive words n’ long gazes.
I wutn’t throwin’ myself no pity party or nothin’, but it was a little disappointing that I’s damn near forty-two years old and ain’t had no real experience other than some quick fucks. I didn’t even know how to respond besides going along with whatever she wanted when Libby had just thrown herself at me.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
There was something so exhilarating about teasing men that really got me going. Flirting was in my nature and with all the chaos erupting around the farm lately, I’d been in a state of emotionally coasting for well over a week. When Daryl had laid down across the foot of the bed last night after I teased him about cuddling, before he told me about Dale, it sparked that amorous flame inside of me again.
For nearly two weeks I’d been out of my comfort zone. I hadn’t felt like myself, and it was time for that to change.
Daryl would just have to get with it.
I’d been focused so heavily on shaping myself back into who I truly was, the racing footsteps down the hallway hadn’t registered until the wooden door flung open, “Hey, you hear or see anything recently?” Carol asked in a panic. The urgency in her voice almost sent me into my own frenzy, only shaking my head rapidly at the sudden energy shift. “Randall’s missing. Rick, Shane, Daryl, and Glenn just went out to track him, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“How the hell did he go missing?” I shot up at the news.
Carol wrapped her sweater around her body a little tighter, “Shane said something about getting snuck up on. I don’t know.”
“So what? We’re supposed to sit around and wait to hear back from one of them?” I wasn’t really sure what else we were supposed to do, but there was something off about the story, the more Carol divulged it to me.
She sat down next to me, explaining every single detail of what had happened that day - even the useless stuff that wouldn’t benefit anyone right now, like whose clothes she hung on the line. But every time she mentioned Shane, she didn’t fail to mention something being off with him all day long. I never asked her if she thought he had more to do with Randall being out there than he let on, but I felt like it had been obviously insinuated.
Time moved agonizingly slow when she left me and I found myself wandering out the bedroom after what felt like hours but had probably only been forty-five minutes. As I creeped along the floorboards like a mischievous teenager, a small voice called out to me from the bottom of the stairs,
“Can I go look out the window in your room?” Carl asked, holding out his binoculars as if to show me he was telling the truth.
I nodded, “I’ll be back up in a little bit.”
He trotted up the stairs, sparing me a smile as he brushed past me. I walked through the foyer and into the living room where everyone was huddled.
Maggie was the first to notice me, but she didn’t say anything, her eyes were busy scanning outside the windows and all throughout the room like she had x-ray vision. I understood why she was worried, it was the same reason my patience had begun wearing thin -- Glenn was out there. It was well past dusk now, with only the moon to serve as a light in the nighttime darkness. Even then, the trees blanketed over what lay beneath their branches in the woods, any natural light peaking through would be few and far between. The loss of Dale was so fresh — I couldn’t take another cut that deep right now, I’d only just started re-adapting.
“How long have they been gone?” I asked, standing in the entryway between the living room and dining room.
Andrea strutted towards me, her lips turned downwards, “Libby, you should be resting. They’ll be back soon.”
“I’m not gonna rest until they’re back. I might as well rest down here, around other people, then up there, where I’m tempted to sneak out to go after them myself.” My jaw hardened when I was finished, not willing to let this become an actual argument. I was tired of being told what to do, and it wasn’t hurting anyone if I was down here. If I let my thoughts run wild while I was alone, I’d have myself convinced I could find Randall all on my own.
_____________
Another forty-five minutes passed before the gunshot rang out and fear soaked the expansive room. T-Dog had to hold Lori back from going to check it out, and Andrea was pacing around the house so much I fully believed she was paving a dent in the floorboards. Being around the others and finally moving a reasonable amount, I became too aware how weak I still felt. My stubbornness though — it wasn’t willing to throw the towel in. Glenn was out there, Daryl was out there, Rick, and Shane… I wanted to be one of the faces they saw when they made it back.
Deciding to rest my head on the back of the couch for a few minutes, turned into being jolted awake by the slamming of doors and heavy footsteps entering the house. I could feel his gaze roam over me before I ever met his eyes — and by the time I did look at him, Daryl had already began speaking to the group as a whole.
“Rick and Shane ain't back?"
"No.” Lori replied.
"We heard a shot.” Daryl said as he looked around the room, confirming for himself that they really weren’t just hiding somewhere within the house.
Lori guesses again, masking her worry, “Maybe they found Randall.”
“We found him.” He stated. A mess of back and forth questions spilled throughout the room, until Daryl finally explained what he and Glenn had found out in the woods. “Thing is, Shane and Randall's tracks were right on top of each other. And Shane ain't no tracker, so he didn't come up behind 'im. Nah, they were together."
"Would you please get back out there, find Rick and Shane and find out what on earth is goin' on?" Lori pleaded, urging Daryl to do more.
"You got it.” He agreed.
I wanted to volunteer to go with him — throw my input into the mix, but I felt my chest tightening and the need to cough rise up inside my body. Instead, I followed everyone else outside silently, doing my best to move at the same pace as the rest of them. But boy, if adrenaline wasn’t doing its job.
Standing on the front porch, looking out at the usual view, dozens of walkers were scattering through the vista of the ranch. A genuine scene from a horror film, playing in live motion right before our very eyes. The snarling creatures were flanking the barn, slowly creeping and shambling their way to our farmhouse oasis. My breath caught in my throat at the sight — unable to process exactly what this would mean for us.
"Patricia, kill the lights.” Hershel ordered in a hushed tone.
Andrea turned to head inside in a rush, "I'll get the guns.”
"Maybe they're just passing, like the herd on the highway,” Glenn threw out, attempting a positive angle. “Should we just go inside?"
"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about," Daryl rejected. "Herd that size'll rip the house down." I hated hearing those words, no matter how much I’d already known they were true.
When Andrea rushed back out with the duffel bag full of guns, I made the decision to grab a rifle and pull my weight again. Later, when whatever the hell was happening right now was over, I’d hate myself. My stubbornness was honest, but I wasn’t an idiot, I knew I wasn’t well enough to be back out. Choices, choices, choices, though…and I might as well do what I can, while I can. Adrenaline wasn’t infinite. But at the same time as I grabbed the gun, Lori burst out of the house, “Carl's gone!” She hollered frantically.
"What?" Daryl and I both said as a pair.
"He - he was upstairs," she explained, running her hands through her hair. "I can't find him anymore."
"Maybe he's hiding.” Glenn suggested.
"He's supposed to be upstairs.” Lori shook her head, shooting Glenn’s thoughts down. “I'm not leavin' without my boy!"
"We're not," Carol said to the panicking woman, “We're gonna, we're gonna look again, and we're gonna find him."
My gut twisted in all different directions. I was the one that told Carl he could hang out in my room — if I wouldn’t have been so determined to stay downstairs and wait on the guys to get back, I would’ve known what happened. He would’ve been with me. Carol and Lori disappeared inside of the house, searching for the little boy. I gripped the shotgun tighter, unsure of where I was needed, but determined to keep my adrenaline pumping.
“Dar,” Glenn had been worried with loading his own gun, while T-Dog walked to the other side of the porch, and I didn’t know who else to turn to - - Daryl was there and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t beginning to panic a little.
The look he gave me when he turned around indicated to me, that I must’ve looked as rough as I sounded. It had been a few hours since I looked in the mirror, but I knew my eyes were red from constant sneezing, and my lips were puffy and chapped as a side effect of being sick. I’m sure my hair was a mess — it hadn’t exactly been taken care of in a few days. “Uh uh,” he shook he head. “Go get yer shit n’ head out with the girls, y’don’t needa be out here.”
“Daryl, I can help.” I protested.
He moved towards me, “Liberty, y’look like yer gon’ pass out. Go get yer shit, some extra water, n’ be ready ta leave.” He didn’t leave room for any argument, joining in on Maggie and Glenn’s conversation.
They were going to try and lead them off the farm.
It wasn’t a bad idea, I thought, as I made my way up the stairs and back into the bedroom. We didn’t have an ungodly amount of ammo, but enough to take out a good bit of the geeks that were invading the property. The low rumbling of a motorcycle sounded off, signaling the start of the fight between us and the walkers.
I quickly decided to change clothes, opting not to get caught in an uncanny position wearing pajama pants. My heart thudded in my chest when I unzipped my bag and saw the material that my pistol had been placed on top of -- the flannel that he told me I looked good in. All the gunfire popping outside didn’t draw my attention from the warm feeling inside of me as I dressed myself in clothes that weren’t entirely mine. The stupid flannel, the stupid jacket, that belonged to my stupid crush, made me unexplainably happy - despite the looming danger outside.
Rounding the foot of the bed, I double checked for anything significant I could be leaving behind: my gun was in its holster on my hip, the knife Shane gave me back in Atlanta was strapped onto my belt loop, and I had to just trust that whoever packed my book bag didn’t skimp on essentials — there was no time to empty it and check. A worn beige square caught my eye though; shrugging my book bag off, I snatched the walkman up, along with the Billy Joel cassette tape I’d grown familiar with and shoved them into my bag. I grabbed up my bow, thankful again for all the adrenaline, and rushed downstairs only to find the house empty. And when I flung open the front door, the agonizing sight of Patricia being mauled to death by walkers was the first thing I was greeted with.
But it was seeing Carol running away from a small group of them in the distance that shot me into action. I unstrapped my 9mm and the flight down the porch steps didn’t phase my weak body. After taking down three surrounding walkers, I was happy to see Andrea join the fight to save Carol. Only problem is — her gunfire only attracted the geeks onto her. “Andrea!” I shouted, taking down one of the assholes closing in on her, and to say I was relieved to see her turn around in time to shoot the other one, was an understatement.
Within seconds of taking off in her direction, I fucking tripped. I clambered around on the blood-soaked ground, pushing aside both dead, and animated walkers, while striving to catch up with either Andrea or Carol. “Liberty,” a familiar, winded voice said my name. “Hey, we gotta get outta here.” Andrea ordered, steadying me on my feet, and when she did, my world spun.
“Andrea, I can’t.” I snapped, though my voice wasn’t harsh. The weakness in my bones enveloped me in a sudden whirlwind. So terribly, I had wanted to contribute and be out of that damned room — now that I was, I was incapable of keeping my breathing under control. “I can’t.”
“Libby, you have to.” Her hand wrapped around mine, dragging me away to the dense tree line. My feet felt heavy and waves of panic washed onto the shores of my mind. “Stay here.” She shoved me gently down into a bush, before slipping her Bowie knife from her jeans, “I’ll go get help, you just stay.” It was impossible for her to see, but I did nod my head at her instructions. Arguing wasn’t an option for me right now.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Libby wutn’t there.
I grabbed Carol from the farm and took off hours ago, hoping that just because Carol got separated didn’t mean Libby did too. I didn’t know the whole story after all — anything coulda happened. But I told her ta stay with the other women, n’ pickin’ up Carol left room for doubt that them women didn’t make it off the farm. That was, til we spotted Glenn n’ Maggie’s car off-roadin’ in that damned suv. When we caught up to them, they said T-dog passed in the truck about five minutes ago n’ they were goin’ after’em.
But Libby wutn’t there. We caught up to the truck, n’ it was just Lori n’ Beth.
Libby, Rick, Shane, Hershel, Andrea, Carl, Patricia, n’ Jimmy — they were all missing. There was a chance that all them met up with each other, much like the lot of us had as well. It was the only thing keepin’ me from turnin’ around n’ goin’ back for that damn red-head.
Lori suggested to go to the interstate where we first lost Sophia; if Rick got out, he’d have gone there. So that was where we headed to, n’ the whole time, the thought of Libby not makin’ it out wrecked my mind into pieces. I’d just got comfortable with havin’ a thing for’er — lettin’ myself care about her more; beginning to *feel* things for’er. It didn’t matter what I’d told’er ta do, that girl was so determined to help out when things went ta shit, I feared that’s exactly what she did n’ that she stretched herself too far.
Libby wutn’t dumb - stubborn - not dumb. N’ she wutn’t no damsel in distress neither; she was tough. I spent enough time with her to know that she had no issues with gettin’ her hands dirty and doin’ what she had ta do to survive.
But no matter how much I kept trying to convince myself that she was more than capable of holdin’ her own, my mind kept reverting back to the image of her pale body that had nearly shut down permanently only three days ago. There wutn’t no way in hell she was healed up to perfection yet. N’ when we pulled up to the graveyard of cars, my stomach sank when I only saw three other parts of our group.
I shoulda gone back earlier. I shoulda put Carol in Glenn’s car n’ went to find’er. If I had, my chest might not be clenchin’ up so tight.
We rolled to a stop, Rick coming to shake my hand in a way that seemed to signal appreciation. I ain’t ever really had that kinda bond before, so I accepted it casually as not to let on the newness of it all. "Where'd you find everyone?" He asked once I’d gotten off my bike n’ everyone engulfed their loved ones.
"Well, those guys' tail lights zig zaggin' all over the road," I nodded to Glenn, “figured he had to be Asian, drivin' like that."
Glenn let out a breathy laugh, takin’ what I said as a joke n’ not offensively. “Good one.”
But my mind was elsewhere as the others chuckled along. Libby. "Where's the rest of us?" I hoped for a positive answer — maybe they’d seen her escaping.
"We're the only ones who made it so far.” Rick looked down.
"Shane?" Lori questioned, her voice broke a little. There was obvious heartache on her face when Rick shook his head in disappointment. The kind that ain’t just over yer husbands best friend’s death: that baby was definitely Shane’s spawn.
"Libby, Andrea?” Glenn asked about the only person on my mind.
"Andrea saved me, then I lost her.” Carol spoke up, wrapping her sweater tighter around her waist.
"We saw her go down,” T added. “Libby fell on top of some bodies, and we couldn’t see anything after walkers piled on top of her.”
Ain’t no way, I thought to myself. They needed ta get their eyes checked, cause Libby woulda made it out. I don’t know how — but she had to. I chewed my bottom lip, tryna come up with a rational way she could’ve survived.
"You definitely saw Andrea and Libby?" Carol asked Lori and T, after Jimmy and Patricia were made out to be confirmed deaths.
The woman stumbled over her words a little, "There were walkers everywhere.”
"Did you see them?" Carol repeated more firmly.
There was no response, cause nobody could confirm either women were dead. Libby might be lookin’ for us right now, n’ when it comes down to it, I can’t just leave her behind. "I'm gon' go back.” I make towards my bike again, but I’m stopped by Rick.
“No.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an order.
I didn’t like takin’ orders. Never have. "We can't just leave’em.”
"We don't even know if they’re there.” Lori stood behind her husbands words.
"They aren’t there.” Rick said, like he was all knowin’. "They aren’t. They’re somewhere else or they’re dead. There's no way to find them.”
Bullshit.
"So we're not even gonna look for them?" Glenn asks in disbelief. Him n’ Libby were close. For a while I thought they was datin’ til she got all flushed up when I called him her boyfriend.
“Nah, m’goin’ back.” I answered Glenn, not waiting for Rick to answer his question. I’s already halfway on my bike anyways.
"We gotta keep moving," Rick directed towards me, planting his feet in front of my tires. “There have been walkers crawlin' all over here."
I shook my head in a fury, “I ain’t leavin’ her man.” Her. I audibly said her and not them. It wutn’t like I didn’t care about Andrea — she was part of the group. Libby was just…different.
“Look, the farm is littered with walkers. If you go back, you’re puttin’ everybody at risk. We need you.” Rick was pleadin’ with me at that point. But what he was tellin’ me, was the same thing Shane told him when we went ta look for Merle. The tables were turned n’ I didn’t like it one bit, so when he came ta place a hand on my arm, I shoved it off. I’s pissed off cause all of that shit he was spewin’ made sense. “Hey,” he got ta eye-level with me, “Hey, I don’t wanna leave anyone behind, but we can’t risk losing more people than we already have. You’re important to this group.”
My eyes drifted away from Rick’s to look at Glenn, ta see what he thought about it — n’ the kid’s shoulders dropped when he looked at me. “If we leave and either of them are still out there, we’re signing a death certificate.”
“No,” Maggie interjected, shaking her head as Glenn took a few steps towards me. “Glenn, the farm is overrun, you said so yourself. We can’t risk it.”
He whirled around, sighing heavily, “It’s Libby.” His voice was small and he sounded like a little kid. But whatever look Maggie gave him, depleted whatever chance I had at getting him on my side. With downturned lips, he looked between me and Rick, “We can circle back around in a couple days. See if we can pick up a trail.”
“That herd is liable to come back up this way.” Lori disagreed. I never realized how negative that woman was til she started adding her two-cents where it didn’t belong.
“Do we even have a destination?” Glenn asked.
"I say head east.” T was leaning against the door of the pickup, not taking any stand in the argument that was going on.
A walker stumbled from behind one of the cars, makin’ it’s way over towards us. I still wutn’t sure what ta do; leavin’ either woman behind felt wrong, but… Rick wutn’t wrong about clearin’ outta this area soon. It felt like a sick joke; I’s catchin’ feelings for a girl, only for her to die off before I got to explore any of them feelings. I sighed, slinging my leg off the bike and grabbin’ my crossbow, "Stay off the main roads. The bigger the road, the more walkers, the more assholes like this one." I point over to the walker coming at us. “I got 'im."
.don’t wanna say goodbye.
Notes:
sooooo, I really hope y’all liked the ending here. we love Daryl going a little soft and fluffy, but the next chapter and possibly two chapters, are going to be strictly dedicated to Liberty! Thank y’all for the kind reviews and I genuinely appreciate them so much
Chapter 17: hope it got away
Summary:
Once I stealthily rounded the back of the Solara, I held my bow at the ready just in case there were any surprises on the inside that I hadn’t already noticed. After tapping the window twice to see if it garnered any reactions, I finally lowered my weapon and scoped out the vehicle.
The keys were missing, so this wouldn’t be my getaway car unfortunately, but I did find a pack of cigarettes that I figured I could bring back for Daryl — then the grief slammed into me again.
Notes:
Season 3 has officially begun and we’re gonna see how Libby fairs by herself for a chapter or two!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.nothin’ is as it has been.
I don’t recall how long I waited for Andrea, but it was undoubtedly going to become a problem staying put if the walkers kept crowding around the partially hidden bush like they were now. I was lucky my throat hadn’t decided to betray my hiding spot as six of the freaks stumbled by me, just a yard away. There were three more coming not far after the previous six, and I decided that if Andrea hadn’t reappeared by the time they passed, I was going to have to make a run for it. It was just a matter of time before my hideaway was uncovered.
My gut was full of panic and doubt -- I was all alone. When Andrea left me (it had to have been over an hour ago), that was last spout of human sound I’d heard. No gunshots, no engines, no yelling… everyone had either left or died. Getting out of this shitty situation was all up to me now, nobody was going to come hold my hand and save me.
If I was going to survive getting off this farm, I had to focus on just that — surviving. That’s how Daryl and I made it out that ravine a few weeks ago, and that’s how I’d make it out of this shitty scenario the world was throwing at me full force. I didn’t have a plan on where to go or how to get there, but I did know I needed to move, now, while there was a break in the crowd of walkers coming through the woods.
There was something so mournful about shuffling through the thick forest, away from the farm. I didn’t want to say goodbye to somewhere I’d grown so fondly of. A place of comfort and refuge, and a place where our group both lost and found so much. Sophia and Dale — our two greatest losses, were buried within the cold soil that walkers trampled over as they took our sanctuary away from us. Even worse; I had no idea where the rest of ‘us’ was. As far as I knew, it was only me, and it might be only me for a while. Escaping the tragedy of the farm, I was closing the door on anyone coming back for me. This world wasn’t a place for hope anymore; it was a place for survival, and I couldn’t spend anymore time in a vulnerable position hoping somebody would come for me.
As ill as I felt, my feet decided they would continue to carry me as snarls whipped closer to me in the overgrown forest. There was no light shining within the trees, no guiding path to take, just me and my vague sense of direction hot-stepping it amongst the crunching leaves and massive trees.
_____________
Even sick and weak, I was faster than any walker I’ve ever come across — but they never stopped coming. We’d been playing a long game of cat and mouse; me and the group of walkers trailing behind. I’d take a three minute break before they caught up to me, then I’d take one or two out with the Bowie as not to draw anymore to me, and then I’d start running until I was far enough away to take another three minute breather. Daylight peaked through the trees limbs, so they must’ve been in pursuit for several hours.
Forewarning for anyone on the run from a crowd of undead freaks: they do not tire.
A walker lunged forward, stumbling towards me with its arms outstretched and thin, emaciated hands grasping for my flesh. I dodged to the right, swiping the knife over the geek’s chest hard enough to push it back. Once it was off its footing, the squelch of brain rot echoed through the woods, and I was now officially down to six more walkers. If I could cut that in half next time, I’d only have to worry about running for another half hour or so.
My likelihood of surviving would increase significantly if I could just rest for longer than three minute spurts. My muscles were begging to be relieved, practically pleading to me with a cherry on top to give them a break.
But I needed to keep pushing. Just a little longer.
_____________
When I spotted the sea of vehicles on the road, I raced towards them quicker than I’d run from the farm. There was a rare chance that maybe, just maybe, my group had stumbled upon the same traffic snarl that I had. Glenn could be waiting for me right outside the tree line like he’d done all those weeks ago at the quarry, like clockwork, to welcome me back to ‘society’.
Another pipe dream is all it was though.
I was probably several miles back from the farm, closer towards the outskirts of Atlanta. But luckily, save for a walker stumbling beside one of the abandoned cars, there were no other undead creeps frolicking in the field of concrete and metal. It seemed to be the best possible scenario for my predicament currently. I needed somewhere to rest and shelter away from the stale wind that had been blowing some kind of fierce, and there were many options to take my picking from.
An eighteen wheeler caught my eye right off the bat and it played itself out like a logical choice. It was decently far from the ground, meaning walkers wouldn’t be able to take a peak in and see the very alive human inside, and judging by the already opened door, the interior should prove easy to navigate without struggling against an undead truck driver.
Pulling off my bow proved to be strangely painful. All the running with few breaks, had left little time to adjust the situation that I was carrying, and my bow strap had embedded itself a divot on my neck. “Son of a bitch,” I moaned out, rolling my head in a couple of circles to relieve the ache.
But as soon as I pulled myself into the cockpit of the large eighteen wheeler, any ailing thought left my brain in dust. This, would be a perfect temporary solution. I slammed the door shut, pressing the locks down in both windows. It wasn’t a mansion or a Caribbean vacation, but there was a bed in the back, and a shade for the windows, which seemed like a five star resort compared to resting in the exposure of any other vehicle around.
Still — now that I was relatively safe from the jaws of the undead, it only reiterated that I was alone.
Noon was upon me and only me. There was nobody around to share my story of survival with or to banter about how horrible of a night it had been. I longed to be confined in the bedroom of the farmhouse again, for Daryl to order me to lay down and get some much needed rest. But that was a far-flung wish.
Daryl wasn’t there; Glenn wasn’t there; Hershel wasn’t there; Carol wasn’t there. They were either long gone or dead, no matter how much I wished not to think about that.
Maybe they had survived though.
Had Andrea made it back to them?
Were they searching for me right now?
If they were -- if, by some miracle, Daryl was tracking me right this very second, I needed to stay put. Running further off would only lengthen the search and put more doubt in everyone’s minds.
If they were out there looking for me, I needed to survive long enough to be found. I needed to survive. My thoughts continued to tangle with each other as my eyes peered at the twin sized bed in the back of the truck. Rest. It’s something else I needed to do in order to survive.
Peaking out the window, I saw nothing but the car-littered interstate.
“Fuck.” I mumbled to nobody but myself. “If I survived all of that just to be killed in my sleep, I’m gonna be pissed.”
_____________
The simple things are what kept my grief and panic at bay. Tears streamed down my face as I did the mundane tasks for two days: scavenging through cars, taking out stray walkers, and keeping a lookout for any sign of other humans. But those tears were the only sign of my internal distress. Scenarios played in my head repetitively of the possibilities for the others; Daryl was a survivor, if anyone made it, he did. And Glenn — Glenn had a car, he would’ve been with Maggie. No matter how hard I think of everyone else though, I can’t recall who else I saw definitely make it out.
Several times I thought of going back - attempting to track down my group with the knowledge I’d learned from Daryl, but using that same knowledge, I knew it would be impossible. There had been well over a hundred walkers scattered around the farm, and with all the vehicles circling and chaos bubbling over, any tracks would be lost.
I was on my own now. Probably for good.
That didn’t stop me from dreaming about the fate of all the people I had left behind. Somewhere, crawling around on this earth, they were out there. Dead or alive — they were there. If I spent the rest of the days I had left longing to be embraced by Carol’s warm hug, rather than getting off my ass and work on finding somewhere more suitable than an 18-wheeler, I wouldn’t survive. I’d literally mourn myself to death.
I had to get with the damn program.
_____________
Did I know anything about hot wiring cars? No.
As a matter of fact, I didn’t know anything about cars other than how to drive one. Even that was questionable sometimes though, I wouldn’t necessarily brag on my driving skills.
So my plan when I slipped out of my temporary home around noon, was to survey the cars around and cross my fingers that I found one with the keys in the ignition. Going anywhere by foot would eventually lead to my death sentence in this weather — especially considering I was still quite weak from my illness not entirely passing. It had been four days since the fall of the Greene Farm and three days since I found the truck I took refuge in. Snacks were running low, I needed to find better shelter, and the walkers were starting to dwindle through more often than I was comfortable with. The last thing I needed right now was a herd to come through while I was stranded all by myself.
Scanning the graveyard of vehicles, I landed on a dark green Toyota Solara — it reminded me of the car my eldest sister used to drive her friends around in. She picked me up from elementary school one time in it and I felt like the coolest kid ever, I’d been too innocent to know that she’d been drinking and I only thought she was being silly when she swerved around the lanes. Then the cops took me back home and her car was impounded permanently after that — she never had enough money to get it back.
I always thought of her anytime I saw a car that particular shade of green.
I missed her so much.
Once I stealthily rounded the back of the Solara, I held my bow at the ready just in case there were any surprises on the inside that I hadn’t already noticed. After tapping the window twice to see if it garnered any reactions, I finally lowered my weapon and scoped out the vehicle.
The keys were missing, so this wouldn’t be my getaway car unfortunately, but I did find a pack of cigarettes that I figured I could bring back for Daryl — then the grief slammed into me again.
I missed him too.
My time skimming through cars had surprisingly taken more effort than I thought it would; the undisturbed walkers inside several vehicles proved to be what took up most of the work. I couldn’t imagine the sheer horror they must’ve faced in their last moments as conscious human beings — the idea of spending eternity trapped inside of a car or roaming the earth until some random girl put a knife through your skull, it made me wonder why they didn’t just end their own lives instead. Why stay in a car and suffer after you’ve been bit? It didn’t make any sense to me.
This world was an endless death trap; you either get bit and turn or you kept running until you got bit and turned (or ended your own life).
_____________
Any ideas of leaving would have to wait until the morning. By the time I found a car with keys, a working engine and got it maneuvered out of the traffic jam, the sun rays were continuously sinking past the trees and walkers were sprinkling in. In order to safely make it back to the truck, I needed to eliminate all the geeks first. If even one caught sight of me sneaking into my shelter, it would draw in others and I’d end up surrounded by dawn.
I felt stupid for allowing myself to wander so far from the truck. Two-ish hours til sunset probably and it was going to take me half of that to reach safety again — more depending on how many walkers obstructed my path.
Temptation gnawed at me to just drive the car I’d worked so hard to find back to my haven, but I knew the noise and movement would only attract the dead ones collectively, leading them exactly where they didn’t need to be. So I plodded through the broken down vehicles and eliminated walkers, all while avoiding the attention of the ones still shuffling around. The nearer I got though, the deeper and sharper the fear surged. With each passing moment, it became more and more difficult to go unnoticed, the freaks were bumping shoulders next to one another for some reason. And maybe I was no better than a rotting corpse, because my attention was just as easily drawn to the disturbance as theirs were.
It took me several seconds to focus on what had pulled them towards the tree line — the woods were fairly thick but there were a handful of branches that had better exposure. Right at the base of a long tree limb though, stood a little kitten and my heart melted as if the world hadn’t changed astronomically and I was going to save it from the predators. I understood the circle of life and whatnot, but these were flesh groveling bastards that didn’t need to eat.
I surveyed the area from where I was crouched, hoping an opportunity to save the little feline would jump out spontaneously and clock me in the face. If Glenn were here, he’d want to rescue it and keep it as a companion. Considering my ‘single-traveler’ status, a partner wouldn’t be a terrible idea — something to keep me company. I could practically hear Daryl grumbling in my ear that it ‘wutn’t worth riskin’ yer life’, but the good thing about my current situation, he wasn’t here to stop me.
Nobody was.
Eight. I counted eight walkers surrounding the tree; I only had five arrows, but if I used those, I could handle three walkers with my knife. Arrows were silent. The dumb dead bastards wouldn’t even know until I got closer for melee.
Before sending any shots out, my eyes scanned my immediate surroundings to insure there would be no sneak attacks once my focus was adjusted. The roads resembled those of a western movie — deserted of life. So I drew my arrow and took aim, steadying my breathing as the arrow flew my fingers, planting itself perfectly in the skull of a walker. My lips twitched up in a smile seeing my success, spurring me on to send the rest of the arrows in similar fashion. Adjusting my bow onto my back again, I re-gripped my knife and inched towards the horizon. But then, the three left over walkers, were stumbling off into the woods. I tilted my head in confusion, realization dawning on me seconds later as I turned to where the kitten had been clinging onto the branch.
The fucking dead ones were still in pursuit of the kitten. It was gone; fleeing off into safety at the first opportunity it saw. I couldn’t blame the thing, it too was only trying to survive. The loss of adopting a familiar was disappointing though.
And as I fell asleep that night; tucked cozily inside of Daryl’s jacket, and underneath a blanket that wasn’t mine; I hope it got away.
_____________
My stomach ached due to the lack of food that was inside of it, while a strange lump in my throat arose when I shut the truck door for the definite last time. I was going to get an early start to the day to give myself plenty of daylight to find a steadier spot to shelter inside of and hopefully put some more distance between me and the farm.
I laid down a duffel bag that I’d stolen from the long-gone truck drivers cab, and filled it with all the supplies I’d garnished from the other cars along the road, writing my inventory down on a stolen notepad.
2 fleece blankets
1 pair of tennis shoes
2 first aid kits
1 pair of scissors
Half a roll of duct tape
3 pocket knives
1 map of Georgia
1 bottle of cough medicine
4 and a half bottles of water
1 unopened box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch
2 bottles of Gatorade
If I was going to do be surviving on my own, I needed to keep a list of my rations no matter what. Anything could happen and I didn’t want to get stuck somewhere with my thumb up my ass.
Sighing heavily, I took one last look back at the highway full of vehicles — I could spot the oversized red eighteen wheeler in the distance and smiled appreciatively. Not that it meant much, but I left the truck in decent condition just in case someone else needed to use it as a hideaway in the future. Then I dipped down into the Honda Civic and turned the ignition, before heading northeast. According to the map I’d looked at earlier, there was a town about thirty miles away and I needed to scavenge for food and more water first and foremost.
Food; water; shelter; those were the three things essential for survival.
As I guided the car onto the opposite side of the road, I was shocked to see the little bobtailed tabby cat perched on the hood of a car I was passing by. A small sense of joy filled my bones at the prospect of luring the cat inside to join my journey. And for some odd reason, it seemed like the cat had been expecting me.
Carefully opening the creaky car door, I ‘pst pst’ed’ in the cat’s direction, hoping that it would have the rationale to respond accordingly and not make me actually yoink it from where it stood. Holding my hand out, low to the ground, I snapped a few times to try to get a response. At a snail’s pace, the creature padded towards the opening in the door, sniffing at my hand suspiciously. Dogs, I knew, were relatively smart animals; I didn’t know much about cats though, so I held faith that this one would trust that I was I good human a little bit quicker.
After a steady process over the course of about ten minutes, I had secured the kitten onto my lap and felt confident enough to begin moseying the car out of the ditch. The cat seemed to take the change of things pretty well considering it clambered out of my lap and into the passenger seat.
.and i miss your face like hell.
Notes:
So…I contemplated for a while whether to include a fun little companion for Libby, and I’m so scared now that I’ve introduced it I’m going to regret it.
Chapter 18: nobody wanted the yellow Gatorade
Summary:
I was comfortable.
And maybe that’s why God thought it would be a practical joke to ruin my extremely decent day. Apparently comfort wasn’t an acceptable feeling anymore.
Notes:
Super short chapter, but I’m posting the next one asap! I just wanted to end this one where I did for a reason!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.hey, Soupy, whatcha doin’ Soupy, whatcha doin’ there.
The ride from the car littered highway to the outskirts of some random town had stretched into ages, and I felt each second flee from me, running a race that could never be won, and I sat there with my knuckles clutching the steering wheel and no thoughts in my mind. Until in the distance, an orange and white gas station came into view and my eyes scanned around the beat up building to gauge how many walkers seemed to be lingering.
“Five,” I sighed, looking down at the cat in my passenger seat. Solitude had enveloped me for five days so I was appreciative of the company that the little kitten provided. “Five walkers and then I’ll scope out the place. You stay here okay?” The civic rolled to a halt in front of a busted up fuel tank. “Don’t need you getting hurt or anything.”
I grabbed my bow up from the passenger floorboard, drawing an arrow in the process and preparing myself for the confrontation. By the time I opened the door, all five dead ones began stumbling my way, their grubby hands reaching out in hopes of getting me within their clutches. My arrow flew into the one farthest from me and I resorted to my knife for the two closest, swiftly dropping their bodies to the cold concrete below. One of the leftover geeks began pressing against the drivers side door that I’d been using as a shield, practically shoving me back into the vehicle, while the other one was attempting to weasel his way into the crack of said door as it was shutting on me. I dipped back into the car in an attempt to avoid being grabbed by either monster, but before my mind could even register what was happening, I was jerked away from the confinement of safety, the hot breath of the undead on my bicep. “Fuck off!” I screeched, snatching my arm back and shuffling my knife to aim directly for its forehead. As soon as I rid myself of that dumb dead bastard, the other poured around the door, clamping it’s jaws as a threat on what was to come for me if I miscalculated my moves.
I didn’t.
My first instinct was to dart into the gas station and begin pulling whatever valuable I could use from the shelves and lock myself down in the car with my cat — but logically that would be irresponsible and likely get me killed. The car was a decent ride and had over half a tank of fuel, but that was the only bit of gas I had and it would need to last me. I couldn’t siphon gas - didn’t know the first thing about it. My internal monologue was laughing at the fact that I thought I could survive on my own, yet I had no clue on how to do exactly that. I was only prolonging the inevitable result of moving solely on foot.
Cautious as I was, I still managed to step on some shattered glass when I first stepped through the door. My gaze trailed along the white tiled floor to the culprit and I audibly chuckled — someone had busted into one of those quarter pusher game machines. I could only assume that had happened early on, before society had totally collapsed and money might have actually meant something, fucking idiots. Other than the empty gambling machine, the place didn’t seem that bad. I shuffled through the room, mentally taking note of the placement of everything and checking inside the closets for any undisturbed corpses. Most everything had been wiped clean (closets included), save a handful of snacks and odd items, but that would all be a feast for me and the cat if I could manage to get something moved in front of the door.
I teetered through the room, mentally taking note of the placement of everything and pushing around a few shelving fixtures. They were sturdy, but not unmovable, it would just take a little extra ‘umph’ to get them in place.
_____________
I wasn’t weak by any means. My arms and legs were well toned as a result of climbing poles for a living, and I had relatively good core strength. But damn was I relieved when I got the metal fixtures in place and finally had a minute to settle on the ground with my cat (who, by the way, hadn’t helped me whatsoever after I got it out the car).
“You need a name.” I said, leaning back onto my hands and peering over at the cat, who was actively climbing one of the unmoved shelves and pushing things purposefully off the edge. “Hey,” I hissed out quietly, “You gotta be quiet.” Oddly enough, it turned to look at me as if it understood, before leaping from the shelf and trotting elsewhere.
Pulling over my duffel bag, I began shuffling through it, gathering the things I needed to make a makeshift pallet before it got too dark to do so. Unfortunately I didn’t have a flashlight, therefor I had to work with the sun rays while they were available.
By the time I adjusted my belongings and diy sleep space behind the cash counter, I took note of the sudden increase of noise on the opposite side of the counter. I furrowed my brows as I jumped up a little bit, pulling myself across the countertop and looking at the floor below — it was the cat…pushing a can of soup along the base of the counter. My lips quirked into a smile at the sight. This cat was very dog-like.
_____________
It’s bizarre whenever you’re dreaming and you know you’re dreaming, but you just can’t adequately connect with your dream self and let them know it’s a dream. I knew by the lack of noise from surrounding engines that none of this was really happening and I desperately wanted to slap ‘dream me’ in the face and force myself awake, but unfortunately that isn’t how things worked in an unconscious state of mind.
So there we sat: in our undesignated, designated spots at the ‘Senoia Raceway’, on a deduced Thursday night, in the middle of the summer. Uncle Clyde wore his typical choice of suspenders, oil stained blue jeans, and a plain white t-shirt, while in his hand he held a can of Barqs root beer. It was surreal.
“Whatchu think, girl?” My uncle asked me, as if I’d been there the entire time.
And the weird thing is, I responded in such a casual tone that ‘dream me’ had me almost fooled that this wasn’t actually a dream, “About what?”
“Bout stayin’ by yourself.” He looked at me funny, continuing on, “Aunt Bea and I’re gettin’ old. We got more days behind us than we get ahead of us, n’ we worry about ya bein’ all alone.”
“Don’t say that.” I rolled my eyes like I always did, “I’ll be fine, I’m not that far from y’all.”
“I know that sugar cube, but that don’t mean we don’t worry. This area is gettin’ ugly.” He leaned over and I swear, I could physically feel his hand on my shoulder. “We just don’t want ya stuck somewhere ya can’t get out of.”
“I’ll figure it out. I always do.” Things were hazy, and I don’t actually remember anything after that.
There was a vague shift of scenery and I think the rest of my dream had become a warped sense of reality mixed with fantasy, but that’s the funny thing about dreams — you can never truly remember everything that transpired, nor can you even remember having a dream ninety percent of the time.
But when I woke hours later, I remembered that flicker of my wonky, unconscious mind, because I wanted so badly to forget it. I’d neglected thinking about my aunt and uncle in order to survive. There just hadn’t been adequate timing to grieve them and I knew that when I finally did, it would consume me in a particular kind of way. So being my best resilient self, I pushed my feelings back down, drowning them until I could focus on something more important.
Making this place more secure.
_____________
Three days. Soup and I lasted three days in that gas station before it was time to move out. Walkers were gathering outside in little cliques of five or so, multiple times a day and the frequency picked up in rife on that last evening. Sleep greeted me sparsely through that night — every time I dozed, Soup Can was yelping through the window, notifying me of the threats gathering on our ‘lawn’.
And all would have been well for our get away the next morning if there wasn’t a jar full of trouble waiting for us a few minutes down the road.
I’d looked at the map and determined our best bet would be to stay further from the towns, the walkers were obviously moving more inwards now and steering clear of their journey would be essential. Except the thing about leaving, is you’ve got to pass through several entry points, and unfortunately the walking dead aren’t polite enough to hold the door open for you while you leave — quite the opposite actually. They seem to have an invisible cattle dog that likes to herd them all up and then they make it their one goal to not allow you to pass through. Incredibly rude.
So naturally, Soup and I ended up busting an awkward U-turn as the dead ones began nearing the little Honda, and headed right into town. Of course, our trouble didn’t stop there, it would’ve been way too easy for the grim reaper to lay off the chase that early in the day. After all — what better timing for a deer to be waiting in the middle of the road, than when I’m going ninety miles an hour running from something much worse than law enforcement?
There was no stopping it once I saw it. My foot didn’t even almost press the brakes. In my opinion, that deer should’ve been paying better attention anyways.. it wouldn’t have been catapulted into oblivion if it had.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Son of a bitch
Been out in them woods for days trackin’ that damn deer, only to find out somebody done ran through and hit the dog shit outta it a couple hours ago. For a minute there, I thought I lost it or that it wandered down the road a bit, but it didn’t take me long to find that son of a bitch a few yards into the tree line. I figured since it was the end’a the world I wouldn’t have ta worry bout’em becomin’ roadkill.
Glaring down at the deer, I bit my lip in contemplation. No walker got to it yet, n’ wutn’t nothin’ wrong with it. Just an inconvenience for carryin’ since it was all stiff.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
It wasn’t ridiculously huge, but it was a significant jump from a locally owned gas station; the Goodwill seemed to be a decent hideaway. Located in the middle of a long deserted shopping center, I figured I could see how the interior felt and determine whether or not it was as decent as it looked from the exterior. And from what I could tell there was a single entry way, which made it reasonably easy to clear if you didn’t count what looked to be like an old car crash almost right in front of the entrance.
I cleared it in a little less than thirty minutes I presumed. There was a small group of walkers scattered in the parking lot wandering aimlessly until Soup and I pulled up, then there were two walkers trapped naked inside of a dressing room and another roaming through the clothes. It was the naked ones that were hardest to put down — the dressing room had been locked from the inside, leaving me to the tricky task of getting a good shot to hit their brains at an awkward angle.
Most of the store seemed to be in relatively decent condition though — much like the gas station. It hadn’t been entirely wiped clean of things, but I could tell the place had been shuffled through a few times since the apocalypse. “Come on Soup, we need to get this place locked down.” I called down to my furry friend.
Soup Can was a good cat -- at least I thought he was. The last few days I spent with him, I found out he was a particularly intelligent animal; watching out the window of the gas station, yelping down at me when more than a handful of walkers gathered in the parking lot, and he seemed to understand me when I spoke to him. I never understood the way animals brains worked, especially domesticated ones - how their little minds compute words and actions from an entirely different species. Either way; Soup was good and I was happy to have him trotting alongside me as I completed the tedious task of blocking the doors and finding a good spot to unpack my duffle.
2 fleece blankets
1 pair of tennis shoes
2 first aid kits
1 pair of scissors
Half a roll of duct tape
3
4 pocket knives
1 map of Georgia
1 bottle of cough medicine
4 and a half bottles of water
10 water bottles
1 unopened box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch
2
15 bottles of Gatorade
4 snack size Funyuns
2 bags of Hot Fries
5 cans of chicken noodle soup
8 Slim Jims
2 packs of gum
12 Blow Pops
3 packs of Marlboros
I snickered a little bit at the amount of Gatorade I had, turns out even during an apocalypse nobody wanted the yellow Gatorade. “Okay buddy,” I slapped my hands down onto my thighs, “the door is secure, we have a spot to sleep in, our list is updated; how about we raid this place and find some more things to add to our inventory.” As expected, Soup didn’t respond.
_____________
I knew I’d need to go out for food again within the next week or so, but I had high hopes for the Goodwill. I’d made some significant changes to our sleeping arrangements after I found a decent couch and pushed it back towards our former pallet on the ground, and then carried several books over to tower beside the humble abode.
In another life I might’ve been worried about bed bugs and other critters that could’ve been hiding away within the furniture and newly acquired blankets, but not anymore — this was superb living these days.
I was comfortable.
And maybe that’s why God thought it would be a practical joke to ruin my extremely decent day. Apparently comfort wasn’t an acceptable feeling anymore.
With the sound of voices breaking through the evening air, my choices were slim: hiding was smart, but risky. If the people that were currently attempting to bust down the doors decided to camp out here, I’d risk being caught or being stuck in one tiny spot for days. But I didn’t have the ammunition to defend this place all by myself, especially if there was more than two people. My thoughts wandered back to the farm and what Glenn and Daryl said about Randall’s group — my blood ran cold.
I’d rather die than experience the torture his group had supposedly inflicted on people.
Realizing my time was limited as one of the bookshelves had tumbled over, my hand darted down to grip my pistol. I scanned over the room to look for Soup, but he’d made his presence known to me whenever he flew past and scurried underneath a dressing room door. I searched the room for a better idea, hoping that maybe I’d just glanced over the best solution. As more objects clambered around, I accepted that hiding was the only option at that point, and when I closed the dressing room doors, I feared that with all the noise those people were making, they didn’t bring a crowd of walkers in on us.
I patted Soup’s spotty fur anxiously, regret filling up the pit in my stomach. Clearing a building like this and trying to stake a claim to it by myself was a mistake in the first place, but now all of the supplies I gathered over the past week was going to be free game to the people wandering into the store. Their footsteps were light — not undetectable, but carefully placed footing without a doubt. Within the confines of a building, it was much harder to gather information on the whereabouts of there movements vs. in the woods where Daryl had made it a point to heighten my awareness. I could only slow my breathing, close my eyes, and wait for a better indication on where the intruders could be.
My brain had grown numb with how intensely and patiently I waited, straining to hear a sound on a nanoscale level over the course of about ten minutes. It wasn’t until they were sneaking into mine and Soup’s stash, that I could make out words.
But when I did, I bounded out from my hiding spot (spooking Soup enough to scramble under the dressing room door), and revealing myself before I had a chance to wake up from a dream, “Maggie?”
.hey, Soupy, whatcha doin’ Soupy, whatcha doin’ there.
Notes:
Next chapter is going to be super fun!
Chapter 19: weird that it happened twice
Summary:
“Libby, we don’t just venture off like that anymore. I think It’s best if you stay here.”
I took a deep, calming breath. “I know what’s best for me right now. If you need me, I’ll be in the woods somewhere.”
Notes:
TW// references to OD, child abuse, and child death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.and though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you.
Before Maggie had an adequate amount of time to respond, Glenn was practically leaping up from his crouched position beside my duffel bag, and slinging his arms around my neck. My heart thudded in my chest at the feel of his heavy breathing inside the dip of my shoulder, and I clung to him as if my life depended on it — because in my mind, this could’ve been a figment of my imagination. But he wasn’t; Glenn was actually here. I could feel his touch and hear him whispering my name in his own form of sheer disbelief. “We thought you were dead.” He pulled away, but kept a firm grip on my shoulders, examining my physical well being. “Daryl and I — we wanted to go back for you, but Rick said there was no way you made it out. Lori said you went down.”
Maggie inched closer towards us, not necessarily breaking our reunion up, but initiating one of her own. She pulled me into an equally warm hug, brushing over my matted up braid before letting her arms fall from my side, giving my body a once over as well.
“I’m fine - a little roughed up, but fine.” I reassured, looking pointedly between both of them.
“How long have you been here?” Glenn asked.
I gave him a nervous smile, “About three hours.”
“Where were you before that?”
And then I gave the two of them the rundown of what transpired in the course of — a week? Two weeks? I’ve honestly lost track of how long it had been since the demise of the farm and the sound of familiar voices. I’d all but buried the corpse of every individual that had been a part of that fateful night, I never thought I’d actually see them again. Here they were though -- listening to my tale of survival and hanging on to every syllable that left my chapped lips.
It was the report of Andrea that had both Glenn and myself shocked long after my story was finished. She never made it back — to me or to anyone else.
There was of course wonder and speculation that the three of us shot back and forth, because I mean….I made it. Who’s to say she didn’t find a way out too? It just hurt something awful to know that Andrea never made it back. I think a part of me already knew she didn’t - that after waiting all that time for her to come back either by herself or with the others, I’d surmised her death. It felt like a punch in the gut to have it confirmed though. She’d saved me — hid me away because I had been too weak to help out. If she had taken that time to get off the farm instead, would she have made it out, I wondered.
Then, of course there was Soup Can and his sudden shy demeanor. It took more than a few minutes of patience for him to mosey on down from a bookshelf, but once he did, he still kept a considerable distance between himself and the two ‘intruders’.
The initial reconciliation was vibrant -- full of love, relief, and solve. But nothing about this world was a fairytale, not even the joyous reunions, because there would continuously be a ‘but’.
The majority of the group found each other, but they moved on without checking for other survivors.
Rick led everyone away from the farm and into general safety, but he withheld the information of everyone being infected.
Rick took the reins of being the official leader, but he had to kill Shane in order to protect the group, himself included.
They were staying in a nicer house on the outskirts of town, but, it was the third house they’d taken refuge in since the fall of the farm a short time ago.
Always a ‘but’. I crossed my fingers that in bringing me back with them, a conjunction wouldn’t follow our path down the the road. I wanted to relish the reunion with the people that I had decided were long gone.
“Any good books?” Glenn asked, nodding to the pile I had stacked next to the couch.
I shrugged. He was transporting the items Maggie and I picked out back to the vehicles, handling all the Tetris-like stacking when necessary. This was more of a ‘get in, get out’ type run. Once the supplies was brought back, it could be properly picked through. The main goal was to secure some decent luggage and winter essentials. And I have to say, despite not being a big help, Soup did a proper job at making his rounds between the three of us.
While Maggie peeled through the racks of clothes, Soup paced anxiously beside her until Glenn reappeared, then it was Glenn’s turn. Soup followed him out the door and would emerge alongside him as he made his way back to me. And the cycle would start over again with me. When we completed our task, Soup seemed to get the memo that we were leaving, because he didn’t hesitate to curl into the passenger seat as soon as I opened the car door.
Although; he did seem reluctant to move from his spot when Maggie tried shooing him to the backseat.
_____________
I was shocked by how dead the town was — literally. There were a couple of straggling walkers and obvious signs of desertion of life, but compared to where the gas station had been, this was a ghost town. To be honest, it disturbed me with how empty the sidewalks were. It was plain out eery.
Maggie seemed to not only take notice of my continuous window gazing, but also shifted uncomfortably herself. “Glenn thinks the reason some towns are empty like this is cause a herd moved through and took all the townsfolk walkers with it.” She commented while crossing her legs in a more relaxing position.
I hummed at that explanation, pondering the likelihood momentarily, before gazing out the window once more. It struck me as a plausible possibility, but nonetheless unsettling. “That’s a little sad in its own way.” I murmured airily.
“All of the people that lived their entire lives here, just gone. Floating aimlessly down the road amongst a pile of strangers.” Maggie agreed, letting a deep sigh hang in the car for a few moments. “It could’ve been my dad.”
“He knows better now.” I blinked over at her, offering her a friendly smile.
We rode in silence, accepting the lingering aura outside of the car, I fiddled with the CD player in hopes of making the interior less horror movie-esq. It worked at the expense of our eardrums and Miley Cyrus blaring through the speakers at full volume. I wanted to apologize to both Soup and Maggie, but laughing overtook the air — full-bellied cackling and wheezing out words.
“Why -“ three giggles exhaled, “Why does your cat bark Libby?” A plethora of continued laughter between the two of us ensued and I struggled keeping my eyes on the car in front of us. “Why does it bark?” She asked again, holding her chest and making weak attempts at calming down.
“I don’t know,” it was my turn to struggle with words. “I don’t - I just think he’s defective or something.”
Another fit of laughs, “Defective? How do you get a defective kitten?”
And I wasn’t sure whether it was ‘The Climb’ playing in the background, Soup’s constant yelps, or the outrageous amount of cackling within the car, but had Maggie not shouted out that Glenn was turning, we surely would’ve continued straight. The result of the car abruptly turning and nearly going into a ditch? Another round of guttural laughing. Oh… and Glenn slamming on brakes in front of us — that was also something that happened due to my lousy driving skills.
It was the way he rushed out of the driver’s side door and back to the Honda with panic strewn across his face that, for some reason, only fueled more maniacal laughter from us two. I’m sure he thought we were psychotic, I mean — we had to have looked that way at least. Our heads thrown back, cackles flooding outside the car, and the two of us pointing at him — teasing away his unneeded worry. When he re-entered the green Hyundai, it was Maggie that egged me on, and you could’ve made me into an omelette by how quick I scrambled to her commentary. Before he got his vehicle fully cranked, I whipped my car around him and blazed down the road at full throttle.
This was girlhood.
This was something I never expected to experience — especially not in this world.
_____________
The thing about girlhood though -- is you were typically in a naive resolve of the world around you.
So it really shouldn’t have surprised us whenever we flew into the gravel driveway approximately three minutes later, laughing hysterically, and checking the rear view mirror for Glenn, that we were greeted with a gun aimed directly at the windshield of the Honda. Three guns actually — but who’s counting?
Luckily, the cars window tint was practically nonexistent, and within seconds of recognizing who was behind the chaotic shenanigan, the barrels were lowered.
I think it took genuine ages to pass before reality set in for all parties involved. But when Carol bolted from the house, my body acted as a prologue to my mind. I was out of the car and enveloped in frail arms in an instant, soft words and disbelieving tears shed from the woman who held me. The world spun out of nowhere, and the situation I was currently in felt exactly that — current. Nothing felt like a blurry dream that I was going to awaken from in a few hours; everything was there. Glenn was real, laughing with Maggie was real, being held by Carol — it was real. All of it was registering in my mind at lightening speed and I couldn’t stop the raw emotions from engulfing over me like stormy waves. Sobbing, I kept my head burrowed in Carol’s neck, refusing to bob back up to the surface yet.
Everything that happened since the farm seemed to have taken place over the course of years and not just weeks. All of the people I had mentally buried were beings of my distant past, yet, here they were. Corralled on the front porch, I could make out blurry blobs of people through my tears and squished up cheek against shoulder bone.
They were there.
I was home.
Things would be okay.
_____________
Much like Glenn and Maggie, the entirety of the group wanted to know exactly how I made it off the farm — Rick most of all. It was almost like he and I shared the same form of disbelief; that I was back with the group. There was no resentment or anger that I rekindled with them, but the flash of regret in his eyes wasn’t foreign to me. It was the same uncomfortable shiftiness that Daryl portrayed the night Dale died. And I’m sure, to an extent, seeing me was like seeing a ghost, because like I had done the group, Rick had already buried me in his past. In all forms except literal, I was a ghost.
Of course the question of Andrea was brought up, and it was a wound still too fresh for me to have an opinion on. Up until it was confirmed from Glenn’s mouth that she never made it back, I still had a sliver of hope that things went awry but she survived. I wanted her to still be alive so badly. She was supposed to be my surrogate sister and she slipped away before she got to fully grab the reigns on that role.
Then — then there was the archer. The man that had been on a hunting trip for a few days and was expected to return within the week. He was who had consumed my private thoughts since I met him in the woods months ago. It wasn’t a secret that he also consumed my public thoughts, but my private ones were the ones dearest to me. The ones that not even Glenn knew about in their entirety.
Daryl Dixon had advocated so adamantly to go back and look for me, that Rick felt the need to talk to him alone before my survival was revealed. That was when it had fully come to my attention that Rick had changed. A leader still, yes, but now he exhibited more dominance over the group. A dominance that I hadn’t quite gotten the memo of apparently, because when I argued against him, I’d never been given such a dirty look before, and I never thought I’d be sent one like that from Rick Grimes of all people. Still — I persisted.
“That isn’t fair.” I argued, accidentally pulling my hair from Beth’s grasp as she braided it. I relaxed back before continuing on, “What are you so worried about? That he’s gonna be pissed at you? Yeah, maybe a little bit.”
Running his hand over his mouth, he let out a frustrated sigh, “Liberty, this is just the way things have to be done right now. It’s not like at the farm. This isn’t up for discussion.”
Those words stung a little bit — they were reminiscent of the way Shane treated me back at the quarry; like a kid. And maybe it wasn’t that at all, maybe I was just overreacting because of my infatuation with Daryl. I was as hard-headed as they came, to a fault a lot of times. This was one of those moments where I couldn’t decipher if Rick truly meant well and I had the wrong idea or Rick was only trying to cover his own ass and I was throwing a wrench into his side.
Did I mean that much to Daryl?
I thought back to that last evening on the farm, before Randall was led into the woods, and it was just Daryl and I tangled together for such a short time. There had been a promise of more when he got back — but he never left. Not to go dump Randall of at least. But before all of that, before Dale died, things weren’t great between the two of us. We’d gone through a rough patch that he didn’t seem to have any interest in getting out of. Prior to that final evening, Daryl had shown no signs of interest. (Besides the sex at the CDC, but we were both in entirely different mindsets then). I flirted shamelessly with him and he always took it, but never shot anything back, never took any of the bait.
Daryl Dixon was a good person though, beneath everything that he piled on top of himself to hide away from the reality, he was good. Of course he would’ve wanted to look for me. Just like he wanted to look for Andrea and Sophia. He was good and I was probably overreacting in my thoughts. Rick probably wanted to prevent him from going back to look for Andrea now that I was revealed to be alive and well.
The braid settled on the back of my neck as Beth’s delicate hands finished their ministrations. I nodded once at Rick, deciding it would be better for me to go cool off rather than snapping back at him by questioning his authority. Which is weird — because I had only just returned, yet here I was, calling Soup to follow me out the door, leaving my rediscovered group behind.
“Libby.” Rick called, both he and Glenn were both trailing behind me. “Hey, where are you going?” He didn’t sound angry or frustrated, and when I turned around after he placed a hand on my shoulder, all I saw was concern glossed within his electric blue eyes.
My lips quirked up, a small laugh slipping from them whenever Soup yelped up, pointedly at Rick. Rather than a typical guard dog, I was bestowed a guard cat. “Just going to the woods for a little bit. I’ll be back later.” I scooped my bow up from where I’d discarded it on the front porch and trained my eyes to the woodlands behind the house.
“Libby, we don’t just venture off like that anymore. I think It’s best if you stay here.”
I took a deep, calming breath. “I know what’s best for me right now. If you need me, I’ll be in the woods somewhere.”
What was best for me was to be alone and re-familiarize myself with being part of the group. It had taken me over a week to be comfortable with Dale taking me to the quarry back in the beginning, but that was practically a different lifetime. I knew these people -- they were my people. Rick and Glenn and Carol were engraved members of my internal family and I cared for them deeply. And I didn’t want to run from them, I needed to.
Just for a little bit.
Just until the lump in my throat felt better.
That’s the funny thing about trauma -- sometimes it makes you do the complete opposite of what you want to do. When something feels the least bit wrong; walls shoot up that you have to pry back down, piece by piece. I was one of the lucky ones in the sense of knowing how to deal with it though, after all, what good was all those years in college if not to treat myself sometimes.
_____________
I measured minutes in footsteps; one hundred steps, another minute deeper in the trees. I’d been going on about thirty minutes before I decided to plant myself beside a creek bed. Even when the world was falling apart, there would always be something incredibly serene about flowing water. I longed for the days of swimming carelessly, treading water like it was my second home.
A part of me wanted to skim out of my clothes right away and attempt to bathe away all of my problems, to scrub off the painful memories of losing so many people I cared about. I could feel myself reverting back to who I was before I moved to Georgia in small tid-bits over the course of the apocalypse. The first being going emotionally numb for stints of time before I met Dale, then when I had slivers of intense panic as Daryl washed my body, the dissociation after Sophia, and now — ignoring the tremendous amount of losses I experienced in such a short amount of time.
Growing up how I did, death wasn’t anything new to me. I watched medical personnel roll through our poor neighborhood often as a kid, and it didn’t take long before my sister had to explain why -- I was six the first time I understood.
Timmy Coon was, in many ways, a ray of sunshine that our little street of misfitted children needed. There was a small field, I’m not even sure if I should refer to it as a field, but a small clearing of grass, at what would’ve been a cul de sac had the county actually laid concrete down and continued building, and Timmy -- he’d always be down there playing kickball or making up other games to play with us kids, his son Jacob included. He made a point to wait with us at the bus stop every morning, even when Jacob wouldn’t be at school that day, and he was there every afternoon when we got home. For Christmas he gave out candy canes and on New Years we got sparklers. Timmy was good. But he also did a lot of drugs. On July fifth his house was swamped with an infinite amount of official vehicles and Jacob never came back to school. My sister explained that he took too much ‘medicine’ like the kind that our parents took and never woke back up.
Her and I both got in heaps of trouble after that -- because her saying that to a six year old only prompted me to freak out and beg my parents to not ‘take medicine’ anymore.
Then after Timmy, there was David Bell, and William Ryals, and Anna Miller, and Nick Thornton, and Danielle Waters, and our eldest sister’s boyfriend Mike, and a plethora of others of whom I never knew the names of; just men and women that my parents were friends with that we would pay our respects to by attending their funerals.
And the saddest of them all — a little girl who lived in our neighborhood for a short stint. For the longest time I never could remember her name, that’s how much of a blurb she was to me, but she impacted my life tremendously.
We were the same age: seven. I think she was my first friend. We sat together on the school bus and played pirates on the monkey bars at recess. She didn’t have any baby dolls, so I let her have one of mine — but her dad didn’t like that. She had to give it back to me and then she missed school for a few days afterwards and never came out to play. When she came back, she told me her dad was always mad about things and next time we played babies she couldn’t bring one home. And just like Jacob. Officials took her dad away and I never saw her again. I was seven.
After I moved to Georgia and completed a lot of therapy, I began to wonder about that girl. It was only natural for me to assume things as a child, but I wasn’t a child anymore. I was seventeen and curious as ever; so I dug.
Kiara Roberts was seven years old when her mother found her dead on the living room floor due to blunt force trauma to the head. The details of her case were harrowing and not at all what I had expected after years of not knowing.
Her father was acquitted.
I chose my career based solely on the experiences of my past - her death included, because that easily could’ve been me.
And for the first time in my entire life, at seventeen years old, I was taught how to grieve. In a room with mildew stained carpet, on a scratchy grey couch, my therapist rubbed my shoulders as I broke down into tears at the information I found the night prior. I felt.
Now. Sitting next to this creek, gazing into the smooth running water, I felt my eyes gloss over and tears streak down my cheeks. For months, I reverted back to taking deaths as ‘no big deal’ — that the loss of life was just a frivolous thing. My aunt, my uncle, Sophia, Dale, and Andrea - they deserved more than to be pressed into the depths of my mind as an aching memory.
_____________
Soup brushed along my legs in the fading light, as sobs raked my body for what must’ve been an hour or two.
There was no noise besides my sniffling nose and light purrs, until leaves shuffled behind me, encouraging me to hop to my feet, swiftly drawing my bow back. But it wasn’t a flesh chomping monster coming to feast on my body — it was Daryl Dixon. His gaze feathered over me in what seemed to be a dreamlike haze, only breaking once I finally lowered my weapon and Soup began yelping up at him. I watched his face contort in mixed up kind of way as he looked down at the kitten.
“The hell you got a bobcat for?” Those weren’t the words I expected whenever I met him again, but they were every bit telling of his character and I couldn’t hold back a little laugh at his question. He was here and he was still Daryl.
“His government name is Soup Can, but you can just call him Soup.”
“M’gone call’im dinner when he gets more meat on his bones.”
My mouth gaped, “Daryl Dixon.” I chided. “He’s my cat and you’ll do no such thing!”
“Libs,”
I shushed him dramatically while crouching down to pet the little kitten that had become my traveling companion. “His name is Soup and he’s an angel.”
Things were quiet again. Just a chilly breeze, the flowing water behind me, and low purring reverberating from Soup. Daryl’s eyes were trained on my every move -- when I stood back up, his steel-blues followed, and when I took a step closer to him, he blinked for the first time in a while. “I tried goin’ back for ya — me and Glenn. Rick was bein’ a dick, on some kinda power high, n’ told us that you n’ Andrea were probably dead.” His words were quick, snappy, and unlike him at all. It was like he had so much to say, but something was limiting his time to say it.
I swallowed thickly, having been out there long enough to settle my mind, I could see and understand more clearly. “He was right.” I admitted, carefully gauging his initial reaction before continuing, “If you would’ve went back, you wouldn’t have found anything but trouble.”
“Ain’t true. I’da found ya-“
“No, you wouldn’t’ve, Dar.” My face relaxed in an attempt to transfer some of my calmness to the man a few feet in front of me. “Because you would’ve gone back to that herd and likely wouldn’t have made it off the farm a second time. And according to Glenn, by the time y’all met back up on the interstate, I was long gone anyhow.”
“I coulda tried.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” I took some steps forward, quaintly smiling at the man who had a desperate look painted over his face. Placing my hand the side of his leather clad arm, I allowed my smile to grow a bit brighter. “We’re both where we belong now. Things are okay again.”
He responded with the closest thing to a smile, glancing down at where my hand met his arm. “C’mon, girl. Ima teach ya how ta skin a deer the right way.”
_____________
“Hey!” I exclaimed, hopping into the back of the truck that Daryl had hot wired and brought back to the house. “Hey, this is my deer!” Examining the animal haul, I recognized the doe to be the one I’d hit early that morning.
Daryl shot me the most damning glare, as if I just solved a mystery that ailed his mind for ages. “Stay away from my deer, woman!”
“But you said you wanted to teach me!” I whined, but a smile didn’t hide itself away.
“S’bullshit. I’s trackin’ that thing for days.” He mumbled, moving to drag the deer from the tailgate.
The words were so childlike, I couldn’t help but giggle. “Ya know, if I had a nickel for every time we encountered the same deer, at separate points in our day, and accidentally killed it together, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but weird that it happened twice.”
.your braids like a pattern, love you to the Moon and to Saturn.
Notes:
The middle part was SO heavy, so I tried keeping the chapter itself light as possible. But now that they’re reunited, we get to explore things for a chapter or two!
Chapter 20: redneck asshole
Summary:
“Please, Dar.” I begged.
Daryl arched eyebrow, a shadow of temptation in his eyes, “Y’ever rode before?”
“If we had a little privacy you’d know by now.”
His jaw clenched briefly before he exhaled a small huff, “Figured you’s more of a pillow princess.”
Notes:
smut starts and ends at the *
smut warning
-
bottomish Daryl
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.a squall and all of me is a prayer in perfect piety.
Despite the bitter and bruising cold, I accepted comfort in the form of small finds that powered me through the intense Georgia winter.
Today it was peanut butter and saltines, and a Harry Potter book that Glenn found while he was out looking for supplies in the new town. Judging by how Lori was showing, we’d been shelter hopping for about four months now and I was counting down the days until Spring would finally peak its way through. I tried not to complain about being confined to the indoors unless there were no others options, but the seasonal depression was working overtime and I never hated my immune system more.
Daryl went out hunting regularly, and no matter how well I hid my jealousy over the fact that he was allowed to escape for several hours and sometimes days at a time, he had a tendency of reassuring me that it would warm up soon. Rick didn’t like the idea of me going out whatsoever, even driving by myself was a slippery slope with him -- it was a driving wedge between the two of us. I respected Rick’s decisions, but it didn’t mean I was ever happy about them. And during those times where I got a little too snarky with his behavior towards me, I’d successfully be able to waltz past him and take my aggression out with arrows into a tree.
It’s the single place I could find solace.
Now though — that peace was being interrupted. “Libby, hey, slow up.” Rick called from behind me, giving chase as I left the storage lockers. “Hey, let’s talk about it.”
‘It’ being his lack of understanding. Glenn and I had been talking amongst ourselves about looking for the rest of the Harry Potter series, and Rick felt it was necessary to shut down the implication of me going on runs period. It hadn’t been his place, nor was it a warranted response seeing as he hadn’t been involved in our conversation to begin with. My mouth decided that was the straw that broke the camels back; I slashed words back at him that maybe I didn’t entirely mean, but at that point my mouth was operating a lot quicker than my brain.
Whirling around, I pulled an arrow from its holster before setting my bow, “leave me alone, Grimes.” I wasn’t going to shoot him, but his hands still shot up in retreat.
“Libby, c’mon. We needa talk about this before it gets outta hand.” He was using his ‘cop’ voice.
“It already has.” I spat back, shifting my bow as an indicator. “I don’t know how to make it more clear for you: I’m a big girl. I can handle things without you holding my hand-“
“I know that.”
“No you don’t!” It wasn’t my intention to raise my voice as loud as I did. His ignorance to his own actions were irritating me though, and he was still preventing me from blowing off some steam. “You don’t know that. You’re treating me like I’m a little girl that needs her hand held doing the simplest of tasks — I can’t even drive a car by myself most of the time. But - but Glenn and Maggie get to go out to these random towns all the time? And Daryl? I don’t hear you pestering him about how often he’s gone.” I lowered my bow, not quite ready to reattach the arrow to its holder yet.
He let out a defeated sigh, dropping his shoulders and looking around in search of nothing. “Because, look -- I feel responsible for you being left behind in the first place. I brushed off Daryl and Glenn, guaranteeing them of your probable death. We didn’t even try looking around the area for you.”
My combativeness diminished — Had I really disregarded the regret he may have? I didn’t think I was slipping that much, but I was typically a fairly good judge of emotions; yet I disregarded Rick’s.
“Don’t blame yourself for that. Don’t -- You did what was right for the majority at the expense of the one.” I returned my weapons back to their carriers slowly, while trying to weigh his initial response. God, I was such a brat. Fuck me. “I’m okay now. I made it off the farm - I survived.”
A patch of silence tip-toed through the air before he began nodding his head in agreement, “I know.”
”I’m useful, Rick.” I pointed out. “You don’t have to hide me away from the world. I can contribute — I need to contribute. I’m not a little girl. I need you to hear me out.”
The line of animosity between us had finally been snapped — obliterated. And I could tell by the way he dipped his chin down at my words that things were settled now. Rick finally saw me — real and tangible, me. I was no longer a haunting figure of his past that he was unable to save, I was in front of him as bright as day.
“I think your guard cat was about to pounce.” He smirked, his gaze falling down to Soup, who had been pacing in short stints at my side.
Soup Can had grown significantly in the last few months. Daryl surmised that he was likely going on seven months old now, and probably had another good growth spurt before he was full grown (he was, in fact, a bobcat). His small little yelps turned into a unique type of bark, and he took on a role within our group. At night he’d spend hours in the woods, managing to somehow always make it back out with an animal in tow, or he’d stroll alongside whoever was on watch that evening. Carl was determined to teach him a trick, but nothing had come out of his rigorous training yet. At the end of the day, Soup was nothing more than an oversized, loved house cat.
_____________
I had a talent for waking early even when my body didn’t want to get to moving — my mind was alive, but my bones were not. I had to practically drag myself from the sleeping bag in the middle of the cold floor as soon as I heard shuffling across the room. After tightening my bootlaces around my ankles, I snatched up the jacket I’d claimed as my own at that point and flew out the metal door with my bow in tow. Rick had scrunched brows when I spilled out from the locker, obviously surveying my well-being due to my accidental tripping. Our argument from the day before had been settled, so I hoped he didn’t have any plans of stopping me.
“What way’d he go?” I asked, squinting my eyes and trying to search the early dawn air for a figure of any type.
“Straight ahead.”
I scoffed, “fucking fog. Stay here Soupy.” I called back to the cat as I bolted down the gravel.
Okay, he couldn’t have gotten too far, I reasoned. About a five minute head start at most. I picked my pace up, and then, like it was from a screenplay, ran smack into Daryl’s left shoulder. It didn’t seem to affect him, as he just turned around to look at the minor disturbance. “Whatchu runnin’ for?” He asked, watching me steady myself from the collision.
“I’m coming with you. I didn’t want to get left behind.”
Daryl exhaled quite dramatically if you were to ask me, “Libs, it’s still chilly.”
“It’s not that bad, and it’s only going to get warmer when the sun rises more.” I argued, adjusting the jacket I wore as if to remind him that I was cautious of the chill in the air.
“Ain’t carryin’ ya back,” he rolled his eyes, but motioned me to follow. “And ya better keep up.”
“Always do.” I grinned, falling into step alongside him. “Besides, I’m a good luck charm.”
“How you figure?”
“Well, every time I’ve been out with you we’ve gotten a deer.” I shrugged, nudging him a little, knocking him off balance.
He scoffed at that, but I saw the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I only took ya out huntin’ the one time.”
“But there was the deer that we both shot! We were both technically out in the woods together.” I explained as if it were obvious, because in my mind it was. “Oh! And the deer I hit with my car a few months ago! We were sort of together…we just missed each other by a few hours.”
“Sounds ta me like y’ain’t nothin’ but bad luck.” He shook his head, glancing down to see my reaction to his teasing.
Daryl had become a lot lighter since the evening we first met. Every passing day was another brush through the braids of his inner self — at least that’s what it felt like for me. He was still rough around the edges and had a difficult time processing certain things, but if I flirted with him now, he didn’t immediately clam up or tell me to stop. And he actually talked to me about things; albeit I had to initiate, but he’d bite the bait and it would lead to conversations. I was happy with our friendship. Of course I still had a meek crush on him and it was a little embarrassing that he didn’t seem all that interested. Not a single butterfly in his stomach, I assumed.
“I’m good luck, you’ll see.”
There was something so sticky sweet about wandering down the road together that I had the urge to reach for his hand — and I was in such a good mood that it didn’t even sting when he held back initially. But he let me drag him at a quicker pace anyways.
Then he tugged me back after a few minutes, changing our course and leading me into the wilderness. I surveyed our surroundings before starting to count our steps, focusing on the leaves under our feet, studying the way Daryl’s feet fell so lightly on the ground. It was its own form of mesmerizing: how a grown man had such quiet, calculated footsteps. No matter how hard I tried to mimic his movements, mine were never quite as faint or as smooth as his were.
Blinking away from the daze that I had gotten lost in, my eyes landed on our still entwined fingers and began inspecting each spec of dirt that riddled his skin. His nails were chewed down to the quick with lines of dirt encompassing the edges of what was left, and I wasn’t at all shocked by how calloused his hand was — mine wasn’t necessarily soft either. It wasn’t out of habit, because I’d never actually been in the exact situation before, but more out of instinct, I brushed my thumb over a scabbed over knuckle before squeezing his hand gently. Out the corner of my eye, I saw him bring up his other hand to his mouth and begin gnawing at one of those nails -- but then he returned the gesture, gripping my hand a smidge tighter for a few seconds.
It wasn’t much, but it sent a hurricane of butterflies through my stomach.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
It’s just her and me. I had to remind myself that nobody else was gonna jump out the trees and catch me in the act of holdin’ her hand. Ain’t ever held hands with anyone before, so’s different for me ta be in this position, much less with a girl like Liberty. It didn’t seem to bother her none though — nothin’ about me seemed to bother her. Well, my smokin’ did, but that’s about all she got on my ass about. Other than that, she made it no secret that she had a thing for me. Always goin’ around teasin’ about stupid shit like my arms.
“Tell me something about you.” Libby blurted out of no where, then swung our entwined hands dramatic like, back and forth.
I brought my brows together. There wutn’t nothin’ ‘bout me she needed ta know. Sure as shit not out here ready to pour my heart n’ soul out to this girl just cause she’s givin’ me a little attention — don’t matter how much I might like it.
“Come on,” she drug herself partially in front of me, beginning to walk backwards. “Anything.”
It was the big brown eyes that I was a sucker for, n’ I despised it. The way she fluttered her lashes while gazing into my soul should’ve been illegal. And it wutn’t just the eyes, but how sugary her voice sounded — the doe eyes just topped it all off. I’d tried letting myself open up for her, back on the farm, n’ things went straight to shit. I lost her. That hurt me a lot more than I expected it too -- like a bullet ripped through deep muscle. I found myself missing her little talks and the teasing chatter that followed her whenever she saw me. I think that was something that flicked me onto her; she only ever seemed to be interested in that kind of banter with me. It was sickening how much I enjoyed that part.
“Merle! Tell me about your brother,” she continued to walk backwards. “I know the others aren’t his biggest fan, but I get it --“ she trailed off, her tone of voice cracking a little. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s kind of a crappy person. My oldest sister’s that way. But she’s my big sister, so I mean… it’s hard for me to just write her off.”
I looked at her, unintentionally biting my lip, thinking about what to say. Ain’t nobody ever asked about Merle like that before — n’ she actually seemed interested. “He’s an asshole,” were the first words outta my mouth. “But he ain’t the worst person in the world. Only person that ever cared to keep me around.”
“What’d y’all do together?”
But I shook my head, brushing that question off entirely. I don’t really know why — ain’t like she could be expectin’ that much outta me; there was just some funny feeling in my gut that didn’t want her to know that version of me.
“Dar, come on!” She pleaded, falling back into step beside me and gripping my upper arm with her other hand. I’s all of a sudden scared she was gonna hear my heart thumping inside my chest. “Give me something. I’ve seen and done a lot, you know that by now.”
And I did know that. Libby wutn’t no perfect little princess. She grew up rough, just like me. That didn’t change anything though. Cause truth is -- I wutn’t no better than a lotta them dirty bastards that went into the club for a good time.
“This ain’t fair.” Libby pulled me back precipitously, stopping in the middle of the woods. “We’re supposed to be friends. It’s not like I’m asking for your soul — just something.”
“There ain’t nothin’, Libs.” I didn’t mean to snap at her, or jerk my hand away so harshly, but she wouldn’t quit pushin’. “Ain’t nothin’ for you ta know. I’s just some redneck asshole like my brother.”
Her eyes flashed at me dangerously before she snatched my hand back up with a certain level of force, “Redneck asshole is better than nothing.” She snapped. “And I’m not stupid, Dixon. I worked around people like Merle all the time, he was a drifting drug dealer. I can put two and two together.” Then her legs began moving again, tearing through the woods with no rhyme or reason on where she was goin’.
Libby was unquestionably bothered by my reluctance to divulge information about my past to her, but she still made the decision to grab my hand back up before she started stomping along the leaves again. I didn’t understand why she did that, but something about it felt nice.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
The long hours of hunting provided us with nothing but a quiet sanctuary and a few squirrels. Guess I wasn’t as much luck as I thought that I was after all. There was no complaining coming from my lips though — I was just happy to be wandering within the woodland covered part of the earth. Being surrounded by sheet metal and scratchy concrete could weigh you down, it became incredibly easy to feel disconnected from the rest of the world after a while.
When we neared rocky ground that led to the storage lockers, I was already craving to leave the confines again. “You going out tomorrow?” I asked, finally breaking the silence that had blanketed over us for hours at that point.
“Rick wants me to go scout back and see how close that herd is, then check ahead for somewhere else to move.” He adjusted his bow while looking down at me.
“Can I come?”
“M’takin’ my bike, it’ll be too cold.”
Maybe it was the instant rejection or the antagonistic tendencies that rippled through my body, but I immediately scoffed. “It’s warming up. It’s only cold in the morning and I didn’t see you turning me around when I followed you today.” I argued.
“Libs, I don’t want you gettin’ sick like that again. I’ll bring you next time.”
“Please, Dar.” I begged.
Daryl arched eyebrow, a shadow of temptation in his eyes, “Y’ever rode before?”
“If we had a little privacy you’d know by now.”
His jaw clenched briefly before he exhaled a small huff, “Figured you’s more of a pillow princess.”
I stopped in my tracks. Though he’d lightened up a lot, and him teasing me back wasn’t entirely off the table anymore, it still took me by surprise when he did. “I could make you whimper, Dixon. Stop.”
“Sure.” He said in a patronizing tone, continuing his stride towards the storage lockers.
“Take me tomorrow and find out.” There was an attempt at nonchalance, but also an opening for him to bite the bait I set out, and I hoped he would.
Admittedly it wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities, but it had been a while since I’d given myself any pleasure. There were few opportunities and when that small window of privacy was granted it was never long enough to drown in sweet release. But now that I was allowed to actually leave constant company, I’d be lying if I claimed to not be looking forward to alone time.
Silence had trickled over us as we approached our ‘home’ and I could see Glenn propped on top of the beat up suv, watching for any sign of predators creeping around in preparation to attack the lot of our people. Soup was nowhere in sight, so I assumed he’d already left to go on his nightly hunt.
“M’leavin’ at first light. Dress like you got some sense.”
_____________
“How far back do you think we’ll have to go?” After our final conversation of the night, he avoided me like the plague, and I’d been itching to talk the entire time. It really shouldn’t have been surprising that my mouth was already going a mile a minute and we hadn’t even gotten on the motorcycle. There was such a big promise I was eager to play out, so this show needed to get on the road.
“Bout an hour.” Daryl answered, attaching both of our bows to the mount on the back. “Herd moves slow, n’ Rick’s wantin’ to move out tomorrow. Probably head back for an hour, then try’n find somewhere secure a couple hours up the road.”
Daryl gave me a once over, inspecting my choice of attire like I was a teenager going on her first date. “I’m warm.” I defended, securing my jacket around my shoulders a little more snuggly.
“On the back, n’ put yer feet right there.” He slid briskly onto the bike, kicking the back space where I assumed were for my feet. It was an awkward moment — slipping onto the bike for the first time — but I found that if I steadied myself on his shoulder it made things a lot easier. I wound my arms around his waist tightly, sealing my eyes shut to help with the initial sensation of the bike taking off. “Looser.” He mumbled back at me, reaching a hand down to manually loosen my grip. “Y’ain’t gon’ go no where, girl.”
My eyes stayed clamped shut as we began moving, and I felt bad for re-tightening my grip around Daryl after the engine roared particularly loud. That didn’t seem to bother him that much though — he just reached back down briefly and repeated the motions of unwinding my hold a bit.
_____________
I began to have a better understanding of why Daryl had been so concerned about the weather being too cool, because after nearly an hour on his bike, the air had a lot more bite to it. My face took shelter behind his shoulder blade, so when we slowed to a halt and I peeked up from my hiding spot, there was a cold shock to my previously heated face, prompting a brief shiver to run down my spine. I wasn’t freezing by any means, but layers were undoubtedly a key to riding motorbikes.
“You good?” Daryl asked, turning to look over his shoulder.
“Peachy.” I replied with a smile.
And we were off again -- in the opposite direction this time.
The walkers looked to be a bit closer than what was expected, so I could assume we’d be moving out sooner than expected as well. Call it selfish or whatever you want, but my stomach sunk at the prospect of not collecting the intimacy I was hoping for.
_____________
“This could be good for a day.” I peered through the windows of the overgrown house, observing the interior from the creaky front porch. “As long as it’s clear.”
We drove past the storage lockers and up north for about an hour. It was a lot of maneuvering through broken down cars, moving them out the way, and finding a spot far enough from the main road to be worth a damn.
It wasn’t exactly an ‘apple pie’ kind of house, but it put more distance between us and the herd that was moving this way. If things worked out, Daryl and I would find something a little more stable a few more hours down, and I had an idea on how to make it last a little longer I needed to run by Daryl before giving it to Rick.
I valued Daryl’s perspective on things -- he wasn’t the most detail oriented person, but he did have a knack for solving problems before they became problems. I figured if I told him my idea first, he could knit pick it before it got back to Rick.
“I’ll take the front, you head to the back.” Daryl nodded towards the direction I was intended to head in. “You a’right?”
“Peachy.” I responded the same as last, another smile following, before I dipped into my area of clearance.
There was something so heartwarming about him asking if things were okay on my end and I hoped he’d continue to do so. I’m sure it wasn’t anything he really thought about, just an off-chance comment to make sure my head was in the game, but the gesture made my stomach do little flips.
Rounding the back yard, I could see Daryl moving around inside expertly through the uncovered back window. Then my eyes landed on a disgusting, belly-churning scene as they drifted further to the left.
The potential owner of the house hung freely from one end of the back porch, legs -- what was left of them -- dangling over part of the porch post. There were no signs of any other dead ones, but that unfortunate display of suicide was my daily dose of the undead. I aimed carefully at its skull, finally putting it out of its months worth of misery.
The back door opened seconds after I let my arrow fly, the words spilling from his mouth before the scene registered to him fully, “Find anything?” Then he nodded at the grotesque response.
I stalked up the front steps and measured out whether I could reach up to get my arrow or if I’d have to cut him down. Daryl made that decision for me, slicing the rope swiftly and retrieving the arrow. “Thanks.”
“Head inside, it’s clear. I’ll bring in the pack n’ we can eat.”
_____________
A can of butter beans, two KitKats, and a single yellow Gatorade was our meal fit for kings. Needless to say -- we devoured it entirely within five minutes. It must’ve been around noon at that point, and we hadn’t eaten anything since Carol forced us to split a bag of chips before we left.
But the lingering silence after we finished was something I only wanted to take advantage of, and from the months we’d been in each others company, I’d taken note of some ticks that Daryl was overly prone to. So when I noticed him opening and closing his pocket knife, I took my chance.
“Ya know, you could put your hands to better use than flipping that thing.” God, my confidence soared whenever I was able to lower my walls, and it felt so good.
His teeth began nibbling at his lower lip -- an anxious habit that I tried not to point out in fear of him becoming self conscious about it. But he stopped abruptly, responding sharply, “thought you said somethin’ ‘bout takin’ control.”
He didn’t meet my eyes, but I saw his gaze flicker over at my body briefly before he continued his ministrations with the knife. I wondered at what point it was, that he became more comfortable being so bold. It hadn’t happened over night, nor was it something he went full-fledged into. Initially it was just shy smirks, soon those smirks got updated to quips of ‘yeah?’ and minuscule chuckles. All the lengthy remarks didn’t start happening until recently, maybe over the last month. It was still fresh. Still new. I liked it.
I considered him for a minute, trying to keep the coquettish aura growing, “I technically just said I could make you whimper.” My voice lowered an octave as I scooted closer to him on the suede couch. “But if you want to be controlled, Daryl, all you have to do is ask.”
There he went again -- chewing that damn bottom lip. My hands lingered in my lap for a second longer, before they wandered over onto his clothed thigh, tiptoeing shyly as if to test his boundaries; to see how far he’d let me go. As my fingers slowed their leisurely movements once they neared the inner-most part of his thigh, I didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath he drew.
“Or,” the word flowed out my lips in a sing song tone. Withdrawing my hand, I couldn’t hide the mischievous smirk that overtook my face as I swiftly twisted around, slinging my leg over and positioning myself on his lap. “Or I could just make you ask.” I pressed my hips harder against his, not quite grinding down, but applying just enough pressure to feel the roughness of his growing bulge against my core.
*
The thing about Daryl; he had a lot of patience. And I was putting that to the test currently. Pushing to see how far he’d go until he begged -- because he would beg. Daryl Dixon wasn’t a taker, he didn’t just take things, there was always an implication of question at the very least before he acted. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could take the upper hand, a power struggle would be non-existent with him.
My fingers trailed along the nape of his neck, twirling pieces of his growing hair into little curls, and he exhaled when I circled my hips against him for the first time. “Libs, we ain’t got much time.” He bit out, playing with a button on his flannel and avoiding direct eye contact with me. “We got a lot more ground to cover.”
But fuck, I was horny and so close to exactly what I wanted.
“Better get to whimpering then,” I whispered out, dipping my head down, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “If you want me to stop, just say the words.”
Before he really had a chance, I slithered out of the large jacket that weighed against my shoulders, immediately working the buttons open that sealed my flannel shut. Slipping off the layers that covered my upper body, I didn’t stop until I was left in a sports bra that I contemplated removing as well but decided against it.
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked, playing with the bottom seam of the bra, continuing to hold eye contact. His stubbly cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as he shook his head. “Say it.” I encouraged the words out of his mouth.
“Nah.” He responded, the pink shade deepening and beginning to run down his neck as well.
As difficult as it was to read him on a day to day basis, having him like this -- I already knew the ending to this story as if I’d read it a million times. His eyes finally drifted away from mine, trailing down my neck but never going lower, and I could practically feel his cock twitching beneath me. This was a dance that he somehow already knew the steps to; though I doubted he’d ever waltzed like this before.
“Say it.” I repeated. The words weren’t harsh or even all that firm — they didn’t need to be. He seemed to feed off of what was drifting between us. Rather than demanding things, I could coax him with little to no force. “Say you don’t want me to stop.”
He lifted his eyes back up, a dazed expression painted over him, “I don’t want you ta stop.”
I hummed in response, slipping my bra off in the process. My breasts fell heavily and I was a little shocked by how quick those steel blues dropped in admiration. It didn’t take me long to decide to slide off his lap and to the spot between his legs. My fingers worked the buttons to his pants quickly, “take them off.” I left him with the task as I began shimming off my own bottoms. And again, I was tempted to remove my underwear, but decided against that one as well.
Daryl was entirely under my thumb at that point. As soon as he finished with his pants, he stood in front of me, an expecting expression on his face, waiting to be told what was next. It was almost too easy.
I brought a hand down to his abdomen, nudging him back onto the couch and resuming my position on top of him. “You’re a really good listener.” I whispered into the shell of his ear. My lips stayed close to the crook of his neck, but my hands began pushing his vest from along his shoulders. “Take more off. It’s too much.”
He let out a breathy laugh, but obeyed, leaving him in a grey sleeveless undershirt, “better?”
“So much.”
Daryl hummed. His hands trailed along my bare back, leaving chill bumps up and down my spine. I relished in the small, more innocent touches that he provided, but I wasn’t all the interested at the moment.
I shook my head, briskly placing his hands on either side of his lap. “No touching.” Rolling my hips over his boxer clad waist, I was shocked to receive a groan of frustration from the man underneath me. Truly it only egged me on. “What is it, Dar?” I pressed my mouth against his clavicle, pulling down his the cloth that was blocking his skin.
Sucking gently, I peppered short, open mouthed kisses along any exposed skin that was available, until I inched closer and closer to his lips (of which he was chewing incredulously). There was a flicker of hesitation that pulsed through my body when I made eye contact with him. Hovering so closely above his chapped lips, we exchanged a sacred language within our gazes, where I silently asked permission to break that unexplored boundary. And he granted it. I quickly found out that, where he wasn’t a dominant lover, he took the upper hand seamlessly as our mouths battled it out.
Over the course of probably six or so months, my relationship with Daryl had grown in a plethora of ways. But never, no matter the amount of opportunities (and there were many), had our lips locked. This -- this was special in a way that was different for both of us I think. I’d kissed guys before, I’m not a total loser, but a fuse had been lit so long ago and it was finally coming to an entire flame. It was messy and flawless in the most primal of ways.
That first kiss sealed something that we would revisit time and time again.
I let out an audible gasp, that reverberated in his throat when he wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me closer while bucking his hips underneath me. “Let me.” He mumbled, breaking away from my lips and thrusting upwards once more.
Reeling myself back in, still a little high from our brief make out session, I shook my head. As much as I wanted to let go, I still stood my ground — I was going to make Daryl Dixon whimper. “You’re only gonna drag this out longer.” I pouted, pushing his arms away.
“Libs,” his voice was gravelly, thick with arousal.
“No touching. You have to ask first.”
It was intoxicating -- how well he listened. But at the same time, his stubbornness prevailed over his need and I watched how tightly he gripped the couch cushions, his hands threatening to tear through the flimsy fabric.
“S’bullshit.” He mumbled under his breath.
I found it amusing how much that man reeked of sass, only prompting me to take it a little further, “Ya know, if you can’t say anything nice, maybe just don’t say anything at all.” I taunted, smirking at him while dipping my face down to his collarbone again. “You haven’t even told me how hot I look on top of you.” Teasing him could’ve easily been my favorite hobby during those early days of the apocalypse. His reactions were never lacking.
I trailed my mouth over the stubble on his jaw, feathering against his lips for a millisecond before pulling away. He squirmed underneath me, but didn’t say a word.
“You don’t think I’m hot?” I halted my movements entirely. My bottom lip puffed out in a small pout, encouraging the dramatics.
“Y’are.” He looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, and that had never been my intention. Rerouting, I sucked my lip back in and let my hands cup his face softly, hoping to keep the flame lit.
“Dar,” I thumbed his left cheek, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. “You okay?”
Without hesitation he responded, “Let me touch you.” It was a statement in the form of a question. I understood that.
What we were doing in that moment -- the power play -- was new to us, and I wanted to accommodate his side of things to ensure he wasn’t genuinely uncomfortable. I loved having the upper hand, but not at the cost of his boundaries. I reached to where his knuckles were still digging into the couch cushion and coaxed them loose, before guiding the palms of his hands to my waist in a smooth motion. “Touch me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
One hand entwined with my hair, while the other traced over my silhouette, before landing on one of my breasts. Immediately, he pushed my head forward, capturing my lips in another heated kiss, while his fingers began circling around my nipple teasingly. Our mouths danced in unison and he swallowed every little moan that escaped my throat as he rolled the pink bud between his thumb and index finger.
Then he withdrew from tangling my hair up, dropping his hand between us, playing with the top seam of my panties. Had anyone been walking by on a casual afternoon stroll, they surely would’ve blushed hotter than a whore in church at the sounds coming from inside the house. He dipped his fingers beneath the cloth and I could’ve swore that the room started spinning as he worked them between my folds. I almost regretted my choice in teasing him so agonizingly in the beginning.
Almost.
Because then he said, “Lay back.” In that same, questioning tone as earlier. He wasn’t telling me what to do, he was asking.
And I obliged.
Fingers hooked around the sides of my underwear, pulling them off as I situated onto my back. No matter how self confident I was in my body, there was no way to feel less exposed as Daryl nudged my legs apart, focusing intently on my dripping core. My chest rose and fell heavier than ever when I felt his hot breath fan over my clit, before he dove into my cunt, drawing a moan of sheer ecstasy out of my mouth.
“Fuck.” I whined, unintentionally wiggling my hips to grind up against his face. “Fuck, Daryl.”
He continued lapping over my pussy as if it were the only thing holding him onto the earth. Wandering down, my fingers entwined into his chocolate locks, tugging gently as his name continued to fall from my lips like a sacred prayer. His head remained buried between my thighs and with each small tug at his hair, a low moan vibrated from his mouth and up my body.
It was unholy how thoroughly he was eating me out.
Sucking my clit hard enough to cause my hips to jolt, he’d back off for several seconds, sneaking his tongue inside of me before repeating the actions all over again. I’d never felt so awestruck by a man in my life — I didn’t even think guys actually knew how to do the things he was doing. For years I’d relied on my vibrator and fingers to get myself off. Very rarely would a man be allowed to taste me, much less devour me in the way Daryl was doing right now.
Deep moans sent vibration up and down my body and I felt his jaw begin moving in circular motions as his tongue flattened. The coil inside of me began tightening rapidly, causing me to writhe in search of release, but he held my hips in place, continuing his ministrations. “Dar, fuck.” I hissed, clenching my eyes shut and arching my back. “Fuck, please. Don’t stop -- Daryl, I --“
My mind dissolved into a jar of putty and had I not felt my lips being attacked seconds later, I’m sure I could’ve stayed on a different planet for several hours. Even in feeling his mouth moving against mine, I’m not sure when I began to consciously reciprocate.
“Want ya.” The words were ghosted over my lips. “Wanna fuck ya.”
Somewhere in my subconscious, I had the gall to shake my head. “I wanna ride.” Even my words had no bite after the orgasm I’d just experienced.
Daryl looked down at me, hesitating, but moved back into a sitting position. I had to ground myself before following his moves, the afterglow of everything still fresh. When my eyes caught on his weeping cock though, it was enough to regroup and take control again. Pre-cum coated his throbbing dick, and I felt like I had to physically restrain myself from dipping down to taste it. Everything about this situation was so incredibly pornographic, I half-heartedly wished I had a camera so I could revisit this for all of my filthy fantasies in the future.
Straddling his hips, I wasn’t interested in wasting anymore time; wrapping my hand around his thick cock, I guided him to my entrance before lowering myself at an agonizing pace until our hips met. It felt like I’d been split in half in the most pleasurable way possible and the way my cunt squeezed so perfectly around him, I was convinced this was where I belonged for the rest of my life. I was so incredibly full and stuffed with his cock, I had a mind to just allow him to lay me back down and have his way with me.
“Fuck.” He whimpered, his hands searching for a place to land. “So damn tight, Libs.”
I smirked, satisfaction painting over my face, “Told you I’d make you whimper.”
A switch flipped, and I saw his jaw clench before I felt his arms slither around me. Without warning, his hips began rutting into me at a deafening pace. The thrusts were brutal, but fuck did they feel good. Any attempt at having the upper hand was lost as his name echoed repeatedly through the abandoned house.
I let him use me as his own personal fuck toy for those last several minutes. He pounded up inside of me so hard at times, that I physically bounced on top of him, and the small grunts that left his mouth were music to my ears. Until — well, until an entirely new sensation began building inside of me. My lower belly grew hot, sending jolts of electricity up my body and pressure built in my abdomen so suddenly, that I couldn’t even grasp what was happening until it was over. Ducking my face into his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his neck, I held myself in place as another orgasm writhed through me, pulsating around him. Cries of pleasure and overstimulation followed, and my world spun -- literally, when Daryl ripped me away from his cock.
I was a trembling mess.
With half-lidded eyes, I watched from a dazed and laid back position on the couch as he wrapped his own hand around his cock, pumping it a few times before ropes of white liquid coated his shirt. As soon as I saw his head fall back, I snatched him by his upper arm and pulled him next to me, forcing him to hold me. I didn’t even care that he tensed up or how stiff his arms felt around my shoulders. I buried my head into his chest, clinging to him as the aftershock of my orgasm faded in its entirety.
Minutes passed and Daryl slowly relaxed against me, but he kept his hands preoccupied twisting my hair around his fingers. “Y’alright?”
I wasn’t even sure how to tell him -- I felt embarrassed. So I nodded against his chest, thinking on the least humiliating way to confess. My confidence levels in any sexual situation soared — but instead of flying right now, I was falling and the bone crush was weighing on me heavily.
“Ya sure?”
Biting my lip, I moved my head back, “I uh --“ I swallowed thickly, “that was different. Umm…I’ve never uh--“ my lips quirked in an awkward smile, avoiding eye contact with Daryl. “I’ve never had orgasm from just penetration before. Like, usually -- I mean, it was just new.” With his glass cutting gaze studying me, I felt the anxious need to continue explaining myself. “It was good. I just, never -- like, it was great. We could do it again -- I mean, not right now. But, yeah. No. I’m -- I’m good.” What was I, fifteen? The words just weren’t forming right, and I couldn’t stop stumbling over them like a virgin on prom night.
After embarrassing myself enough, I resorted to tucking my reddened face back into his chest. The weight of his chin rested on top of it and his fingers never stopped twisting my hair.
.a moment’s silence when my baby puts the mouth on me.
Notes:
I love Rick Grimes and how he was such a tight ass around the prison arc, but omg I just know he was irritating af to be around for too long during those eight months on the road. idc idc.
also, hello? I’m such a sub!Daryl truther and you can’t tell me he wouldn’t enjoy being guided through things. home boy lives for praise and approval — esp between s3-s5. omg I could go on, but this is just an authors note lmaooo.
I hope this was semi-realistic. I always feel weird ab giving Daryl a love interest and making him seem too ooc. And I’m so excited to explore Libby’s personality even more now that she’s beginning to blossom.
Chapter 21: loser
Summary:
“Told ya’s a good idea,” Daryl kicked my foot lightly, shooting me a couple of quick glances. “It’ll work.”
A blush settled on my cheeks. It was silly, really. Those little words of encouragement really had me feeling some kind of way though.
Notes:
omglmnop, I have been working on this chapter FOREVER. My family came in from out of town last weekend though, so I spent time away from writing.
Thank y’all SO much for the reviews! They genuinely mean so much to me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.you’re on your own, kid.
“We need ta head out.” Daryl mumbled after we’d been laying there for -- I don’t even know how long. “S’gonna get late.” There was softness in his words. A specious comfort to slowly draw me back into the harrowing reality.
My face was beet red when I edged away from the warmth of his chest. He rubbed a thumb over my bare shoulder blade, coaxing me to untangle myself and prepare for another journey. Selfishly, I wanted to beseech him to forget about the others and remain lying on the sofa with his arms wrapped around me in such an intimate embrace. But I wasn’t selfish - far from it. So I pocketed those last few hazy moments, my gaze drifting up and locking onto steel blue eyes.
That was the first time I wished that the world had been kinder to the both of us -- that timing could’ve given us a smidge of grace and allowed us to meet under more ideal circumstances.
My lips turned up into a quaint smile, the last exclusively intimate exchange before we redressed and traveled for hours again. Then we’d eventually go back to our group and revisit this house later tonight, ahead of the herd by a day. My eyebrows shot up as I remembered the plan I’d meant to tell Daryl about and I’m sure I looked crazy from his perspective. “Dar!” My pitch rose significantly.
My nakedness forgotten, I pulled away from him, propping up on my elbow as if to have a casual conversation. His face twisted in confusion as he moved his body further into the couch.
“Okay, so I have an idea, and I need your opinion before I tell Rick, just in case it actually sounds stupid.” I explained, gesturing my hands in a non-directive motion. “What if we gathered some of the cars on the road and made like -- like a line right? Across the road and maybe we could make several rows and even make a slight U-shape.” Getting more excited about my idea, I pushed myself to a sitting position and tugged him to follow. “And I mean, it might not last that long, but it could buy us a little more time in our next place.”
His eyes were squinted — a habit he does when he’s concentrating — and a surge of confidence shot through me at the prospect of him really considering my idea. Then I caught him chewing on his bottom lip right before he began to speak, “it’ll take a lotta labor ta get them cars all situated up like that, but s’not a bad idea. Probably take a couple hours though.”
“But you think it’d work?”
“Bout fifty a’them son of a bitches, so a couple rows’a cars should keep’em back for a little while, yeah.” He nodded in approval.
My smile widened all the way to my ears, “let’s go!” I shrieked, standing up to search for my discarded clothes. “We could start at first light tomorrow.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Without thinking, the corners of my mouth quirked into a smile as I watched her bounce around the room, throwing her clothes on in the process. It was kinda funny how quick her emotions spun around.
Following her lead, I slipped my pants back on and started workin’ my belt n’ shirt soon after. In the mean time, Libby was redoin’ her hair, tyin’ it in some kinda bun on top’er head. She must’ve caught me watchin’ cause her mouth curved into a little smile before she started runnin’ it again, “Are you good at tying knots?” Her eyes flickered with wonder.
I didn’t know why she was askin’ n’ I used ta not bother answerin’ questions like that — it wutn’t nobody’s business. But lately I found myself doin’ a lotta things I wouldn’t’a done about eight months ago, especially when it came to the damn red-head who was gazin’ at me right now. “A couple basic ones. I had a uh -- book when I was younger with pictures on different kinds, but I forgot’em a while ago.”
“You should let Beth teach you how to braid.” She was beamin’ at me now, her brown eyes just’a sparklin’, I didn’t even have anything ta say back. “You fiddle with your fingers a lot and it would give you something to do sometimes.”
“Ain’t playin’ slumber party in the middle’a this shit, girl.”
I didn’t care how much I mighta been into her, she wutn’t gonna yuppy me up. If she wanted her hair braided, she could keep goin’ ta Beth. It ain’t easy refusing her — especially when her eyebrows are drawn so close together like she’s about ta cry. She wouldn’t though, Libby wutn’t like that. Didn’t mean I liked hurtin’ her feelings.
Despite the pang of guilt that hammered into my gut, I responded the only way I knew how and ignored the situation from there on out. I gathered my things up n’ left the house, heading to my bike to get it ready to go.
It really hadn’t been that serious. I’s always such an asshole — not thinkin’ before I acted. There wutn’t no reason for me ta walk away like I did; not after everything that had happened beforehand. Wutn’t twenty minutes ago, n’ things were drastically different. I felt the need to readjust myself just thinkin’ about it.
Even though I tended to feel uncomfortable when she teased n’ flirted so shamelessly, it was something I began to slowly enjoy. And the one thing about Libby I would always appreciate, was that she meant everything she said. None’a that ‘talkin’ a big game’ crap. If she said she’d do something, she’d either do it or try her hardest to get it done. Even if it was about somethin’ carnal, like makin’ me whimper, she put her money where her mouth was. N’ I wutn’t complainin’ — no matter how embarrassing it was at first, Libby knew exactly what she was doin’, n’ I let’er.
I’d let that red-head do a lot more to me than I cared to admit.
When I saw her makin’ her way across the yard, that guilt from a few minutes prior rose, n’ I wanted nothin’ more than to see her face glow with excitement again. I’s such a little bitch.
“I’ll go ahead n’ bring ya back early n’ y-“
“No!” She exclaimed as she approached the bike. I didn’t get a chance to finish anything I had to say before that girl start spewin’ venom. “It’s bullshit. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. You’re not allowed to just -- toss me to the side now that you got your dick wet again asshole.”
I stood there dumbstruck. It wutn’t completely unexpected — I was a little bit of an asshole for snappin’ at her n’ walkin’ away for no good reason, but I didn’t think she’d come out accusin’ me of makin’ her a cumrag.
“Libs,”
“It’s not fair, Daryl. I ain’t your girlfriend or anything, but damn — you could at least give me a little more respect. I’m not that big of a whore.”
My jaw tensed, “Y’ain’t no whore, Libby. M’ just tryna tell ya somethin’.”
“What?” She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“I’ma take ya back, n’ let ya get the rest of ‘em here so you can get that blockade started.” As if shaken from a furious hypnosis, Libby’s face warped. “It’s gonna take some time. This’ll be a decent place ta start. I’ll go ahead a couple hours alone — find us a better spot for when we leave this one.”
Her lips parted slightly and the freckles that speckled her cheeks seemed to darken as her face turned a shade of pink. It was stupid, but I thought she looked kinda cute when she got all embarrassed. After bein’ back on the road with’er constantly, I’s startin’ ta lean back into that little crush I had on her at the farm — it wutn’t hard to spin myself around her finger again. I still thought it was bullshit though. If Merle saw how much of a bitch I was for her, he’d have me wishin’ I’s one’a them damn geeks, especially if he knew I’s thinkin’ she was cute n’ shit.
“I’m so sorry, Dar.” The words came tumbling outta her mouth after several seconds of pause. Bashful brown eyes peered into mine, searching for resolve in the situation.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
On the farm — even before the farm, I had been headstrong and passionate about who I was and where I stood as a human being. Quick to snap back, but never too keen on sharing my opinions so openly. I was still that girl — my comfort levels had just risen tremendously and I bit my tongue a lot less… which makes jumping to conclusions a horrible vice of mine. It was much easier to handle before anyone actually knew I spent a lot of my time cutting to the chase before I even knew what the chase was.
Daryl had only been being genuine.
I just assumed.
But he took me back to the storage lockers and vouched that my idea was a good one, prompting Rick to put me in charge of the ‘mission’. That being not much of a real mission, but it’s what he’d called it, so it’s what I was rolling with.
Time moved fast in the wake of Daryl leaving. Carol rode passenger in my little Honda along side me and Soup, and it took us just under two hours to make it to the quaint house in the woods. When dusk crept upon us, we’d made a remarkable amount of progress and it was an easy decision to call it a night. Lori and Beth fixed a fantastic feast of a meal for those of us that had spent the last hours of daylight slaving away: Cheese-Its and Fruity Pebbles. I took my share (half a bowl of dry cereal and a handful full of crackers), and waited impatiently on the front porch for a motorcycle engine to replace the sound of cicadas.
If counting spots on a bobcat’s fur was a skill, then I was a professional, because I probably added up all the umber and iron shaded dots that scattered on Soup’s body before any new noise reverberated in the night.
I was thankful that Soup seemed to be in an inquiring type of mood, since it would’ve been a little embarrassing to have left my post for any other reason besides following my cat. It didn’t matter so much to me that maybe everyone else knew that I had a crush on Daryl, it was just the principle of keeping a smidge of dignity. Bounding off the steps to meet the guy I’d been infatuated with was so juvenile — bounding off them to chase my pet though… warranted. There was just some convenience that Daryl had been the subject of Soup’s curiosity.
A rush of butterflies fluttered in my belly as I approached him. He was adjusting his bike, only pausing his work long enough to give Soup a pet and me a nod of acknowledgment. “Find somewhere good?” I asked, dipping my hands into my pockets. Daryl unstrapped his bow, expertly at this point in the apocalypse, he’d only done it a thousand times.
“S’gon take us a while ta get there, but there’s a huntin’ cabin a couple miles away.”
“Where is it? New York?” I embellished the remark with a raise of an eyebrow.
He scoffed, nudging me to the side as we began a short stride back to the house. “We’re gonna have ta clear the cars on the way, it probably ain’t but an hour up the road.”
“Took you a while to get back.”
“Drove further up,” he explained, a small smile playing at his lips as he accepted his portion of ‘dinner’ that I’d set aside for him. “Ain’t no point in settling in somewhere if another herd’s just gonna come from the other direction.”
“Once we’re there, we could try to make another vehicle blockade.” I suggested.
Daryl swallowed a handful of cereal while shaking his head, “Nah, we’d end up trapped. We need to keep an opening.”
Our conversation took a brief pause at the sound of a creaky door opening and Carol being added to our company. Or maybe it was the other way around. Typically she was the one to greet Daryl with dinner as the rumbling of his bike approached — I’d been secluded to the interior of whatever place we were using as shelter at the time. With the seasons changing and warmer temperatures, (and my recent argument with Rick), I was relishing the environment and it hadn’t even dawned on me that this specific situation had been a routine for the other two over the last four or so months.
“Hey,” she said, warm and inviting, taking only a few steps out the door. Her eyes danced between us. “Just making sure you made it back safe.”
He nodded up, motioning at the styrofoam bowl in his hands and sliding down the wooden post in front of me. “M’good,” he said, casually. “Couple scratches from the woods. I’ll be in in a few, letcha look at’em.”
His and Carol’s relationship had been one to blossom over the course of being on the road. Of course, everyone became more comfortable with each other given the close proximity we regularly had to endure, but their personal friendship was one that I’d taken a keen interest in. At first I’d been a little weary that it was more than just a platonic affair, and Daryl had taken a lustrous view on the woman — they were closer in age, gravitated towards each other, and for fucks sake; it was Carol — she was perfect. But that fear didn’t last long and had actually led to a small argument between Daryl and I. It wasn’t like I had a claim on him or anything, but still — I felt that my case had been valid. The argument ended much like the one when I implied he may have been sleeping with Andrea.
Carol and Daryl were just friends though. Kind of. I think they were like what me and Glenn were — just friends, but also loved each other. They were ‘in friend love’. Carol kept an eye on everything Daryl did, never hovering, but always watching, and ready to take his side in any dispute. And Daryl showed her more compassion and patience than I think he’d shown anyone — ever. “I’m going to sleep.” she said, tilting her head back to the entryway. “You need to get some too, we got more work to do in the morning according to our drill sergeant right there.”
Drill sergeant. A flicker of redness painted my cheeks. Rick had jokingly called me sergeant when we’d been situating the cars around earlier, eliciting the others to tease the name as well, so I found myself indulging them in stories of my JROTC days. It was never that serious to me, but the cadences were always amusing and naturally I had to share some of my favorites with the group.
“Y’all get a lot done?” Daryl asked after Carol shut the door.
I copied his motions, drifting to the floor and leaning my back against the opposite post of his, the tiptoes of our shoes barely touching. “Got a lot of vehicles moved up to where we started the flank. It’s mostly just a matter of actually getting them in position now.”
“Told ya’s a good idea,” Daryl kicked my foot lightly, shooting me a couple of quick glances. “It’ll work.”
A blush settled on my cheeks. It was silly, really. Those little words of encouragement really had me feeling some kind of way though.
“We’ll find somewhere more permanent soon.” He leaned forward, his hands dangling loosely between his knees. “Ain’t gonna have ta keep runnin’.”
It seemed like he was attempting to give me some sort of pep talk — which was unusual of him. Daryl wasn’t some Debby Downer, but he sure as hell wasn’t going around with daily affirmations to keep the group looking at the brighter side of things. “We’ll set up a better routine. Take some time to figure all this shit out,” he said gruffly.
He moved his index finger in a swirling motion, then waved it back and forth between us, and I pondered what that meant. I must not have hid my curiosity very well, because he was quick to add, “Lori’s havin’ that baby, foods gon’ run out soon, ain’t had no time ta really breathe til today.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I know what you mean.”
Daryl dipped his chin down, chewing on his lip. “M’sorry for snappin’ at ya earlier. I shouldn’t’a been such an asshole.”
Had that been what was irking him? The internal question settled softly in my chest. I don’t think he’d ever apologized to me before either — not outright saying ‘sorry’ at least. “It’s okay.”
Fingers twiddled together -- a glance up at me and then back down, he shook his head. “Y’ain’t a whore, Libs, n’ ya don’t deserve to be treated like one.”
An understanding flowed through me. I repeated his actions and kicked his foot gently to grab his attention. A crack of a smile — gesturing that all was well. There were thousands of ways I could brush him off and tell him that it didn’t matter, but I knew better. He was asking for forgiveness because he felt like he’d offended me, not out of politeness. Daryl wasn’t a polite person. He told me sorry because he genuinely meant it.
“It’s okay. We just need to work on our pillow talk.” I teased, winking at him when I caught his blue eyed gaze. The same cat-like squint that he’d given me back when we first met. “Lucky for you, I have a ton of time on my hands. We can work on a lot more than just pillow talk. Unless you absolutely hated today…in that case I’d just assume there was something wrong with you, because the sex was --“
“Stop.”
“I’m just saying. I don’t think our bed chemistry needs much improvement.” The smile that had previously been on my lips was now replaced with a taunting smirk. Whatever heavy feeling that had been weighing on him, had evidently disappeared by the way he rolled his eyes at my suggestive comment.
_____________
“Son of a bitch.” I cursed under my breath, that had become a mantra for the majority of our group during the last thirty minutes. A heavy thunderstorm was blowing through and the longer it lasted the more progressive my worrying got.
“If the rain doesn’t stop we’ll have to abandon the car blockade. We can’t let ourselves become sitting ducks, we’d only be ringing a dinner bell.” Rick explained.
“Daryl said the road was full of cars no matter what direction we go in.”
On cue, Daryl stumbled into the living room, soaked to the bone and breathing heavily. “Got the bike strapped down, can’t ride in this weather.”
“We have to go somewhere.” Carol said nervously.
Rain pounded on the house — a warning knock of the looming herd of walkers that would be wandering onto the porch at any given point. The storm had been raging all night and showed no signs of letting up. Our time was running out.
Soup paced anxiously between Glenn and Rick’s legs, seemingly ready to bolt as soon as a decision came through. I noticed early on that when things got dicey, the cat became either more clingy or disappeared entirely, there was never an in between. Somehow he always ended up exactly where he needed to be though — in my backseat. No matter what, I could always count on that. Even on the days he shadowed another member (he’d grown attached to both Lori and Carol), when it was time to go, he was automatically in the back of the Honda, ready to flee.
In moments like these — I was thankful for that. The cars were somewhat of a safe zone and him being there was one less thing to worry about.
The cars. I pushed away from the wall I’d leaned on and rushed to gather up the sheets and blankets. “The cars!” I blurted, shoving a thin sheet into Rick’s arms. “Get in the cars, put blankets up in the windows, and wait for the herd to pass. If they can’t see us or hear us, they’ll be none the wiser.”
“Won’t they catch our scent?” Hershel interjected.
I was a little caught off guard by the question, but it didn’t stop my movements of handing everyone pieces of cloth. I shook my head. “The rain will likely mask it. And we’ll technically be mobile, so we won’t be stuck in the house. If they hoard around a car, it’ll be easier to manage than getting stranded inside of here.”
Rick’s gaze found me; he was considering my proposal. Carefully picking through the faults in it — and there were several — but he weighed them. Contemplating whether it was worth the gamble. “If we get separated, we meet up back at the storage lockers.” He began nodding slowly.
“And if they’re over run?” Lori asked, eyes wide, speculation covering her voice. She was begging Rick to spare her an ounce of regard. “Then what?”
He ignored her.
In the raw aftermath of Shane’s death and the unspoken revelation that he was likely the biological father of the baby she was carrying rather than her husband, Rick did a lot of ignoring. It wasn’t any of my business, but I felt for Lori in a weird, sort of fucked up way. Shane took advantage of a grieving woman at her most vulnerable state and provided her with a physical comfort that eased the pain. That isn’t to say I presumed her innocent or that Rick deserved the hand that he was dealt. It was a fucked up situation.
Since then, their marriage was so blatantly struggling, we all tried to keep the peace for Carl’s sake — for the tiny spark of innocence he still had left. Reality had robbed him of enough of his childhood already.
“If you have to leave, lay on your horn.” Rick called as we made a run for the vehicles. “Draw more walkers away from the rest of us.”
There was no plan when we journeyed into the rain other than get in the car and block the windows. I think we all collectively knew that we didn’t have any time to waste or discuss precisely who was going with who, and with how heavy the sky was falling, I wasn’t sparing any second glances as I scrambled into my car. The passenger door opened and I was more than a little surprised to see who was joining me. “Does Rick know you’re here?” I asked, scanning out the windshield in an attempt to find the sheriff — pointless really.
“I don’t care.”
Instinctively, as it had been for the past several months, I swung my door open and through blurry raindrops, I saw that Rick had practically been mirroring my actions. The older man had poked his head out of the rusty truck and into the rain, searching the yard frantically. “Rick!”
His head snapped towards me, his soaked curls bouncing on his forehead. “Have you seen Carl?!”
“He’s with me!” I shouted over the crackling thunder. Still — despite the low rumble, I wasn’t unconscious of the shifting presence that was beginning to make themselves known.
Back in the car, Carl had wiggled himself into the backseat and began shoving any article that resembled a sheet into the back windshield. Without sparing a second glance, I shouted, “I got him!” As I ducked back into the vehicle.
No matter how important it had been for me to inform Rick that his kid decided to pile in with me, it didn’t change the dread that zapped through me as I saw the undead trickling towards my little Civic. I’d been caught and no amount of crossed fingers that it had only been two or three walkers would change the fact that there were plenty more where that came from. It was a sick sick game of ‘monkey see, monkey do’. One rotting corpse outside the car would turn into twenty real quick.
“Buckle up.” I said quietly, reaching for the key that sat in front of the gear shift and settling it into the ignition. Fur brushed under my elbow, a new being took the passenger spot. Soup pawed at the towel that had blocked the view out the window. “Now is not the time to worry about scenery.”
He chirped in my direction, as I laid on the horn. I needed to draw the geeks away, lead them down the road, do my part in protecting the group. I had to keep Carl safe too. With some hesitation, my hand shifted the Civic into gear and we began our adventure.
It looked like my genius plan on what to do about the herd had worked out for everyone except me, and unfortunately, Carl.
_____________
We drove for over an hour, weaving through permanently stopped traffic, rain beating down on the windshield like a drum. The heavy droplets slowed not just us down, but the walkers as well — which was just about the only positive in the entire situation. Carl settled in the front seat once more, keeping an eye out for any sign of… anything. We weren’t going towards the storage lockers seeing as that was the direction the herd was coming from, and even if we had, we likely would’ve been blocked by the row of cars that had been placed the day prior.
Driving for so long gives you plenty of time to think about all the thorns in a plan. In my defense, I never claimed my idea was faultless, but nobody else had been spitting anything out.
There was some short conversation between Carl and I, but mostly just him giving me lookout information. A bit of guilt gnawed at me for him being in this situation. I knew it wasn’t my fault — it was just how the ball rolled. Still, his life was more or less in my hands, and that would be enough to send me into a spiral on a good day, so don’t even get me started on a day like that one. I wasn’t necessarily ‘white-knuckling’ it, but Carl must’ve sensed my anxiety by the way I drummed on the steering wheel with my fingers.
“Sorry for getting us caught.” He said, voice cracking.
“Wasn’t really your fault.” I shrugged, carefully pulling back onto the road from the ditch we’d been treading through.
“It was,” he replied. “I should’ve stayed with mom and dad. I ruined the whole plan.”
“We were cutting it close anyway, kid.” I said. The rain was beginning to lighten; hopefully the rest of the day would follow suit.
“Doesn’t matter,” Carl mumbled, and he slouched down in the seat. “They’re probably arguing about it. It’s all they ever do.”
A deep sigh floated in the car. “Carl, none of that’s on you.” I said. “There’s a lot happening in general, and your parents are just struggling.”
Carl turned away; he didn’t say another word or even make a noise for several minutes. He scrunched his body up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and looked out at the heavily forested area lining the road. The only thing I could do at the moment was drive — navigate through the car-crowded street and look for an opportunity to take a pause. We’d eventually have to make an attempt to meet up with our group, but I wasn’t holding my breath that it would happen anytime soon.
We maneuvered to a clear stretch of road, passing a sign that was peppered with bullet holes. It read, ‘HITCHHIKERS MAY BE ESCAPING INMATES’. A brief shiver ran down my spine. With all the undead reanimating and coming for our lives, I hadn’t thought much about the rest of the world outside of my own little bubble. There was a part of me that wondered if the inmates even knew that the apocalypse had begun.
“I think we can stop for a little bit. Stretch our legs and look around.” I said, looking over to the boy who was still turned away.
Carl nodded, straightening up. He didn’t say anything back, and I was okay with that. Just because he was a kid didn’t mean he wouldn’t need some time to process our predicament. “Libby!”
The crunch of metal made for a rude awakening.
Before I could fully assess the situation, I was knocked back -- the rough fabric of an airbag punching my face. Soup howled furiously, leaping onto my lap from wherever it was he’d been resting.
Carl’s didn’t deploy; thankfully, considering his hands were placed on the dashboard. The horn blared in my ears, drowning out Soup’s vocal strain and whatever words Carl was trying to convey over to me. In front of us was a halted truck, stopped smack dab in the center of the road -- pushed forward a foot or two due to the sudden rear ending it received.
Eyes wide, the previous moments rushed me, and I reached for the door handle, but there was nothing to grab. The drivers side door was crushed inwards, an annoying piece of metal poked right above my elbow. I looked over to survey the passenger side, but Carl was already stumbling out, Soup following close behind. “Come on. We have to shut the horn off!”
“Shit.” I said, scrambling across the center console, trying to ignore the flash of pain that settled in my knee. “I can’t pop the hood!”
Once I was out, Carl slid back in and began wiggling his arm towards the drivers side floorboard. I scanned our immediate surroundings and saw nothing except Soup darting into the tree line. I made an attempt to call after him, but it was pointless -- we were about to follow right behind him.
I grabbed Carl’s opposite hand, tugging it to borrow his attention. “Grab my bow!” I shouted, motioning to the back seat with my head.
Carl secured the weapon from the back floorboard, shoving it into my arms when he emerged from the crashed vehicle. His lips were drawn into a tight line -- disappointment shrouded his freckled face. The only solution to our new dilemma awaited us in the forest.
Disappointment was too familiar these days. We just experienced a moment of trauma, yet this twelve year old boy and I were trucking along as if nothing happened. And we hadn’t spoken much more than a few words the entire time -- heightening the dismay in a gloomy type of way.
Our feet drug along the leaf ridden floor. Soup had been hiding just beyond the thick brush and fell into step beside us when we passed by. The sharp pain in my knee settled into a throbbing sensation and I surmised that a bruise would be forming in the next few hours.
It was surprisingly dead in the damp woods. Not a single creature moved except the three of us -- and considering the excruciatingly loud horn blaring in the distance, it made the non-existence of walkers eery. “What do we do now?” Carl asked a little too casually, adding onto the ominous ambiance.
“I guess we’re on our own, kid.” I matched his seemingly unbothered energy.
The pre-teen had been exhibiting some strange behavior, but who could blame him? He was going through a lot more than just puberty. No matter how hard we all tried, we couldn’t shield him from everything, and it was taking its toll. When I first met Carl, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was the biggest momma’s boy in existence and once Rick revealed himself to be alive, the kid was practically a shadow to his father — now he seemed detached from both parents. And again, I ask; who could blame him?
Rewind six months, and I was sure Carl would’ve been anxious to see his parents again. Currently he walked backwards slowly, an emotionless expression on his face as he peered up into the trees. In another world the scene before me would’ve likely had a sense of serenity to it.
I wrestled with which route I wanted to take (the metaphorical one, that is).
Carl wasn’t mine, nor did I have a close knit relationship with any of the Grimes’. I respected Rick, Lori wasn’t horrible, and Carl was just a kid. And before the apocalypse, to my understanding, he was a loved and cherished little boy that wanted for nothing.
But he wasn’t that kid anymore, I reminded myself. He was the first generation of youth in this new world, struggling with the fallout of a semi-broken home, and never knowing where his next meal was coming from. The closest person to his age was Beth, but even she was eighteen by now. All the resources for a young developing mind had been wiped clean — certifications and college degrees didn’t count for shit anymore.
Not shit.
“They’re probably worried about you.” I said, bending down to pick up a water-logged stick.
“They’re probably fighting over whose fault it was that I slipped away.” Carl replied, not even looking up at me.
“Because they care.” I added. “Losing track of you is life or death for them.”
Carl shook his head, spinning around so his back faced me again. “Everything is life or death now. That’s why my dad killed Shane.”
My eyes widened, the blunt statement shocked me, but I wasn’t necessarily surprised. This was Carl after all. “Your dad killed Shane because he Shane was going to kill him.”
The tree limbs shook above us, and Soup dropped down with a squirrel in his mouth. Neither of us reacted to the repugnant scene — we were used to the cat showing up with animals ranging from small to medium sized caught between his jaws. While Carl was making small attempts at training Soup to do tricks, Daryl wanted to see if he could be trained to hunt for more than just himself. At that point in time, neither guy had been successful.
“I think my dad hates my mom,” Carl hopped on top of the trunk of a fallen oak tree, still speaking ever so casual. “He ignores her most of the time. And when he does talk, it’s always an argument. I miss when they were happier.” I sped my pace up a little, following his footsteps on the damp bark. “Sometimes I think the baby will make things better. Sometimes I think it’ll make things worse. It’s not fair that it won’t have the same mom and dad that I had. The happy ones.” My heart ached at his confession.
“They’re still going to love that baby just as much as they love you.” I carefully balanced, trying to keep steady. “That little thing is going to be so loved, Carl.”
The throbbing in my knee got the best of me and buckled just as I was about to take another step, sending me down to the drenched leaves. I hit the ground with a thud, all the breath being knocked out of me. Carl had the audacity to laugh at my misfortune -- but followed suit. “Loser,” Carl chuckled, pushing up on his elbows. We were propped in the middle of the dank forest, feet to a fallen log, and bare elbows digging into leaves and sticks. No noise other than our own breathing and the faint crunch of Soup eating his lunch. “I just want my parents back,” — he looked over, a ghost of a little boy faced me now, and he favored a teenager suddenly — “I don’t want my little brother or sister to think they were always like this.”
Carl managed to absolutely gut me. Any anxiety of being responsible for him, or losing our group for a prolonged period of time disappeared. I was focused entirely on how agonizingly mature, yet so innocent the kid next to me was. Through all the trauma, all the death, all the chaos, all the running, all the arguments, all the bitterness; he was worried about how his sibling would grow up, rather than his own temporary happiness. So simple, but so complex.
I smiled softly, “I think,” I nudged his shoulder with my own, “you’re going to be the best older brother.” And for the first time in a long time, I fully believed my own proclamation. Coming from experience.
“Do you have an older brother?” He wondered aloud, moving the some of the soggy leaves with his boots. “You sound like you do.”
“Two older sisters.” I admitted, smiling at the thought of them.
“Do you think they’re still out there?”
My upturned lips fell slowly. Their unknown fate was a wound I wasn’t ready to visit — it’s why I tried to keep the memory of them in the depths of my mind. “Maybe.” I answered solemnly.
Carl pushed against my shoulder, “I bet they’re worried about you.” There was a small, absolute smile on his face, when I glanced over at him. My heart warmed at the new solace we were cradled in.
As per usual though, nothing ever lasted.
Within minutes of our conversations, the rustling of leaves and gurgling growls echoed from the direction we’d been heading in. The two of us (along with Soup Can of course), sprang into action, leaping up and bounding back the way we came. Not for very long though; the twelve year old face planted onto the ground, groaning in pain. I chanced a glance up at the imminent danger stumbling towards us — one, two, three, four -- a lot. A lot of mangy bastards reaching their dead hands out, hoping to sink their teeth into our flesh.
I brought my bow up but dropped it all the same. There was a crowd coming behind the dozen or so that was already gaining on us. Unholstering my .45, I clicked it into action, knocking back the three closest ones. “Come on,” I knelt down, pushing back my own pain to focus on what was wrong with Carl. “We gotta go.”
The moans grew closer. I was practically dragging the boy at that point, hoping that whatever had begun ailing him, would ease off long enough for us to live another day.
Tug. Limp forward twice. Bang. Bang. Tug. Limp forward twice. Bang. Bang. Tug. Limp forward twice. Bang. Click.
I hated everything. All of it. The disgusting stench of the dead that hobbled towards me and the freckled face kid. The fact that this was what life was like now -- running from an inevitable death at the hands of grotesque creatures, chomping at the bits to eat me and anyone with a beating heart, alive.
A rotting claw reached out, making a quick attempt to snatch Carl’s shoulder; instead it threw us off balance, knocking our awkward dance out of rhythm and sending us back to the forest floor. My hands searched blindly for something to withhold the corpse from getting its mouth on either of us.
For a split second I thought the worst had happened when Carl let out a gut-wrenching scream, “Mom!” I rolled my body on top of his, hoping that despite whatever pain he was in, that maybe I could be the barrier between him and a fatal bite. “Mom!” He cried out again. I felt hot tears against my cheek, but they weren’t my own — and a heavy body toppled onto me.
.you always have been.
Notes:
ahhhh! Next chapter is the last one before the prison, and I gotta ask… do we like the bonding Libby is getting with everyone? I’m trying to build up their time on the road as best as possible, but scared I’m just dragging it on instead lmao
Chapter 22: my needy girl
Summary:
But with Daryl, my emotions were a hurricane — complex and intense. I genuinely liked him, more than I may have liked anyone before. There were things about him that I’d accumulated, little stories and tid bits of information, and I wanted to know more. I wanted full claim to all that warped into what was Daryl Dixon.
He could be the exception.
Notes:
who is ready for emotional whiplash?
Contains explicit scenes// they start at the * and end at the *
TW// mentions of sexual abuse on a minor and trauma in relation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.we’ve been doing all this late night talking.
Heaviness piled on top of me and I on top of Carl, all at once it became clear to me that the direct threat had retreated. No decaying hands were clawing at my flesh and blood. The walker had been dead before it ever toppled over us. And I knew that was the truth whenever reality punched me in the gut and my arm was jerked from its socket — shouts battled over the undead’s groans. “C’mon, girl!” His voice grumbled in my ear.
“Carl!” I saw Rick bending down to aid his son. “I got you.” The sheriff assured, picking Carl up in his arms, aiming and taking down a walker in the process.
My heart thumped like a rabbit’s foot as I placed one foot in front of the other, following the familiar bodies of Rick, Glenn, and Maggie hazily. Daryl was bringing up the rear, and I fought desperately against the pain in my knee so as not to trip him up. I ran with all my might.
In the process of moving through the forest, I came to realize we weren’t going back the way Carl and I had entered. Instead we were battling further south, stuck on an awkward incline, running adjacent to the road but not towards it. Surely that was part of the plan — but I desperately wanted to yell at Glenn and tell him to bee-line it for the pavement anyways. My poor knee couldn’t take the rough terrain and the prospect of letting the walkers have me crossed my mind once or twice as we weaved a tricky path.
As if reading my mind (or possibly from my steady lagging), Daryl called from behind, “a few more yards. Keep it movin’.” But those ‘few more yards’ felt like a few hundred miles.
The run for our lives didn’t stop there though. When we actually reached the road, we weren’t in a designated safe zone, the walkers were still hot on our heels. The only comfort I got from hitting solid ground was the sight of familiar vehicles approaching, jumping to a sudden halt when the drivers saw us. When Rick shouted orders about getting inside, I didn’t need to be told twice. I dove into the Hyundai before the wheels stopped turning.
_____________
There was little to no conversation in the vehicle — not like I jumped in with the most talkative bunch: Hershel, Carol, and Daryl. Immediately Daryl had surveyed my body, all while asking if I’d been bit; I hadn’t. After a few double checks, he seemed to believe me. And Carol only wanted to know the entire story of how Carl and I ended up in the situation. There really wasn’t much to it and I almost felt bad for how anticlimactic the story was. As a matter of fact, their journey to finding us was a lot more exciting than my lack of paying attention causing the car crash.
Carol explained that my plan failed — nobody had enough time to cover their windows before the walkers saw them. They abandoned the idea entirely, heading in all different directions at first, but traveling east was impossible due to the flank of cars we’d adjusted. Regrouping further west, Lori and Rick were determined to find their runaway child. Conveniently, the sound of a horn pierced the air, leading them straight to us… kind of. Once it had been dictated that we weren’t in the car, Daryl picked up a trail, but as the world goes, walkers were beginning to pour out from the woods, seeking whatever was making the annoying honking noise. Insistent, Rick darted through a crowd of undead freaks, willing himself to find his son and prompting others to follow him through the trenches as well. Daryl recalled that Soup had actually been the one to lead the group back to Carl and I.
I probably owed my life to that cat.
Then, of course, we narrowly escaped certain death together and now sat off the side of the road, huddled around a fire and eating canned ravioli. Daryl and T-Dog waltzed around our makeshift camp, keeping lookout for a sign of any movement. Undead or alive.
Hershel ultimately decided my knee was merely dislocated and with Rick’s help, reset it for me. One week of minimal weight, and six weeks until it was fully healed, I got off pretty lucky compared to Carl. He escaped with a fractured foot and was unable to put weight on it at all. There was no telling how long it would really take for him to recover, but he was looking at at least eight weeks, potentially more. His age would help his recovery though, kids were indestructible.
As far as the situation itself went, I was grateful that neither Rick nor Lori had quarrels with me, both deeming it a genuine accident. I apologized profusely for putting him in danger and ultimately getting his foot broke, but Rick merely shook his head, saying he was glad Carl was alive.
Sitting on the grassy floor, I saw that the boy was surrounded by both parents, lovingly. As though nothing had altered their relationship in the last few months, and they were sharing a common embrace. Things seemed temporarily good for the family now. Not a single argument creeped around the corner to break up something that Carl so desperately needed.
It was the simplest form of medicine.
Behind me, a body shifted in the faint glow of fire light. The approach was familiar and I recalled it like clockwork, the careful footing and slow movements. I wondered if he knew that I knew he was approaching.
When I told the story about mine and Carl’s endeavors, I watched Daryl’s reactions a lot closer than I meant to. In that vehicle, he was who I was closest to, and I felt the strange need to constantly reassure him that I was okay. He didn’t make any particularly alarming faces or remarks, but it didn’t escape my notice that he’d become more standoffish since we’d made camp. The last time we spoke, things were good. We’d flirted and teased each other about pillow talk — nothing heavy. So I was actually eager when I heard his footsteps come to a halt behind me.
“Ya feelin’ a’right?” He asked after rounding to kneel in front of me, worrying his bottom lip subconsciously.
“I’ve been a lot worse.” It was the truth. I’d literally gone through the trenches with him — back in the ravine when we were still hopeful and looking for Sophia. The day Andrea shot him. The day I revisited traumatic memories, but allowed him to bathe me anyways.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, ya have. Don’t seem like you’re catchin’ any breaks.” I rolled my eyes at his comment. One corner of his lips upturned, a smirk playing secretly in the dim light. The same feeling from the night before crept in — awkward heaviness.
Nonetheless, I smiled brightly at him, allowing any trace of positivity to beam -- albeit minimal -- and that’s when I realized why he’d been acting strange: a flash of regret zipped through his squinted eyes. “That one place probably got overrun,” Daryl shrugged, shifting an inch closer to me, “gonna go check it out at first light. Gotta find somewhere for you and that boy ta heal up.”
I nodded, heat creeping up my neck at the prospect of him openly giving a shit.
Around the fire, everything felt right. With him; everything felt right. The skirted forest that we sat alongside was an unorthodox setting, but one that I thought comforting. Simple. Daryl settled down next to me, the crackling wood became a reprieve from our chaotic, heart pounding day.
He pulled a small hunting knife from his worn out jeans, fiddling with it quietly, a dull clinking each time he closed and re-opened it. I turned my head slightly, shifting my eyes to his hands to watch his ministrations.
I was so unusually enthralled with this man. My fascination of the smallest things that only he did, perplexed me in a way that was so fresh and original.
All my life I’d found a surplus of men (and women) attractive, some even drool worthy, and as I got older, my looks did me a lot of favors in getting what (and who) I wanted. Physically, I bathed in the glory of satisfaction, but emotionally — I bit the bullet once and he took advantage of my vulnerability. I didn’t give him exactly what he wanted, so I was labeled as a whore. One man. I’d both physically and emotionally opened myself up for one man. After that fallout, I refused to grant my heart any of the satisfaction my body got.
But with Daryl, my emotions were a hurricane — complex and intense. I genuinely liked him, more than I may have liked anyone before. There were things about him that I’d accumulated, little stories and tid bits of information, and I wanted to know more. I wanted full claim to all that warped into what was Daryl Dixon.
He could be the exception.
_____________
Months had passed — maybe another three or four? Lori’s belly had grown significantly and Hershel was convinced she’d be due to pop in the next few weeks. It was surreal; watching the transformation right before my eyes. Never before had I witnessed an entire pregnancy fly by and I was so amazed by the human body. And Lori was a trooper through it all. We spent more time running than we ever did settling down, yet she didn’t complain.
After mine and Carl’s wreck, Maggie suggested we start keeping track of the herds, so if we separated again we’d have a general idea of ‘danger-zones’. It also helped us better determine how long we had before we needed to abandon whatever shelter we holed up in. Nowhere was safe for longer than two days, but the two day stays were few and far between — camping off into the woods was an easier resort.
My knee healed fairly well, only throbbing if I spent an excessive amount of time with my weight predominantly on that knee. In other words, blowjobs were rare.
Fortunately though, sex wasn’t.
Daryl and I found solace in one another’s body more often than I think either of us ever thought we would. Over the course of several months, he’d become more confident in initiating what he wanted, but still — I was typically the one pining after him, wondering continuously when I could join in on a hunting trip or a supply run. I did my best not to invade his space or privacy, making a point to ask most of the time before I tagged along. But sometimes I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes I selfishly wanted my needs met, unconcerned with asking permission to intrude.
*
It was during those spurts of unchaste wanting that Daryl tended to take the upper hand, denying me of any relief until our private time together was trickling away. And for some reason, that only made the present situation all the more satisfying. “Yer so needy.” He mumbled, nonchalantly brushing past, virtually ignoring the way I’d pushed my ass back against his groin.
We were scouting a house down the road from our camp, surveying to see if it was clear and safe enough to stay in for the night. It was supposed to be just Daryl — he wasn’t going far, and traveling on his bike he was more than capable of escaping most dicey situations by himself, but I insisted going along to ensure safety in numbers. It was bullshit. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone likely knew it. I was only adamant about it because if the house was clear and things did go well, a brief opening of privacy was guaranteed.
“Dar,” I whined, following him quickly down the stairs. “We’ve already double-checked everything.”
He flung open the kitchen cabinets as if he was expecting there to be someone tucked away inside, waiting for the most opportune moments to strike. “Need’a check it all. Can’t risk it.”
“Need’a check it all. Can’t risk it.” I mocked in a high-pitched tone, scooting past him to peak inside the cabinets below the sink.
“What?” He asked, sharply.
“What?” I responded without missing a beat.
We moved in relative silence after that snarky exchange and I crossed my fingers that I hadn’t ruined whatever chance I had to get laid that day. Daryl wasn’t that type of lover, he was very generous -- extremely, actually. Sure, he’d prolong giving me what I wanted, but he’d yet to outright refuse it. He liked the dynamic we had just as much as I did.
But he began walking out of the house, no indicating factor that he planned to re-enter, and my face fell.
I watched from the porch as he approached the motorcycle and I sensed my ongoing battle for sex was coming to an end. It was defeating — watching him sling his leg onto the other side of the bike, then glancing up to look for me. “You comin’?” I wish. Swallowing thickly, I trotted down the steps, shooing away my lustrous thoughts.
“Sorry.” I mumbled, taking my seat on the back of the motorcycle and wrapping my arms around his thin waist. The engine never roared to life though, and Daryl didn’t even reach to flick it on. Instead I felt his stomach tighten as he let out a breathy laugh.
A tap on my thigh grabbed my attention even more, “get in the front.” Daryl called back, his voice still light and airy.
“Huh?” I scrunched my eyebrows. He didn’t respond, only pushed back, encouraging me to switch positions with him. I hesitated in my movements, taking a little extra time getting settled in the unfamiliar spot. Just as I felt more confident, his hands drifted underneath my shirt, ghosting over my flesh. “Dar,” I stiffened.
“Ya want me ta stop?” His gravely voice whispered above the shell of my ear, sending chill bumps across my neck. “Thought this was whatcha wanted.” A flame of lust flickered within me, his tone dropping to an almost whisper.
My skin prickles even more.
“I thought we were leaving.” I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against both him and the leather seat between my legs.
With one hand holding my bra in place, his other journeyed to my back, undoing it with ease — a feat he’d only just recently perfected. My chest dropped a bit at the removal, but in seconds he replaced the daunting fabric with his hands, kneading my breasts, avoiding my nipples entirely. “Wanted ta see how long you’d hold out.” Daryl admitted.
Asshole.
I wasn’t going to argue though. Not when I’d been waiting for his touch since the plan to scout the house was suggested the night prior.
“How long?” I asked, puffing my chest out in hopes that he’ll give me more.
“Gotta be quick.”
I whined. Recently, we always had to be quick. It had been probably a month, maybe longer since I was able to relish and fully absorb all of the pleasure. A wanton whimper escaped me as he finally flicked harshly against my nipples, sending zaps through my body. I arched my back against him, “Then stop teasing and fuck me.”
“Nah,” he murmured. “Ya begged ta come with me, n’ all ya did was flaunt around in them little shorts.” One of his hands dropped down to run over the hem of said shorts. “Ain’t right ta just give ya everything ya want.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“Yer bein’ needy.”
I huffed out a breath. He wasn’t wrong, I was being a little extra with my flirtations, but in my defense, he never told me to stop. A rush of pleasure made to be a nice distraction from my thoughts, the hand that had been fingering the hem of my shorts then brushed over my heated core. “Dar.” I whispered a plea.
He said nothing, only continued his attention to my nipples, pinching harshly and rolling them between his fingers. My head fell back against his chest and I continued to grind down against the seat of the motorcycle, taking any form of relief I could.
“Take’em off,” both hands left my breasts, but one lightly tapped in between my legs.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I tore off the bike in a hurry. Sliding down both my shorts and panties at the same time, I whipped around to catch a glimpse of Daryl — who was doing nothing but waiting for me to re-join him. I expected to find him shedding his pants as well, but he seemed to be admiring the view I provided for him. I rubbed my thighs together before inching towards him again, only to be halted. I tilted my head in confusion.
“Other way,” he ordered. “Wanna look at ya.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I nodded hesitantly and began maneuvering my body to an almost straddling position. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be once I got situated. Daryl brought a hand up, pushing softly at my shoulders and coaxing me to relax against the handle bars. “You better not let me fall.” There wasn’t actually any worry in my mind that that would happen. I trusted Daryl wholeheartedly.
“I gotcha, girl.” And at that moment, I didn’t care what happened, whether I fell or floated. My entire focus zeroed on his hand: the heat radiating off of it as it pressed against my skin, the feel of his fingers as they moved against my clit. My body was exposed wholly to him, legs spread and completely naked.
I screwed my eyes shut, ignoring the switches on the bike that pressed into my back as I arched it. His mouth was on my breast a second later, licking and tasting and feeling. I could hear my pulse beating like a drum. The blood rushing to all sensitive parts of my body — the world was suddenly moving at an intense speed.
He kissed his way over to my other breast, slowly, agonizingly drawing out each touch of his flesh to mine. As his lips led up to my nipple, he suckled little bruises onto my skin, painting the supple flesh — branding it.
The fingers that had been rubbing expert circles on my clit, slowed and I moaned in protest, but sighed when I felt three fingers enter me, massaging in slow motion. I couldn’t stop myself from grinding down, trying desperately to angle his hand in a way that would provide me with more relief. His mouth left my nipple with a pop and I could hear the smile in his voice, “my needy girl.” I peeled my eyes open, and sure enough, there was a familiar smirk plastered on his face as he devoured the sight that was my naked body.
He looked so confident in that light. There was a faint sheen of sweat that covered his forehead along with the slightly longer bangs that he’d been growing out, and his teeth were chewing at his lips some kind of primal. But that cat-like squint he gazed through — that was consistent to what it always had been.
I felt the electric jolts begin moving through my body as he curled his fingers up, moving them against that one particular spot inside of me, pushing me to the edge. I spread my legs further apart (if that was even possible), and reached up in an attempt to bring his head back down to my chest.
He stopped.
“Daryl,” I protested. “Please. Don’t stop. Please.”
“You wanna cum for me, Libs?”
I nodded profusely. Desperately. “Please.” I whispered this time. “Fuck me. Do something.”
“Yes m’am.” He breathed out in a laugh. It was so frustrating how casual he could be in a situation like this. “Bend over.” He withdrew his fingers from me, slipping each of them into his mouth as his other hand aided in helping me off the motorcycle.
“It won’t fall?” I jerked my head to the bike, weary of leaning on it for support.
“Ya worry too much.” Daryl forced out a breath. He nudged me closer to the bike, guiding my hands to optimal positions.
The clank of a belt, followed by the unzipping of his pants had me squeezing my thighs together in anticipation for what was to come. Literally. I’d taken note that Daryl particularly liked having me bent over — he never lasted long with me like that. Lately it was his go to position, even when it didn’t have to be, and I fully believed he was trying to up his stamina taking me like that.
A whine escaped my lips when I felt him pressing slowly into my slick opening from behind. He eased in deeper and deeper and the sounds that left my mouth were growing more incoherent the further he sunk. No matter how many times we’d had sex, each new endeavor I was stretched so thoroughly that it took me a few seconds to adjust to his size.
“Fuck --“ My words were cut short, growing lost among my moans as he began thrusting into me at a steady pace. I adored the way his veiny cock hit my walls — an intrusion that welcomed him endlessly. My nipples rubbed harshly against the leather seat that Daryl was pressing me down against, his fingers using the dimples in my back as though they were divots made explicitly for him to pull me back against his cock.
The pad of his index finger dwindled down my waist, landing on my clit and beginning circular motions. Everything grew incredibly hot. My insides were burning and I could’ve cried with how utterly full I was — and my legs jolted unintentionally.
“M’close, Libs.” Daryl panted, using his one hand to bounce me back in a rhythm. “Fuck -- c’mon, fuckin’ cum for me.” His words were strangled and I felt him pulsing inside of me. “Libby --“ his words cut off as he jerked away from me. Milliseconds later, ropes of hot white shot out, grazing my ass in spurts.
I wanted so badly to pout. All of that build up to not even reach complete satisfaction, but I knew better. It wasn’t the first or the last time he’d finish first.
And honestly, there was something so hot about him shamelessly cumming before I did. It truly built my self-esteem higher than it already was, and his ego never seemed to be damaged by it.
“Sit how you were the last time.” He instructed, still breathlessly coming down from his high.
Though a little laggy, I obeyed and eased my thighs back around the leather seat. He didn’t join me this time. Instead, I watched him go to the rear before he leaned forward to tap my thighs, prompting me to scoot closer to him. With ease, Daryl hooked my legs over his shoulders and pulled me flush against his mouth in one fluent motion.
The tip of his tongue ran a quick lap around my clit. My mouth hung open, “Dar,” I gasped. With every unyielding circle of his tongue, my hips bucked chaotically into his face, leading him to tightening his grip around me. I was so close; so close to surrendering — I became hyperaware of the slick of his tongue, devouring me mercilessly.
He hummed against my flesh, releasing the hold he had on me with one hand and sneaking it between my folds, spreading them delicately. Daryl used long, circular twists of his tongue to worship my slit, receiving well-earned whimpers from me. I needed -- thirsted, for relief.
“Daryl, I’m-“
I writhed against his mouth. Eventually he held me firmly in place again while he alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue against my swollen clit.
My release came hard and fast and all at once. Any words I tried to manage, I choked on, leaving only whines of pleasure to echo amongst the trees. A vague part of me felt the grip around my waist loosen and my back settled against the leather seat again, but I only dared to look at the sky for the following minute or two.
*
_____________
We made our stop at the house later that day — just in time for the rain to fall from the sky and dinner to be served. And by dinner, I mean sleep. We were all having sleep for dinner. As much as Glenn and I joked about it being a blast from my past, each and every time we went to bed with empty stomachs, it triggered that part of my life. Both Daryl and Glenn had taken note that I spent those nights on watch, but I was unfortunately aware that Daryl might have been the only one of the two to understand why I didn’t want to talk about it. Glenn never gave me a hard time for not divulging that side of me, but there were times that I wished he just…knew.
I ached for the weight of my past to be shared with someone, I just didn’t want to be the one to talk about it. I suppose there was also the other piece of me that still had pride. Pride that Glenn didn’t know the deepest, nastiest parts about me. He was my best friend and I was so foolishly scared that if he knew all the nitty-gritty details, he’d bolt.
Then again, it wasn’t easy to avoid being confronted in one way or another, especially when you’ve isolated yourself to the porch as if you’d been infected by the fatal virus. But a girl can dream.
Daryl eased towards me, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He outstretched a water canteen, shaking it a bit, indicating for me to take it. “Y’alright?” He asked after I passed the water back to him.
I nodded. There really wasn’t much for me to say, but I urged myself to acknowledge his words anyway. I thought if I did, that maybe he’d take my silent response as a good enough answer. He wasn’t typically one to pry, but this was the third or fourth time I pushed away from the group, refusing to sleep on an empty stomach in order to shoo off the panic it gave me.
My mentality wasn’t healthy, but neither was a potential breakdown due to trauma.
Daryl raised his face to stare into the inky abyss off the porch. He was the only person in our entire group that didn’t seem to be filled with unease by the pitch black of the forest (unless you counted Soup). Even with the flesh-eating monsters the crept within the trees he somehow still seemed more at ease surrounded by nature.
“Ya been actin’ funny again,” Daryl said, pressing his back against the wooden paneling and sliding down next to me. “Somethin’ about earlier?”
Earlier; our rendezvous on his bike. Ironically, the last time we holed up with nothing to eat had also been precedented by spreading my legs for him, so I supposed he had a sensible reason for worrying.
“I would’ve told you.”
I want to tell him everything, but I’m not sure where to start. My mental state wasn’t incredible at the moment and if I got to emotional I didn’t want to burden him with my sob story.
“Ain’t gonna pull yer teeth, but m’ stayin’ on watch with ya tonight, so if ya wanna talk, ya can.” He said, as if reading the reluctance that danced in my mind. I glanced over to find him already looking at me, his blue eyes were serious.
It was utter bullshit that I couldn’t whip up the courage to spill my guts out to someone so blatantly asking me to do so. He was giving me permission to unload my emotions, meanwhile I was shaking in my boots. This, as I’ve said, wasn’t the first time I’ve wanted to divulge that side of me to someone — the talking part of therapy always did wonders for me, but unfortunately, the closest thing to a therapist anymore was, well, me. And as often as it happens, you aren’t ’technically’ supposed to treat yourself.
I know talking to Daryl would be the best, but it definitely didn’t make things easy. I spent such a significant amount of my healing journey carefully tucking away certain pieces of me, most pieces were hid so well that I felt comfortable enough to joke and get off on dark humor of my shitty childhood. That was all before the fall of humanity though. Because in what right mind was I supposed to think of certain aspects of those days coming back to haunt me.
Was it so far fetched to believe that I never thought I’d go hungry again? Or need a sponge bath? Was I reaching when I thought that my days of going unbathed continuously were behind me? I didn’t think I was at the time, but now, pigs could start zipping around the air and I wouldn’t bat an eye.
I scanned our surroundings, only taking note of Soup who had curled himself into a tight ball of fuzz and spots. When I found no sign of any lingering presences, I rested my cheek against Daryl’s arm, pressing against his muscle in an attempt to ground myself. “It’s a lot,” I mumbled. “I’ve never really talked about it with anyone besides therapists and psychologists.”
His hand grazed over mine, working our fingers together and giving me a reassuring squeeze. “You can tell me to stop,” I squeezed back. “If it gets to be too much, you can stop me, I’ll understand.”
“A’right.” Daryl agreed, his voice just above a whisper and I could feel the rumbly part of it vibrating through his body.
And I emptied my soul out.
I revealed some of the biggest hurts of my life. How my parents were addicts that regretted ever having kids, but me most of all, never missing any opportunity to tell me how much they wanted me to be a boy. The way my eldest sister followed closely in my parents footsteps and how she took advantage of my naivety, bringing me along with her to pick up drugs or transport some of her shady friends, hoping that if she was backed into a sketchy situation (or more often times, confronted by law enforcement), that they’d have more mercy on her in my presence. They never did. I told him the reason I hated root beer was because my mom forced me to drink an entire case of it after I took a sip of hers without permission, and that I liked having my hair braided because my sister comforted me that way.
When I mentioned that sleep for dinner was a common occurrence in our house, he let out a snort, saying, “It was free and reliable. Pa couldn’t get a DUI if he never left the house for food in the first place.”
But when I started easing into the worst of it, he only ran his thumb over my hand, tracing patterns as I spoke. “When I was eleven I fell out of a tree and messed my shoulder up pretty bad and went to the ER. I needed surgery, it was just a simple thing, but uh-“ I choked on my words. That tiny upset of my shoulder resulted in the most horrific years of my youth. “So I had to have a sponge bath for the first few days, and obviously in order to get the pain medicine refilled, my parents would need to bring me into my follow up appointment, so they had to fill in the role of ‘decent parents’ for about a week. My dad, he uh -- he called them ‘whore-baths’ and I was eleven, ya know? I didn’t know any better. I asked him what a whore was, and um - he decided to show me.”
My throat was thick with indecision on whether to keep going or put a plug in the confession entirely. There was much I was afraid of — including Daryl looking at me in an entirely different light. The last thing I wanted was for him to only think of me as a frail little girl who got touched by her daddy. I’d built myself up so high, and now I stood a chance at falling from that precipice.
I reclaimed my sexuality, but the trauma from my past never really stopped chasing me.
“Libs,” Daryl nudged me.
“Daryl, you can’t --“ I wavered, then let out a deep breath. “I’m not that little girl anymore. Don’t start -- please, don’t start looking at me different.”
His jaw tightened, “ya didn’t deserve none’a that.” He let go of my hand and shrugged me away, shifting to his knees.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. Despite me outwardly telling him I wasn’t a little girl, I sure felt like one in that moment. Small and broken. “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry.”
“Y’ain’t gotta be. C’mere — turn around.” He spun his fingers in a circular motion, emphasizing the request.
I didn’t have the energy to ask why or to even care, so I obliged with something a little less intense than eagerness. My bare shoulders brushed against the cool buttons of his vest, sending a quick chill up my back that was prolonged by unexpected fingers brushing through my bushy hair.
.bout anything you want until the morning.
Notes:
next chapter is the beginning of season 3!
lots and lots and lots to come this season.
super proud of the sex scene in this — like it fr slaps and I enjoyed playing around with another, slightly more confident side of Daryl.
Also, a lot of this chapter was loosely based on Harry Styles song ‘Late Night Talking’ and I used it as a twist on what Daryl’s perspective might be at this point in the story. So, fun little tid bit if you wanted to give it a listen!
Chapter 23: so jot that down
Summary:
Glenn’s brows pulled together, “what do you mean?”
"I know we're all exhausted," Rick began, staring into the fire. "This was a great win. But we gotta push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners. Looks like this place fell pretty early. Could mean the supplies are still intact. They'd have an infirmary, a commissary --“
“Mattresses?” I cut him off.
"An armory?" Daryl added.
Chapter Text
.you said those words, and suddenly i’m five.
Within four weeks, we hopped between at least twenty houses, probably more, and we were beginning to run out of options. Daryl was able to scout ahead while Glenn would double back, but each time they returned it was either with no news or bad news. Lori was undoubtedly getting ready to pop and we were running out of options to find her a semi-decent place to deliver the baby.
Without food, shelter, or sleep, everyone was running on spite.
Not even our sweet little Soupy Doupy could catch a break. He began wandering further out from the group and sometimes he’d be gone for a day or two, which Daryl pointed out that it may have meant his food source was becoming scarce as well.
Speaking of Daryl, the two of us had been fastened to one another like a stitch for a while after our late night talk on the porch. We spoke about any and everything that crossed our minds until the sun began to rise, and it was easily the most sentimental night I’d had in ages. The only disappointing part was being flung back into reality with the others — he rebound into his mostly silent ambiance, no indication that he’d spoken for hours the night prior. I might’ve been especially offended had Daryl not made a point of pulling me around with him a vast majority of the time -- well, kind of -- I wouldn’t call it ‘pulling’, but more like silently urging me to ride with him when we fled or assigning his spot to be right next to mine whenever we settled down.
He wasn’t the touchy-feely type guy, but he never let me forget he was around. It was comforting and reassuring. He never seemed to go back on his promise of looking at me different — that was the part that warmed my heart more than anything.
Things would’ve been even better, dreamy even, if Glenn and Carol could keep their mouths shut. Mostly Glenn, but I knew that when Daryl shifted away from me for a day, it was because Carol had mentioned something to him about our ‘closeness’. He wasn’t that hard to read, and even when she spoke in hushed tones, Carol tended to snicker at her own teasing points.
And Glenn… he got so incredibly lucky to meet Maggie at the end of the world, because he had no sense of ‘smoothness’ at all. It was always whenever Daryl had just sat down, right next to me, that Glenn felt the need to prod about our relationship status (which still remained friends with benefits). And the sad thing is — I really don’t think Glenn realized how cringey he was being. I truly believe he was curious but wasn’t able to read the room.
It was actually one of those days where Glenn had blatantly asked, “Libby, you riding with your boyfriend or with us?” On the way to scout out the house we now sat in.
Carl giddily worked open a tin can of what looked to be wet dog food, and we could all only watch the miserable scene play out — nobody was going to stop him from filling his belly.
Except that’s exactly what Rick did and it took everyone by surprise.
Again, we were all running on spite, Rick included, so surmising that he didn’t want to watch his son graciously eat dog food, wasn’t far fetched. He’d been trying so hard to find a place to hunker down at, but failed every time. It wasn’t his fault — the walkers were just unforgiving. Everywhere we went, they followed.
“Pssst!” T-Dog nodded out the window.
I let out an exhausted sigh before jumping to my feet again, filing out the backdoor behind Glenn, evacuating a place we only got to rest our feet inside of. It hadn’t even been worth the work of clearing.
Daryl whistled, telling me to join him with nothing more than the wave of a hand. The bike roared to life at the same time that he held out his crossbow, indicating that I was now its safe-keeper until we were off the road again. With the weapon adjusted over my shoulder, I took my spot behind him, wrapping my arms firmly around his waist.
I dipped my face between his shoulder blades, pressing my cheek to his spine in an attempt to block the wind from whipping my face too hard. We snuck alongside rundown vehicles, and trees of green blurred my vision for long stretches, only to be replaced by more rundown vehicles. Just as my mind began wondering when we’d need to siphon more fuel, the bike rolled to a halt.
While a rally of cars parked behind the now stopped motorcycle, Daryl waited patiently for me to hand back over his prized possession. I was tempted to join the group and pretend like I forgot I was even carrying the crossbow, but I gambled that neither of us were in the mood for any teasing at that point. Instead, I sent him the sweetest smile I could conjure given the circumstances.
Once we joined the group, Maggie had our ‘herd tracking map’ spread out on the hood of the Hyundai. I studied the markings for the hundredth time that week, hoping that by some miracle, there was a brand new opening we all managed to look over. “We got no place left to go,” T-Dog said, crushing my internal hopes.
"When this herd meets up with this one, we'll be cut off," Maggie agreed as she drug her finger over the indicating herd locations. “We’ll never make it south.”
"What’d ya say, s’about a hundred-fifty head?" Daryl asked, eyeing Glenn for the answer.
"That was last week," Glenn responded. “It could be twice that by now.”
"This river could've delayed them. If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through there." Hershel suggested, pointing to the potential opening on the map.
“Daryl and I could make it there and back in the next two hours — see what we could see.” I tagged onto Hershel’s point. There were flaws, but there were likely flaws to any suggestion given.
"Yeah, but if this group joins with that one, they could spill out this way," T-Dog argued, looking pointedly at me.
I leaned back against the green vehicle, defeated, “Caging us in on both sides.”
"So we're blocked.” Maggie said, shoulders dropping.
"Only thing to do is double back at 27, swing toward Greenville," Rick decided.
"Yeah, we picked through that already,” T scratched the back of his head. “It's like we spent the winter goin' ‘round in circles."
"Yeah, I know -- I know. At Newnan, we'll push west. Haven't been through there yet." Rick nodded. “We can't keep goin' house to house," he sighed, gazing over towards the beat up truck from the farm where Lori sat passenger. “We need to find someplace to hole up for a few weeks."
The thing was — finding somewhere to hole up in had been our top priority for months already. It was slowly but surely becoming a pipe dream. Even if she didn’t complain about it, Lori’s body couldn’t handle much more of the in and outs, labor was imminent. I chewed my bottom lip, wondering why we’d waited so long to prepare for a backup plan. If her water broke in the next hour, we’d be beyond screwed and death was an inevitable guarantee due to our own lack of planning.
Rick had been so sure that we’d find a place like the farm again. A safe haven, secluded from the walking dead, where Lori could give birth and we could live in some form of peace. And his confidence and leadership skills had done a number on all of us — we were all, in some way, convinced that we’d find a place like that too.
A shoulder brushed my own, “You comin’?” Daryl asked. His eyebrows were scrunched and he looked to me through squinted eyes.
“Where?”
“Goin’ ta hunt for some lunch.”
I glanced over to Hershel who was talking to Lori, then back to Daryl and shook my head. “Nah, I need to talk to Hershel.” My words must’ve sent off alarm bells because he straightened his back, jaw tightening.
“Everything okay?” His eyes drifted down my body, lingering temporarily on my abdomen before meeting my stare again. “Y’alright?”
I shut my eyes as heat rose up my neck at the small implication. We’d been exceptionally safe, but I suppose it wasn’t entirely off the table as long as we were having sex. It just wasn’t at all what I expected him to assume. “Dar, I’m --“ I sucked my lips in, nervously, then blinked several times to shake off the initial shock. “We’re good. I’m not -- everything’s fine. Just worried about Lori.”
With the nod of a head, he took one last picture of my body with his eyes and turned to follow Rick and Soup into the woods.
I gave myself a minute to realign. When my cheeks had finally cooled down I pranced over to Hershel, who had just taken over Beth’s duty on lookout. I was uneasy in my approach, hesitant on how to talk about the subject of someone else’s body in fear of overstepping.
If something happened though, and Lori went into labor, it would be better to have all hands on deck and a semi-structured plan laid out, rather than winging the entire delivery. And what about Rick? Things could get dicey, somebody would need to step up while he dealt with the birth of his child. So many kinks and roadbumps that we could be dealing with at any minute.
My tennis shoes crunched into the grass next to Hershel, who had begun inspecting a semi-grown over and bullet peppered sign, ‘HITCHHIKERS MAY BE ESCAPING INMATES’. My mouth curved into a smile, “Hey! I’ve seen that before!” I point out to the old man as if I expected him to become just as enamored as I was. With every other thought in my head wiped clean, I urged Hershel to follow me down the road, “Come on! This is right around where me and Carl wrecked!”
Our doctor must’ve thought I’d finally lost my marbles, but without question he trailed behind me in a hurried pace for the next five minutes. Just around the curve and out of view of the other vehicles laid my smashed up Honda Civic. I turned around, a wide smile spreading across my face. Hershel shook his head in amusement as he neared the car.
I peaked inside and saw my navy blue backpack sitting on the back floorboard along with three arrows that must’ve fallen from their holder. “It doesn’t look like it’s been looted.” I scurried to the passenger side and tried maneuvering myself inside. It wasn’t impossible, but with how the front seat was crushed, grabbing things from the back was a pain. “Here.” I grunted, holding back my backpack, hoping Hershel was actually there to grab it.
When I finally slid out the car after securing my leftover arrows, I smiled shyly at Hershel, who seemed to be waiting patiently for me to be finished with the shenanigans I accidentally recruited him for. He, at least, made out to be a good sport.
“Sorry,” I said, looking from him to the backpack he held. “Dale’s Billy Joel cassette is still in there. I thought it was long gone.”
His eyes twinkled in a way I’d only ever seen come from a man of his age, “It’s funny how we can keep up with the most obscure objects, but lose track of something as simple as our shoes sometimes.”
Laughing a little, I shrugged, “I don’t think anyone’s losing their shoes anymore. You have to take them off to lose them, and-“
“Hey!” Another voice broke our chat. “C’mon! We found somethin’!”
_____________
When Daryl explained that he and Rick found a place to stay, I wasn’t expecting it to be anywhere fantastic or an oasis away from the world — but I damn sure wasn’t expecting it to be the state penitentiary.
Sure there were walls, fences, and a sturdy roof, the only problem was; in order to utilize any of those things, we’d need to first clear the place. It wouldn’t be easy, especially with how low we were on ammo, but the more I studied the place, the better I could see the vision that Rick had: concrete walls, watch towers, chain link fences, fields of green, a weaponry. It could work.
Rick clipped a human sized hole on the exterior of the fence, allowing everyone to slip into the barrier between the walkers in the prison yard and the ones from the tree line. A shiver ran down my back when I saw how close the ones behind us were getting. It didn’t feel like anyone was moving fast enough and I wanted desperately to rush them, to loudly encourage them to hurry up. But even when we were all in the barrier, that shaky feeling in my legs didn’t subside. There were walkers clawing at both sides of the fence as we ran down to the entrance, they were eager to chomp down on any of us.
"It's perfect,” Rick breathed, looking at the prison as if it were Heaven’s Gate. "If we can shut that gate, prevent more from filling the yard, we can pick off these walkers. We'll take the field by tonight." He explained, pointing through the fence to the open gate about a hundred yards from where we stood.
"How do we shut the gate?" Hershel asked.
"I'll go. You guys can cover me." Glenn volunteered, ever the ‘yes’ guy.
Maggie though, she wasn’t ecstatic, "No, it's a suicide run."
"I'm the fastest." He argued.
"No. You, Maggie, and Beth draw as many as you can over there. Pop 'em through the fence." Rick interjected before an argument could be made, and began assigning roles to each member of the group. “Daryl, go back to the other tower. Carol, Libby, y’all’ve become good shots. Take your time. We don't have a lot of ammo --“
“I’ll run for the gate!” I interrupted as I took a step forward, partially regretting the words that came out of my mouth.
“Libby --“
“I got it, Rick. I’m faster than you and you’re a better shot than me.” Both things were true, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t internally scolding myself.
All eyes were on me. Rick bit his bottom lip and adjusted his tensed up jaw, considering the offer that I just laid on the table. He placed one hand on his hip and I could tell that he was getting ready to nod in agreement, until,
“Nah, man!” Daryl exclaimed, throwing one arm out dramatically. “Y’ain’t goin’, Libs. Y’ain’t.” His eyes were wild and the southern accent was strong.
I sighed, “I am.” No matter how hard I tried to transfer an apologetic expression, I don’t believe it was received properly. “Dar, I’m going. I’m quick and I can do this.”
Without sparing me another glance, Daryl turned his attention to Rick, “You really gonna let this girl go ‘n do this shit, man?”
“This girl has a name asshole, so jot that down,” I snapped, harshly. “And I’m gonna do what needs to be done. So get with the program and do your part, so I don’t die.” Fire-like emotions welled behind my words; his tone of voice and the use of ‘this girl’ really set something off in me.
“I’ll open it.” Rick said, coming behind me as I strutted to the locked gate. “You go lock it and dip straight into the guard tower, got it?”
“I got it.”
“Gun?”
I’d been in the process of unholstering it when he asked — “Gun.” I responded, flashing it for him to see.
“Be careful.” He said, shoving a scoped shotgun into my arms.
Rick yanked the gate back, allowing me just enough room to slip through the crack and skim around the overturned prison bus. My heart raced as I tore off across the field, narrowly avoiding a few walkers as I did. In moments like those, I was grateful they were walkers and not runners. Bullets sprayed all throughout the courtyard, knocking down walker after walker. Then in front of me, an arrow zipped past, piercing the forehead of one that was preparing to lunge. I knew he couldn’t see it, but I still sent an appreciative smile up to the archer in hopes that it would somehow translate.
A bullet slammed onto the dirt right before my toes, “Shit.” I cursed — though a rush of adrenaline shot through me. This was exhilarating. Euphoric even. I slapped the opened gate with the palm of my hand, dragging it back and looping the chain shut.
I whirled around and nailed a walker that had been coming up for a meaty bite, right in the head before taking off to the guard tower on my left. Just as I made it through the door, a pale hand reached out and as disgusting as it was, I slammed the metal door shut, clamping its arm off in the process.
My lips turned up into a grin. I did it. I sighed a great breath of relief, along with a few breathy chuckles. One, two, three seconds to relax, then I was sprinting up the stairs and onto the platform, joining in on the parade of bullets.
_____________
By the end of the day we’d completely cleared the field and built us up a small campsite smack dab in the middle of it. With fences on both sides, that night could’ve been one of the few nights anyone got peaceful sleep.
Rick paced endlessly around the prison yard, double checking for any sign of a weak spot and Hershel had already pointed out that if there was one, he’d have found it by now. But it was comforting to have him patrolling the yard — he had everyone’s best interest at heart. Found family was such a weird concept, because I’d known Rick for less than a year at that point, yet I trusted him to keep the monsters at bay; if he was the devil, I would’ve gladly sold my soul.
When Beth began singing, I noticed a flicker of motion from the corner of my eye and instinctively turned my head to insure a walker hadn’t somehow slipped Rick’s watchful eye. A whisper of calm filled me once I recognized it to be Carol and Daryl wandering back from the tumbled over prison bus. I’d yet to really speak to Daryl since our little blowout earlier, and I wasn’t looking forward to confronting him about how I felt. Still, I needed to in order to move past the bump in the road. It wasn’t like I was mad at him or anything, not anymore; but I was scared that he was upset with me.
"Better all turn in,” Rick spoke up, his eyes glancing aimlessly around the group. "I'll take watch over there. We've got a big day tomorrow."
Glenn’s brows pulled together, “what do you mean?”
"I know we're all exhausted," Rick began, staring into the fire. "This was a great win. But we gotta push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners. Looks like this place fell pretty early. Could mean the supplies are still intact. They'd have an infirmary, a commissary --“
“Mattresses?” I cut him off.
"An armory?" Daryl added.
Priorities.
"That would be outside the prison itself but not too far away,” Rick nodded, continuing on. “Weapons, food, medicine. This place could be a gold mine."
"We're low on ammo. We'd run out before we'd make a dent." Hershel pointed out.
"We're going have to go in there, hand-to-hand,” Rick answered, though none of us seemed to be giving him the war faces he was expecting. "After all we've been through, I know we can handle it. I know it." His eyes drifted down to Carl, a playful smirk on his lips. “These assholes don't stand a chance."
As everyone began spreading out, I saw Daryl scanning the ground, determining where the best sleeping spot would be. Before he got a chance to get comfortable, I wanted to handle whatever it was that needed handling. Because it was definitely something — I snapped at him and that wouldn’t come without an odd tension between us until it was resolved.
I drug my feet around the fire until I stood within arms length of the archer, “Dar,” I murmured. Not meeting my eyes, he nodded his chin up in acknowledgment. “Daryl,” I said again, this time a little louder, garnering his attention. With my hand held out, I motioned my head towards the chain link fence, silently asking him to walk with me.
Our stroll consisted of mostly silence, save for the groans of walkers that had lingered around the outside of the gate. For a second, I tilted my head up to catch a glimpse of the stars. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, nor was there artificial light polluting the air — this night was sparkling. I allowed myself a moment to mourn the tranquility the scenery would’ve provided had the world not decided to end.
I sigh while dropping my head and looked over at Daryl. He worried over his thumb nail, tearing at whatever was left of it with his teeth and ignored my gaze; though, I knew that he knew that I was staring at him. “Dar,” I uttered, lowly.
That earned me a, “Hm?”
Sighing — again; I carefully strung together words, worried he would take them the wrong way, but saying what needed to be said nonetheless. “You can care about someone’s safety without talking down to them.” When I didn’t receive a response, but an overwrought side-eye, I continued, “I mean,” I searched for other words to get my point across, “You didn’t have to yell at me and tell me what I ‘wasn’t going to do’. I respect you and trust your better judgment --“
“The hell d’you want me to do, girl?” He butted in, his tone was firm but not sharp.
“To talk to me like a human being, Dixon.” I snapped back. “Fucking A. Just -- if you would’ve just --“ Pinching the bridge of my nose out of frustration, I tried again. “You’re the only person, since the very beginning of this thing, except maybe Glenn, that hasn’t treated me like an incompetent kid. Dale, Shane, Hershel, Lori, Carol -- for fucks sake, Rick was treating me like Rapunzel a few months ago. But not you; you’re the exception and you’ve always been the exception, so --“
“Libs,” he stopped walking.
But I wasn’t finished. When he asked what I wanted from him, he lit a flame that would need to burn out before it stopped. “No. You’ve been more than willing to engage me in damn near anything from the start — even the shit that risks my safety. But today was different, which would’ve been fine, except the second I pushed back — the second I disagreed with you, you disregarded me and went straight to Rick.” My eyes filled with raging hot tears the longer I spoke. “And if I’m good enough to fuck, I’m good enough to not be referred to as ‘that girl’ in such a patronizing way.”
I was finished. My throat was thick and I blinked out the angry tears that had blurred my vision as I stared out into the pitch black nothingness. “A’right,” he said softly, hands falling to his sides.
That was the best I was going to get from Daryl, and I needn’t be greedy. An ‘alright’ from him, was equal to a full blow apology from anyone else. The satisfaction of getting that bubbling feeling off of my chest was enough for me to be okay with just an ‘alright.’ He now knew how I felt — but I still feared that I may have been too emotional.
But Daryl seemed to take it well.
Part of me wished he was an all-out talkative person that would give me feedback on how he felt about my outburst. But it was nice to have him just take it for what it was, nothing more or less, just a rant on how he’d made me feel. “Thank you,” I murmured, my lips quirking up a little.
He nodded at that. We quietly made it around the perimeter, stopping only to examine some of the landscape and allow Soup to catch up with us.
“What’d you need ta talk to Hershel about earlier?” Daryl asked, finally.
I stopped in my tracks, letting out a short stint of breathy laughs through my nose, “I forgot to talk to him.” I said. “It -- I guess it worked out though.”
As we passed the over turned bus, he stopped, propping himself against it and bringing out a pack of cigarettes. In routine fashion, he offered me one, and I declined, before the little nicotine stick was flicked to life.
“It was about Lori,” I admitted. “She’s due any day now and we’ve been running for…months. I was starting to worry about her going into labor — what we would do if it happened while things were dicey. But once again, it seems like Rick Grimes’ intuition was correct. If we really can take hold of this place, Lori’s gonna be just fine.”
_____________
“Ready?” Hershel questioned, focusing on Rick.
We were going to attempt to fight our way into the prison — Rick, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, and I. I was sandwiched between Rick and Glenn, closer to the front of the group, as we inched forward into the prison yard, back to back with one another forming a misshaped circle. We moved, not in formation, but as one single unit. I had my bow aimed and ready, waiting for either Rick to signal me or until a walker got too close for comfort. One by one, the undead fell to the ground. Arrows flew, knives slashed, and the people we left outside the gate helped pick the stragglers off.
“Don’t break rank!” Rick hollered as T-Dog darted out formation, scrambling to grab a riot shield from one of the slain guards.
“We need that!” T insisted.
I saw Daryl lunge to cover him out the corner of my eye, but was more focused on the walker coming from Rick’s left field. In a split second, my arrow flew, skimming above Rick’s shoulder but landing clean into the skull of the creep zoning in on him. His eyes widened, shocked — but he nodded his thanks once realization struck.
With all of us back to back again, we carried on, closing in on both the recreational yard and the entrance. “Almost there,” Rick called for our circle to hear, but as he peaked around the corner, he cursed and pressed both mine and his body against the wall. Then a domino effect took place, everyone falling back some in an attempt to stay hidden from whatever Rick saw.
Unfortunately, more police adorned in riot gear spotted us from across the courtyard and began stumbling our way. Daryl released a pointless arrow, uselessly testing the water of the plastic face-shield; it bounced off — as expected. Quickly, the scene became chaotic and our tight knit group dispersed. I let my bow fall to my waist as I dug out my Bowie knife, slashing at one of the guards who got the jump on me — again, pointless.
I heard Daryl’s name being shouted and crossed my fingers it wasn’t because someone had been compromised, but I couldn’t loosen my focus on the geek pursuing me. No matter how hard I shoved him back, he just kept coming. In a mashed up blur, the guard was yanked back by T and Glenn sunk a knife under its mask. Genius.
With my previous peruser disposed, I joined in on the new method. My heart began pumping, much like it did the day prior when I made the dash for the gate, and I could hear my blood rushing through my ears. Adrenaline held me in a bone-crushing grip until all of the walkers were either locked behind a gate or permanently dead on the ground. And when I looked around, it seemed like everyone else had been at an equal stand still — we’d succeeded. But just as Glenn broke into a run, ready and willing to let the rest of our people in, Rick stopped him, and Daryl pointed out that despite the illusion of safety, there were definitely a few spots that had been compromised.
We needed to push in.
In a formal line, we moseyed up the stairwell, Rick taking the lead. There was hardly any light, only what was coming from the barred windows, so it wasn’t like there was a glorious view of the place. It was peculiar; breaking into a place that most people wanted to break out of, and I shivered as I stepped over some rotted trash on the damp concreted floor. It looked like we were possibly in a cafeteria or common space. I re-adjusted my bow, setting an arrow in it carefully, waiting for the boot to drop and something to come lunging at me from one of the dark corners. But it never did.
It was eerily quiet — and considering the world was practically dead now, that was saying a lot.
Just as my body relaxed, deeming the spot safe, Rick gestured to keys that he’d found and we all headed towards the cell-block, each one of us clearing a quarter of the place until any remaining corpses were dumped into a pile and we were finally given the go ahead to settle in.
I surveyed each cell on the second level, hoping to find one that jumped out at me as ‘the one’, but as the story goes, prison cells aren’t exactly the most homey of spaces. They were cold, grey, echoey, and uncomfortable — and being in the apocalypse only added to the negatives. As I crept along the outside of the cells, I passed by Lori and Carol, who didn’t seem to be too worried about their living situation. And it wasn’t that I was worried, I just wanted to hold onto any sort of normalcy that I could, and choosing which jail cell I wanted was as close to picking out a bedroom as I’d be getting.
I watched as Daryl moved a mattress from one of the cells adjacent to the stairway, to the perch that he’d settled as his sleeping space. There was no telling how long that would actually last though, and it wouldn’t hurt to potentially share a space with him — if this was a semi-permanent place, then there wouldn’t be any harm in shamelessly flirting with him again. Right?
Without fully examining the cell from where I stood, I flooded my face with a smile and began pacing towards him, “Dar!” I called, right as he dropped the mattress down, his head shooting up in response. “Did you grab the mattress from the top or bottom bunk?”
“Bottom. Why?” He scrunched his face like a confused kitten, tilting his head a little in the process.
When I rounded the barred corner and finally walked up close enough to see his eyes, I batted my own, dramatically enough, “Move the top to the bottom bunk? That’s my cell.” I leaned against the edge of the catwalk.
Daryl whirled around, looking at the other cell, opposite the one he’d just exited, “take that one.”
“But I don’t want that one.” I countered.
With the upturn of his lip he mocked me in a higher pitched voice, “But I don’t want that one.” Then brushed past me to do as I asked.
Across the way though, I met Carol’s gaze, who was sending me a knowing smirk and shaking her head. As if caught doing something I shouldn’t be, my lips turned into a thin line and I looked away, a blush creeping up my neck.
_____________
Dawn broke, and what started as an optimistic day, turned sour in the blink of an eye.
Earlier; Rick, T, Hershel and Daryl raided the weapons from some of the undead guards along with the riot gear. From the gate, I refused the riot gear, specifically the helmet. “Do you see this rats nest?” I asked the group of men, pointing to my bushy hair. “If you think I’m going to stuff it all behind this mask and get walker gunk in it, ya’ll’ve lost y’all’s damn minds.”
Rick chuckled at that and spun one of the pistols towards me, “Okay, no head gear for our girl. How about a lighter gun?” He asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
I nodded, accepting the smaller weapon and tucking it away. A few seconds later, Hershel was pulled away by Carol to tend to Lori. At that point in our journey, it didn’t matter who the father of the baby was, that thing belonged to all of us collectively, so Rick wasn’t the only one who’s heart dropped in that short second of time.
In the first few minutes after Carol assured that Lori was fine, nobody talked, only fiddled with our weapons and helped one another into riot gear — that Daryl refused and Glenn urged me to wear. Arguing was more trouble than it was worth, but I still stood my ground about wearing the helmet. I was gross enough already.
To Carl’s dismay, Rick announced that he wouldn’t be needing any gear because he wasn’t coming along. It was no shock to me, or probably anyone else, but the kid seemed to be satisfied with holding down the fort while his dad was off risking his life. I flipped the rim of his hat downward, playfully, riling him enough to call out a, “Be careful!” As we left the cell block.
There were seven of us this time, but we still moved in a single unit. Daryl replaced me as Rick’s back up, and I replaced him as the one to bring in the rear. It was a silly and unrealistic thought, but I wondered if Rick had still been shocked by my arrow narrowly missing his face the day before, opting for Daryl over me.
Once our crew was finally in the labyrinth of concrete corridors, I shone my light, carefully watching for any sign of movement. So far it’d been nothing but blood, decayed walkers, and leaky pipes; if that’s all it ended up being, you wouldn’t catch me complaining. Periodically, Glenn stopped to spray paint a white arrow, marking our tracks so we didn’t get lost on our way back. That, had probably been the best idea of the day, considering how turned around this place already had me.
And judging by the sudden shout from Maggie, I wasn’t the only one who was a little disoriented.
After sending everyone a nervous smile, she turned around and we continued on, taking short and careful steps through the damp compound until we came to a fork in the road. Rick stopped us momentarily, making the gamble to veer left, only to lead us right into an influx of walkers. “Get back. Get back!” He hissed and by the time I’d turned around, Daryl had stolen the lead of the group.
The shining of lights were strobing chaotically as we hauled ass in the opposite direction, unsure of what way to turn in the maze of hallways. “Come on, this way!” Daryl cried, moving to the side and waving his light in an attempt to direct us.
One by one, we piled into a tiny alcove, ducked down and crossing our fingers that we’d remain undetected for a little while. I peered behind Rick briefly, furrowing my brows in the process. “Where’s Glenn and Maggie?” He asked, almost reading my mind.
“We have to go back.” Hershel insisted, taking his own head count.
“But which way?” Daryl implored.
I shrugged, “Go back til we find them.” I stood from my crouched position and slowly exited our hiding spot. The place was empty and quiet, no sign of imminent walkers.
Cautiously, I shone my light down the hallways, hoping that they’d be looking for us too. I chewed my bottom lip some kind of furious, trying to distract myself away from possibly finding Glenn — not being Glenn anymore. Finding my best friend as a walker. But there weren’t any screams, and that was a good sign.
Until there were.
.and boys are bringing bugs to kill them for my eyes.
Notes:
I need y’all to soak in the Laryl love and fun little moments… bc BOY! Also — sorry if the actual moments from the show were sliced up and put into smaller bits.
Libby is breaking her entire shell. I’m so excited for what’s in store, but also I’ve apologized to my own character profusely
Chapter 24: Robin Hood doesn’t carry a crossbow
Summary:
I exchange an understanding look with him, sliding to the ground and sitting adjacent to the head of his mattress. Few things had gone good that day, but Hershel was alive and we had food now. It was a win. “Was he seriously looking at my ass the entire time? It’s decent, but usually my boobs are the center of attention.”
The mood needed to be softened, just a bit.
Chapter Text
.he spends most of his nights wishing it was how it used to be.
T-Dog held the door shut.
Daryl and Maggie held her father down.
Glenn held Maggie.
I held my gun.
Rick held a hatchet.
It had to be done. If we wanted to give Hershel a chance; It had to be done. That didn’t soothe the horror of blood squelching and bone crunching as Rick hacked away at the lower portion of Hershel’s leg. No matter how hard I tried to ignore the sounds, to stay focused on aiming my weapon at the door in case T couldn’t hold it any longer, I could never unhear Hershel’s cries of pain as he lost his limb.
But then — things were silent.
The task had been checked off. T secured the door with some rebar and I clicked off my pistol, mentally preparing to look at the mess we were dealing with. When my neck turned though, I witnessed Daryl jumping into action while the others kneeled over Hershel.
“Holy shit.” An unfamiliar voice muttered.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five inmates had been holed up in the room we stumbled into, and they were all staring at us, wide-eyed. It took me a single second to redraw my gun when I saw one of the prisoners pull out a weapon stashed in his waistband. The man wasn’t particularly tall or robust, but he did have the longest hair out of his group and he stuck out as the leader.
Another click sounded next to me; it was T-Dog. While the others rushed around, looking for temporary solutions for the problem at bay, Daryl, T, and I kept our new company in check.
"Who the hell are you people, anyway?" The man with the gun asked, moving his weapon around and making it known he’s also armed.
"Don't look like no rescue team," another prisoner commented — this one was sporting a comic book mustache.
"If a rescue team's what you're waitin' for, don't,'' Rick hollered, not sparing anyone a second glance as he began heaving Hershel up. “Come on, we gotta go!”
I kept my gun trained on the only one with a weapon, but eased back towards the door, preparing to make way for the diy stretcher that Glenn found in the back.
“Are you crazy?”
“Don’t open that!” Two inmates protested at the same time.
"We got this!" T-Dog bit back, exchanging a glance with only me. I snatched the rebar from the handles, opening the floodgates, and finally breaking my focus from the inmates.
“Cover the front, I got the back!” I yelled at T, pushing a disposed corpse out of the way.
Maggie, Glenn, and Rick wheeled Hershel out the doors, knocking back several walkers as they pushed through. I spared a look back, anticipating Daryl to be barreling behind the cart, but instead he kept his bow trained on the man with the gun. Even when Rick barked out his name, calling him to follow, Daryl was reluctant to allow the prisoners to leave his eyesight.
“Dar!” I reiterated, “Daryl, we gotta go.”
Without much acknowledgement, Daryl began careful backing out of the room, gesturing with his head for me to walk out first. But, as soon as the doors shut, he whipped around, nearly flying right into me, and we sprinted behind our crew through the dark hallways. First, it was a dead end, then, it was walkers, but the sound of our newfound foes following us had us stopping in our tracks and listening closely. “Let’s go.” Rick whispered frantically.
“Oh my god,” Carol’s voice rung out as we approached our cell block.
Carl unlocked the door straight away, moving aside so Hershel could get wheeled in, but like T-Dog and Daryl, I hung back. Truthfully — I was unsure where I should’ve planted my feet at. I wanted to go in and support Maggie and Beth, I wanted to help…but there were already so many people and emotional tension had reached an all time high, I was scared to place myself somewhere I didn’t belong. Out there though, where Daryl aimed at the door and T-Dog hid in the shadows, I felt comfortable. My adrenaline still ran high and the only toes I could step on would be the inmates that were slinking their way through the entrance.
"That's far enough,” Daryl called, not moving his eye from the focus on his crossbow.
The man that previously held a gun peaked past me, “Cell block C — cell four, that's mine, gringo. Let me in." He took one step closer, studying the two of us.
“Today's your lucky day, fellas," Daryl snarked, moving his bow in sync with the man, “You been pardoned by the state’a Georgia, you're free ta go."
"What you got goin' on in there?"
"Ain’t none’a your concern," Daryl responded.
"Don't be tellin' me what's my concern," this time, the guy drew his weapon promptly.
Without hesitation, I snatched my own pistol from its carrier and trained the barrel on his head, “shoot him. I dare you.”
The man smirked, “Or what Carrot Top? You gonna kill me?”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I pulled the hammer back, fully intending to put it into action if I saw his finger so much as twitch.
He drew his eyebrows in, feigning offense, “ohhh, kitty’s got claws,” he laughed a little. “Come on bebita, it’s not that serious.” Though his words were endearing, his face hardened and he turned the gun on me.
"Chill, man," the largest inmate chastised. “The dude’s leg is messed up. Besides, we're free now. Why are we still in here?"
"Man's got a point," Daryl said.
"Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady," the second largest reasoned.
"Group of civilians breaking into a prison you got no business being in…" the main guy trailed off, “got me thinkin' there ain't no place for us to go."
"Why don'tchu go find out?" Daryl snapped back, his southern accent drawing prominent. He was loosing all the patience he had.
"Maybe we'll just be goin' now," the man with the mustache said, hesitantly.
"Hey, we ain't leavin'!" The gun guy raised his tone, taking a quick step forward only to stumble back when T-Dog came from the shadows.
"You ain't comin' in, either!" T barked, holding his gun out. I don’t think I’d ever heard him raise his voice as high as he did then and it clearly took the inmates by surprise as each one of them took a few steps back.
"Hey, this is my house, my rules, I go where I damn well please." The man took his aim off of me and pointed at T now.
“Buddy, you do a shitty job at keeping your house under lock and key,” I pointed out, looking around the common space. “Unless you’re ready to die over it, I think you should head out.”
“It don’t gotta get ugly, angel.”
“C’mon, let’s just go.” The largest inmate groaned.
The surviving inmates began shouting over one another, seemingly forgetting about us momentarily. It became apparent that the man with the gun was the one calling the shots, and that was probably the smartest move for the other prisoners involved.
I looked between T and Daryl, hesitant on what the game plan was from there, but when I opened my mouth to speak, Daryl spoke over me, “I don’t give a shit where y’all go, but y’ain’t stayin’ here.”
“We’re letting you walk, man. There’s the door.” T-Dog motioned towards the exit, his tone calmer now.
“Is that right, ese?” The man teased, chancing another step forward. “You’re gonna let me walk.” This time his words were addressed to me. Another shuffle ahead.
Both of my allies moved closer, “I ain’t tellin’ you again. There ain’t nothin’ for ya here! Why don’tcha go back t’your own sandbox --“ as Daryl began unleashing, Rick dashed out of the cell block to calm things back down.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Our leader cried, throwing an arm up between Daryl and the other man in an attempt to de-escalate. “Everyone relax. There's no need for this."
"How many of you are in there?" The guy asks.
"Too many for you to handle," Rick warned, his jaw tightening.
"You guys rob a bank or somethin'? Why don't you take him to a hospital?"
I glanced around, first at my people, then at the outsiders, and slowly watched the realization settle in their eyes as Rick explained how the world wasn’t what it used to be. I almost felt bad for them. They’d been stuck in a small cafeteria the entire time, no clue what was unfolding outside the walls of the prison. The reality was a heavy thing to swallow when you were treading through the trenches, so being sheltered away from that and it slapping you in the face had to of been a rude awakening.
And when the largest inmate asked about his mom, followed by the second pleading for a cell phone to check on his family; it hurt my heart. This shouldn’t be the world they faced…well — maybe the gun guy deserved it a little, but not the others who remained somewhat cooperative.
"Ain't no way," the man said in disbelief.
Rick’s nose twitched up, “see for yourself.”
Reluctantly, the four of us led them outside the doors. Corpses of the reanimated prisoners and guards littered the prison yard below us, but as we made our way down the stairs, the guy with the mustache seemed to be the only one who commented on it.
"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences," Cell Four announces.
The inmates drifted around the courtyard, examining the bodies on the ground. "You never said,” the smallest inmate turned to Daryl, “how the hell'd you get in here in the first place?"
"Cut a hole in that fence over there by that guard tower," Daryl responds, pointing in the direction.
"That easy, huh?"
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Daryl said simply.
"Easy for you to say.”
"So what is this, like a disease?" The largest inmate asked.
"Yeah. And we're all infected." Rick confirmed.
"What do you mean, infected? Like AIDS or somethin'?" Mustache man implored further, his lip twitching up in disgust.
"If I was to kill you," Daryl started, "shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back as one of these things. It's gonna happen to all of us."
A touch of silence brushed through our group before gun guy started talking again, "ain’t no way this fuckin' Robin Hood cat's responsible for killin' all these freaks,” the gun guy glared at Daryl, shaking his head in disbelief. “Must be fifty bodies out here." I snorted at his comment, but remained silent, watching as he gazed predatorily at Rick, "where’d you come from?" He asked.
"Atlanta.”
"Where you headed?"
"For now, nowhere," Rick squared his shoulders, not backing down from the silent standoff.
"I guess you can take that area down there near the water," the prisoner shrugs, pointing down the way from cell-block c, "should be comfortable."
"We're using that field for crops," Rick countered, unwavering.
"We'll help you move your gear out.” The guy continues on.
If that inmate had nothing else, he had balls the size of Texas and a brain smaller than a pea. With open evidence in front of him, I couldn’t believe that he wasn’t grasping that he wasn’t in charge. Anger didn’t even resonate within me anymore — just honest impatience for this guys idiocy and cockiness.
"That won't be necessary, we took out these walkers. This prison is ours." Rick was scarily calm.
"Slow down, cowboy," the man retorts, an annoying smirk on his face.
“You snatched the locks off our doors," the smallest inmate ran up, finally snapping an attitude out.
“Want us to fix them?” I chided, taking a step forward and glaring down the small man.
"This is our prison. We were here first."
"Locked in a broom closet?" Rick asked, a certain level of sugaring mixed into his tone. "We took it, set you free. It's ours, we spilled blood."
"We're movin’ back into our cell block,” the gun guy persisted.
"You'll have to get your own."
"It is mine,” he snapped, “I've still got personal artifacts in there, that's about as mine as it gets!" His voice rose along with his gun.
In the chaos, the gun guy was the only one who seemed consistently adamant about moving back into his cell. Even the smaller inmate was more reserved, backing down at the sight of our group pulling our weapons back out. The mustache man tried calming the situation down, attempting to work out some sort of solution, and even though he was so obviously trying to schmooze us, I wanted to suggest he take the role of their leader instead.
Rick wasn’t unreasonable — an asshole sometimes, but not cruel nor unreasonable. If that douchebag wouldn’t have been so trigger happy, I was sure we’d’ve been a lot more willing to working something out with them.
Instead, Rick took the upper hand and forced them into the offense, “How stocked is that cafeteria? Must have plenty of food. Five guys lastin' almost a year?"
"Sure as hell don't look anybody's been starvin'," Daryl commented.
"There's only a little left," the leading prisoner claimed.
"We'll take half. In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block." Rick ran a heavy bargain.
But as if asking for a fight, the smallest prisoner butted in, "didn’t you hear him?There's only a little left."
“Bet you got more food than you got choices,” I waved my pistol down at my side, implying what one of those few choices were.
“You pay, we'll play. We'll clear out a block for you, then you keep to it." Rick settled.
Defeated, the lead prisoner nodded.
"But let's be clear," Rick tilted his head and began moving into the leaders space "if we see you out here, anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent, I will kill you."
"Deal."
_____________
Through the damp hallways and back to the cafeteria we went, fortunate enough not to encounter any walkers or other survivors. Rick made out to be a lot more comfortable than T, Daryl, and I, as he was the only one not gripping onto his weapon the entire walk back. He actually seemed more than willing to engage with the inmates in genuine conversation, and through that interaction I was able to pair names with faces.
Tomas, the leader, and Andrew, the smallest inmate, both resided in cell block c before the apocalypse. The mustache man, Axel, and Oscar, the second largest inmate, were cell mates in block d, along with Big Tiny who stayed across the block from them. It was nice to know those small tidbits of information about them — it made them seem more human.
As we reentered the cafeteria, Tomas walked to the back room that we’d seen them in to begin with, “pantry’s back here.”
"You never tried to break outta here?" T-Dog asked, looking between the inmates and examining the room.
"Yeah, we tried to take the doors off," Oscar admitted, “but you make one peep in here, then those freaks'll be lined up outside the door growlin', tryna get in. Windows got bars on there that He-Man couldn't get through."
"Bigger 'n a five by eight," Axel directed his attention to the windows.
"Won't find me complainin'," a ghost of a smile appeared on Big Tiny’s lips. "Doin' fifteen. My left leg'll barely fit on one of those bunks."
"Yeah, they don't call him Big Tiny for nothin'," Oscar quipped.
Just as the tension had eased and it wasn’t just Rick that seemed amused by the prisoners, Tomas reappeared in the doorway, clearly agitated, "You done jerkin' each other off? Sick of waitin' back here." I saw Daryl’s jaw tense and I couldn’t be too sure, but I thought I saw Rick’s hand reach down to grip his gun before he followed us into the pantry.
The shelves were stocked full of more food than I’d seen in nearly a year. Deciding not to say anything about how they was apparently, ‘not much left’, I marveled at the sight of an oversized can of sweet peas. My stomach twisted and turned and if it had limbs, I’m sure it would’ve reached out and gobbled the entire can up in its entirety.
Daryl brushed by my shoulder, shining his flashlight at the shelves, “This what you call a little bit of food?" He scowled.
"Goes fast.” Tomas shrugged, gaining nothing but a huff from Daryl. “Well, you can have a bag of corn, some tuna fish-" he carried on with his bullshit.
“We said half," Rick cut in. "That's the deal. What's in there?" He gestured to what looked like a walk-in freezer.
"Don't open that.” Oscar warned a second too late. The room was filled with a rancid stench, unmistakable as feces and urine. I gagged, spinning around and tucking my face into my elbow.
We took a few minutes aside, determining what half of everything would really be and rationed it out accordingly. Axel and I counted, taking accountability for making sure things were separated fairly for both sides. There was definitely going to be enough to last us for at least a month, possibly more depending on what other circumstances we’d come to face in the next few weeks.
Rick and T-Dog began hauling load after load off to our block, leaving Daryl behind to babysit and me to continue doing my job. Big Tiny seemed to like talking, and he attempted to engage Daryl in conversation several times, but was either ignored by Daryl or shut down by Tomas. When I tried adding in a few things to make Big Tiny feel validated, I was quickly told to ‘focus on not fucking up’, by Tomas, leading to an argument between me, him, and Daryl. After that, I kept my mouth shut, seeing no point in starting another fight that would draw walkers our way.
When Rick and T-Dog prepared to leave with our final load, Daryl gestured for me to come to the side, “Hey, why don’tchu go back with them? That asshole ain’t quit sneakin’ peaks at yer ass since you squatted down the first time.” His voice was calm, but there was a tone of uneasiness behind it all.
“Dar,” I started, trying not to glance over my shoulder at Tomas. “I think it’ll be fine.”
“Nah, if things get dicey I don’t want’im gettin’ the jump on you.” Daryl shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.
He was trying, and I couldn’t knock him for trying. The day before, he’d yelled and patronized me in front of everyone. The night before, he listened to what I had to say and swallowed it. He was trying.
“Dar --“
“Libby, c’mon.” He cut me off, his eyes fluttering between me, Rick and T who waited at the door, and the prisoners behind my back. “Ya gotta go back. I can’t do what I gotta do if I’m worried bout ya.” Daryl gestured to the door once more, his eyes pleading with me to go out.
I was more than willing to agree with him to begin with — his insistence got the better of him though, and I was honestly shocked to hear him admit something so bold. “Alright.” I nodded, a small smile playing at my lips.
_____________
This was supposed to be a good day.
I fought off tears when I saw Hershel lying on the bottom bunk of a blood soaked mattress. He was motionless, the only sign of life came from his chest rising and falling slowly.
“Things alright out there?” Glenn asked, coming beside me and crossing his arms tightly, watching the eventless scene unfold.
“I’m really not sure. One of the guys has been testing everyone’s patience,” I pursed my lips after speaking. Those prisoners had been the first humans we’d encountered since the farm, and I suppose it was only natural to encounter a pervert or two. Even in this new world, those creeps remained ever present. At least before the apocalypse I got paid to be sexualized.
Some things never change.
The situation in front of us was just another cruel reminded of the things that did change, however, and I staved back my tendency of blaming myself. None of what happened was my fault — it was just reality. It could’ve happened to any one of us at anytime, Hershel had just been the unfortunate one that bit that bullet, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. We had to play with the cards that had been dealt today.
“Check it out,” Carl pushed past Glenn and I, throwing a bag of medical supplies on the floor and sending everyone into a brief state of shock. “I found the infirmary. It wasn’t much, but I cleared out what they had.”
Lori’s jaw went slack, her big brown eyes widening at Carl’s admission. “You what?” She snapped. Meanwhile, Carol riffled through the medical bag, pulling out rolls upon rolls of gauze and bandages. If the thirteen year old hadn’t foolishly risked his life, I would’ve likely applauded him openly.
“I killed two walkers. It wasn't a big deal."
Wasn’t a big deal, my ass. He may have been small and less detectable, but if something would’ve gone wrong — another tiny mistake like what had happened to Hershel, and Carl might’ve been in the same position. But, given that he was sneaking around and traveling by himself, he wouldn’t have even had the backup that Hershel had. He would’ve been writhing in pain, stuck on some cold concrete floor, likely getting devoured by walkers.
But no. A thirteen year old wouldn’t think of any of the disastrous repercussions that could’ve came with him sneaking around. “Alright,” Lori sighed, gesturing over Hershel’s unconscious body in disbelief. “Do you see this? This was with the whole group!”
“We needed supplies, so I got them!” Carl snapped back.
“I appreciate that, but--“
“Then get off my back!”
“Carl!” Beth, our sweet, innocent, and quiet teenager raised her voice, unashamed. “She’s your mother, you can’t talk to her like that!”
A spur of heavy silence followed Beth’s abruption before Lori tried again, “Listen, I think it’s great that you want to help--“ Instead of outright interrupting her this time, Carl scoffed and darted out of the cell, shoving past me and Glenn again.
“I‘ll go talk to him. See what I can do.” There wasn’t a class or textbook on how to deal with this kind of situation — ‘hitting puberty in the apocalypse’. I could only work with what I was taught in college or remembered from pages in a textbook nearly a year ago. Carl deserved more than what I had to offer, but at least I could give him something.
It was such a shitty situation all together, and I know — I know that might be a bit redundant to keep repeating, but as soon as you think the world has gotten as shitty as it’s gonna get, it just gets worse. Carl, who should’ve had open access to a licensed therapist amid his parents complicated relationship, was going to have to settle for a girl, fresh out of college with a bachelors in child psychology. One thing I knew for sure — student or otherwise; there were obvious signs of unintentional neglect; he was all but screaming for some form of praise from one of his parents.
The clanging of my hand slapping around the metal bar outside of Carl’s cell rang out once I finally found where he’d been hiding. His jaw was fixed firmly, when he glared over at me I was thankful that looks couldn’t kill. It wasn’t me he was mad at — he was just mad.
“Can I come in?” I asked. If I handed him the option, it’d hopefully give him the feel of having control of our conversation.
“No.”
I nodded, respecting his decision and remaining out the cell. Not two minutes had passed before he squared his shoulders my way, “You can leave,” he said, his words venomous. “I’m not gonna sneak back out and try to help anymore. Go tell my mom that.”
“Mmm-mmm,” I shook my head. “I was just coming to tell you that the supplies really is gonna help. I’m glad we have it.”
“Nobody else seems to care.” He pouted his lips out; Carl may have technically been a teenager, but he was still such a little kid in so many ways. Come to think of it, the fact that he’d be spending one of his most important developmental years fighting the undead was a red flag for his mental health.
I sent him the most friendly smile I could muster. “Things are kind of insane right now.”
Floating in silence with Carl was different from floating in silence with anyone else. With the others, quiet was companionable and there was a sense of grounding in those spouts of comfortableness. Things could stay silent and nobody would feel the need to speak unless it was time to run again. With Carl, however, I could feel that there was more to be said — that there would always be more to be said. It was that spark of innocence and intrigue, I believed, that somehow translated into the atmosphere when things got too quiet with a child.
“You can talk to me, Carl,” I said, breaking the silence and trying to figure out the best way to approach this.
“Huh?”
I sighed, defeated and confused on why this was so hard for me. I was good with kids. “I know things are really hard right now. Your dad’s trying to secure this place, your mom’s about to have the baby, and now this stuff with Hershel.” His jaw that had been so tense, finally loosened. “I’m not a professional and I’m not your mom or dad, but I can see that you’re trying your best to adapt to this stuff, so if you want to talk, we can.” I spoke with my hands a lot, waving them around with no real direction.
“Even if you just want to complain about something or need to confide in someone. I’m here. And Carl,” I bit my bottom lip, wondering briefly if it was appropriate for me to go where I was going. “If you’re gonna go do something that could get you killed, you can tell me. I won’t rat you out — but it’s better somebody knows --“
The opening of our cell block door distracted us both, Carl leaping from his bunk and peaking out the cell. It was Rick, T, and Daryl, and Rick was covered in blood. Something went wrong, I thought, as I hurried behind Carl, down the stairs.
_____________
In a certain aspect, things had gone wrong. Big Tiny got bit, Tomas tried killing Rick, Rick killed Tomas, and locked Andrew out with a field of walkers. Axel and Oscar now resided in their old cell block, with a promise of keeping to themselves. “S’a good thing we ain’t gotta worry bout him no more,” Daryl said, putting one arm behind his head and looking at the ceiling. “He was just gon’ give us problems.”
I exchange an understanding look with him, sliding to the ground and sitting adjacent to the head of his mattress. Few things had gone good that day, but Hershel was alive and we had food now. It was a win. “Was he seriously looking at my ass the entire time? It’s decent, but usually my boobs are the center of attention.”
The mood needed to be softened, just a bit.
Daryl lifted his head softly, peaking around to see if anyone might’ve been listening, but a smirk danced on his lips when he settled back down, “Any chance that bastard got.” He confirmed.
He was engaging my behavior, ever so casually. Smirking at me cheekily, observing if there was an accidental audience to witness his teasing retorts. I wouldn’t call him out on it though, not right now. We needed the lightness. “And he called you Robin Hood,” I scoffed. “Robin Hood doesn’t carry a crossbow, he deserves more respect.”
“He sure as hell don’t carry no Matthews around neither, girl.” Daryl shot back.
“Hey, it’s a lot closer than that thing you carry,” I quipped, sharply, though — I couldn’t hide the upwards twitch of my mouth. “Mine requires actual skill.” I articulated every letter of my last word, attempting to garner a rise out of him.
Daryl managed to hold his tongue long enough to sit up and narrow his eyes at me. I stood my ground, but sucked in my bottom lip to form a tight line. “Y’wanna trade? Try it out for a day’n see how far you get?” He asked, leaning forward a bit. “Ain’t like I never shot a compound before.”
I rolled my eyes, even though I had no doubts I’d fumble using a crossbow, “Dar, handicapping you would be a disservice to our group.”
“Shut up, girl.” He snapped, but his tone remained playful. “Y’ever even shot a crossbow?”
My face twisted, “Of course!” I was embellishing. I’d never shot any other bow except my own, and considering I had a damn good weapon, I had no interest in using another one.
Daryl called my bluff easy. “You lyin’ sack’a shit.”
“It can’t be *that* hard.”
“It ain’t. But it’s a helluva lot different than what you tote.”
I reached my arm out, “give it.” Not having shot one before, didn’t mean I was gonna stop being cocky about things. “Come on, hand it over. Give me a day and I’ll show you how little skill it takes to use.”
He chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds before nodding over at my bow, “whatever.”
.too young to know it gets better.
Notes:
I rewatched this episode twice and I can’t stress how frustrating that Tomas guy was. All of ‘ems better than me, cause I’d of sent him PACKING and took his gun.
Also, I’m trying so hard to give Libby as much love and affection as possible before her character takes a major shift. (A shift for the better I think, but SUCH a shift) and we’re gonna get some more little Lib/Carl moments too.
Chapter 25: alive and kicking. (flailing?)
Summary:
I bit back a smile and drummed my fingers slowly. “Come on. I heard Carol ask and you didn’t shut her down that quick.”
“Cause she already knew I wutn’t even considering it.”
“Just like you ain’t considering moving into a cell?” Two-ish weeks into our stay and he’d still remained on the cat walk, no matter how many times everyone else picked on him for doing it.
Notes:
A filler chapter that takes place during the Woodbury episode 🙄 it’s one of my weaker chapters but I just saw Taylor Swift, so I’m on top of the world right now lol.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.and it’s like snow at the beach, weird but fuckin’ beautiful.
The crossbow wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, and I tried reminding myself that it was only for the rest of the day. He’d have bragging rights for eternity if I opted for ‘taksies backsies’, mocking me about it any chance he got.
“This clunky thing would never be my weapon of choice. I mean, it’s not even that stealthy…” Glenn’s head nodded pointedly behind me, signaling me to switch gears or shut up.
I chose the latter.
After another hour passed and I accompanied T-Dog in clearing more parts of the hallways out, that crossbow was starting to cramp my shoulder. I had beautiful upper body and core strength, but I was genuinely questioning whether it was even worth being this stubborn. No matter how much I rubbed, there was a stripe of cramping pain from the crook of my neck, back to my shoulder blade.
“Want yours back?”
And that cockiness was exactly why I would remain stubborn.
Daryl leaned in the doorway, a snarky smirk on his face, examining me attempting to massage the spot where I’d been carrying his crossbow. “Are you having withdrawals?” I stuck my bottom lip out, teasing him.
Rolling his eyes, Daryl wandered into the room and picked his weapon up off the bed, pulling at the straps. “Y’ain’t got it adjusted right.” he said, tugging harshly at one end of the strap.
I threw my hands up in a frenzy. “I’ve redone it all day.”
“Nah, with this one you gotta really snag it or it’ll just loosen up again.” He shook his head.
Not a moment later he settled it back on the mattress and left my cell, almost like he’d never been in there in the first place. My eye twitched, and I snatched the bow up to examine its newly set straps. I winced when I settled it over my shoulder, but this time, I made it all the way to our common area without it sagging.
I found that with it adjusted properly, the crossbow wasn’t all that hard to carry, even though it did brush up on my already sore spot. Carol smiled warmly at me when I passed her, letting me know that Rick wanted me and Glenn on watch that night. Some of our group had spent the better part of today setting up a proper watch post and cleaning around the courtyard. While a few of us cleared a handful of hallways and offices in separate teams. Lori was ordered by — well.. all of us, to rest her feet and tend to Hershel, and Soup took to keeping her company. There hadn’t been any sign of Axel or Oscar and Rick was particularly wound up, so I figured that it was for the best. At least for now.
But they’d eventually come around — hopefully after Rick had a little while to relax, or whatever the closest thing to relaxing would be. There was so much that needed to be done though, I truly think we’d need to physically force that man into taking a breather. He was a good leader, but damn, he could use a Xanax once in a while.
“Come on.” Daryl reapproached me when I made my entrance into the courtyard.
I furrowed my brows, but followed him nonetheless. “Where are we going?” In truth, I didn’t care where he was taking me. My crush on him hadn’t subsided in the months we spent on the road, but it became more confusing to navigate. After we began our casual sex routine, we’d both, I believe, became attached in one way or another. By no means were we ‘dating’ but there was nothing ‘strictly platonic’ either. We were what we were. I think — I think I may have began loving him at that point, but I can’t be too sure. Things were…they just were.
I wasn’t ignorant or naive, I knew he’d caught feelings too; I just wasn’t sure if he knew that he’d caught feelings.
Things were good between us, and no matter how much I would’ve loved to claim him like Maggie did Glenn, I didn’t dare attempt to ruin what we had going on. We had sex — really great sex, and we made out, and we flirted, and that was good enough. As someone who’s been in one relationship ever, what I had with Daryl Dixon, was good enough.
“Dar,” I called his name, a hint of a laugh hidden in my voice.
He turned his head briefly. “Gon’ see how good yer aim is from up there.” Daryl nodded up at the guard tower that he and Carol used to spot me the day that we took the prison yard.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
That girl was stubborn as a mule. S’a wonder ain’t nobody said nothin’ about the mark that damn strap was leavin’ on her neck. It wutn’t her fault I forgot to adjust it for’er, n’ now she was probably gonna have a bruise formin’ around her shoulders. S’ the only reason why I’s takin’er up ta shoot right then — we still had another two or three hours’a daylight, but I felt shitty for lettin’ her keep rubbin’ that skin raw.
But despite the obvious discomfort, Libby kept up with me up the stairs and onto the balcony, not even hinting that she was in any pain. Just that shiny little smile n’ a few smartass remarks. N’ even though I felt like shit for not fixin’ them straps, I’s kinda glad she wutn’t whinin’ about it.
I guided her out to where she could aim outside the fence — didn’t need her accidentally shootin’ one of our own. The girl had good aim, ain’t had no quarrels there, but that was with her bow, not mine. “See that one,” I nudged against her arm, pointing at the walkers below. “The one with the orange pants.”
“Easy.” She scoffed, setting a bolt with ease. I wutn’t too shocked on that part, she had her damn compound cocked up to seventy pounds.
In a dream world, I figured I could spend my time in that same position constantly. There was a clear view of everything, things were relatively quiet, n’ we were essentially just wasting arrows together. Maybe, if things really did settle down soon, I could be satisfied with doin’ this regularly. Just her and I.
I had a thing for her.
It wutn’t nothin’ I’d admit out loud, but Libby was different — I mean, they all were; different. I wutn’t used ta the camaraderie or dynamic that had been established with the group over the course of a year, but I think I really liked it. Ain’t none’a them treated me like I didn’t know what I’s talkin’ about, n’ Rick actually gave a shit when I disagreed with him. S’like he respected my opinions. Everyone had been so different than what I ever expected. N’ Libby, she was different too, but she was… I don’t know. Special.
N’ I must’a been too focused on thinkin’ bout my feelings for her cause she was snappin’ her fingers in my face now, “Dar?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, tryna come up with a valid excuse off the fly. “Thought I heard somethin’.”
“I hit it.” Her lips turned up in a self satisfied smile. “What’s my prize?” She asked, dropping the crossbow down and leaning it carefully against the railing.
“Makes ya think ya get’a prize?”
I fully expected her to start pressin’ up on me or hinting around that we finally had a little bit’a privacy, but she cocked her head to the side instead, a curious look passin’ on her soft features. “What’s wrong?” Libby inched closer to me, searching my face for an answer.
“What?” I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Dar, be so serious right now,” she retorted as she settled her concerned look into a plain one, “I missed it by like, a lot, and you didn’t say anything.”
“Huh?”
She gestured her arm out, urging me to take a look at her shit shot. “You weren’t even paying attention. What’s wrong?”
I chewed my lip.
Libby wouldn’t ever pass an opportunity to call me out on my shit. I mean, it was fair. I’d do the same to her. But I ain’t ever really zoned out with her neither — not like I just had. Anytime I’s lost in space, daydreamin’, it was normally when I’s alone, not accompanied by the same girl I’s daydreamin’ about.
“We don’t have to talk about it, that’s okay. But uh… we’ve got some privacy.” She nudged me, her assumption of my silence settling. “We don’t have time to really do anything, but I’m a really good kisser.”
I scoffed. Flirtin’ and teasin’ was always her way to lighten up the mood, so I wasn’t at all surprised that she resorted to that in an attempt to get me to talk. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong, girl.” I brushed her off. “Yer always lookin’ for an excuse --“
“To feel you up?” She finished my sentence with a smirk. “You could always just flex your arms and use my bow — Dar, come on. I love a show.”
“Stop.” I’s pretty sure my lip was bleedin’ from how hard I was tugging at it with my teeth, and I could feel heat sneakin’ up my neck and to my cheeks. Her little remarks never failed in makin’ me blush, but damn, it was embarrassing how easy she got me that way.
There were other girls before Libby — none that I ever dated or kept around, but just one night flings. They’d flirt, n’ we’d fuck, but it never went far beyond that. N’ maybe it was my own mind tryna convince myself that it wouldn’t become more than that with Libby, but I wutn’t no fool. It was just sex at the CDC, but after that… after that there’d always been something else there.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I smiled at my best friend, emptying out the little metal trash can that we’d been throwing paper balls in all night. “On the bright side, we at least have mattress’ now.”
Glenn and I wasted our eight hour shift on watching for walkers and talking about how video game-esq our life had become, tossing balled up penitentiary forms around to keep us awake. We’d stayed behind prison gates for four nights now, and as dawn was breaking, it seemed like we’d be spending a fifth night there as well — it was more permanent than anything else we’d had as of late and with Hershel currently disabled, running wasn’t an option anymore. Not til he healed entirely.
A botchy amputation by Rick, turned out to not be as awful as it could’ve been. I mean, Hershel didn’t turn, nor did he die of blood loss, so it was a win for Rick in my book at least. That wasn’t to say I’d voluntarily go to the sheriff for any surgeries, but hey, in a pinch Rick tended to have pretty decent luck. In any case, he was the only reason we still had our rusty trusty veterinarian alive and kicking. (Flailing? I don’t know, he only has one leg now.)
“Running water would be nice.” Glenn commented as he finished up a yawn, stretching his arms to the sky and wiggling his fingers. Carol and Beth were set to relieve us any minute now, and no amount of stretching would help with how exhausted my body was.
I hummed. “I think I’m going to the creek with Rick, Lori, Carl and Carol tomorrow.”
Bathing in the creek wasn’t so bad, but the journey through the brush was a bitch on this side of the water. That’s another reason we were even going tomorrow: to clear a more walkable path. There was no telling how long it’d be til we were actually able to use the showers here, so we needed an accessible spot to wash walker guts and dirt off at. I’d gotten used to it, but my hygiene practices had obviously diminished a significant portion since the start of all this, and as a previous user of all things that smelled like vanilla, I was more than enthusiastic to get the show on the road so I could get clean every evening. I dreamed of finding some scented body wash or perfume — after all, I was a vain woman in every sense, including my scent.
“Rick’s actually letting Lori leave?” Glenn raised his eyebrows, downturning his lips slightly. I hummed but had no juicy details to offer him.
The double doors behind us opened, Carol who was followed by Beth smiled at us, a little too chipper for me this early in the morning. “Breakfast is in both of your cells. Eat and get some rest.” She said kindly. If there was one thing that I had to be thankful for amongst all the chaos, it was Carol. She took tremendous care of all of us — I figured Uncle Clyde would appreciate how well she treated me.
“I mean, if Lori goes into labor before Hershel gets better, it could mean bad news.” Glenn continued, stopping briefly on the catwalk above the courtyard. “Carol’s been trying, but I don’t know.”
I gave his concern some genuine thought, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip as I did, chewing relentlessly at the already chapped flesh. He made a valid point and I’d be lying if I pretended not to be worried. “I don’t know.” I said nervously. “We just need to hope that Hershel heals up enough to at least walk her through it.”
“Hershel needs rest.” He sighed. “But yeah.”
We carried on with our walk back to our main cell block, bidding each other a ‘good morning, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite’ before we retreated to the semi-privacy of our own cells. I thought about searching for sheets to hang up in order to grant everyone a bit more solitude, but placed it on the back burner for now.
_____________
“You can’t tell my mom or dad.”
Carl stared at me sternly from across the cell. It had been an entire week since I’d promised that he could talk to me after his infirmary shenanigans, and here he was, already collecting on that promise. Two pillow cases, his revolver, a flashlight and a knife had been laid out on my bed as proof of him being prepared. The kid clearly meant business, but something in that pile of tools didn’t exactly ‘blend in’ with the others.
But, I supposed, being his confidant would mean respectfully questioning his plans one way or another. “Carl,” I said, pursing my lips tightly. “Pillow cases?”
“I’m going to find the commissary.” He admitted, gathering his things back up. “I’ll need something to carry the loot back.”
I chuckled. “So you’re essentially going trick r treating at the prison commissary?”
“I guess.” He shrugged half heartedly. “You won’t tell them?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Somewhere, under the rim of his sheriffs hat, there was a glimmer of mischief that I felt like I was intruding on. Carl looked up, confirming my suspicions with the drooping of his shoulders. “Do you have to?” His voice was almost a groan.
I grinned. “I’ll let you lead.”
Three hours and a dozen dead walkers later, nobody complained when we emptied three pillowcases full of battery powered gadgets, hygiene items, and any gas station snack you could think of. Naturally Carl and I got first pick on what we wanted, but lucky for the rest of our group, we weren’t greedy — except maybe on the peanut butter crackers and shampoo.
_____________
My eyes rested on the metal ceiling above us, besides our heavy breathing, silence filled the guard tower. After two weeks of practicing (circumstantial) abstinence, Daryl’s schedule finally aligned with mine, and as soon as the coast was clear, I jumped on my opportunity on slinking away before nightfall to find contentment in having his head between my thighs. And it wasn’t just the sex — it was also the sparse moments of relishing in the afterglow of our fornication.
His arm around me as my head rested partially on his bare chest. Our breaths evening at the same rate. My fingers tracing over his tattoo.
I’d kill to be able to pull that scene out of my pocket and physically revisit it whenever I pleased. And as my index finger unintentionally brushed over his nipple, I smirked at the hardening bud, furthering my wish to place a bookmark and come back at a time where I had more energy to fool around.
“Quit it.”
Eyes rolling, I dropped my hand to flatly lay on his chest. “You gonna teach me how to drive tomorrow?”
“My bike?” He asked. “Hell no.”
I bit back a smile and drummed my fingers slowly. “Come on. I heard Carol ask and you didn’t shut her down that quick.”
“Cause she already knew I wutn’t even considering it.”
“Just like you ain’t considering moving into a cell?” Two-ish weeks into our stay and he’d still remained on the cat walk, no matter how many times everyone else picked on him for doing it.
His chest moved as he breathed out a laugh from his nose. “Didn’t sleep behind’em before this shit, n’ I ain’t startin’ now.” Languid fingers brushed through my tangled hair, picking and smoothing out any tug he found.
“When I was little I had a meltdown because I couldn’t go to prison.” The admission was always a hot topic whenever Aunt Bea or Uncle Clyde got on any crime related subject. “I was, uh - I think seven or eight maybe and my oldest sister had to serve eighteen months for,” I paused, trying to remember what it was she’d done to actually get locked up. “God only knows what.”
“N’ you were mad you couldn’t go with’er?”
I shook my head and sighed deeply, “not exactly…” Heat rushed up my neck, a smidge of youthful embarrassment. “My other sister was explaining what prison was, cause I just didn’t understand. And she was going on about, ‘it’s okay Liberty. Lacey’ll have her own bed, and a roommate, and clean clothes, and’ just all the stuff I guess you tell a kid.” I mocked my sister’s voice as best I could. “Well, I obviously thought that Lacey would actually be living the high life. Three square meals a day? Her own room? A place where she could buy snacks? Needless to say; when I told my sister that I wanted to go to jail, she back-peddled real quick, but it didn’t work and I was all out sobbing. My aunt and uncle were visiting at the time and I ran to my aunt and told her that my sister said I couldn’t go to jail.”
We shared a few more chuckles and swapped stories of our idiot sibling’s luck with law enforcement. Prior to the end of the world, I never thought I’d meet someone so adjacent to me, but still different enough to be exciting. Never in a million years did I think I’d be comfortable airing out some of those experiences so openly — Daryl got it though. He’d been in similar shoes.
.flying in a dream, stars by the pocketful.
Notes:
we 🫶🏽 reviews and feedback. next chapter is heavy and drama filled.
Chapter 26: the memory of Dale
Summary:
Thick fingers wrapped around my upper arm, tugging me backwards. Intense and hot; a burn flashed up my arm as I ripped it away forcibly, unable to prevent the walker from digging its nails into my skin. I whirled around, plunging my knife through its skull and snatching it back out before rounding a new corner.
At the end of the corridor I saw an incandescent glow, shining in the opposite direction. Not thinking to shout for help, I kicked myself into a higher gear than I had before, shooting off towards the light.
Notes:
oooof, this past week has been a some baby back bullshit and i’ve spent a lot of time processing. sorry for the late update, but the good news, is the next chapter should be out within the day!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.the old familiar sting, try to kill it all away, but I remember everything.
“I think you’re just worried I’ll look hotter on it than you.”
It was simple flirtatious banter — if only that had been the tone for the rest of the day. Hindsight is twenty-twenty though, right?
With the courtyard clean and bodies ready to be burnt, we were finally getting ready to move the vehicles in and really start making this concrete hell hole into a home. Things were falling like pieces into place, which, with all that we’d gone through, felt like it had been much deserved. The prison wasn’t entirely secure, nor was there a ‘walker free’ sign stuck out on our lawn, but with all the work we’d put in over the previous two weeks, it was a damn good start at a brighter type future.
The sun blazed overhead, its rays casting a warm glow that highlighted the rich hues of Daryl's deep blue eyes, which narrowed against the brightness. "Shuddup,” he muttered dismissively, a hint of irritation coloring his tone.
I giggled — truly giggled, before mocking him. “Shuddup,” my tone of voice taking on an excruciating southern accent. “Would it kill you to pay me a compliment? Jeez. I’m out here fishing.”
“Y’need better bait.” One last body was heaved from the tailgate and onto the soon-to-be burn pit. Daryl tapped the truck, giving Carol the go ahead to head off and park.
“Dar,” I said flatly. “I’m wearing gym shorts and a tank top, and Beth braided my hair. This is all the bait I got right now.”
He shook his head, before fixing his face on Rick and T-Dog approaching from the other side of the fence. “That bike’s too heavy for ya. Ain’t no beginner one neither. Y’need one that’s gonna be easier on you.”
“If we find one, you’ll teach me?”
“If yer serious.” His stride to the others didn’t slow enough for me to shoot something back before it felt too crowded for teasing.
"Okay, let's get the other car in," Rick said, pointing at the Hyundai that had come from the backed up highway. "We'll park 'em in the west entry of the yard."
"Good. Our vehicles camped out there look like a giant vacancy sign." Daryl chided.
Rick nodded his head in agreement. "After that, we need to load up these corpses so we can burn 'em.”
“We already got a pretty big burn pile. Unless you’re ready to go against Smoky Bear’s cardinal rule, I think we should burn this one and wait a few days before we start another one.” I tilted my head in the direction of the stacked bodies that Daryl, Carol, and I had topped off earlier. It was two weeks worth of corpses and without any rain in our near future, I wasn’t too keen on accidentally starting a forest fire.
After a quick observation at just how large the heap of undead bodies had gotten, Rick clicked his tongue. “Then we start another pile on the other side of the gravel. Give it a couple days and light that one up — we’ll rotate the spots we burn in.”
"Gonna be a long day.” T grunted.
Carol rejoined us, “Where’s Glenn and Maggie? We could use some help.”
"Up in the guard tower," Daryl threw his arm up, pointing at which one the couple had been occupying. Internally, I let out a sigh of relief that they hadn’t snuck into the same one Daryl and I used.
I loved Glenn and we were close — but there were some boundaries I wasn’t willing to cross. Using the same space for any endeavors that might contain certain fluids, that, was one of them. Then again; I suppose it was my fault for implying that I’d finally got laid again to Glenn and hinting at the secret getaway that was the guard tower.
"Guard tower?" A flicker of amusement ghosted over Rick’s face. “They were just up there last night."
Cupping his hand over his mouth, Daryl strutted forward. "Glenn! Maggie!"
When Glenn emerged from the tower, he was buttoning his pants back up quickly, squinting down at us on the ground. I sucked my lips in and shook my head in second-hand embarrassment as Daryl teased him with lewd jokes about ‘coming’. Poor Maggie. I thought. Though Glenn must’ve been aware of the position he’d been caught in, he took it like a champ and reassured that they’d be down soon. I knocked shoulders with Daryl but didn’t say anything.
"Hey, Rick," T-Dog mumbled, shifting his head to approaching company: Axel and Oscar. They’d minded their business thus far, but with the way Rick’s jaw tightened I felt that they’d need to continue minding it.
“Come with me," Rick stalked towards the prisoners, irritation clouding his features. Daryl, T, and I trailed behind our leader, ready to back him up if need be. “That's close enough," he ordered, vocally forcing them to a halt. “We had an agreement."
Axel and Oscar both seemed to be semi-reasonable men. Nothing about either one prompted the unveiling of my weapon and I saw no ill-intent during their approach, so I was skeptical of Rick’s hold on his own holstered gun.
"Please, mister, we know that," Axel said warily. "We made a deal, but you gotta understand — we can't live in that place another minute, you follow me? All the bodies — people we knew. Blood, brains everywhere. There's ghosts."
"Why didn't you move the bodies out?" Daryl asked.
I paid attention to the back and forth between the duo and my group, staying silent most of the time, strictly studying both Axel and Oscar’s voice and gestures. About a year ago it was a habit I was trying to break — accidentally over-examining strangers and their body language.
When I was a baby psychology student, my professor stressed how easy it was to accidentally analyze behaviors in people once we learned certain things that made the average human tick. I never thought much of it until I caught myself doing it to customers in the club. After that, I made a decent job of correcting my tendencies before they got out of hand, but right now I couldn’t help but try to figure out whether pleading their case would be worth it or not.
But their fate had been decided by a shake of Daryl’s head.
While he led the prisoners to the inner gate, locking them up for good measure, T kept hot on Rick’s heels, coming forward with his own bargain for the inmate’s lives. “I don’t disagree with T.” I said, looking back at the sound of the chain locking on the gate.
Rick averted his eyes over to T-Dog, then back to me. “Are you serious?”
“They didn’t even put up a fight to being put over there in holding.”
He stiffened, glancing up as Daryl rejoined our circle. "You want them living in a cell next to you? They'll just be waitin' for a chance to grab our weapons. You wanna go back to sleepin' with one eye open?"
T’s face softened. “I never stopped. Bring them into the fold.”
“If we send 'em off packing,” I swallowed harshly. “We might as well execute them ourselves."
"I don't know, Axel seems a little unstable," Glenn commented.
"After all we've been through?" Carol questioned. "We fought so hard for all this, what if they decide to take it?"
“You think they can really pull that off?” I furrowed my eyebrows.
"It's just been us for so long. They're strangers, it feels weird, all of a sudden havin' other people around." Maggie muttered in a hushed tone, as if Axel or Oscar could hear her and take offense.
T-Dog eyed Maggie pointedly. "You brought us in.”
"Yeah, but you turned up with a shot boy in your arms. Didn't give us a choice."
"They can't even kill walkers," Glenn added.
My shoulders dropped and I rolled my eyes. “Glenn, they’ve only been in the action for two weeks. They’re newborns.”
"They're convicts, bottom line," Carol shut me down, her voice taking on a harsher tone than I was used to.
"Those two might actually have less blood on their hands than we do.” T scoffed.
"I get guys like this," Daryl shook his head, leaning against the tipped over bus. "Hell, I grew up with 'em. They're degenerates, but they ain't psychos. I could've been in there with 'em just as easy as I'm out here with you guys."
"So are you with us?" T asked.
I tried willing him to look at me, hoping that maybe he’d get the signal and give them the benefit of the doubt. But there was no gleam in his eye when he looked at T-Dog. “Hell, no," Daryl dismissed an alliance. "Let 'em take their chances out on the road, just like we did."
"What I'm saying, Daryl-"
"When I was a rookie, I arrested this kid," Rick cut T off, forcing his silence. "Nineteen years old, wanted for stabbin' his girlfriend. Kid blubbered like a baby during the interrogation, during the trial, suckered the jury…He was acquitted due to insufficient evidence and then two weeks later, shot another girl. We've been through too much. Our deal with them stands."
Rick made his leave, followed by the rest of the crew, leaving only me and T-Dog to swallow the defeat. We looked at one another understandably. There was nothing more we could really do — not unless we all but threatened to leave with them and create a whole scene; which, it was safe to assume, neither me nor him would be doing that.
Sending two innocents (of sorts) on the road, it just didn’t sit right. They’d never been in a world like the one that we were thrusting them into. Sure; they had a choice to stay in their cell block, but I couldn’t fault them for not wanting to live in a place where people that they knew were rotting beside the place they slept.
Overall, I felt icky for kicking them out.
But I suppose that was natural for someone that still carried the memory of Dale so heavy on her sleeve.
Dale had fought for humanity and the rights of everyone, even in a world that was so positively spoiled with the wicked. The fiasco with Randall; Dale only wanted to give him a fighting chance to survive.
That’s all I wanted for Oscar and Axel.
A fighting chance.
They knew little to nothing about making it. Avoiding herds, how to clear a house, diversion tactics; forty-eight hours was the longest I’d give them for survival.
But I didn’t know what else to do -- Daryl held Rick’s ear, not me -- and Daryl wasn’t the easiest guy to budge once he’d made a decision. There was no smooth way for me to argue about bringing the prisoners into our group.
Which is why I’d need to go to the only other person that could get through to Rick.
Telling T that I was going to check on something, I bid him goodbye and paced towards our cell block. Hershel had been awake, alert, talking, and ready to get out of bed for five days at that point. Maggie mentioned yesterday that he was going to attempt to use the crutches today, and that worked out perfectly.
I was intentionally being a bother, going to Hershel would inevitably delay the prisoners departure and I had my fingers crossed that despite it irritating Rick, the old man would take mine and T-Dog’s side. Hershel had pull and he was just — he gave me hope.
Quickly, I darted past the stairwell and knocked on his cell bars.
“Hey,” he said, propping up on his elbows. “Lori and Beth just went to get some crutches.”
Smiling warmly, I entered and crouched beside his bed. “That’s exciting.” I chewed at my bottom lip, pondering how to bring my situation up.
“Things comin’ along out there?”
“That’s actually…” I sighed. “What I came to talk to you about.”
I spilled, heavily bearing down on Glenn’s reluctance to let them join due to the fact they couldn’t kill walkers, reminding him that with that knowledge, we really would be sending them out to be torn apart. If they couldn’t handle walkers in a semi-contained place like the prison, they damn sure couldn’t handle them in the wild. Naturally, I was scolded for my language, but with twinkling eyes, Hershel considered my argument.
He wasn’t prepared to hear about Maggie’s disapproval of them joining, commenting on the fact that she was the one who had advocated so heavily for our group to stay on the farm all those months ago.
“So you’ll try to talk to Rick?” I asked, my lips pulling into another smile. “He really listens to you — values what you have to say.”
“He’s got a lot on his shoulders. I’ll see if we can figure something else out.”
“That’s all I want.” I sighed in relief. “A fighting chance.”
Footsteps trailed down the corridor outside and I couldn’t help but feel excited for Hershel to finally move around again. “Here comes your way outta here.” I winked at him, and peered to the doorway until Lori, Beth, and Carl appeared.
Lori tilted her head, her face dropping momentarily. “Is everything alright?” She asked.
I smirked when I saw Soup brushing between her legs. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s good. Just came to visit, but it looks like I almost missed y’all.” Diverting the attention to the crutches, I pointed to them. “You ready?”
Cautious; Hershel hoisted himself up to a sitting position, then gripped the crutches, both fists handling them tightly. “Just take your time.” Lori chided, holding her hands in front of him in case he came tumbling down, not that it would do too much.
“Daddy, don’t push yourself.” Beth blurted.
So innocent. So sweet.
Hershel’s eyes lit up. “What else am I going to do?” We backed out of the cell as he made his way through slowly. “I can’t stand looking at the bottom of that bunk,” he wavered a bit, coming through the doorway, but steadied back up. “You know? I can go pretty steady.”
“That’s a good start.” Lori complimented his achievement of making it from behind bars. “Want to take a rest?”
Flabbergasted, Hershel shook his head. “Rest? Let’s go for a little stroll.”
It was a modest victory, yet undeniably real: a clear step toward progress, both figuratively and literally. Each painstaking movement proved to be a challenge, as we navigated the cell block with care, his body weary from the effort. We paused often, taking several breaks to allow Hershel to catch his breath and regain strength before finally reaching the heavy metal door that led to the courtyard.
When we finally pushed it open and stepped into the sunlight, the sight that greeted us was invigorating. The courtyard sprawled out before us, vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the confines we had just left. But it was Hershel's reaction that truly illuminated the moment. His smile, wide and genuine, radiated with such warmth that it could have given the sun a run for its money. It was a smile filled with relief, joy, and an unmistakable sense of achievement, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if nothing else mattered.
Two weeks after a walker bite and a dodgy amputation, and he was being helped down the stairs and hobbling through the courtyard, stopping briefly to adjust himself.
I took a second to admire the view.
This was paradise.
Glenn, Rick, and Daryl were beyond the fence, working together to secure firewood. Maggie, T, and Carol were getting out of the freshly parked vehicles. And I heard Carl picking at Hershel, challenging him to a race. Our courtyard was clear, our people were safe, and I had high hopes for Hershel’s conversation with Rick about Oscar and Axel. Hundreds of days and nights of running and never knowing if we’d live to see the next, for this little slice of safety. All was well.
Until -- until the snarls that whispered out behind me.
Carl must’ve heard them too, because he whirled around with his gun in hand. “Walkers!” A dozen, or two undead freaks shambled forwards, flooding into our safe space.
I fumbled with my holster, removing my pistol and quickly unloading on some of them, all while trying to keep an eye on Hershel. As soon as I had a glimmer of hope that today was a good day, I should’ve expected it to go to shit. “Hershel! Beth! The stairs!” Positioning in front of them, Beth and I corralled Hershel towards the cement steps, dropping any walker that threatened our trio. In true father fashion, he urged Beth to go first, prompting me to hurry her into the caged entrance, as I continued backwards up the steps, becoming the barrier between them and the freaks.
“Daddy, come on!” The blonde girl cried out.
My heart raced as the chilling sound of my empty gun clicked, a stark indicator that I was out of ammo. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, desperately hoping to spot Hershel inside the metal cage, but all I saw was Beth, frantically pointing and yelling my name. Just then, adrenaline surged through me as I spun around and shoved a walker down the steps, narrowly preventing it from sinking its teeth into my flesh.
There were too many of them.
“Lock the door!” I shouted over the growls, before I jumped over the railing, barely sticking my landing, but successfully drew the attention of the walkers away from Beth and Hershel, buying them enough time to secure themselves away.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I tried keepin’ my eyes on everything happenin’ in the courtyard, all while keepin’ up with Rick so we could join in on the action. There was at least a dozen walkers, but with most of our folks in the too, maybe we actually stood a chance. Just didn’t make no sense how they breached this part of the prison in the first place.
Things was secure. Gates locked. Barriers in place.
When I snuck another glance at the prison, I caught a glimpse of ginger tumbling from the entrance, and I don’t think I can explain the dread the pitted in my stomach. “C’mon, c’mon.” I urged Rick, who was fumbling with the lock.
She wutn’t bit.
She couldn’t be bit.
As soon as the gate opened, the three of us bolted, ignoring whatever it was them inmates was shouting about. After each walker I took down, my eyes searched for that damn redhead, hoping whatever I saw was just my imagination or some stupid shit like that. But I didn’t see nothin’ — nobody.
Except Hershel and Beth who were locked in the entryway; the same place I thought I saw Libby. “What the hell happened?” Rick shouted. Somethin’ about the gate bein’ open, and Maggie, Lori and Carl bein’ in c block. T-Dog was bit.
Libby led walkers around the building.
They lost sight of her.
Carol was MIA too.
Son of a bitch.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
Son of a bitch.
I took off in yet another direction, hoping by some chance that I’d run into one of the white arrows, pointing me the right way — or a way in general. Every which way I turned there was an endless pile of walkers pushing through.
Navigating the winding roads and exploring the depths of the woods, countless paths beckon, each one promising a chance to sprint away and evade the relentless pursuit of the undead. But in the suffocating darkness of these tunnels, that freedom vanishes. Here, shadows loom large, and the narrow confines leave little room for escape, trapping you in a cold game of survival where every heartbeat echoes your dread.
Thick fingers wrapped around my upper arm, tugging me backwards. Intense and hot; a burn flashed up my arm as I ripped it away forcibly, unable to prevent the walker from digging its nails into my skin. I whirled around, plunging my knife through its skull and snatching it back out before rounding a new corner.
At the end of the corridor I saw an incandescent glow, shining in the opposite direction. Not thinking to shout for help, I kicked myself into a higher gear than I had before, shooting off towards the light.
An escapade of walkers charged behind me.
Snarling, snapping, and shuffling.
My heart pounded; a buzzing filled my ears. No matter how fast I ran, it still felt like it took hours to get to the dim light.
But when I reached the end, I caught sight of a rebar piece leaning against the wall.
“Libby?” His voice was labored and panicked, but I didn’t have time for a reunion, there were dozens of them and nobody was moving fast enough.
I slammed the rebar like a sword, impacting however many freaks were in the immediate radius. “Go!” I yelled, urging them to pick up the pace.
In front of me, guiding me hurriedly through the hallways, were Glenn and Axel. Heart still pounding, sweat pooling over my arms, I heard Glenn shout that we were taking a left at the next fork. Then a few minutes later to take a right. And the alarm that had sounded earlier stopped at the next right we took. A gunshot echoed, then we took a left.
“I know where we’re at.” Glenn called, slowing down to a walking stride.
Never too safe, I jerked my head around, hoping I wouldn’t see that same pack from earlier on our tails. When I saw nothing, I focused back on our straight path. “What happened?” I asked, hoping for some kind of answer to what brought us into our current situation.
“I don’t know. Someone messed with the gates, set the alarm off.” He responded, giving me time to catch up and walk between him and Axel. “Have you seen Maggie or Lori?”
I shook my head. “I think I heard Maggie leading Lori and Carl somewhere, but I was making sure Hershel and Beth got to safety.” After that, things became too blurry to relay over — I’d taken off in hopes of drawing as many of the freaks away from our people as possible. With the gate down, I wondered if what I did really made a difference.
Truth was, I didn’t really care whether it did or didn’t; I was alive, as was everyone else to my knowledge. If twenty minutes of fighting for my life in the depths of a prison was a due I had to pay for the others to live, then that was just dandy to me. And maybe scrambling off to the tombs of the place was what saved my life — who knows? Maybe, if I’d have stayed to fight or tried cramming in the enclosure with Beth and Hershel, I’d have been bit.
My lips tugged to a half smile when our flashlight beam connected with another, revealing Rick, Daryl, and Oscar. The burrows of my chest warmed when I scanned over the archer, confirming he’d made it through the thick of it relatively unscathed.
But when we rounded the next corner, directly before the exit, any warm and resolute feeling that had once shot within me, froze.
The distance between our group of six and two walkers chowing down on fresh flesh gave us enough of a view to see who it was we’d lost: T-Dog. His body was ripped apart, bloodied, nearly unidentifiable. Our burly protector who was so unafraid to speak his truth, was lost to the monsters and no matter how many bullets we put into the walkers on top of him, it didn’t help the aching lump that formed in my throat.
And then -- then our loss got harder as Daryl began unraveling a scarf that settled a few inches away from what was left of T. It was Carol’s.
Instinctively, my hand shot up to cover the shocked sound that came from my mouth. The thought of her last moments crept unbidden to my mind, no matter how hard I tried pushing them away. Even as I followed the company outside and into the sunlight, horrendous picture reels of Carol being consumed whole ran rampant. Just her scarf.
And then it was happening again — for the first time in months, I was drifting off into a dissociative state.
My body constructed movements and I think I even spoke, but there was nothing about the things I said or did that were conscious. I was nothing but a fuzz-filled girl now, with no emotions or the ability to grieve. Not even when Maggie emerged from one end of the courtyard with an infant in her arms; Or when Carl stood solemnly with tears glistening down his face; Or when Glenn jerked me around, skimming his hands over my arm, saying something about a bite.
My insides were empty -- numb. But still, I felt bile rise, warm in my throat and end up all over the ground. And there, again, was Glenn. “It’s a bad scratch! It’s pretty deep, here, check it out.” My arm was snatched and I was in front of Hershel.
“We’re going to need to clean the wound and wrap it.” Hershel said.
Then there was the archer; he hovered briefly, but his hands eventually prodded at the gash, examining it for himself. “Hey,” he snapped his fingers in front of me, his voice stern. “Libs, you good?”
I nodded. A lie. “Is Soup okay?” Maybe it was juvenile to worry about an animal’s well-being amongst the absolute shit storm of a day we were having, but looking back now, I don’t think I could’ve adequately handled another loss. I needed a win, even if it meant looking ridiculous in the eyes of everyone else.
Oddly enough, he took my nod as the truth, or at least he didn’t argue with me about whether I really was ‘good’ or not. Instead, he whirled around and began making quick commands to our group, then looked back at me, “He ain’t left that baby’s side.” That, to me, made complete sense. Soup was stuck to Lori like glue ninety percent of her pregnancy.
I shifted to look at Rick, only to find him equally as out of it — if not worse. He’d lost his wife of fourteen years and he didn’t even get to say goodbye — they weren’t even on good terms, and she was just gone.
Like T-Dog.
Like Carol.
At some point, Daryl and Maggie left for formula, and Glenn ushered me inside behind Hershel, Carl, Beth, and the baby. One foot in front of the other, I took things piece by piece. That’s the only way I believed I’d be able to make it through the rest of the day. In small chunks until my heart could catch up with my mind, and my mind could catch up with my body.
And time was like a leaf caught swirling through the wind, dipping and rising, unsure when and where it’s going to finally settle. I drifted along. As the sun set and the common space grew dim, I fought myself internally, attempting to piece the events of my day together, and come to terms with the reality of it all.
We’d lost people — that was an inevitable truth that couldn’t be redone or changed. But there was a baby now, a brand new life; a sign of hope. All the months spent on the road, looking out for Lori, nourishing the tiny life in her belly, had finally come to a head. That innocent little soul was only a few feet away from me, cradled tightly in her brother’s arms, seemingly giving him the strength to hold it together. I still felt disconnected, a little fuzzy, like I was watching things behind a veil -- vague and thin, but a smile tugged at my lips seeing Carl be so strong for the infant in his arms.
That glimpse of positivity encouraged my confidence.
“Can I hold her?” I asked, my voice shocking me just as much as it had Carl. Judging by the light (or lack there of), it was probably past dusk, meaning I’d gone a considerable amount of time without speaking a word.
The boy, in his sheriffs hat and bloodied clothes, nodded. “Here.” He moved forward, cautiously transferring her into my arms, minding her neck with care, as if he’d done this a million times already. I, on the other hand, had never actually held too many babies prior to this. My lack of friends and focus on my future didn’t make room for holding tiny humans on the regular.
And damn, did I feel robbed.
All bundled up in a worn out flannel, only a few hours old, and oblivious to the world falling apart around her. She was a delicate perfection. Soup brushed against my leg, his purrs vibrating through my body as he settled between my ankles. He hadn’t strayed far from the infant and it had me wondering about his feline instincts. Had he been aware to the life inside Lori’s womb the entire time? Is that why he chose to stick so close to her all those months?
“She’s perfect.” I mumbled, running my thumb over her baby soft cheek.
Carl moved closer, peering down at his little sister and simply nodding. There was a distant look in his eyes, solidifying another ache in my chest with the unfortunate fact that he’d witnessed this sweet, innocent life, kill his mother — only to put the woman who gave them both life, down permanently, to prevent her from reanimating. I couldn’t imagine the pain and numbness he felt or the trauma he’d continue to relive for the rest of his life.
The baby cooed, letting out a few grunts, and squirming in my arms as much as her little body would let her. “I think she’s hungry.” Carl said with a defeated sigh. “If Maggie and Daryl don’t find anything, what -- what are we gonna do?”
“They will.” Doubting wouldn’t get anyone anywhere, there was already enough negativity for one day.
“But what if they don’t?”
Knocking his shoulder lightly, I motioned for him to take the baby in hopes that she’d provide him with a sense of peace. “They’re the most hard-headed and determined people in our entire group, we sent the right ones to look. They’ll travel for hours until they find something.”
Gunshots echoed outside, followed by a surge of tiny cries. Instantly, Soup darted from between my ankles and onto the bench next to Carl, vigilant in his movements to check on the baby. I moved to grip my knife, ready for whatever battle might come knocking on our block doors this go around.
But my eyes were met with Maggie and Daryl, rushing through the entry, Glenn, Axel, and Oscar hot on their heels. “Beth!” Maggie called out to her sister, emptying her bag onto a table.
"How's she doin'?" Daryl asked, crouching close to Carl with his arms already in a cradled position, prompting to be given the crying infant.
I marveled at the scene in front of me. The baby whined in the transfer from Carl to Daryl, but as if he’d done it a million times before, Daryl calmly shushed her, cooing little noises down at her until Beth handed him a bottle full of formula. “Come on,” he tilted the bottle to an angle. “Come on.” And when she latched, it seemed that a band-aid had been placed over our groups gaping wound. Milk dribbled from the corner of her mouth and soft, hungry gulps replaced her cries. “There ya go…” he chuckled in a hushed tone, tilting his chin up and looking around the room shyly.
After such a harrowing day full of so much loss, it was like a breath of fresh air to watch someone who tried so hard to exhibit a rock solid facade, melt into a pile of mush. I knew Daryl Dixon to have a larger soft spot than he was willing to show, but in that moment, I wondered if everyone saw that now. And -- and I wondered if maybe the tiny infant in his arms was healing something inside of him. If he would continue to try keeping everyone at arms length.
“She got a name yet?” Daryl asked, eyes flickering to Carl.
"Not yet," Carl responded. "I was thinking maybe Sophia. Then there's Carol, too. And… Andrea. Amy. Jacqui. Patricia. Or… Lori.” His voice cracked when he said his mother’s name. “I don't know."
We stared, solemnly at the thirteen year old who had experienced so much loss. Mentally, I began counting everyone we’d lost; twelve — thirteen if you included Merle. Carl was thirteen. He’d lost an entire lifetimes worth of people within a year.
The baby continued gulping down the bottle, making louder grunts to ensure everyone knew her belly was getting full. "You like that?” Daryl cooed. “Huh? Little Ass Kicker?" Smiles immediately filled the room, along with a few snickers of amusement. “Right?" He scanned over our group again, his lips tugging up. We locked eyes long enough for me to crinkle my nose and share a brief smile. “That's a good name, right? Little Ass Kicker. You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?"
_____________
With the weight of a hungry baby off our shoulders, we all dispersed into our own cells, allowing the tragedy of the day to finally wash its waves over us. The baby was rooming with Maggie and Glenn for the night, accompanied, of course, by Soup, and Rick was still isolating, adjusting in his own way.
I stared at the railing of the empty bunk on top of mine, still fighting with myself internally, trying to break through that dissociated veil, when a gruff voice and the man accompanying it, materialized outside the bars of my cell. “Y’alright?”
Mustering up a pathetic attempt at a smile, I shrugged. “I think if I cry, I’m not gonna be able to stop. But, my arm’s fine if that’s what you wanted to know about.” I wiggled my wounded limb.
Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. “Y’gonna use that top bunk?”
Between us strung almost a year of genuine friendship. Of understanding. He’d been my solace, my friend, my lover, my centerfold, for so long at that point. But this side of him — seeking me out unprompted, asking to change his sleeping arrangements, it goes to show how hard our losses really affected him. I shook my head, propping up awkwardly on my elbows, offering a brighter, more encouraging smile this time.
We shared a few laughs while moving his mattress, but no words of any matter were exchanged for the rest of the night. There was a certain level of comfort that resonated within me now though.
Our losses were heavy.
But we would heal.
.my sweetest friend, everyone i know goes away in the end.
Notes:
sooooooo
next chapter gets unbelievably heavy and a lot of things begin to go downhill for #Liryl. but it’s the walking dead, so what can you really expect.
but~ is there anything you guys would like to see or any expectations? I, of course, have lots already pre-planned all through the show, but i’m always open to other ideas to add in for better engagement!
Chapter 27: more of a Chips!Ahoy kinda girl
Summary:
“Two?” Glenn knocked my shoulder, a humorous disbelief shrouding his face. “Why do you get two?”
“Cause I found them! Besides, you got dozens of packs of mustard. Don’t act like you didn’t get anything good.” I mocked. “Let’s finish up so we can go home.”
“And where is it y'all good people are callin' home?" A raspy, voice asked from behind us, the click of a gun prompting me to pull back my arrow in a split.
Chapter Text
.and now that i’m grown, i’m scared of ghosts.
“She’d have loved it,” I bumped shoulders with Daryl on my way through the catwalk.
From the jump this morning, Daryl took on the role that Rick had abandoned. He swept through the prison yard, assigned watch duties, made arrangements for the day, and still managed to venture out and find a Cherokee rose to place in remembrance of Carol. The man was busy, and selfishly, I wished he would’ve taken a chunk of time from his schedule and shared it with me. Exclusively.
Even though he found himself in an impromptu leadership position, he consistently brought a warmth and kindness to his interactions with others. His words were not only gentler, but the way he expressed them radiated compassion. Witnessing this side of him filled me with a deep sense of pride.
Daryl was truly opening himself up — allowing all of the people who cared so much for him, to finally absorb all of what he had to offer.
“Oh, hey,” I called back once I reached the end of the bypath. He turned, nodding his chin up. “I’m probably gonna go with Maggie and Glenn on the run today. It sounds stupid, but being locked up in here for the last few weeks is starting to get to me.”
“Sure you don’t wanna wait for that arm to heal up?” He flung his own arm out, pointing to my still wrapped wound.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be okay. Besides, I’ve gotta start hunting for me a motorcycle. How else are you supposed to teach me?” Teasing banter; it’s how our relationship functioned ninety percent of the time.
With a scoff, he turned on his heel and walked back into our block. I didn’t actually know the likelihood of me finding a bike, much less the how-to’s of bringing it back to the prison, but it was a fun idea to play around with. Daryl had a passion for them, and I’d give anything to go back to the farm and listen to him gush about motorcycles as we walked around the duck pond.
I hated myself for not taking full advantage of that time spent with him. The simplicity of it all. It wasn’t my fault — but I still wished I’d savored those moments, asked him more questions, urged him to walk another lap.
Before the fall of the farm, I was merely crushing on a guy with nice arms and bedroom eyes. But now, something more entangled between us. Now, I knew how quick things could change; now, I knew better than to not cherish any spare moment I got with him. Or with anyone else for that matter.
Safety was never guaranteed. It was a rarity.
A particularly spherical rock caught my eye on the way to where our vehicles were parked, and I began kicking it, skipping forward to chase it anytime the pebble got a little off track. It reminded me of the thoughts I used to have as a child — how an inanimate or even some animate objects could have a life and mind of their own.
How that rock I was kicking yards and yards away from where I’d initially found it, might have just been swept away from its home and all that it knew. As a kid, I used to be very interested in whether or not flies had families and emotions, and there used to be a weird ache in my tummy whenever a fly would get caught in our car and transported to an entirely different city, never to see its family again. For a brief period while the memories clouded over me, I almost wanted to bend down and return the rock back to its original spot.
When it hit the rubber tire of the Chevy, I willed myself to ignore it. But at the same time — I felt like the rock.
I was displaced in this chaotic universe, with a bunch of other people that were also displaced, and we’d all formed an unlikely bond. A family that we chose. Maybe, even though they don’t have feelings (though, part of me will always ponder it), the rocks and bugs have found a family in their displacement as well.
My lips quirked up, a glimmer of my childhood felt resolved.
“If we can navigate through the blocked roads, we could try this place. They may even have some formula.” Maggie’s voice carried through the courtyard. Her and Glenn rounded the guard tower, both with their eyes glued on a map and a phone book.
I wasn’t surprised that Glenn took the lead on driving, after mine and Maggie’s absolute chaos of a car ride all those months ago, he tended to favor chauffeuring.
“How far out?” I asked, peering out the backseat window.
Maggie turned in her seat to face me once we’d made it through the gate. “Normally, only half an hour. But with moving debris off the roads and avoiding trouble, maybe two hours?” She tilted her head, the brunette bob she sported bouncing.
Glenn nodded. “It’s a straight shot though.”
“So maybe we’ll just get lucky,” I concluded. With shaky excitement of being outside the walls again, I absorbed my surroundings, soaking in the scenery that wasn’t cold concrete or chain link fences.
For eight-ish months I lived on the road and ran for my life daily. Blood, sweat, and tears were put into finding a safe place that we could hunker within. Somewhere where we wouldn’t have to worry about life on the road again. Yet here I was, longing to escape our haven of safety. I’m pretty sure that was actually a normal psychological effect — but I didn’t have time to pick my brain and recall what exactly it was, the vehicle was rolling to a stop due to debris in the road.
And that continued to be a routine the entire ride to the discount store. We’d make it about five or ten minutes before there was more junk littering the asphalt. Be it other vehicles, chunks of trash, dead bodies, you name it, we moved it.
“This is it right here,” Maggie pointed at the side of a rusted and trashed out building. If the outside was telling, then I wasn’t too positive about what we’d find inside. Though, there wasn’t any visible threats as we poured out the old Chevy.
I slid my bow out from behind the drivers seat to carry it at the ready, just in case there were any surprises, only to turn around to see my two companions sucking faces. “Ya know, y’all could’ve just told me to stay back.” I muttered, feigning bitterness towards them.
Maggie snorted laughter after breaking their kiss. “You’ve been so quiet lately,” her lips drew into a tight line.
She didn’t have to say it; I knew she was implying that my unusual silence meant they’d forgotten I was even around. Even though I managed to work, and weave my way through my dissociation, I hadn’t quite recovered from that state yet. But there was progress, and I was proud of it.
I shook my head, embellishing it with a warm smile, conveying no hard feelings. “Been having a hard time adjusting.” And that was okay, I reminded myself.
The Georgia heat was in its prime, so it must’ve been June or July, and I was feeling the full effect of it, and crossing my fingers that once we broke in, I’d find a new pair of shorts or a fresh sports bra. So imagine my surprise when Glenn popped the locks, and we saw relatively full stocked shelves. It seemed to be in the same condition as the day the owners locked it up.
I entered behind him, bow pulled back and ready, just in case there was a breach in the place. But all in all — it was solid. We’d have to come back with the other car and sweep it clean. “Glenn, get that duck,” Maggie ordered, shining her light over a rubber duck hanging from one of the end-caps.
Breathless, Glenn laughed, “What?”
“Get that duck.”
Once she pointed it out, I noticed some more off-brand and knock-off toys lined down that aisle. We only had one kid around and she wouldn’t be playing with them anytime soon, but that didn’t stop me from looking around for a shopping basket and filling the bottom of it with some non-essential items; a few things to brighten up our new home. The mental image of curtains and plush blankets taking over our cold cells made my lips pull into a smile. Interior design wasn’t something I’d worry about right now, but maybe in the future.
Skirting the end of the aisle, my eyes bore into an entire end-cap of Oreos. I wasted no time snatching enough packs to fill up my basket before striding toward the door and placing it on the floor. Typically, I was more of a Chips!Ahoy kinda girl, but, beggars can’t be choosers. But just when I thought the cookies were my best find of the day, I froze.
I didn’t even think about grabbing another basket before I darted down the baby section, scanning my eyes over until they landed on the formula. Stocked. Again, beggars can’t be choosers, so I began piling up all the cans of different branded formula into my arms, and started my journey to the front, quickly realizing my mistake of neglecting a basket.
“Libby!” Glenn shouted in a hushed tone, coming from dropping his own haul off in the doorway. “This is amazing.”
“There’s more where that came from.” I smiled, struggling to quietly put my arm load of cans down.
One by one, we plucked cans of formula, baby food, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, off the shelf until it had been picked nearly clean. Maybe we didn’t have everything we needed or hoped to find, but our baby — she was taken care of. Thoroughly and fully; taken care of.
“We just hit the powdered formula jackpot,” Glenn nodded up at Maggie, who was toting our baskets to the car.
Squinting against the intense sunshine, she sighed, “Oh, thank God.”
“And Oreos!” I added with a grin.
“And Oreos.” Glenn agreed, nodding slowly. “And beans, batteries, cocktail sausages, many mustards..” he trailed and looked between us. “It’s a straight shot back to the prison from here. Probably make it back in time for dinner.”
“I think,” I pursed my lips together. “I’m calling dibs on two of those Oreo packs for dinner.”
“Two?” Glenn knocked my shoulder, a humorous disbelief shrouding his face. “Why do you get two?”
“Cause I found them! Besides, you got dozens of packs of mustard. Don’t act like you didn’t get anything good.” I mocked. “Let’s finish up so we can go home.”
“And where is it y'all good people are callin' home?" A raspy, voice asked from behind us, the click of a gun prompting me to pull back my arrow in a split.
Merle Dixon.
Gun drawn, propped on top of — well, I wasn’t exactly sure what to call it. A knife-hand? It was very, Captain Hook-esq. It seemed that as quick as I’d recognized him, he’d done the same to me and Glenn. Cackling in disbelief, he crouched down and dropped his gun then held his hands up. “Wow,” he exhaled, inching a few feet closer.
“Hey! Back the hell up!” Maggie snarled at, who, from her perspective, was a stranger.
“Okay, okay, honey!” Merle held his hands up a little higher in a failed attempt to calm down the situation. “Jesus.”
Looking him up and down, I noticed just how shitty he really looked. His face was a mess of fresh blood, along with the filth all over his clothes. It had me wondering just how long he’d been out there — or had he been out there alone?
“Can you tell me,” Merle swallowed. “Is my brother alive, huh?”
My heart rate quickened, remembering Daryl’s longing to know what came to be of his older brother. He never had assumed him dead, but he also quit talking about him like he was alive too. I nodded. “He is.” The confirmation earned me a smile from Merle.
"Hey, you, uh, take me to 'im and I'll call it even on everything that happened up there in Atlanta. No hard feelin's, huh?"
He was asking me, not Glenn, and I knew it was because he saw me as an easier target to schmooze. I never had any major quarrels with the older Dixon, but never cared too much for him either. We had that one disagreement back at the quarry about me going hunting with Daryl, and that was just about the only real words we’d exchanged.
And I wanted to immediately tell him to hop in so we could reunite him with his little brother, because in my bones, I would’ve wanted the same thing if it was my sister. Doing it wouldn’t be for Merle anyway, it would be for Daryl.
Daryl deserved it.
“We'll tell Daryl you're here and he'll come out to meet you," Glenn answered for me. A reasonable and justified solution. We had reason to doubt the older Dixon — and after our recent losses, we couldn’t take chances.
Merle inched closer, his smile faltering a smidge. "Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just -- just hold up. Hold up here, hold up! Hey, the fact that we found each other is a miracle. Come on, now.” He shifted onto his opposite leg, switching his focus to Glenn. “You can trust me."
"You trust us," Glenn insisted. "You stay here."
“Daryl, will come. He’ll probably make it by nightfall.” I took a shot at providing some reassurance, hoping he’d just take the deal. For Daryl’s sake.
Alas, in a mood swapping instant, Merle drew a second pistol from behind his back and shot the rear windshield of the old Chevy, using the distraction to lunge for Maggie. It happened so quick, but in slow motion at the same time. Glenn ducking around the side of the truck. Merle snatching Maggie while she was off her guard. My arrow ricocheting off of Merle’s prosthetic. When the first course of action finished, Merle held the barrel of his gun to Maggie’s cheek, while Glenn and I had our weapons trained on him from a short distance.
"Hey, buddy, hold up, hold up!” There was a setting click in Merle’s gun.
"Let go of her.” Glenn snapped. "Let go of her!"
"Put your weapons in the car," Merle grunted. "Put 'em in the car!" A few beats passed before Glenn lowered his weapon and tossed the gun into the back of the Chevy. Out of options, the threat of Maggie’s life on the line, I relaxed my hold and dumped my bow and arrows behind Glenn’s gun. "There you go," he feigned softness. "Now, we're gonna go for a little drive."
My eyes darted back to the man holding Maggie hostage, realizing all at once the severity of the situation. He couldn’t come back to camp with us — not if this was his immediate reaction to being told to wait.
Either Rick would kill him or he’d bring hellfire down on our group. And the possibility of losing Daryl struck me some kind of hard. “Merle, just -- just let Maggie and Glenn go get Daryl. I’ll stay here with you for collateral. He’ll come.” I begged, pathetic as it may seem.
“No. No, we’re leavin’.” He growled while shaking his head. “Get in the car! Glenn, you’re drivin’!”
_____________
With tape bound around my wrists and ankles, I watched helplessly as Merle did the same to Maggie. He’d instructed Glenn to an almost isolated town off the main road; a subdivision of sorts, and a hell of a lot more homey than our set up. Who’d’a thunk Merle Dixon would be living it easy in a suburb while I slummed it in a jail cell — ridiculous. His lackeys followed his orders to a ‘T’, we were flanked on all sides, ensuring there was no chance of escape from our dire situation, watching my every move until my wrists were secured.
I sat by, hoping somehow, some way, that the daggers I was glaring down at Merle would shoot from my eyes and pierce him where it hurt. Unfortunately, all I could muster up was catching his gaze as he stood and walked to the door. “Sit tight. With a little cooperation, I’ll try not ta hurt’im too bad.” Merle snickered.
Unsure on whether it would make things worse, I made an opportunistic gamble with the only leverage we had. “Daryl’ll never forgive you,” I locked my jaw, refusing to present anything other than anger.
Still, he wore that shit eating grin, unbothered by my words. “S’that right?” He asked, eyeing me in an almost dangerous way. “Since you know so much, why don’t --“
“He won’t. Daryl has a place with us that he’s never had with you.”
Top lip twitching up, showing his first sign of true irritation, Merle fiddled with the metal door. “You think just cause he got a little action, he’s gonna turn his back on his family? Huh?” His voice raised a pitch. “His own blood? S’that whatchu think?”
I bit the inside of my bottom lip, holding my tongue back from spewing more harsh words and landing us into hotter water than we already were. “Guess we’re gonna have to find out.” It gave him something to think about — to ponder on when he left to do whatever it was he had planned.
Outside the door, I caught a glimpse of two men standing guard, solidifying that we were in way over our heads. And from the sound of another metal door, scraping the floor and opening from somewhere else in the ceiling-less building, Merle was ready to get to work.
Whatever shit show of an interrogation Merle had attempted, quickly shifted to nothing short of torture, as Glenn’s cries of pain and fists thudding against flesh reached mine and Maggie’s ears through the tin wall. Merle had gone from teasing Glenn and demanding to know where Rick and Daryl were, to brutally beating him with no mercy.
But that still hadn’t been the worst of it.
Five minutes, then ten minutes, an entire twenty minutes passed before my blood turned cold at the sound of a walker passing in front of our door. Maggie had slow tears rolling down her cheeks when I looked over at her, the gravity of her boyfriend’s situation slamming down like a hammer on a nail.
No matter what though; Glenn held our groups best interest at heart.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I didn’t know how I’s s’pose ta feel. Angry? Sad? Relieved?
Me, Oscar, n’ Carl were clearing some inner parts of the prison, when we saw Carol’s huntin’ knife on the ground. A few feet away from it lay a dead bastard, blocking the door to a solitary cell from opening, likely revealing a walker inside. That was an hour ago.
I couldn’t get the image of Carol with milky white eyes and a snapping jaw out of my head. We hadn’t found her body, only her scarf. At first, I figured we’d at least find her boots or other signs, but then Rick revealed that Lori had been consumed entirely — washing away any hope I had to bury something in Carol’s empty grave. Her turning hadn’t even crossed my mind.
Well — maybe it did. But I just pushed it away. Wutn’t no point in wallowing about our losses, not when there was still so much that needed to be done.
There I was though; cross-legged in front of the heavy metal door, stabbing Carol’s knife into the cracks in the ground, confused on what to do. On how to feel. Carol was the first person and only person, I believed was always on my side. Even Libby, she had her opinions and never stuttered when she had a problem with me. Carol had unapologetically taken my side in any discourse over the last eight months, n’ she didn’t do it outta pity neither, when she backed me up it was because she really believed in me. N’ she cared about the petty things — whether I had a pillow or if I wanted seconds.
Now she was gone.
Behind that door probably.
Turned.
My chest tightened, an overwhelming realization of our losses hitting me at once. T-Dog, Lori, and Carol, all in one day, all cause of one piece of shit. I didn’t mind Axel or Oscar, but I still wish we’d’a put a bullet in every one of’em when we had the chance.
The sound of the walker scraping and thudding against the door only increased my emotions. I sprang to my feet, blinking back tears of anger and pacing furiously. She’d’a wanted to be put down. I know she woulda. Just didn’t make shit any easier. With one last glare at the door, I placed the knife between my teeth, reaching down to toss the fallen walker to the side and fling open the barrier that stood between me and another dumb dead bastard.
I had the knife held firmly, ready to strike, but what I saw had me dropping the blade altogether. “Oh, shit.” I quickly knelt down, scooping a clearly dehydrated and beaten Carol into my arms.
_____________
I scrambled around like a chicken with its head cut off. Water. Food. Blanket. It wutn’t no five star resort, but my heart raced with determination to make this service prompt — like if I didn’t get her some essentials, she’d disappear into thin air, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of what had once been her.
While she downed a canteen of water, I got to work on a can of Lima beans. “I’ma go get Hershel after this. Let’im check over ya.” The metal lid slid off, clanging onto the floor.
With a familiar twinkle in her eyes, she nodded, before finally speaking. “Thank you,” her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I’ll be back.”
It was a win. Finding Carol in solitary was a win that we needed. It didn’t make T-Dog or Lori’s death any easier, but it was one less death to digest. When Glenn, Maggie, and Libs get back, it’ll be something to ease whatever struggle they went through through the day.
“Rick,” I hollered, leaving the cell block, scanning the room for the sheriff, only to find him, and the others surrounding a stranger. “Who the hell’s this?”
He craned his neck down, repeating that same question to the woman.
She stayed silent. Unwilling to engage with who she saw as strangers. N’ I can’t say I blame’er, but I ain’t got time ta help with any type’a interrogation, Carol was alive n’ they needed to see it. Or maybe I needed them to see it — something to confirm I wutn’t hallucinating.
“Y’all come on in here,” I urged.
Rick took one last look at the woman before turning to me. “Everything alright?”
“You’re gonna wanna see this.”
He looked at the rest of our group, then nodded his head my way. “Go ahead. Carl, get the bag,” Rick slid the woman’s sheathed sword away. "The doors are all locked. You'll be safe here. And we can treat that."
"I didn't ask for your help," she said, warily.
"Doesn't matter. Can’t let you leave." After everyone walked past, I secured the door.
Quickly, I led everyone to the cell I’d dropped Carol in, revealing nothing short of a miracle. She wutn’t fine, but she was alive, and that was good enough for me.
"How?" Hershel asked as Carol leaned in to hug him.
It was weak, but there she laughed. "Solitary.”
"Poor thing fought her way into a cell," I pointed out. "Must'a passed out, dehydrated."
N’ I suddenly felt bad for not warning Carol about Lori, but honestly, it wouldn’t’a turned out any better than it was unfolding now. Teary eyed mourning and ‘sorry’s’ were exchanged over the loss of her friend. Still — she cradled Ass-Kicker to’er chest all delicate like, fawning over her soft features.
But the reunion, unfortunately, didn’t last long. Nothing good ever did.
Rick pulled me to the side while Hershel gave Carol a quick check up. Told me that that woman showed up outside the gate with a basket full of baby formula and Oreos. Libby n’ them shoulda been back by now — and what’re the damn odds that this lady was out searchin’ for baby food n’ just stumbled across the prison.
Nah. Somethin’ went awry.
Rick, Hershel, and I left Beth and Carl to tend to Carol’s (thankfully) minor upsets. “We can tend to that wound for you," Rick announced, as we entered the common space. "Give you a little food and water, and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us and why you were carryin' formula."
She didn’t take her eyes of Rick. "The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy, with a couple of pretty girls."
"What happened?" Rick asked without missing a beat.
"Were they attacked?" Hershel asked, nearly speaking at the same time as Rick. Couldn’t blame’im, Maggie was one’a them girls — so was Libby.
"They were taken."
"Taken?" Rick repeated, leaning closer. "By who?"
"By the same son of a bitch who shot me," the woman sneered.
"Hey, these are our people," Rick hissed out, landing a tight grip on the woman’s wounded thigh. "You tell us what happened, now!"
"Don't you ever touch me again!" she jumped backwards, immediately taking a defensive position.
Maybe — maybe if we wouldn’t’a just lost some of our own, I woulda been a little easier on her. But we were already down two people, n’ ain’t no way I’s gonna lose three more, so I whipped my bow up, aiming at her forehead. “You better start talkin', or you’re gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound." I warned.
Reluctant, I dropped my weapon when Rick urged me to, and listened to what the woman had to say about some town a couple miles away. seventy-five survivors. Rick seemed skeptical at first, but slowly began considering it. I didn’t see there to be too many other options; we couldn’t gamble our people’s lives on whether or not she was lying.
I must’ve been the only one to see it that way though — cause for some god forsaken reason, Rick pulled me into the cell block while Hershel patched the woman up, attracting everyone else’s attention as well. We apparently needed to debate whether or not it was worth risking leaving the prison.
As a matter of fact, Beth seemed to be having more sense than everyone else for once. “This is Maggie , Glenn, and Libby. Why’re we even debatin'?"
"We ain't," I adjusted the bow on my back. "I'll go after 'em."
"Well, this place sounds pretty secure. You can't go alone." Rick objected.
"I'll go," Beth volunteered.
"Me, too," Axel offered.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
At least Glenn was alive. I tried to focus on that, on the heavy breathing coming from the room next to us, on the frequent coughs echoing throughout the building. It was a small, minuscule success, in the dooming trajectory that became our evening. But at least he was still breathing -- all faint and short, each slip of oxygen surely painful against his beaten body, and I couldn’t help but let tears trickle down my face.
We waited in unmoving silence, longer than any interval Merle had gone with so far. The way things had ended up with Glenn, a large part of me feared that he’d send another walker in to finish the job, or maybe even do it himself. I held myself back multiple times in that waiting period, from hollering obscenities and demanding to speak with whoever was in charge. It may have been Merle though; if it was, we were already up shit creek without a paddle. Despite the dread that filled my tummy (and the small knot that found a home in my lower back), I still held hope that Rick was on his way. It had to have been hours at that point — they would’ve known something was up by now.
A few minutes later, footsteps trailed outside, light and calculated, but I’d heard them. I turned my head to Maggie in an attempt to notify her of impending company, but by the time she locked eyes with me, both of our attention was drawn to the door opening.
In stepped a well-shaven, clean, slightly older man. He was taller than Merle by a head and walked with a confidence that reminded me of the misogynistic men who had entirely too much money, who thought that us women in the club should gravel at his feet; who thought not a single one of us were well educated and could see through his bullshit facade of being backhandedly kind. It made sense for Merle to be hanging out around that type of person — but it didn’t take a genius to know that this new person, probably secretly hated Merle’s guts.
In the dim, incandescent glow, the man unsheathed his knife, before carefully making his way around the circular table, to where Maggie and I sat. I straightened up, keenly aware of the presence looming behind me, and the surprising sound of duct tape being sawed through made me tighten my jaw.
First Maggie, then me. I rubbed my raw wrists, working the blood flow back in. If he expected a ‘thank you’, he needed to lower his expectations. "May I?" The man questioned, reaching for the chair across the table from us. When he got no response, he simply pulled it out. “Thank you.” Over the course of a minute or two, he just stared at us, weighing us, in an uncomfortable and deceiving type eye. "We'll take you back to your people. Explain this was all just a misunderstandin'. You tell us where they are and we'll drive you there." His southern drawl was warm and sweet — the kind you hear in old westerns.
"I wanna talk to Glenn." Maggie's voice was unwavering and firm against the man’s.
His smile was the kind of cheese you put on when you went for a job interview. Feigned kindness. “I can't allow that. Your people are dangerous. Handcuffed my man to a roof, forced him to amputate his own hand."
"I don't know anything about that," Maggie hadn’t been there in Atlanta. With all that we’d been through, I found it hard to imagine a time where she hadn’t been around.
"You just tell us where they are and we'll bring 'em here," his smile faltered ever so slightly, but his words remained careful — gentle even. “You'll be safe, I promise." He finally drifted his eyes over, directing his last words to me.
"No.” I responded flatly. No room for argument.
The man didn’t look shocked, but the inflection in tone was reactive. "No?" There was a quick flicker of curiosity as his eyes bounced between the two of us. “Fine. Let's try somethin' else. Stand up, please. Both of you,” he said in that sweet voice.
Loud, flashing red sirens went off in my head. Despite the coax in his voice, it wasn’t a request; it was a warning. I was familiar with that kind of warning — but Maggie remained seated, so I did too. The man’s jaw stiffened as he leaned back a little too calmly. "Stand up," he said again. The faux honey in his voice disappeared, replaced now by one of particular sternness.
I wasn’t scared of this man; no. He could hold a gun to my head and I’d be content with holding my tongue. But the demeanor that was radiating off of him was reminiscent of the worst time of my life, and I suddenly wished for death as I stood up, with a hesitant Maggie following my lead.
"Take off your shirts."
Panic brewed inside of me. Inching closer and closer to boiling over, I could feel the coil tightening in my chest. It had been present since the man walked into the room, flexing taut, threatening to snap with a wave of nausea washing against my body. “No.” I answered for both of us, determination to hold onto whatever I could. If he wanted to violate our bodies against our will, physically defile us — he’d have to physically assault us. We wouldn’t make it any easier for him, than it already was.
But then, taking a page from my book and using it with more absolution, he leveraged us.
"Take off your shirts, or I'll bring Glenn's hand in here."
Maggie, who had been so determined, an unbreakable force, peeled her top off in an instant and threw it furiously to the side. Still, I resisted. Not because I didn’t believe he’d really make good on his promise, but because I was stop nervous to move. Too nervous to give in. “I won’t say it again.” The man said, moving his chair back.
I knew the inevitable was fast approaching. He’d torture Glenn some more, maybe even kill him, and still force us to submit under his thumb. It’s what men like him did. It’s who they were.
But this was Glenn Rhee, my best friend. He’d stuck by me like glue from the very beginning of this mess. With him, sometimes, the apocalypse never happened. We were just two people relaxing in a tent or watching out for walkers, talking about what avenger would survive the longest in our group. He tethered me to reality if I strayed a little too far. I couldn’t do life without my best friend.
Slipping my fingers under the hemline of my tank top, I rolled it up over my head, and instead of tossing it to the side, I balled it up into my fist. His eyes roamed our bodies, licking up every last inch of skin that wasn’t covered. “Go on,” his sick gaze fell to our bras, burning holes in them. Scorching hot tears streamed down my face and I’m sure he could visibly see my throat bobbing as I choked back panic filled sobs. I laid my bra neatly on the table before using my hands as coverage, attempting to maintain whatever modesty still existed.
Bile rose quickly when the man stood from his chair, and I heard the clinking of his belt as he neared the two of us. I wanted so badly to look at Maggie, to maybe transfer reassurance that no matter what happens, we’re both physically still together, but I could only screw my eyes tightly shut and wait for what was to come.
Footsteps. Chair legs scraping concrete. Soft, sick breaths.
A slam.
My eyes shot open, startled by the abrupt noise next to me. The man had Maggie by the back of her neck and she trembled underneath his heavy hands as he forced her face down against the table.
Anger flared. Deep, flaming red, fury.
“Fuck you!” I screeched, as the man began to speak. And then my chewed down nails scraped onto the flesh of his cheek — the only exposed skin on his entire body. It actually pissed me off that he was dressed so, god damn, cleanly. A hand whipped towards my chest, shoving me backwards with significant force, so much that I landed on my hands and knees, facing away from the table. “Don’t touch her!”
"So, y’all gonna talk?" He has Maggie pressed down against the table once more, as if my sudden outburst hadn’t affected him at all. I would’ve believed that too — but I saw the reddened outline of my claw marks down the side of his face.
"You can do whatever you're gonna do," Maggie speaks up before I had a chance, "and go to hell."
That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
Immediately letting her neck go, the man strode towards me, slinging me up from the ground. There was a mere moment of disorientation before a sharp sting slapped against my cheek, causing my ears to ring briefly by the force. His eyes greedily roamed over my naked torso, and there was a point made for him to rake his grubby paws all over as best he could, before he used his other hand to snatch Maggie and head out the room.
Two voices. A bit low, but right outside the unfinished holding room. I don’t know why I half expected Merle to not know about this part of the torture, but maybe that was just my softness for his little brother. Another man stood next to Merle, Latino and more physically fit — attractive even. The two of them scanned mine and Maggie’s bodies, but in an almost surprised fashion. As if the man in charge didn’t make it a habit of sexually abusing the prisoners they brought home.
I didn’t care though. It still didn’t make me see them as anything more than garbage.
We were briskly ushered toward another door, the man in charge gesturing impatiently for Merle and his lackey to step inside first. It struck me that this was nothing more than a mere formality; it felt as if Glenn was being regarded as a potential threat.
A knot of dread twisted in my throat, swelling to an unbearable size as I caught sight of my best friend: battered and bloodied, a haunting reflection of the chaos that had unfolded earlier. Tender bruises were blooming like dark petals against his skin, marring the once smooth contours of his face. His hair clung to his forehead, matted and slick with a chilling blend of sweat and blood that trickled down. Gripping a makeshift weapon tightly in his hand, he stood defiantly for a moment, but the struggle was short-lived, and soon he found himself disarmed, the weapon slipping from his fingers as desperation filled the air.
“We’re through with the games,” the man marched us into the room with an unsettling force, roughly shoving me forward until I collided with Merle's shoulder. Startled by the sudden release, I shuffled back, my heart racing as I regained my balance. I steadied myself, planting my feet firmly on the ground, feeling as immovable as a mountain for the first time all day.
“Now, one’a you is gonna give up your camp,” he said. Glenn’s jaw wavered, but he shook his head, still willing to keep our people safe. I snapped my head when I heard the clicking of a gun being taken off safety — briefly, Maggie was held at the end of the barrel, but like a lightbulb went off, the leader strode over to Glenn, exchanging his hostage.
More tears escaped my eyes. I knew before it happened, that Maggie was going to spill. Glenn was what kept us going, and by us, I mean the group; he was the heart. Without the heart, everything in the body stopped functioning.
“The prison,” Maggie stepped forward.
“The one near Nunez?” Merle asked, looking at between me and Maggie.
Disbelief shrouded the Latino man’s face, “that place is over run.”
“We took it,” I swallowed back my cries.
Maggie stared at Glenn, who was in such a vulnerable position — beaten and a gun held to his head. We were helpless. There were only so many prisons that we could've been talking about, it wasn't hard to narrow it down. Our people would have a reckoning coming through the gates by dawn, and we couldn't do anything.
“How many are you?” the leader may have been the one most surprised by the revelation.
“Eleven,” her voice wavered. I could tell that there was disappointment in cracking under the pressure. “We have eleven now.” I counted in my head, all the people back home, and realized she’d included the baby girl.
My heart strings pulled.
“Eleven people cleared that whole prison of biters?” he asked, swallowing the information. “Huh?”
I could feel Merle’s gaze, much like his brother’s, burning a hole through me. He didn't deserve the satisfaction of me meeting his eyes though, not after kidnapping us. Not after beating Glenn. Not after subjecting Maggie and I to a sexual assualt. And especially not after dooming his own brother.
But he did eventually look away, whenever the leader brushed past him, and if I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of apprehension in the look the man gave Merle. Uncertainty.
I’d anticipated him to escort us back out of the room and have our hands bound again. That since he’d gotten the information he wanted, he’d continue to hold us prisoner. There was a million and one thoughts in my brain, but I didn't expect him to continue with the humiliation — it’s what guys like him got off to though. Fear and resistance.
He brushed his thin fingers against Maggie’s hair, before pulling her into a reluctant embrace and attempting to cup her tear-stained cheek. It was all a sick game to him though, because with a chilling smirk, he pushed Maggie towards Glenn.
When he inched towards me, there was no softness in his touches along my hair — instead he gripped it hard enough for me to drop my hands from my chest and attempt to pull away. With his other hand, he traced around one of my yellowed bruises that had been left on the side of my breast by Daryl. The stupid smirk never left his face, not until another sharp sting whipped onto my cheek. “Hands to ourselves.” his voice was low, a warning about the lousy attack I attempted back in the other room.
.memories feel like weapons.
Notes:
woof…. things are getting heavy and heated. The governor can actually fight me.
Chapter 28: Till the end of the line
Summary:
His eyes, broken and blue, met mine.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it right back up and drop his eyes to the blood staining my skin. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, I knew that. He’d clam up and be angry, but he couldn’t just leave. Not with the man that hurt his family so deeply.
Chapter Text
.all that bloodshed, crimson clover.
It was silent mostly, after the three men left us. While Glenn offered Maggie his shirt, I picked around, what seemed to be a storage room of sorts, and found an abundance of empty suitcases. Crumpled up in one of them though, laid a button-up that must’ve belonged to a man Oscar or T-Dog’s size. It was better than nothing.
Maggie and I nestled our heads on Glenn’s shoulders, the world outside of us faded into a distant hum. We lingered in that tender silence, the kind that stretches into what feels like hours, simply grounding ourselves in each other's presence. I could distinctly hear the soft, spaced-out sniffles emanating from Maggie, each one a reminder of the emotions swirling within us; and each steady rise and fall of Glenn’s chest acted like a grounding pulse, anchoring me to the world as my mind momentarily drifted away from reality.
A brief conversation about what had happened in the other room took place, Glenn assuming the worst — Maggie cut him down; refusing to go into detail, only that he hadn’t raped us. All I could think about though, was how humiliating it was that Glenn saw me topless.
I despised my trauma response. How fucking insignificant and pointless? Of all of the horrifying actions taken against me… and all I cared about was my best friend seeing my boobs.
It was easier that way though — I knew that's why I always resorted to the pettiest issue in a time like that. Preoccupying my mind by worrying about and dealing with something so minor, something that nobody else would even remember, would help me minimize the real trauma. I could push it back longer. Ignore it. Pretend like the situation was a misunderstanding that got out of hand.
I hated myself.
I felt disgusting.
I wish my biggest issue was being topless in front of Glenn.
Maggie said something about worrying with walkers so much that you can forget what people do, and what they’ve always done — that triggered some more fight in Glenn. After shrugging me off his shoulder, he shuffled to the walker Merle set loose on him. Bending down, he grabbed the geek’s arm and snapped it backwards, pulling until bone poked through it’s forearm.
No discussion needed; the three of us got to work prying bones from the bastard’s body like scavengers and working on a game plan.
With Maggie and I at the opening of the door, we’d get the jump on whoever came in first, while Glenn stood behind us ready to (but hopefully wouldn’t have to) assist in the take down. He was injured some kind of awful, so our priority was just getting him out alive and back to Hershel.
My pulse quickened when keys jingled outside and began unlocking our door. We have to get out of here, I reminded myself, Glenn needs medical attention.
Adrenaline surged through my veins as Maggie pummeled out the door, taking down some guy in a collared vest. I dropped my weapon before I ever had the chance to use it as I was knocked backwards by an unexpected burning sensation skimming across my neck. With my knees hitting the concrete floor, I immediately brought my hand up to where my neck was bursting with scorching pain. Slippery and wet, I didn’t need to remove the hold on my wound to know I was bleeding. But I was confused — noises were faint, yet there was still obvious movement going on around me, it was as if I’d begun experiencing things in slow motion and all the sound became muffled background noise.
Unwillingly, my hand lifted from my neck as Merle snatched me up from the floor. “Oh, that is a nasty shot,” Merle crowed. “You can thank your buddy for that one. She needs ta watch who she kills. Dead man can’t control a trigger.” His voice was faint and I couldn’t truly hear the inflections in the tones, but I didn’t doubt how smug he was.
“I’m sorry --“ Maggie started, but the barrel of a gun was shoved to the back of her head by the same Latino from earlier.
To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what transpired that placed me in the line of fire — I don’t even remember hearing shots being fired. Then again, that offered me an explanation for the tinnitus.
We were ushered back into the room Maggie and I once sat in, several men trailing us to ensure no more funny business would take place. First me, then Glenn, then Maggie; each of us dropped to our knees. “Hey,” Glenn whispered over. His fingers brushed against mine, interlacing them together. “till the end of the line.” I shut my eyes tightly, squeezing his hand.
Till the end of the line.
A bag was placed over my head a few seconds later, indicating the inevitable was coming. I tried focusing on the throbbing pain in my neck, attempting to ignore the fear that began taking over. Daryl, Rick, Carl, Hershel, Beth, baby girl. When they found out — I wondered if they’d have enough time to mourn us before these people slaughtered them too.
“On your feet!” One of the men yelled, and I was jerked upwards.
The altercation that ensued as we left the room had all, six or seven of us, scrambling around in a smoky haze. I curved my fingers under the bag that covered my sight, pulling it off, right before a hand gripped my wrist and tugged me in a random direction.
The first person I saw clearly was Maggie, then Rick, who was helping her get free from the bag on her head. “Shit, girl,” Daryl’s familiar drawl muttered somewhere behind me. There wasn’t anytime for a celebratory reunion — swiftly, we moved as unit through whatever kind of barn we’d been held in, following a newcomer.
A slim woman with ebony skin and a katana held expertly in her hand led us out of our makeshift prison and guided us towards, what looked to be a store. Each of us slid inside, managing, somehow, to avoid detection.
“Rick, how did you find us?” Maggie blurted, sliding down next to Glenn, who sat on the floor, holding his bruised shoulder.
I pressed my back against a shelf, blinking multiple times in an attempt to reorient myself from all of the sudden jerks and spins. Things hadn’t been necessarily going well, but I was still trying to process the fact that I’d been shot, while everyone else scrambled to find a way out of the place. As I brought my hand back up to my neck, my eyes drifted around the room: Rick, Maggie, Glenn, Oscar, Daryl - “Rick, where’s that woman?” I asked, moving away from the shelf I’d begun leaning against.
She’d led us to the building, but I couldn’t remember if I actually watched her go inside or not. Rick ducked down to look through the window for a few seconds, shaking his head as he backed up. She was nowhere to be found. “She was right behind us,” he mumbled, waving his hand at the door in frustration.
“Want me ta go look for’er?” Daryl stepped up, a determined look etched across his features. But when he eyeballed me, he did so slowly, taking in the mess that I probably looked like. An extremely too big shirt, a likely bruise on my face, and blood clotting around my neck from some form of a gunshot wound.
“Daryl, this was Merle,” his head snapped down to Glenn, who was getting covered with a towel by Maggie. “It was. He did this.”
“You saw him?” Rick looked between the three of us.
“Face to face. Threw a walker at me.” Glenn confirmed.
“He was gonna execute us.” I winced as I brought my hand away from my neck. “Offered us up on a silver platter to this fucked up place.”
Daryl shuffled over, pulling his bandana through his belt loop, and held it up, silently asking to look at my wound. “S-So my brother's this governor?” Panic and confusion bloomed in steady notes across his features as the news seemed to wash over him.
“No, it's somebody else,” Maggie began, “your brother's his lieutenant or something.”
“Does he know I'm still with you?” He asked as he secured the bandana around my neck, working as a stopper for the bleeding.
I nodded. “We tried convincing him to wait for us to bring you back. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Rick, I'm sorry. We told him where the prison was. We couldn't hold out.” Glenn blurted.
“Don't. No need to apologize.” Rick shot him down. “They're gonna be looking for us. We have to get back.” He snuck another peek outside the window, watching out for any intruders that may be searching. “Can you walk? We got a car a few miles out.”
Glenn grunted as he stood. “I'm good.”
Rick turned to look at me, asking me the same question and received the same answer. I wasn’t really good though — I actually felt kind of unsteady, I just didn’t see any other option on getting out if I said I wasn’t okay. “Hey, if Merle's around, I need’a see him.” Daryl’s voice was littered with raw vulnerability, and it pained me to see those same emotions creeping across his face as he looked from me to Rick.
With a harsh sigh, Rick shook his head. “Not now. We're in hostile territory.”
“He's my brother. I ain't-- “
“Look at what he did!” Rick hissed, just above a whisper but not loud enough to get us caught. “Look, we gotta-- we gotta get out of here now.”
The forty-three year old man, suddenly warped into a boy no older than Carl. “Maybe I can talk to him. Maybe I can work something out.” Desperation. Yearning. Loss. They all etched over his features in sync.
“No, no, no.” Rick’s gaze bounced from Glenn and Maggie, then to me. “You're not thinking straight. Look, no matter what they say, they're hurt. Liberty’s been shot.” Daryl turned towards me again, surveying my injury. “Glenn can barely walk. How are we gonna make it out if we get overrun by walkers and this governor catches up to us?” Rick was truly doing the best he could in an impossible situation. Usually, I was quick to take Daryl’s side, but after being the victim of Merle-led bullshit, I struggled to bite my tongue in coaxing Daryl to give up on Merle. “I need you. Are you with me?”
Daryl was stiff, chewing on his bottom lip. I could tell how big of a weight this was on him, not only due to the pregnant pause in the air, but because I easily could’ve put myself in his shoes. No matter how shitty his brother might be, he still had hope that maybe, just maybe, there had been a miscommunication. Daryl’s eyes drifted to me, but I didn’t say a word, only offered him a mediocre smile. “Yeah,” he muttered.
And I hated it. The look on his face when he managed that lousy agreement. Like Rick didn’t get it — like nobody got it: the relationship he and Merle shared. How he was raised.
But I did; I wanted to tell him that, to ease his nerves. I wanted to say something that would take that edge off long enough for me to explain exactly what Merle had put us through.
My eldest sister was a true piece of work, and despite my better judgment, I also would've found myself grappling with the idea of abandoning her. No matter what anyone else claimed she might've done, there was a part of me that couldn't just let go. But Daryl—he had no clue what he was getting into. Once he caught wind of the truth, the severity of Merle’s actions, I doubted he'd be so eager to embrace his brother with open arms.
Or maybe he would.
Growing up the way that Daryl and I did, blood meant something. You don’t turn your back on family, you’re always supposed to be there for them to rely on. At the end of the day, blood ran thicker than water.
_____________
Things moved quickly after that and I wondered if it was too late to tell somebody that I wasn’t feeling so hot. I presumed it was though - whenever Rick offered me a machine gun and Daryl began peeking into the streets, looking for an opportune moment to drop a smoke bomb. I took one final deep breath before the action started. We filed out of the building and inched along the wall, veering to the left, away from the commotion that the smoke had caused.
Bullets whisked through the air like dangerous rain drops, accompanied by thunderous gunfire and lightning flashes of gunpowder, our group skirted through the storm unscathed. I stuck close to Oscar, leaning on him incrementally as we made short pauses to keep our company tight. I felt bad, but he seemed to be the only one focused on corralling us all together — so at least if I lost consciousness, I had hope that Oscar would take notice.
Our surroundings were thick with swirling smoke from the grenades Daryl had been hurling, wrapping us in a dense shroud that concealed our whereabouts from the Woodbury residents, but also made it significantly harder to get a solid shot in. Before my shit aim could piss me off though, we moved into a covered alleyway.
It concealed us, but just barely. “How many?” I heard Rick ask from further back.
“Don't matter.” Daryl answered. “There's gonna be more of them. We need to move.” He reloaded his gun quickly.
“Any grenades left?” Rick moved forward some, crouching next to me. I swallowed thickly when he bumped into me — it wasn’t rough, but it nearly threw off my balance that I worked so hard to maintain. “Get 'em ready. We gotta gun it to the wall.”
“You guys go ahead,” Daryl said, handing Glenn another gun. “I’m gonna lay down some cover fire.”
“No, we’ve got to stay together.” Maggie snapped.
“It’s too hairy. I’ll be right behind you.” He turned towards me with, what I presumed to be, ammunition in his hand, but stopped short. “Hey, somebody cover her, she ain’t lookin’ so hot. Libs, y’alright?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself enough to answer, a great wave of dizziness still lingering around.
“Libby,” this time it was Rick.
“Let’s get outta here. I need to sit down.” It came out a lot weaker than I intended, but with a quick ‘Let’s go,’ from Rick, I prepared to move.
“Ay,” Daryl called, but he wasn’t looking at me. “Keep an eye on’er.” He told Oscar.
That wasn’t fair; with all the ricocheting bullets and people out for blood, my safety couldn’t be prioritized in this situation. It was dodgy territory. But the group was moving before I could protest like I so badly wanted to.
Rick covered us as we made a run for a bus that had been conveniently positioned in front of a barrier wall. Oscar hoisted himself onto the hood effortlessly, then reached down to grab my hand. By the time I’d made it on top of the bus, Glenn was being pulled up — but the crack of a gunshot echoed unmistakably close, and Oscar doubled over off of the bus.
My heart sank and I didn’t think I’d be able to move through the smoky haze surrounding me — not until Glenn pressed me to keep going, lifting me from my shock.
The drop down from the bus to the other side of the wall took a toll on both me and Glenn, our injuries getting the best of us. We scuttled along the side of the train tracks that lined the fence, squatting low to keep cover. My head was aching, but at the mention of a lagging Daryl, my ears perked up, hoping to catch the sound of his footsteps coming from on top of the bus. When I heard nothing, I ducked further down to check under the train car. Instead of Daryl, I saw the woman that had helped break us out earlier, army crawling our way, blood trickling down her forehead.
I didn’t know whether to greet her with open arms, or let Rick know that she was back, so I opted for a half-hearted smile as she shimmied up from the ground. “Where the hell were you?” Rick growled, his gun clicking of safety before the woman was able to fully stand. “Put your hands up. Turn around. Turn around.” The katana she’d been armed with was pulled from its sheath. “Get what you came for?” He hissed dangerously.
The woman scanned over us before setting her eyes back on Rick. “Where are the rest of your people?”
“Oscar got shot.” I mumbled.
“Daryl is missing. You didn't see him?” Maggie had her gun trained as well, and I wondered if maybe I was too trusting of the woman who was shaking her head at Maggie’s question.
“If anything happens to him--“
“I brought you here to save them.” The lady cut Rick off, admirably calm considering the circumstances.
“Thanks for the help.” He shot back.
“You'll need help to get them back to the prison or to go back in there for Daryl.” She reason. “Either way, you need me.”
Rick hesitated, but considered what the woman had to say as his eyes landed anxiously on me and Glenn. I knew Glenn was undoubtedly more black and blue than I even came close to, but I didn’t love the way Rick was focusing on my wound, and I fought tooth and nail not to reach up and touch my neck in fear that it had soaked through the bandana.
I didn’t give much thought to my words, only on how weak I sincerely felt when I said them, “Rick, I don’t know how much longer I can go without getting sick or passing out. I need to sit down sooner rather than later. Glenn might have internal bleeding.”
He stared at me in a spurt of silence, jaw tense and sweat pooling down his neck. I knew why he didn’t trust the woman, but I hoped for mine and Glenn’s sake, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Lead them back where we parked the cars,” Rick said. “Get them some water and sit tight.”
“And you’re going back for Daryl.” Her question was more of a statement, but Rick didn’t see it that way.
“We don’t abandon our people.” He snapped, though, he slowly began handing her sword back. “You get them there and stay put. We’ll meet y’all there directly.”
____________
The heavy humidity hung in the air like a thick veil, clinging to my skin and making it feel almost tacky. Normally, such discomfort would gnaw at me, but given the pulsating ache radiating from my temples and the stinging wound on my neck, the sensation of my sticky skin barely registered on my list of concerns.
I had inspected my condition in the visor mirror as soon as we arrived, and finally understood the haunting looks people had been giving me — I was actually sure that it was the same look I’d been giving to Glenn since we reconnected back in the room. Blood was an overwhelming accent to all of my features: caked in my unruly mess of hair, dried in large splatters across my cheek, stained the collar and shoulder of my oversized button up, soaked through the bandana had tied around it to stop the bleeding. I appeared to have just stepped off the screen of a gory horror movie co-starring alongside Van Helsing.
Of course, it looked much worse than it really was.
When I uncovered my neck and poured some water over the dried and encrusted blood surrounding the initial injury, I found that it was an atrocious flesh wound, but a flesh wound nonetheless. More than likely I’d been grazed by a stray bullet rather than impacted entirely, or it could’ve been a ricocheted piece — either way, I was glad to know I hadn’t been running around with a hole in my neck.
But something that had surprised me, was the bruise that had taken formation under my eye. A throbbing reminder of the man that called himself ‘the governor’.
It had been hours since we escaped Woodbury, and just as the sun broke over the horizon, gradually spilling soft golden hues across the sky, I heard a hushed call through the woods.
In perfect sync, Glenn, the woman, and I stood up from where we’d leaned against the car, relieved to finally be reunited with our family. But my heart raced when I saw Merle accompanying the very people he’d recently tried killing. Rick raised his hand carefully, unsure of which one of us to look at, “Now, we got a problem here, I need you to back up —”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Glenn demanded, pulling his gun out, training it on the older Dixon. It seemed that the three of us were still in sync, because just as the woman unsheathed her sword, I instinctively grabbed for the pistol at my side.
“Hey, hey, hey, put it down!” Daryl hollered, shifting himself in front of his brother as a human shield to mine and Glenn’s weapons.
“He tried to kill me!” The woman shrieked, not flinching an inch when Rick pulled his Python out and aimed it at her.
I don’t think I’d ever seen Glenn full of burning rage until then. “If it wasn't for him — ” he started, pointing to Merle.
“He helped us get out of there.” Daryl interrupted.
“Yeah, right after he beat the shit out of you,” Rick added.
Merle cackled, leaning back against a thick tree. He was clearly taking none of our threats seriously. “Hey, we both took our licks, man.”
“Jackass,” Daryl grumbled.
“Enough!” Rick hollered, a close cry to one that could’ve been from his law-enforcement days.
A chorus of ‘back up’ ‘hey’ ‘put it down’ and ‘shut up’ echoed through the trees, surely attracting any nearby walkers and alerting them of our location. The image of Merle just — standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face had me more than tempted to fire off a warning shot, only to let him know we were being serious.
Glenn made to move closer, but Daryl knocked the weapon he held out of the way. “Get that thing outta my face!”
Merle slid a little lower against the tree he was leaning on, chuckling breathily, “Man, looks like you’ve gone native, brother.”
“No more than you hangin’ out with that psycho back there,” Daryl whirled on his brother.
“Oh, yeah, man, he is a charmer, I gotta tell you that,” Merle droned. His gaze drifted to the woman with the katana. “Been putting the wood to your girlfriend Andrea — big time, baby.” He moaned, openly mocking the lady so obnoxiously that I almost didn’t catch that last bit of what he said.
“What?” I scrunched my brows, ultimately lowering my gun and turning to look at the woman.
Glenn’s eyes slid between Merle and the woman, “Andrea’s in Woodbury?”
“Right next to the Governor,” Daryl spat.
Confusion and regret wrapped around me like a thick fog — I had buried Andrea back on the farm, hadn’t I? It felt like a lifetime ago, and maybe in this world, it was. I still remembered that fateful night when she whispered that she would return for me and urged me to remain where I was. With the fear of being overrun by walkers though, I left my hiding spot. Knowing she was alive — there was mountains of wonder I now needed to work through.
I was so consumed with the revelation, I made no attempt to assist in containing chaos from erupting. Truthfully — when the woman made a play for Merle, swiftly raising her sword and darting forwards, I secretly hoped she’d maim him. “I told you to drop that,” Rick snarled, blocking her from getting to her target. “You know Andrea?” The woman remained silent, holding Rick’s powering gaze with resilience. There was something so unbearably strong about this womans character, I almost admired how firm she held herself.
“Yep, she does!” Merle bellowed. Rick’s eyes never left hers. “Her and blondie spent all winter cuddling up in the forest. Mm-mmm-mmm , yeah.” Rick grimaced, making a small gesture to look at Merle as he continued. “My Nubian queen here had two pet walkers. No arms, cut off the jaws, kept them in chains. Kind of ironic now that I think about it.”
“Shut up, bro.” Daryl snapped at him.
In true Merle fashion, he kept talking. “Hey, man, we snagged them out of the woods. Andrea was close to dying.”
“Is that why she’s with him?” Maggie asked.
“Snug as two little bugs.” Merle grinned, then faced Rick directly, a permanent grin etched on his lips. “So what you gonna do now, Sheriff, huh? Surrounded by a bunch of liars, thugs, and cowards.”
“Shut up!” Rick’s patience was being tested, and I tightened my grip on my lowered gun.
Which must not have gone unnoticed by Merle.
“Oh, man, look at this. Pathetic. All these guns and no bullets in them.” Merle inched forward, just enough to have Daryl whipping around again.
“Merle, shut up!”
“Shut up yourself! Bunch of pussies you roll — ”
Fortunately, Merle didn’t have the chance to complete his thought. The butt of Rick’s Python struck the back of his skull as he pushed away from the tree and made determined steps toward the group. Once Merle hit the ground unconscious, I finally turned the safety off of my gun. “Asshole,” Rick muttered, rolling his eyes at the sight.
We left Merle sprawled under the trees, but still within our eye-sight. Lucky for him, we weren't monsters — we’d actually give a shit if walkers came to attack his defenseless body.
From the jump, Daryl began fighting for Merle’s innocence and restlessly urging to have him join our group. Nobody had told him all of the horrible things his brother had done yet. How, if their rescue mission would’ve been delayed by just a few more seconds, our blood would’ve been directly on Merle’s hands. It wasn’t until Maggie finally laid her foot down, did I see Daryl’s features return to that of a little boy, desperate and clinging to all that he’d ever known. His older brother.
And didn’t know that look as much as I knew that feeling bubbling inside of him. I was already disappointed in the likely outcome.
“Do you really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?” Glenn asked, his eyes scanning the close proximity of which I stood to Daryl. Side by side, arms not quite touching, but close enough that I could if I truly wanted to. “Or Libby?”
“He ain’t a rapist.” Daryl argued.
“Well, his buddy is.” Glenn shot back. Maggie shifted uncomfortably next to Glenn, and I didn’t necessarily blame her for the atrocious glare she served him — I knew Glenn was trying to fight for her, for *us*, but reality was still so fresh, and rape was a strong and damning word to claim.
“They ain’t buddies no more, not after last night,” Daryl claimed.
Rick shook his head. “There’s no way Merle’s going to live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats.”
"So you’re gonna cut Merle loose and bring the last samurai home with us?” Daryl scoffed, nodding over to the woman.
“She’s not coming back,” Rick said.
“She’s not in a fit state to be on her own,” Maggie pointed out. Over by the SUV, the woman leaned against it with a glimmer in her eye that told me she knew exactly what we were talking about. “At least let my dad stitch her up.”
“She’s too unpredictable.” He was protecting our people, no matter how ornery that made him.
“That’s right,” Daryl agreed, “We don’t know who she is. But Merle -- Merle’s blood.”
“No,” Glenn disagreed. “Merle is your blood. My blood, my family is standing right here and waiting for us back at the prison.”
“And you’re part of that family. But he’s not.” Rick looked to the woods where the an unconscious Merle began to stir. “He’s not.”
A wave of dread washed over me as I glanced back at the older Dixon, struggling to pull himself off the ground. The memories of yesterday’s chaos lingered like a shadow, a constant reminder of why I’d never feel at ease around Merle Dixon again. He leaned against a tree, wincing as he massaged his shoulder, the vulnerability stark against his usual bravado.
“Man, y’all don't know!” Daryl growled, his frustration piquing. “Fine,” he sighed, heavily. “We’ll fend for ourselves.”
Glenn’s shoulders dropped. “That’s not what I was saying.”
His face was bundled with concern, but Daryl still relented. “No him, no me,” he said.
Maggie's voice cut through the tension, soft and kind as she pleaded, "You don’t have to do that." Her intentions were good, but the moment had spiraled beyond her reach. We had drifted deep into treacherous territory—territory that felt thick with an insidious undercurrent.
Daryl, however, merely shook his head at her concerns, resolute and unmoved. “It was always Merle and I before this.”
“You serious?” Glenn asked. “You’re just going to leave like that?”
“You’d do the same thing.” But the situations weren’t comparable, and Daryl didn’t seem to comprehend that. Or at least, he didn’t want to.
“What do you want us to tell Carol?” Glenn attempted. We’d only just found out she’d survived the harrowing day we lost Lori and T-Dog — and her savior was trying to leave.
Daryl’s lips formed a brief line, but he nodded, so sure of himself. “She’ll understand.” There was a calmness in his voice, one that made me feel like I’d been utterly useless in this argument, when really — I’d already seen the end product before it ever started. I was already trying to accept it. “Say goodbye to your pops for me,” he said, tipping his chin up to Maggie before walking towards Merle.
My feet carried me alongside Glenn, Maggie, and Rick, as their protest fell on deaf ears, but I had none of my own. Was it shock? It didn’t make sense, because I wasn’t shocked; just disappointed.
“There’s got to be another way.” Rick’s words were open-ended, but his head turned to the side, his eyes meeting mine briefly. My steps continued alongside Rick, wondering if he was implicating me to say something.
Daryl stopped at his words, whirling around to look at us. “Don’t ask me to leave him. I already did that once.”
“We started something last night,” Rick hissed, as we began walking again. And again. Rick’s eyes flicked to mine. “You realize that?”
Daryl and I didn’t have a complicated relationship — as a matter of fact, it was extremely straightforward and to the point. We were really good friends, we had really good sex, and we engaged in really deep conversation. Of course; that’s ignoring the obvious crush I had on him and all of the other intense emotions that had developed between the two of us over the course of our friendship and extremely hot sex.
“Dar,” I interjected finally, as he opened the trunk of the SUV. This argument had already gone south, but I needed to hold onto faith that he’d understand the severity if someone would just throw him another bone. “Dar, he did this.” Placing a hand on his arm to stop him from reaching inside the vehicle, I motioned with my other to the dried blood that covered one side of my shoulder area. “Look at Glenn. Daryl, he knew you were back at the prison, but he didn’t want to wait for you.”
His eyes, broken and blue, met mine.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it right back up and drop his eyes to the blood staining my skin. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, I knew that. He’d clam up and be angry, but he couldn’t just leave. Not with the man that hurt his family so deeply.
I sighed, “I even offered to stay with him as collateral. He -- Daryl, he sent the governor in to humiliate me and Maggie. He made us --“ my voice broke, the lump in my throat becoming too much. Everything was becoming too much. “Please, Dar.”
A greater woman wouldn’t beg like I was, but Daryl didn’t deserve to be pulled down and lumped with someone like his brother. He was so much better. Deserved so much more.
Daryl sent me a sad, resolute smile. He’d made his decision and tears clouded my vision. “No him, no me. That’s all I can say.” He rummaged through the trunk, ignoring another protest from Rick. “Take care of yourself. Take care of Lil Ass-Kicker. Carl. He’s one tough kid.” He reached his hand out, carefully touching my unbloodied shoulder. “M’sorry.”
_____________
I was aware of the ride stopping: Of Maggie, Glenn, and Rick getting out, them arguing over what had happened a few miles back, Glenn furiously slamming the door when he re-entered the vehicle after they’d moved the truck from blocking the road. I just didn’t care enough to make any effort in helping.
My eyes stayed fixed on the back of the drivers seat, replaying every scene over the past twenty-four hours, trying to find the exact moment that all was lost. Each time, it was always at the mention of Merle. As soon as he appeared outside the store the day prior, I should’ve signed any hold I may have had on Daryl away, right then and there. He’d always choose his brother — his blood.
Why couldn’t he see that he was better than that? Did he think we cared so little about him that him leaving wouldn’t affect us? At the rate questions popped into my head, my sadness twisted into anger.
I trusted him with things I didn’t trust anyone with. My vulnerability had become unguarded entirely around Daryl Dixon, and he threw it back in my face. Glenn was my very best friend, but I trusted Daryl with my nastiest, most awful side. He knew the stories of the scars on my thighs and I could almost still feel the way he gently touched them anytime we were intimate, careful not to startle me. I’d confessed some of the shady shit Lacey would involve me in, even when I was just visiting for a few weeks after I’d moved to Georgia. We bonded over the dumpster fire that was our childhood and the not knowing of our siblings fates in the world as it was now.
Daryl knew of all the unspeakable, horrible things my father did to my body — and he wasn’t stupid, he could take a hint, he knew what Glenn and I had both implied that his own brother had subjected Maggie and I to.
And he didn’t care.
I had become so deeply attached to him that it was as if he had woven himself into the very fabric of my being. I could feel his presence pulsating through my veins, a constant reminder of how intertwined our lives had become. Every shared moment, every laugh and whisper, had solidified our connection. And he just left.
.uh-huh, sweet dream was over.
Notes:
is Libby entering her justified villain era? yes.
do we have beef w Daryl for leaving? yes.
will we also have beef w Glenn for kind of making the SA ab himself? yes.also, the reference for ‘till the end of the line’ is from Captain America/CA:TWS, and I KNOW it came out technically after the apocalypse would’ve started…. but for the sake of Libby and Glenn’s dorky friendship, let’s just pretend.
hope y’all love it and I appreciate all of the wonderful comments I’ve been getting 🩷 they keep me inspired.
Chapter 29: facts through all of my fury
Summary:
"He had fish tanks full of heads," Michonne declared, her voice steady and unwavering. “Walkers and humans. Trophies. He’s coming.” The finality in her tone twisted my stomach into knots, a chill creeping down my spine.
"We should hit him now," Glenn responded.
“Quick,” I nodded, thinking of a speedy plan. “Dip in and dip out before anyone notices he’s dead.”
Chapter Text
.and there are some people, love.
My anger bubbled deep, but when I saw Carol waiting at the gate as we drove up, it temporarily dissipated. She really was alive and doing perfectly fine. Daryl had done at least one more good thing before he left us.
I barreled out of the car, not giving thought to whether Rick had actually put it in park yet or not. Carol’s arms were open and welcoming, she pulled me into a tight hug that made all of my aches throb, but I didn’t care, because she was holding onto me in a way that felt like home. When she finally released me, her eyes were trained on someone approaching, and I heard the car driving off again.
“Where’s Daryl?” She asked in a panic.
I turned to see Rick, a forced calm on his face as he neared. “It’s alright.” He assured, and it took everything in me not to scoff. “He’s alive. We ran into his brother. They went off.”
“He left?” She asked, stricken with confusion. “Daryl left?” Her eyes were trained on me now and I felt that anger boiling back up. “He -- he’s gone? Is he coming back?”
My jaw clenched, I shook my head, willing myself not to lash out. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault — he made that choice and nobody else deserved to receive the consequences.
I wasn’t his keeper.
Rick started walking towards the prison, Carl alongside. “And Oscar?” Carl questioned.
My fury burned even hotter as I replayed the events in my mind. Daryl had thrusted the responsibility of keeping me safe onto Oscar when we were escaping Woodbury, and that decision likely sealed Oscar’s fate. If only he hadn't been so consumed with making sure I was on that bus, he might have stood a better chance—maybe he would have escaped sooner.
Daryl indebted me to someone else because he was too busy looking for a chance to find his brother.
I knew that’s why he wasn’t really following us up to the bus. He was buying whatever time he could on the of chance he’d see Merle, even if that meant putting everyone else at risk. If he would’ve just followed, Oscar would be alive, and he, himself wouldn’t have been taken by the Woodbury soldiers.
He was so stupid.
And I hated that I couldn’t see the facts through all of my fury.
By the time we made it across the yard, Hershel and the others were waiting for us by the door to c-block. Rick told Hershel that I’d probably need stitches and to be examined for infection, but I insisted Glenn go first — after all, he was the one with possible internal injuries. I could wait.
“Come on,” Beth held her arm out. “I’ll at least get you cleaned up so daddy can get a better look.” I was grateful for the halo effect that she brought with her everywhere, or else I feared I may have shrugged her off and hurt her feelings.
Instead, I followed behind and became acutely aware of newcomers in our common area as we entered the prison. Three men and a young woman, probably around my age. I wondered if they’d been welcomed by Daryl when he was still improvising as leader, or by Rick before they left to rescue us from Woodbury. I truly couldn’t see either of them being so trusting of anyone.
Beth sat me down on a bottom bunk and dipped a rag into some river water. “Carl found them while y’all were gone. They seem nice.” I assumed she’d read my confused face when we passed through, and was talking about the strangers.
“Your dad seem okay with them?”
She nodded. “But he said it’s gonna be up to Rick.” I winced when she brushed over the raw area of my flesh where the bullet must’ve struck. “Sorry.”
I brushed her off, “it’s okay.”
“Maggie said Daryl didn’t come back. That he found his brother.” Beth said, dabbing my wound light as a feather. “Are you okay?”
The question took me by a bit of surprise. I never envisioned anyone asking how I felt about anything — or about anyone’s sudden departure from the group. I don’t know why, I just didn’t see myself as a person someone wants insight about anything from. “Angry,” I responded.
“I never thought he’d leave you or Carol behind. You should’ve seen how happy he was when he found her yesterday.” Beth’s lips were turned in a sad smile as she reminisced of something that had happened so frequent.
My mouth twisted in disgust at the emotional pain Daryl was now inflicting on the people in our group. I’d never wish harm on Daryl Dixon — inconvenience was a different story; and I hoped a flurry of them were happening to him at that very moment. I hoped he accidentally disturbed a wasps nest, for the anguished look on Carol’s face; I hoped he lost his ‘lucky’ bolt, for the sadness in Beth’s words; I hoped his socks got wet and rubbed blisters on his ankles, for abandoning us.
It wasn’t fair that he let all of us care for him and then left.
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Daryl POV
_____________
There was a part of me that hoped Rick would change his mind — or that maybe that girl would shift gears n’ haul ass to follow me, but night drifted over and there wutn’t no signs of either of’em. I didn’t blame’em. I shouldn’t’a left, but I couldn’t abandon Merle, not after I just got him back.
He’s my brother, my blood, and the only person that ever gave a shit about me before all this. Everyone else had each other, but Merle — he didn’t have nobody. Not anymore.
Neither did I, now that I chose Merle.
And as much as I tried not to focus on what I left behind, it seemed to me like Merle knew exactly what was on my mind. “Ya made the right choice, little brother,” he said, leaning back against a tall oak tree.
I pushed the ash around in the fire we’d built. “Mhm,” I nodded my chin up. There wutn’t much I felt like sayin’. I made my bed, n’ now I was lying in it. Blood was thicker than water.
“Oh, don’t tell me yer missin’ the gang already,” he chided, urging me for more conversation.
“Nope.” But I did. I could lie to both him and myself that I didn’t miss them one bit, but it’d be just that; a lie. Right about now, the baby’d probably be ready to eat. I remembered that before they left on their run, Libby told Glenn and Maggie she’d take a turn with little ass-kicker that night. She’d insisted I pre-fill some bottles and put them beside her bed while they were gone.
Carol was probably happy to find out I actually moved into a cell — or maybe she wutn’t since I wouldn’t be in it anymore.
“Seems ta me you got a lot on yer mind,” Merle tried again. It was silent for about thirty seconds (which seemed to be a record for him keepin’ his trap shut), before a quiet, breathy cackle filled the space between us. “I know what it is,” he claimed, smugly. “Got yerself a little tail, n’ now yer heads all messed up, huh?”
Still, I refused to buy into his bullshit, but he could never just leave well enough alone. “Oh, c’mon little brother,” he shifted forward, resting his hands on knees. “I seen them hickeys all over her tits. You tellin’ me that wutn’t you? Ya know, she told me that you’d come for her. Got me thinkin’ she mighta meant it in a different -- “
“Ain’t none’a yer business.” I said, biting the bait.
“It is if I gotta worry bout you runnin’ off on me, huh? She got you chained, boy? You gonna dip out the next time you get a hankerin’ for a little pussy?” He was startin’ to get that tone our Pa always got whenever he was lookin’ for somethin’ to get mad about. And in the dim light of the fire, he even looked like him. He’d probably beat me like him too if I said any’a that out loud.
I shook my head, throwing a stick into the fire. “Nah, she ain’t nothin’,” I lied, as I got comfortable on the forest floor. “I’ll take second watch.”
Merle muttered something under his breath, words barely audible, and to tell the truth, I had no real desire to decipher what he was saying. I’s tired of dwelling on the prison—the cold, damp walls and the haunting faces of those I had left behind. Every time I allowed my mind to wander back to that place, a lump lodged itself in my throat, pressing and painful, urging me to break down into tears.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
"So, what now?" Beth asked, the moonlight dancing across her features as she cradled tiny Judith in her arms. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. "You think the Governor will retaliate?"
“I would if I were in his shoes. He’d be a shitty leader not to take action after everything that happened,” I pointed out.
"Let him try," Glenn shot, bitterness shrouding his face.
Carol shifted uncomfortably. "Sounds like he's got a whole town. We're outnumbered and outgunned."
"We could use some reinforcements," Hershel gave a suggestive nod towards the common space where the group of newcomers were being held.
Rick reluctantly agreed to at least speak with the strangers — which considering the way things have been, is a step in the right direction. The group of four didn’t look all that threatening, but I suppose that wasn’t saying much these days. A broad man, wearing a grey beanie, who had the kindest eyes, introduced himself as Tyreese, politely offering Rick his hand.
Tyreese gave off a vibe that instantly took me back to that first encounter with Dale. It wasn’t an air of bravado he carried, but rather a profound kindness that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. There was something about him—genuine and sincere—that made him feel like a safe harbor amidst the chaos the apocalypse was unleashing on the world. Just like Dale, Tyreese had that rare ability to make you feel accepted and understood, a reminder that decency could still exist even in the darkest times.
We needed people like him; hell, we needed people in general, and there they were, presenting themselves to us on a silver platter. Willing to pull their weight and take our side in a battle that they knew nothing about.
But of course; it made too much sense for Rick to welcome them into the fold. Nothing was allowed to come without an argument or someone pleading for him to listen. I knew he was doing his damndest to protect us, especially after we’d lost so many, but I don’t know if he realized that he’d condemned us to the hands of Woodbury after his mental breakdown in the common area.
I had never considered myself an angry person. Even after enduring the hardships of my childhood, I managed to avoid the bitterness that often consumed others with similar experiences. But something shifted when Daryl turned his back on me — a fierce fire ignited within me, a smoldering rage that I had never felt before.
I was so relentlessly angry that I couldn’t be bothered to check on Rick’s mental health like Hershel asked me to. It was consuming. I needed to handle my own psychological stability before I even thought about approaching anyone else about theirs.
As a matter of fact; Rick was such a loose cannon lately, that he probably would’ve just doused gasoline on the already blazing flames of my own fire.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
The sun hung high in the sky, casting dappled shadows on the ground, while the sounds of nature seem to mock our lack of progress. We been out in the woods since daylight, trudging through an endless stretch of not shit, nothin’ but some scrapes and sore muscles to show that we even moved from the campsite the night before. I could feel my annoyance bubbling up, growing stronger with each passing minute, n’ I was startin’ to wonder if this had all been pointless — Merle sure as shit wutn’t worried about finding no food or shelter.
It was up to me to figure shit out, just like it’d always been. If it didn’t involve booze, drugs, or women, Merle’d wait til he was up shit creek before he started tryin’. It didn’t make no sense to me anymore. Why couldn’t he just do his part? We didn’t need Rick n’ them, but I couldn’t carry us like I used to, not with the way things are these days.
Hell, even with me puttin’ in all the effort, he was still being too smug to help me out. We done passed several houses, some cars, n’ we coulda followed some tracks this morning, but he moaned about it bein’ an old trail. It wutn’t. He just didn’t wanna listen to me s’all.
"There ain't nothin' out here but mosquitoes 'n ants," I grumbled when Merle stepped away to take a piss.
"Patience, little brother," Merle said, unbothered by our situation. "Sooner or later, a squirrel's bound to scurry across your path."
"Even so, that ain't much food."
"More 'n nothin'."
"I'd have better luck goin' through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff."
“Is that what your, uh, new friends taught you?" he asked, zipping up his fly with a sly grin. "Hmm? How to loot for booty?"
"Man, we've been at it for hours," I replied, adjusting my bow to keep my hands busy and my frustration at bay. "Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?"
Merle scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he crouched down across from me “I think you're just tryna lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison."
"They got shelter," I argued, relaxing back against the rough bark of a tree, trying to dodge his intense stare. “Food. A pot to piss in — might not be a bad idea."
"For you, maybe. Ain't gon' be no damn party for me." he fired back, bitterness lacing his words. There was something in his tone I couldn't quite grasp, a tension hovering just beneath the surface.
"Everyone'll get used to each other.”
They would, wouldn’t they? If I went back—maybe even begged—there was a chance things could change. If Merle could just muster up an apology or keep to himself, Glenn would eventually get over what happened. Libby and Maggie, they could keep their distance until the governor was handled, maybe give Merle a chance to prove himself. He wutn’t all that bad—he was no worse than me, really—and they didn’t seem to mind having me around. People just needed to open their hearts and give him a shot.
Idly, I aimed my crossbow, still tryna get it re-set from when it got stolen from me in Woodbury. I got ready to say we could probably make it there in time for dinner if we started that way, but Merle spoke first, "They're all dead. Makes no difference."
"How can you be so sure?" A coil of panic began to tighten in my chest.
"Right about now, he's probably hostin' a housewarmin' party where he's gon' bury what's left of your pals.” he said casually, his nonchalance only fueling my rising anxiety. “Even your pretty little girlfriend.”
“Ain’t like that,” I snapped back, finally turning to face him again.
I should’ve known better than to respond to his antics, but I couldn’t stop the words from coming out. Girlfriend was foreign territory. I didn’t have girlfriends. My sorry ass damn sure didn’t deserve a girlfriend after abandoning the one girl that seemed to have any sort of interest in me.
Libby probably hated me now.
Even if I could convince Merle to come to the prison, ain’t no way things would be the same between Libby and me. Especially not with him lurking around constantly. Whatever chance I had to make anything happen between us was gone.
That obnoxious lump reappeared in my throat, threatening tears to escape my eyes.
Merle looked delighted in making me uncomfortable, but strangely enough, he didn’t give me no more shit about it. Instead, he spat on the ground, “let’s hook some fish.”
I followed his lead, but couldn’t push down that lump any more than I already had — Libby probably hated me.
I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve listened more to what she was sayin’, to what they were all sayin’. Now they were down both me and Oscar, n’ the governor was probably rollin’ up to the prison now. Libby. Carol. Ass-kicker. They were all more vulnerable now and I wutn’t there to help them. All cause I had to stay loyal to my dumbass of a brother.
Why couldn’t he have listened to them when they said they’d bring me to him? Why did he have to be so fucking stubborn? Libby offered herself up as collateral and it don’t make no sense why he wouldn’t’ve just stayed. None of this had to happen. Merle would’ve been an asset to the group if he’d’a just given people a chance.
I wanted to go back.
I didn’t want that last encounter to be the final chapter in my story with Libby. Even if she hated me, I still wanted to see her again. My throat started closing up again — I hated that I felt something for her.
I hated it even more cause I’s pretty sure I knew exactly what it was.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I pressed my lips together, my gaze locked on the chalk diagram sprawled across the floor as I contemplated our half-assed plan. A fire of fury still burned through me, igniting memories that felt like daggers—T and Lori lost, Merle kidnapping us and the pain he inflicted on Glenn, the sexual assault of the governor, Daryl's abandonment, Rick’s decision to send Tyreese away. The weight of it all was suffocating, and my anger swelled, impossible to contain any longer. I wanted to sink my teeth violently into all of Woodbury as an act of revenge.
Hit them before they hit us.
Roadblock after roadblock though. We had limited ammo, limited people, and several breaches in the fucking prison. At that rate, it felt like the governor could stroll through the gates, execute us without hesitation, and seize control of the prison with minimal resistance. Our situation was already desperate, and the stakes couldn't be higher.
"Why are we even so sure he's gonna attack?" Beth wondered aloud. "Maybe you scared him off."
"He had fish tanks full of heads," Michonne declared, her voice steady and unwavering. “Walkers and humans. Trophies. He’s coming.” The finality in her tone twisted my stomach into knots, a chill creeping down my spine.
"We should hit him now," Glenn responded.
“Quick,” I nodded, thinking of a speedy plan. “Dip in and dip out before anyone notices he’s dead.”
"What?" Beth demands, her tone sharp with disbelief.
"He won't be expecting it," Glenn explains exactly what I’m thinking. "We'll sneak back in and put a bullet in his head."
“I doubt they’ll be expecting us to come back for seconds after we got all of our people out.” I shrugged my shoulders.
"We're not assassins," Carol said, clearly discouraging the plan.
"You know where his apartment is." Glenn rose, slipping across the room to stare down Michonne. “We could end this tonight." Calm and collected, she only looked at him, like she was weighing how honest his words were. “I’ll do it myself—“
“I’m coming with you,” I interjected. The desire to wreak havoc on Woodbury and the governor, made holding back my displeasure at not being included difficult.
Glenn spun around, his frustration palpable, and fixed me with a glare that felt like a slap. “No, Libby. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here.”
I couln’t wrap my mind around what I was hearing. Glenn, my closest friend, was treating me like I was some fragile piece of glass, barking orders like Shane used to. It felt surreal, and another surge of anger mixed with disbelief washed over me. “Well, lucky for me, I don't take orders from you.” I shot back. “So, yeah, I’ll be there.”
My smug smile must've pushed a button somewhere inside of him because I could feel the venom he was getting ready to spew, but Hershel beat him to the punch. “He didn't know you were coming last time, and look what happened. You were almost killed. Daryl was captured. And you, Maggie, and Libby were almost executed."
"You can't stop me.” I’d never heard Glenn’s voice get as cold as it had then, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t uncomfortable with the way he was glaring at Hershel.
Hershel looked over him, calmly. "Rick would never allow this.”
"You really think he's in any position to make that choice?" Glenn asked.
“He isn’t,” I piped in. “I haven’t given it much effort or time, but Rick’s mental stability is clearly shaky. Grief strikes people in peculiar ways, and we already know he was hearing voices, hallucinations wouldn’t be a far jump.”
Hershel looked from Glenn, to me, then back to Glenn, before sighing heavily. “Think this through clearly. T-Dog lost his life here — Lori, too. The men that were here. It isn't worth any more killin'. What're we waiting for? If he's really on his way, we should be out of here by now."
"And go where?" Glenn’s head bobbled.
"We lived on the road all winter." Hershel countered.
"Back when you had two legs and we didn't have a baby crying for walkers every four hours." Ice shot through my veins in a burst of shock at Glenn’s reminder. Oh, we were so fucked.
"We can't stay here," Hershel persists.
"We can't run.” Glenn’s answer was resolute, but so was Maggie’s abrupt exit.
“We either strike by night when they aren’t expecting it, or—“
Glenn interrupted, “We, doesn’t include you.”
I snapped my mouth shut, desperately attempting to measure my words before I said them. Glenn was my friend. Things were rocky right now, but that didn’t change the fact that he was my best friend. My lips drew in a tight line, “Guess you’re down two more people then Captain,” striding across the room, I hurried to the courtyard door. “Ya know, since neither me or Maggie are allowed to do anything now.”
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Daryl POV
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“The shit you doin', pointin' that thing at me?" Merle's voice was a low growl, heavy with frustration as he finally caught up with me after I left him out on that bridge.
"They were scared, man," I said, navigating my way around the dense bushes.
"They were rude, is what they were," he retorted, each step of his heavy boots shattering the careful progress I'd made. "Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude." His anger crackled in the air as he trudged behind me, determination in every stomp.
It felt like this was his role throughout my life—blazing through every moment I tried to harness. No matter what I did, he had an uncanny ability to upend it, twisting things into disarray. At home, at school, in every job I struggled to hold onto. And now, as the world was collapsing around us, he was intent on demolishing anything good I had goin’.
"They didn't owe us nothin'.” I muttered, grasping at the last threads of willpower that kept me anchored to stayin’ out here with him.
"You helpin' people outta the goodness of your heart?” Merle sneered. “Even though you might die doin' it? Is that somethin' your Sheriff Rick taught you?"
"There was a baby!" I burst out, the words exploding from me like a dam breaking. In hindsight, that was the pivotal moment—I could feel the flicker of a decision taking shape, a desire to rekindle whatever relationship I still had with the group at the prison.
"Oh, otherwise you would've just left 'em to the biters, then?" He shot.
"Man, I went back for you," I retorted. I knew he wutn’t just talking about the last incident—his jabs had been aimed at everything I’d done since leavin’ Rick n’ them. “You weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither! You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof! You asked for it."
"You know -- you know what's funny to me? Hm? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now, right?" He crossed his fingers, middle and index overlapping, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I bet you a penny 'n a fiddle of gold, that you never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."
Shame washed over me, churning deep within my gut. It felt like a lifetime had passed since those days, and I had almost forgot how things were s’pose to have gone. “It didn’t happen.”
"Yeah!" He hissed. "It didn't. 'Cause I wasn't there to help you."
"What, like when we were kids, huh?" I spat at him, fire igniting in my veins as years of bottled-up anger erupted. "Who left who then?"
"What!?" Merle hollered. "Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"
In that moment, he was no longer my brother; he had morphed into our father, minus the whiskey-swamped breath and the leather belt. "You lost your hand 'cause you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" I snapped, frustration clawing at my insides as I turned, desperate to escape the intensity of the confrontation. But before I could break free, his hand seized my sleeve, yanking me back and tearing the fabric as I stumbled to the ground.
The lump that had been haunting me returned, and this time, the tears flowed without restraint. My back exposed, revealing a tapestry of poorly healed pink and purple scars. "I— I didn't know he was-" Merle’s voice trembled, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret?
"Yeah, he did," I cut him off. I slung my pack over my shoulders, refusing to look back and reveal the tracks of tears staining my cheeks. I’s already humiliated enough. "He did the same to you. That's why you left first."
"I had to, man, I woulda killed 'im otherwise.”
There was always some lame ass excuse ready to roll off his tongue. Sometimes I wish he’d just own up to the shitty things he’d done — it wasn't like I blamed him for leaving; I’d’ve done it too. Wutn’t nothin’ fun about bein’ around Pa. But Merle? He could’a at least checked in on me. He knew how bad it would get at times, and he still lit out at the first opportunity, even if it meant leavin’ me alone with our old man.
The sad thing is; I welcomed him back with open arms no matter how many times he let me down. Even now, here I was, turning my back on the few people who really gave a shit about me, all to go off galavanting with Merle again.
He was my brother though. Blood.
I wish he’d just listen to me.
I swallowed the remnants of my tears, striding away with hope and determination in my chest at being welcomed back. All of this had been a mistake.
“Where you goin'?" Merle asked.
"Back where I belong.”
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Libby POV
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I decided to use a cardboard box as a target. It had been a little while since I’d let any aggression out with my bow, so I figured there couldn’t be a better time than when I’m pissed at the world and desperately needed to blow off some steam. Between Daryl leaving and Glenn putting me in the corner, I’d lost the two most important people in my life. When I tried venting to Carol, all she had to say about it was that ‘Daryl had his code,’; it was bullshit.
His ‘code’ and everything it stood for was absolute garbage.
Glenn burst through one of the doors on the south side, releasing a muted yet exasperated shout that echoed in the stillness. I clenched my jaw, battling the urge to approach him and ask what was going on. Why the fuck did he have to mean so much to me? He’d been insufferably rude, and tried making everything that had happened about himself. It wasn’t right, it didn’t make sense for me to go have a casual conversation about what ailed him.
Still…
A gentle, warm breeze rustled the air, playfully tugging at my tangled hair and sending it swirling into my face like an unruly curtain. I turned my head side to side a few times, attempting to clear the strands away, and in doing so, I caught Glenn’s gaze from across the way. There was something unspoken in that moment, a weight that hung between us as I tilted my chin upward, silently signaling my willingness to connect — an invitation for him to make his way over and talk things out. Deep down, the logical part of my mind understood that this conversation was essential to navigating the rough patch we’d stumbled into.
At least Glenn hadn’t decided to abandon me.
“Hey, uh, I’m gonna go circle around the prison with the truck. Check for breaches,” he said as he approached. “You wanna come?”
I glanced from my target, to Glenn, who was biting his lip anxiously. “Yeah,” I said. “We need to talk.”
But he already knew that much was true. There was no way we could maintain this place if the two of us were neck-and-neck. It was clear that with Daryl's absence casting a shadow over our group and Rick’s profound grief rendering him almost useless, the weight of responsibility fell squarely on Glenn and me. Unless, of course, Hershel decided to come out the woodworks with a reasonable plan— one that didn't revolve around fleeing from the prison.
Inside the truck, I sat in contemplative silence, waiting for Glenn to return with the correct set of keys (he grabbed the Hyundai’s instead), when I noticed Hershel following him out the prison, moving with an unexpected urgency for a man reliant on crutches.
As they approached, I could see the lines of frustration etched on Glenn's face, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Although the conversation between them was muted due to the closed doors, the intensity of their exchange was palpable, each gesture amplifying the discord brewing between them. When Glenn finally slid into the driver’s seat, the air around him crackled with unspoken irritation.
A few minutes later, we were parked on the far side of the prison, the heavy silence hanging in the air. Glenn suddenly brought the truck to a stop, his eyes intense as he turned to face me. “Maggie told me everything. Why is it wrong that I want to talk about it?” His voice held a mix of frustration and concern.
“Because it’s not your experience to talk about,” I shot back, bewilderment twisting my expression. Wasn’t that obvious?
“She’s my girlfriend!” he exploded, the words bursting from him before he slumped back into the seat, his earlier bravado fading. “And you’re my best friend. What happened -- what he put you two through -- Libby, I -- he should’ve taken my hand.” His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and in that moment, I felt a rush of guilt for being so tough on him. He was hurting too; this had impacted him more than I could’ve anticipated.
Nothing that happened in Woodbury was fair.
Not to me. Not to Maggie. And especially not to Glenn.
“Glenn,” I reached across the center console and took his hand into mine. “None of it was your fault, but it hasn’t even been an entire day yet— I love you, and so does Maggie, we just need time. That doesn’t mean you’ve gotta handle us so fragilely.”
“If something happens --“
“Then it happens, and we deal with it then.” I squeezed his hand, fighting to keep my own emotions at bay. “Like we always have.”
He held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, as if I would disappear or crack under his gaze. There was still a trench of unspoken tension, but it felt good to have someone in my corner again. Glenn had only meant well — I knew that, and a lot of my anger towards him had only been stemmed by the furnace of fury blazing inside of me for Daryl Dixon.
I might’ve been hearing things — or at least thats what I thought until I saw Glenn perk up, indicating that he’d heard it too. We both fruitlessly peaked out the windows, only seeing walkers lingering around and A and B block.
By the time I had my seat pushed back, Glenn had the wheels spinning, sending us on our way back to C-Block. Unclipping my gun, I prepared myself for whatever bullshit was raining down on us now.
.who are better unknown.
Notes:
Libby is an entire menace for a while, which we love to see a little feminine rage 🩶
seriously though, our girl goes through it and her anger, though justified, is still a little problematic. But tbh, that’s hot girl energy.
Alsooooo…. Daryl???? Recognizing certain feelings?????? it ain’t much, but it’s progress on his end lmaoo
Thanks for all the reviews and feedback 🩷
Chapter 30: you think he’s diabetic?
Summary:
“Libby,” Rick called.
“No,” I cut him off, not paying him any mind, keeping my eyes trained on the steel blue one’s behind the bars. “You’re not dumb. You know how they work. What kind of set up they might have — You get me in there and I’ll take the shot. All is forgiven with me.”
“Nah,” I heard Daryl shoot down. I didn’t need to look, to know he was staring at me. “Y’ain’t goin’ back there. Ya got shot last time, we’re better off takin’ a stand here.”
Chapter Text
.they say heaven hath no fury like a woman scorned.
I allowed myself a couple seconds to accept that he was back, and he’d brought his brother with him. Part of me felt a flicker of gratitude for his timing, the way he swooped in just in time to save Rick’s life. But that spark was quickly swallowed by a tide of resentment that he felt it necessary to to come back at all. As if he hadn’t chosen his piece of shit brother over us. As if he didn’t side with the person that subjected me to humiliation.
I couldn't shake the frustration as I watched Rick make the decision to lock Merle in a cell for the night. It was a precaution, sure, but honestly, Merle shouldn’t have been here in the first place. With walkers lurking around and the looming threat of the governor, we shouldn't have to worry about Merle Dixon too. Glenn, shouldn’t have to live with the man that tried murdering him in cold blood.
We deserved more from Rick than that. If that meant Daryl being gone, he’d already chose his side once before. It was clear where his loyalties lie.
I watched him scarf down the bowl of oatmeal Carol had prepared for supper, but was careful to avoid any eye contact. There were loads of words I had to say to him, none of them were nice though, and I at least had the decency to not lash out at him in front of God and the country.
No.
I didn’t need, nor want, anyone stopping me from laying into him like my life depended on it, and I knew with how close Carol was with him right then, I wouldn’t get two words out of my mouth.
Fuck, I wanted to hate him. With his stupid brown hair all messy and tousled, his muscles taut — flexing each time he moved his arms. Caked blood dried in patches along his skin rough skin. His raspy, southern drawl talking to Carol about something I couldn’t quite catch. I just wanted so desperately to despise his stupid, ugly, guts.
The guilt from thinking something like that made me want to cry, but I still couldn’t shake the want. He hurt me, there shouldn’t be any guilt in being mad at him. So why was there?
I jumped when I felt a hand caress over my shoulders. “Just ignore him,” Glenn said under his breath.
“Easier said than done.” I replied, pushing off the railing and heading to my cell.
Footsteps trailed behind me, “Maggie’s still mad at me. I can take the bottom bunk so he doesn’t come in.”
My lips quirked up, is this what best friends did for each other in the old world? It warmed my heart that Glenn thought of that little detail — even if it was beneficial to him as well. “Michonne brought back one of those baskets from the store we cleared. Oreos for dinner sound good?” I asked playfully, backing into the cell.
“When this is all over we should go back. That place was untouched.”
“I’m really pissed that we loaded that truck down with most of the cookies. It’s stuck in Woodbury now and all my hard work was for nothing.” I scaled the ladder and began working on unlacing my sneakers.
Glenn chuckled while dropping his bag on the floor. “So that’ll be the first thing we target when we sneak into Woodbury.”
“First the cookies, then the governor.”
“Assassinate the governor with the cookies.”
“You think he’s diabetic?” I hung my head from the top bunk, peering into the bottom.
He outright laughed — a real, true, gut laugh; I hadn’t heard one of those from anyone in a really really long time. “I was hinting that we just poison him!” And then it was my turn to laugh, because of course, logically, of course it would make more sense to not assume he had sugar intake issues.
Honestly, it felt like a breath of fresh air to dive back into our friendly banter. It had been ages since we could let loose and share genuine laughter. Life had thrown so much at us all at once that we rarely found a moment to sit down and exchange lighthearted jokes, especially amidst the weight of our grim reality. Our daily grind of battling the undead and just hoping to survive another day had overshadowed those simple joys. But in that moment, it was refreshing to escape the chaos. Even if it was joking about murdering another human being.
I slept surprisingly well that night. It was dreamless and from what I can remember peaceful. Carol walked in once to grab Daryl’s bag, but she didn't say anything to me or Glenn. Once she left I dozed several times to the sound of Glenn’s nasally snoring below me, before I finally drifted off.
_____________
“We're not leavin’.”
Rick, apparently all healed from his psychological breakdown for the time being, said to us the following morning.
"We can't stay here.” Hershel insisted, his voice a steady force amid the swirling chaos. He was just as resolute today as he had been yesterday about leaving the prison.
"What if there's another sniper?" Maggie made a point. "A wood pallet won't stop one of those rounds."
"We can't even go outside.” Beth piped up, coming down the stairs.
"Not in the daylight," Carol added.
"Look, Rick says we're not running, we're not running.” Glenn interjected. Final.
"No," Merle pushed himself off the cold, metal bars of the cell, his expression defiant. "Better to live like rats."
Rick shot him a look. “You got a better idea?"
"Yeah, we should'a slid outta here last night and lived to fight another day. But we lost that window, didn't we? I'm sure he's got scouts on every road out of this place by now."
"Yeah, well we ain't scared of that prick.” Daryl mumbled, pacing back and forth on the catwalk, his fists clenched tightly.
"Y'all should be.” I never took Merle to be a man easily frightened, far from it actually, but I had to admit… the resolute in his tone was downright distributing. “That truck through the fence thing?" He continued. “That's just him ringin' the doorbell. We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he's got the guns and the numbers. And if he takes the high ground around this place, shit — he could just starve us out if he wanted to."
Maggie began wringing a rag through her hands, glaring down the corridor at Merle. "Let's put him in the other cell block.”
"No," Daryl argued. "He's got a point."
I scoffed, shooting my own threatening glare upwards, “Don’t matter. It ain’t doing us any good.” My words shot out, before I strode to the securely locked cell at the end of the block. “You wanna help out? You get us in there. You know those people better than any of us do. They might have scouts blocking the roads, but from what I remember, you seemed to be his right hand man.” Determination flooded my veins so thoroughly, that I didn’t even care that I was ready to dance with the devil.
“Libby,” Rick called.
“No,” I cut him off, not paying him any mind, keeping my eyes trained on the steel blue one’s behind the bars. “You’re not dumb. You know how they work. What kind of set up they might have — You get me in there and I’ll take the shot. All is forgiven with me.”
“Nah,” I heard Daryl shoot down. I didn’t need to look, to know he was staring at me. “Y’ain’t goin’ back there. Ya got shot last time, we’re better off takin’ a stand here.”
In a flash of annoyance, I snapped my neck up to look at him for the first time since they’d been back. “You left, jackass. You don’t get any opinions anymore.” Though, there was a small twinge of shame when I said it to him.
“Hey, that’s enough--“ Rick held his hand out in a calming fashion, as if it was to break up a pounding fist fight.
“Is it enough, Rick?” My eyes flicked to his. I was a dragon, breathing flames at anyone in my path. “Is it? You wanna know what I think?” I didn’t care if he did or not though. “I think you only care about being a leader when shit has already hit the fan and it might actually affect you. Otherwise, you just fuck off to crazy town.” The piercing gaze from everyone at all angles only added fuel to my fire, but Maggie decided to join in on the rage-filled argument.
"This is all you, you started this!" She barked at Merle, who only smirked at her outburst.
“I’m serious,” I cut back to the elder Dixon. “You want to end this shit and start fresh? You help me take out that prick.”
I didn’t spend any extra time processing what the rest of them had to say. I knew what I wanted to do, and if we were all going rouge, I planned on making it count.
Hershel’s words to Rick echoed through the cell block a few minutes later, confirming that I wasn’t the only one who had issues with Rick’s recent psychotic breaks. When we were on the road, Rick was a certifiable, one hundred percent, grade-A asshole, but he kept us safe. His calls, guidance, and rules he implemented is what helped us survive all winter long. Things weren’t the same anymore — he wasn’t the same. I wondered more times than I’d like to admit if he truly still had a will to live.
If I had been in a different headspace, I know I would have reached out to him, eager to navigate the tangled path of his grief, even if it meant taking tentative baby steps. Helping people had always meant so much to me; it filled me with purpose and connection, especially when it came to the people who mattered most. And Rick was one of those people. No matter how asshole-ish he tended to be, I loved him dearly.
I would mourn that side of myself frequently.
What once was a mission of mine — what I worked so hard for… was nothing more than a spark in an inferno of anger.
Rick's decision to welcome Daryl and Merle with open arms left me seething. In that moment, my loyalty to his leadership shattered. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Daryl, despite once being one of us, had cast aside his place in our group the moment he chose to venture into those woods with his brother. The bond we shared felt diminished, and my willingness to follow Rick's lead vanished. It felt unjust; that he was allowed to waltz right back after a change of heart, as if nothing had happened, no strings attached. It ate away at me that all he could muster before turning away was that stinging phrase: "no him, no me.” His words hung in my mind, heavy with meaning, as he walked out of my life.
We’d spent nearly a year working on something; neither of us knew it at the time, but we’d done it nonetheless. Hours upon hours, Daryl and I had built something deeper than a friendship but not quite a relationship either. It was rare.
The more I dwelled on how easy he’d walked away, the more I believed it to have all been a hoax. Had he just been biding his time until Merle showed up? He always said that if anyone was gonna find him at the end of the world, it’d be his brother. Maybe I was a fool to have invested my heart in something that should’ve been basic sex. Isn't that an age-old classic, huh?
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Watchin’ her get so worked up, snappin’ at everybody, honest and willing to work with Merle in order to kill the governor; it added to the guilt of seein’ her again. She’d looked at me once, and that had been to scold me about leavin’. I knew she was gonna be mad at me from the minute I made the decision to come back, that didn’t mean I was ready to handle it.
Everything felt out of whack. Both Glenn and Libby were angry with me, Maggie’d probably kill Merle at the first chance she got, Rick must’ve had another freak out cause Hershel started yelling’ at’im. And I couldn’t help but feel like it was all my fault.
I guess it kinda was.
I shouldn’t’a left them.
I should’a came back, fought for Merle to be put in a different cell-block or somethin’.
I should’a tried harder.
But all my life I had a tendency to be a piece of shit, so I don’t know why I suddenly expected more outta myself. Especially not with Merle around — he made things difficult, because I always had to defend him. Ain’t nobody else was goin’ to, n’ he was my brother.
Rick stormed back in after takin’ some time, ordering Maggie outside to take watch. "I could get up in the guard tower," I volunteered. "Take out half them walkers, give these guys a chance to fix the fence."
"Or use some of the cars to put the bus in place," Michonne, the newest member (besides me again, I guess), suggested.
Hershel shook his head, "We can't access the field without burning through our bullets.”
"So we're trapped in here. All right, there's barely any food or ammo." Glenn scoffed, folding his arms over.
“Been here before, we’ll be alright.” I bit my thumbnail, already sortin’ through the rations in my head.
"That's when it was just us!" He rounded on me. "Before there was a snake in the nest."
I’s used to this. It wutn’t much different than how things were before the apocalypse. People like him talked shit about me and Merle all the time — like wutn’t nothin’ but dirt on their boots.
I reacted the only way I knew how at the time: instinctively. "Man, we gonna go through this again?" I squared my shoulders. "Look, Merle's stayin' here. He's with us now. Get used to it.” I pressed through the group of people that had seemed to have turned against me, and headed up the stairs. “All y'all."
They didn’t know.
What was I s’pose to do? Leave my brother out in the woods? Send him a postcard from the prison? Hope he didn’t die? Leavin’ him wutn’t an option, n’ they weren’t given me any other ones. He deserved a chance to at least prove himself, he wutn’t all bad.
I sat on the bunk, fiddling with my bolt, wondering if coming back here had been a big mistake. Libby was smart — went to college and everything, she was right a lot of the time, maybe my opinions didn’t matter. Maybe they was down there talkin’ about how to kick both me and Merle back out into the woods, or offer us up to the governor as a peace treaty. Everybody liked Libby too, so she probably could convince’em all to do it.
The sound of fingers brushing against cell bars, notified me of company, n’ I half expected it to be Rick tellin’ me to pack my shit and get out, but it was Carol. She leaned against the door frame, a soft smile stretching across her features. “Haven't had a chance to say, I'm glad you came back.”
I never understood why she was so sweet on me, but with how things were goin’ now, I’d take it. "To what?" I asked, spinning the tip of my bolt around the room. "All this?"
She scrunched her brows while stepping into the cell and leaning onto a rusty table across from where I sat. “This is our home," she said.
"This is a tomb .”
I watched as her face turned melancholy. "That's what T-Dog called it. Thought he was right till you found me." She failed to mention the part where I up and left her, and another group decided to mow down our walls and kill one of our men.
I opened my mouth to say something, but Carol wasn’t finished. “He's your brother, but he's not good for you," she mumbled. "Don't let him bring you down. After all, look how far you've come." Concrete walls, bars on the door, and metal bunk beds wasn’t my idea of luxury — I couldn’t imagine anyone else would’ve thought that way either. Then again, Carol was a far cry from a pessimist on most days. “You should talk to Libby,” she glanced outside the cell, presumably towards the one I had once shared with Libby.
I didn’t respond to that. Of course I wanted to talk to’er. She deserved countless apologies for the way I walked away.
“Seriously,” Carol stood up and made her way out the cell. “She’s angry and she’s hurt. I know how you feel about her—“
“Stop.”
Her shoulders dropped, “talk to her.” She said firmly, before turning on her heels and walking away.
How I feel about her. I feel a lotta things. Frustrated, confused, guilty: to name a few. It was never my intention to piss her off, that’s for damn sure.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
“Andrea,” Glenn said, stopping outside my cell. “She’s here, come on.”
Commotion had already begun brewing in the yard, as I flew from my bunk and down to the catwalk, trailing behind Glenn. In a prone position, I peered through the scope of the rifle Carol had handed me when I passed by her. Besides dozens of walkers and overgrown grass, there was nothing else lurking behind the direction Andrea had come from.
My gut didn’t want to believe that Andrea would turn spy for them, and rat out any information she was given, but I couldn’t blame Rick for checking her more than just a little thoroughly when she was allowed through the chain link gate.
In what felt like an instant, we had dashed outside only to rush back in again. Carol was the first to sweep Andrea into a warm embrace, holding her tightly as if she were afraid to let go. Her words were laced with both joy and sorrow, reflecting the weight of what Carol had imagined as Andrea’s fate.
When our eyes met, a rush of emotions flooded through the room, and I could see tears pooling in hers. “Liberty, I—” before she could finish, she enveloped me in a tight embrace. “We searched for you everywhere. We went back; I promise—” her chin nestled into the curve of my neck, and her fingers brushed softly through my curls, sending shivers down my spine.
I gently leaned against her, holding back my own tears as I felt the weight of the moment. This reunion was something I never anticipated. “The spot got crowded, I had to run.” I explained, my words muffled against her hug.
As I settled into the moment, I felt the soft brush of fur against my legs—our resident feline, Soup, weaving his way around my feet. Ever since Judith arrived, he'd taken on the role of her makeshift nanny, a curious little guardian that brought everyone a sense of comfort. Sinking down into a crouch, I reached out, gently massaging the top of his head, feeling the purrs rumble through him as I contemplated the delightful chaos that lay ahead, “I found Soup a few days after the farm, so I wasn't completely alone.”
“I’m sorry,” her voice wavered. “Is that a bobcat?” Her face scrunched in confusion, Andrea looked up to scan the room, sighing deeply as she began to take in the scene. “Where’s Shane?”
Rick shook his head solemnly. That had been the first time Shane had been mentioned in a while, and it seemed to make the tension all the more heavier.
“And Lori?" That one was still fresh.
"She had a girl," Hershel chose to be the bearer of bad news, as Rick continued in his silence. “Lori didn't survive."
"Neither did T-Dog," Maggie added, her voice strung with grief.
Her presence dominated the room as she stood rigidly in the center, her gaze sweeping over each of us with an awkward detachment, as if we were mere silhouettes of strangers in her world. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia, yearning for those tranquil nights back at the farm. I could almost feel the cool air on my skin as we sat outside Randall’s door, quiet laughter mingling with the crisp air. The memory of her deft fingers weaving through my hair, creating intricate braids while we swapped stories of our sisters, enveloped me in warmth, a stark contrast to the chilling atmosphere around us now. How beautifully simple those moments had been, even in the first blooms of winter.
She looked from Carl, then to Rick, offering incomplete sympathies, unsure how to approach the delicate situation. “You all live here?”
"Here and the cell block," Glenn responded rather quickly.
"There?" She pointed to the opening of out block. “Well, can I go in?” As she moved to welcome herself to our home, Daryl shifted to block her, but Rick held a halting hand out.
"I won't allow that." He said, moving forward and using himself as a barrier.
"I'm not an enemy, Rick," she protested.
My jaw clenched. I wanted to believe her; I think we all wanted to believe her. She had been one of us once upon a time, and now she was, according to Merle, sleeping with the enemy.
Rick shot her a hard look. "We had that field and courtyard until your boyfriend tore down the fence with a truck and shot us up."
"He said you fired first," Andrea argued, her voice wavering.
Ever calm, Hershel adjusted himself before speaking. "He killed an inmate who survived in here.”
"We liked him, he was one of us." Daryl added.
"I didn't know anything about that," Andrea insisted, her voice tinged with sincerity. I couldn't help but think she was remarkably naive, blissfully unaware of the chaos swirling around her. It seemed she had been kept in the dark, at least to some extent. “As soon as I found out, I came. I didn't even know you were in Woodbury until after the shoot-out.”
"That was days ago," Glenn snapped.
"I told you. I came as soon as I could." She stressed, before whirling on Michonne. "What have you told them?"
"Nothing," Michonne answered with an icy calm, her gaze unwavering.
From what Michonne shared with me, she and Andrea had weathered the winter side by side. After the farm had burned to the ground, Michonne stumbled upon Andrea, and together they embarked on a relentless search for someone Andrea cherished deeply—a friend she viewed as a little sister. Despite their tireless efforts, I was never found. Still, their bond strengthened as they navigated the treacherous terrain of the Georgia wilderness, facing the harsh winter together, determined and unyielding.
"I don't get it," Andrea shook her head, glancing around the room. “I left Atlanta with you people and now I'm the odd man out?"
"He almost killed Michonne and he would've killed us," Glenn countered, his voice still suprsingly calm.
“With his finger on the trigger!” Andrea exclaimed, her finger jabbing toward Merle. “Isn’t he the one who kidnapped you? Who beat you?” The silence that followed was heavy, making her frustration bubble over. With a resigned sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to steady herself. “Look, I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out.”
I shook my head slowly, disbelief washing over me like a cold wave, and I felt a tightness in my throat. “No,” I managed to croak, my voice barely above a whisper, rough and strained.
“Liberty,” Andrea said, reaching out to touch my arm. I instinctively recoiled, nearly stumbling over Soup in the process.
“Andrea, no,” I said, shaking my head as my nerves rose to a peak. “There’s nothing to work out.”
“We’re gonna kill him.” Rick stepped forward, carefully moving in front of me, putting some obvious distance between Andrea and I. "We're gonna kill him. I don't know how or when, but we will."
"We can settle this," she tried. "There is room at Woodbury for -- for all of you."
"You know better 'n that," Merle chuckled, and for once, I’m glad he spoke up. He was the only other person in this room that actually knew the governor.
"What makes you think this man wants to negotiate?" Hershel questioned. “Did he say that?"
“It doesn't matter.” I interjected. I hadn’t taken my eyes off Andrea the entire time she’d been there, and a fierce urgency built within me. I wanted to reach out, to shake her free from whatever enchantment he had woven around her.
Her face softened, and she again, tried reaching out for me. “Whatever Phillip did, I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding. We can figure it out—”
“What he did?” I nearly exploded as I confronted her. “What he— Andrea, he made me strip for him.” Tears streamed down my face, hot and heavy, each one carrying the weight of my shame. “That was after Merle beat Glenn, because apparently that hadn’t been enough. Phillip,” his name was like poison on my tongue. “Roamed his greedy hands all over me. This bruise?” I strode forward, avoiding eye contact with anyone besides Andrea. “Courtesy of your boyfriend. Maybe you should check his drawers when you go home. I’d like my bra back.”
With one last desperate attempt, Andrea extended her hand towards me, but I pushed past her, striding into the cell block. A wave of humiliation crashed over me. How could anyone even contemplate negotiating with someone like that? The thought was almost unbearable.
_____________
I found myself in the cramped, dimly lit commissary, the one Carl and I had found just weeks earlier, and I let the tears flow. For hours, I sobbed in silence, letting the saltwater stains streak down my speckled cheeks—a testament to my anguish. Why was it so damn difficult for people to take my side? Why did I have to convince them— beg them to see where I was coming from?
Everyone seemed quick to empathize with Glenn and his ordeal, even Daryl to some degree. They all understood the brutality he had faced at Merle’s hands; Andrea had highlighted that right away. Yet, when it came to the horrors inflicted on me and Maggie by the governor—Phillip—there was a palpable silence. Glenn was the only one who truly seemed to want to advocate for us, but even his approach was misguided, missing the mark completely.
I mean, we weren’t exactly prancing around talking about how we’d been sexually assaulted, but it wasn’t hard to figure out, that to some extent, Maggie and I had been humiliated.
The fact that on my way out, Andrea had still been pushing for a truce, and it was actually being discussed, disgusted me. He deserved to die.
A slow, agonizing, and painful death. No peace treaty’s, no final words, no forgiveness.
_____________
Rick left early the following morning for a run to his hometown, in hopes of finding weapons and ammo still locked away somewhere. He’d taken Carl and Michonne as backup. I occupied my time in a cleared office, drawing up potential plans on how to either take on Woodbury or sneak in by myself. The latter was a bit of a secret between me and myself.
The door clicked open, and I hurriedly pushed some scrap paper over my plans. If it got back to Rick, I was surely on my way to being locked up in Merle’s old cage. I looked up, expecting to see Carol coming to bother me about eating something, but it was Daryl. His face was hesitant, his entry into the room awkward and unsure as he carefully avoided my eyes. He shut the door slowly, as if not to disturb what had already been, and then relaxed back against it. “Can we talk?” He asked, his voice just above a whisper. “About everything that happened.”
I bit my lip, swallowing a lump that suddenly formed in my throat. “There ain’t nothing to talk about.”
He dipped his chin. “Libs, you know there is. You’re pissed at me.”
“I still don’t see what there is to talk about.”
“You’ve avoided me for two days.” He brought his thumb to his teeth and began chewing anxiously. “I know you’re mad, n’ ain’t tryna say ya shouldn’t be. Just wanted to tell ya I’s sorry.”
“I don’t need your sorry. You made your choice and that’s perfectly fine by me.” Tears welled up in my eyes. For fuck’s sake, I was tired of crying. I moved to adjust myself in the chair. “I don’t need you to tell me sorry. I don’t need you to look out for me anymore. Daryl, we are—“ I let out a deep, steady breath, lowering my voice to prevent anyone from checking in on the commotion. “We are *so* good. Just— stay out of my way. Leave me alone.”
“I can make this right.”
And then the dam burst, rapids of water pressing against every square inch of the room. Word vomit, harsh and unrelenting, cursing him for walking away from us— from me. Throwing out all that we’d built: how he’d left me behind. I choked on my sobs as I whipped out every last emotional grievance.
He was frozen and silent, the entire time I ripped into him he swallowed it all. He didn’t fight me when I pushed him from the door, nor did he follow when I flew down the hall and away from him in tears.
.and baby, hell don’t scare me, i’ve been times before.
Notes:
libby is dead ass a ball of pissed off emotions, and daryl is just at the end of it all (as he should be, bc the audacity he had to leave after knowing her past trauma) anywayssss~
I had surgery the other day and you can just call me hamilton bc I been writing nonstop. I have like…five 6,000 word chapters to edit and post, so… happy thanksgiving or whateva?
(and thnx for all the comments. literally re-reading the love is what helps me churn these chapters out)
Chapter 31: consider installing a doorbell
Summary:
“Whatchu see in my little brother anyway?” he blurted out, completely diverting our conversation from where it needed to go.
I raised an eyebrow, weighing my options. I knew I needed him on my side. “Merle,” I chided. “Are you with me?”
Notes:
season3 ep 13!
(this is prob my favorite chapter I’ve done so far)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.to be where we belong at the front of the line.
My stomach clenched whenever Rick informed us that he’d be meeting with the governor. Mostly due to his revelation that he’d be bringing Daryl along as back up. Of course, the two of us were on the worst of terms, but that didn’t erase any of our history. The governor was someone Merle had vocally announced his fear of — as furious as I was with Daryl, death was far from what I would wish upon him.
I swallowed, watched carefully as the motorcycle roared to life, and slid slowly to the gate. If things went smooth, maybe, just maybe, we’d be able to keep this prison without spilling anymore blood on our side. Of course, I still had plans brewing inside of my brain on how to eliminate the governor, but if Rick could settle this, it would make the assassination go a lot smoother, less obvious.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed across the catwalk, pulling my attention away from the scene below. I glanced over to see Merle, his rifle held tightly in his grip, eyes fixed on Rick, Hershel, and his brother as they drove off into the distance. Glenn and I found ourselves not only in charge of holding the fort while they dealt with their business but also entrusted with the delicate task of keeping an eye on Merle. It was a tense situation, and we knew that walking the line between control and chaos was about to be put to the test.
“Mmm-mmm,” Merle muttered, a frown creasing his brow. “Somethin’ ain't right,”
I furrowed my brow, silently urging him to elaborate. He chewed on his bottom lip, a habit reminiscent of his brother. “In my time with him, the governor ain’t ever been the type to negotiate. Not even a little.”
“You think they’re walking into a trap?”
He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered his words. “I don’t think your sheriff is cold blooded enough to strike any kind of deal with the governor,” he replied, glancing out towards the horizon where Rick and the others had just disappeared. “Or else he certainly wouldn’t be dragging my brother and the farmer along for the ride.”
The sunlight spilled over me, wrapping my face in warmth as it finally burst through the clouds. I turned to him, my gaze lingering on every contour of his body, pondering my next move. Rick and the others would be away for the day, leaving us with the perfect window to grab what we needed and slip out before anyone knew we were gone. The idea of strategizing a plan was hinged on the hope that by the time Daryl returned and began piecing together our disappearance, we would already be finished wiping Phillip off the earth.
I managed to muster up the nerve to open my mouth, only for Glenn to push open the metal door and call for us to come inside and discuss our positions for the day.
With a sense of trepidation, I stepped into the dimly lit common area, the faint scent of dust and metal hanging in the air. As I began sorting through the collection of ammunition, each bullet and casing felt like a reminder of our precarious existence. I focused intently, mentally mapping out the areas where we’d most likely require extra supplies, envisioning the countless scenarios where they might prove vital. Rick, Michonne, and Carl had returned from their run the previous day, hauling back an impressive cache of ammo that far surpassed our immediate needs. With that in mind, I saw no reason to skimp on our reserves; we could afford to stockpile more than usual, preparing for the uncertainties that lay ahead.
“Carl, come here,” I called to the thirteen year old. “You stash these at the loading dock. All right?”
“Beth, put more up on the catwalk.” Glenn added, tossing a few boxes Beth’s way. “If anyone gets pinned down, we need to make sure that they have plenty of ammo. I'll go work on the cage outside.”
As if he had tapped into my thoughts earlier, Merle pushed himself off the weapons cage and spoke with a spark of determination in his eyes. “What we should be doing is loading some of this firepower in a truck and paying a visit to the Governor.” he urged. “We know where he is right now.”
“Are you suggesting that we just go in and kill him?” Glenn snapped.
Without a moments hesitation Merle responded. “Yeah, I am.”
“We told Rick and Daryl that we'd stay put.” Michonne said, carefully eyeing Merle.
“I've changed my mind, sweetheart. Being on the sideline with my brother out there ain't sitting right with me.”
“The three of them are right in the middle of it.” Glenn stopped walking and I could tell he was thinking Merle’s idea through. “No idea we're coming. They could get taken hostage or killed. A thousand things could go wrong.”
“And they will.” Merle confirmed.
“My dad can take care of himself.” Carl shot back, a chill in his voice.
“Sorry, son, but your dad's head could be on a pike real soon.”
“Don't say that to him.” I spat, setting down a box of ammunition on the table with enough force to make a statement.
“It's not the right move,” Glenn shook his head. “Not now. Can't take the risk of putting them in the crossfire. That's my decision. It's final.”With determination in his step, he bounded up the stairs, the sound of his boots echoing as he headed outside to tackle the cage.
The air in the room felt thick, almost suffocating, yet I found my gaze drawn to Merle’s like a moth to a flame. When our eyes finally locked, an unspoken understanding passed between us. I strained to project my thoughts to him, silently urging him to grasp that I was on his side, but we had to tread carefully. With a subtle shift, I redirected my attention to the dark hallway looming across the room, hoping he caught my message: meet me in a few.
I secured a duffle and made my way across the room, instinctively keeping my head down, hoping Maggie or Michonne wouldn't catch a glimpse of my inner thoughts.
Everyone else seemed to be against it. I couldn’t blame them; it certainly wasn’t the safest or most prudent course of action to take. The risks were evident, and the potential consequences loomed large. But a gnawing desperation clawed at me, urging me to plan this out with Merle. This could very well be our only shot at taking aim at the governor.
Fuck sitting down for a meeting or trying to draw a treaty. He deserved to be executed, just as he’d try to do to us. Oscar and Axel were both dead because of him. Maggie and I had to live with more trauma because of him.
Maybe — maybe I shouldn’t speak for Maggie, but I’d be damned if he just got away with what he did to us. We couldn’t have been his first, or his only. The confidence in his actions had been sickening.
Just as a twinge of concern crept in, wondering whether Merle had missed the memo, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps growing closer outside the commissary. Curiosity piqued, I peeked my head out to get a glimpse of who it was. “Hey!” I whispered urgently, hoping to catch his attention before he vanished around the corner.
“Shit, girl!” I watched him spring back in the faint light, his startled eyes wide as he registered my presence.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips, relishing the fact that I had caught him off guard. He rushed into the room, a cocky grin quickly replacing the surprise that had flickered across his face, as if he was determined to reclaim the upper hand.
“If we go through with this,” I began, my voice wavering as doubt crept in, “we have to be sure that none of our people get caught in the crossfire.”
A breathy cackle pierced the air between us. “Straight to the point then,” Merle seemed to taunt, laced with dark excitement.
I shot him a look. “I’m serious. I can sneak us out of here, but only if you can give me some kind of reassurance that you won’t just go in there guns ablazing.”
He leaned casually against the weathered brick wall, his gaze lingering on me, piercing and intense, longer than was comfortable. The rough texture of the wall seemed to echo the tension in the air, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, making my heart race as I wondered what thoughts were swirling behind those watchful eyes.
Merle Dixon exhibited a personality that starkly contrasted with that of his younger brother, Daryl, yet there were undeniable similarities that tethered them together. One of the most striking parallels between the two was the color of their eyes—a vivid steel blue that seemed to draw me in and hold me captive with a single, penetrating gaze. Beneath those sharp, icy hues lay an intensity that could silence a room and command attention.
Merle's fierce determination was a force to be reckoned with, often matching or even surpassing Daryl's own relentless drive. This unwavering commitment likely stemmed from the same wellspring of resilience that defined Daryl; it was easy to see that Merle had carved out a path of tenacity that his brother would later inherit, albeit in a different form. Once Merle set his mind on a goal, he became a whirlwind of ambition and focus, pouring all of his energy into seeing it through to completion, no matter the obstacles that lay in his way. His unwavering resolve made him both a formidable ally and a fearsome adversary, traits that shaped the very fabric of their complicated brotherly bond.
Then, of course, there was the shadow of their complicated and abusive childhood—a backdrop that colored their lives in shades of pain and resilience. Though their age difference kept them apart during their formative years, they were both haunted by the same brutal father and the harrowing journey to adulthood that came with it. Merle had emerged as someone who seemed quick to snap back against any adversity, displaying a defensive and aggressive demeanor that could erupt at any moment. Daryl seemed to have adopted a more passive approach, willing to endure the abuse until it became unbearable—a stark reflection of their diverging coping mechanisms. This complex interplay of strength and vulnerability, resilience and suffering, defined not just their relationship with each other, but also their individual paths forward in a world that had often been unkind to them both.
I understood all too well of the tangled web spun by my own troubled childhood, but I knew that the Dixon brothers had faced a brutality I could barely fathom. Their experiences were a different kind of harshness, one that cut deeper and left more visible scars than mine did.
With that understanding in mind, I made a conscious effort to ease up just a bit for Merle. Daryl had always been more receptive when I paid a little compliment to his delicate sense of masculinity. In a moment as tense as this, I was ready to bend my feminism just a touch. It felt like a small sacrifice for the sake of my mission for revenge.
“Whatchu see in my little brother anyway?” he blurted out, completely diverting our conversation from where it needed to go.
I raised an eyebrow, weighing my options. I knew I needed him on my side. “Merle,” I chided. “Are you with me?”
He looked at me, his gaze sharp but fleeting, before exhaling a frustrated sigh. “My brother and I, we have some calls we use when we hunt,” he said, his tone suddenly more intense.
I nodded, recalling the times Daryl had attempted to teach me how to mimic bird calls. It hadn’t gone well, but the memory brought a flicker of amusement to my lips.
_____________
Merle created a scene inside, buying me enough time to slip out and stash a bag of weapons by the south side door. If we timed it right, while Glenn was distracted by the chaos Merle left behind, we could make it past the fence and into the woods before anyone noticed we were gone.
Once we were safely in the cover of the woods, we aimed to travel on foot, keeping a low profile and move quietly between the shadows of the towering pines. Merle, was confident that somewhere along our route, we could find an abandoned store. He had a knack for remembering spots he’d scouted before, and he placed his faith in the belief that we could locate this particular store. From there, we’d hotwire a vehicle—something fast enough to get us close enough to the feed store where we could regroup and reassess.
He had a rough idea of where the Governor’s men would likely be stationed. He spoke with a mix of conviction and a hint of cockiness, detailing how we'd catch them off guard, before they could alert anyone to our presence.
I worried though, that with Carol on watch, she’d raise alarm bells and turn our departure into an actual prison escape. She’d strangely been avoiding me all day, and I had reason to believe it was because of my harshness to Daryl. This would probably b am excellent excuse for her to use in order to scold me for my treatment of her ‘precious angel’.
Instead, it was Carl who sat cross-legged outside D-block, waiting on me like he knew exactly what was up and he was ready to turn me over to the authorities.
“Remember when you said that if I was going to do something dangerous, to tell you? Just so somebody knows.” he mumbled, his eyes darting toward the duffel bag clutched in my arms.
I bit my lip, nodding slowly, the weight of our secret pact hanging heavy in the air.
“Same goes for you,” he continued, his voice firm, yet laced with concern. “I heard what you and Merle are planning.” The teenager, wearing a sheriff’s hat that practically swallowed his head, looked up at me with a mixture of worry and disapproval, his gaze piercing through the casual bravado I tried to maintain.
My eyes flickered up, looking out to the field where I’d mapped out the escape, then back down to the boy. He sat there motionless, a heavy silence hanging between us. Restless, I shuffled my feet, seeking some sort of connection.
“Carl,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Do you not trust my dad anymore?” he interjected, his words slicing through the tension like a knife.
My shoulders sagged, and I looked around uncomfortably. How was I supposed to possibly explain to a kid why I couldn’t just sit back and accept his dad’s plan? Trusting Rick was one thing, but unraveling that tangled web of loyalty and concern to Carl felt impossible.
I knew he was wise beyond his years, but that didn’t guarantee he’d grasp the nuances of the situation. And honestly, I didn't want him to. There were certain truths that he deserved to remain blissfully unaware of, at least for now.
Struggling for words, I finally nodded, “I do, Carl. It’s just—”
“Then let him do this.” He said firmly.
“I can’t.”
“What about Daryl and Hershel?” he shot back. “If they can go along with it, why can't you?”
I shook my head, confusion knit tightly on my brow. “They weren’t there, Carl.”
“Maggie was. Glenn was. They don't want Merle to go.”
With every word, he pressed on, his determination relentless. I struggled to find a way to counter his arguments without stumbling over my own thoughts. “It’s not about—”
“If you go, and it goes wrong, we’re all dead.”
His words hung heavy in the air, igniting the tension between us.
It hung delicately, almost palpable, as if it were a fragile thread poised to snap at any moment. I found myself wishing I could fully articulate my feelings to him, to translate the raw pain that the governor's actions had inflicted on me. It ran deeper than mere anger; it was an ache in my gut that resonated with a host of emotions. I longed for him to understand that my apprehension wasn't rooted in distrust for Rick or any desire to endanger him. Rather, it stemmed from a fierce determination to refuse to live in a world where a rapist could reside just a stone's throw away from my home. Not with Judith, who was so vulnerable; not with Beth, whose laughter brightened our days; not with Maggie, who had been through too much already; and certainly not with Carol, whose kindness for a man I had cared so deeply for was beakon of light in the fury I threw at him.
Sure— I was mad that Rick wanted to negotiate, but my frustration didn’t translate into distrust of his abilities or his intentions. I believed he had the potential to strike a deal — to find a way to coexist, however uncomfortably, with that piece of shit.
But that was precisely what I couldn't allow to happen.
I felt a fierce resolve bubbling within me. I had to intervene. I could not stand by and let it unfold like that. My loved ones deserved better; they deserved safety and peace in a world that had been marred by violence and death.
After a tense silence, Carl rose to his feet, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Without a glance back, he walked into the prison, the steel door creaking ominously as it closed behind him. My heart raced and my stomach twisted in knots. Should I run after him, pleading for him to keep quiet? The uncertainty clawed at me.
_____________
I rushed to my cell, swiftly strapping my usual weapons to my body as adrenaline surged through my veins. Glenn and Maggie were unaccounted for, and the last I saw of Michonne, she was out in the courtyard. Meanwhile, Beth and Carl were busy reinforcing the wooden barriers around one of the outdoor cages. Merle was supposed to be waiting by the commissary, ready to slip away once I arrived.
This plan had to work. I repeated it like a mantra, going over every detail in my head, clinging to the hope that I wouldn’t falter. Rick, Hershel, and Daryl would be fine.
Merle was my best shot at taking down the governor, and I needed to believe it with every fiber of my being.
“You in a rush?” I jumped at the sound of a new voice in my doorway—Carol, the only person I hadn’t accounted for.
I turned around quickly, placing a hand on my chest to steady my breathing after the shock. “You could at least knock or check the driveway to see if I'm home first,” I said, offering her a half-hearted smile.
She held baby Judith closely against her chest, a warm look on her face. “Sorry. Maybe we should consider installing a doorbell,” she joked.
A peculiar silence filled the air, as if she had come for something but wasn't sure how to ask for it. I studied Judith, who appeared to be napping peacefully, cradled in Carol’s arms. She seemed to be all right.
After a few long seconds of gazing at me with her soft, doe-like eyes, she finally spoke. “You should really accept it.”
Sunlight streamed through the windows, pouring into the cell and reminding me of the time I was wasting standing here talking to her. Still, I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Accept what?”
“He said he apologized. He tried to talk to you.”
I exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up as I turned to grab my bag from the bottom bunk. But before I could collect my thoughts, Carol gripped my shoulder and pulled me back with a determined flick, carefully balancing Judith in her arms. Her face, usually so serene, bore a tension that tightened the air around us. Those stormy blue eyes pierced right through me, brimming with unspoken fears. “We can’t lose him again,” she stated, her tone still smooth, yet laced with an edge that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a calmness that felt dangerously powerful.
Even as a new energy sparked from Carol, I refused to budge. I shrugged her arm off, brushing past her with determination, making my way down the stairs. Whatever had ignited this boldness in her wouldn’t waver my resolve. My issues with Daryl were mine and mine alone. I recognized the special bond they shared, and I genuinely respected that—he was more than worthy of such a friendship, but it didn't give her the right to demand I makeup with him.
“Libby,” she called, trailing after me.
But I kept walking.
How could she do that? I couldn’t understand what made her think she had the right to ask something like that from me— what gave her the audacity to have a confrontation like this. Glenn certainly wasn’t going around threatening Daryl to stay away from me just because he was my best friend and Daryl had hurt me. Was he? I shook my head at the absurd thought. Of course, he wasn’t. Glenn understood the complexities of my issues with Daryl, but he would never place himself in the middle of it—unless things were detremintal. So, Carol had no right to meddel either.
“Libby, he made a mistake,” she continued with an insistence in her voice that only fueled my irritation. “That doesn’t mean you should be so harsh.”
I wasn’t hearing any of it. My mind was too consumed with finding a way out of this situation. I couldn't lead Carol to the commissary; doing so would expose the clandestine plan that Merle and I had devised. Plus, if I attracted too much attention, people would start speculating about the whereabouts of the elder Dixon.
Not to mention how my emotions were beginning to spiral, the more she persisted in her defense of Daryl.
“Why can you forgive Merle for what he did, but not Daryl?” Her voice rang out again, piercing the space between us and causing me to halt mid-step.
My jaw clenched tightly, and I could feel my face contorting into a distorted expression of anger as I turned back to face her. She stood about ten feet away, the distance feeling impossibly vast, with Judith cradled securely in her arms, a blissful expression on the baby’s face as if the weight of the world had never brushed against her. Meanwhile, the tension in the air surrounding us was palpable.
“What?” I managed, my tone a mix of confusion and restrained frustration, but I didn’t quite snap at her.
She paused in her tracks, her strides ceasing as she leveled her gaze at me. There was that familiar sweetness in her expression, a softness that had always been comforting and reassuring, but beneath it lurked something darker. A sharp intensity glimmered in her eyes, a hint of venom.
Carol was a shadow of her former self since the days back at the quarry — we all were. Yet Carol’s transformation was a metamorphosis that went beyond mere appearances. Once a meek, gentle, and nurturing mother figure, she had evolved into something that felt almost predatory, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. On the surface, she still looked like the Carol I had first come to know: her soft features highlighted by her pixie cut, her kind smile that could easily soothe fears. But beneath that familiar facade lurked an unsettling change, a flicker of something fierce and raw that sent a shiver of fear through me.
Even as she stood before me, radiating that fierce loyalty towards Daryl, there was an undercurrent of intensity in her gaze that made me uneasy. It was as if the softness I once relied on was now fortified with an unsettling armor. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the same woman who had posed as the voice of compassion and understanding.
I loved Carol. I loved that Carol loved Daryl so fiercely that she was willing to confront me over his pain. But that didn’t change my own.
She took a few purposeful steps closer, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted Judith ever so slightly in her arms. “You’re willing to put our people’s lives in danger — Daryl’s life, in danger—because you want revenge. You’re willing to partner up with the man that kidnapped you, all for the sake of—“
“You have no idea,” my voice wavered as I cut her off. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “You weren’t there.”
I should’ve known Carl would tell Carol.
“I know you’re mad at Daryl for leaving.” Carol's voice cut through the air, sharp and precise. “I know you and Glenn and Maggie went through something that traumatized you. I know that right now, you’re being selfish and childish.” She stepped closer, her words laced with a biting intensity. “It may just be the sex for you, but it’s more than that for him. You need to stop acting like a stubborn little girl and think about how this affects everyone else.”
Those tears that had threatned to escape earlier? Yeah. They were streaming down my cheeks while I absorbed every word she hurled at me. Validated or not.
“You matter to him, and we can’t afford for him to shut himself off again, like he did before all this, just because you’ve tangled up his emotions.” The echo of footsteps reverberated through the cold metal building, and I realized my chance to escape with Merle had slipped away. It was gone the minute Carol approached me.
Her stern demeanor shifted effortlessly into gentleness, like a light flicking on. With a soft, almost sweet smile, she said, “You need to forgive him.” And with that, she walked past me, leaving the weight of her words hanging in the air.
The footsteps came to an abrupt stop. “Shit, girl, you comin’ or—” Merle’s voice trailed off, and I could almost picture the mischievous smirk spreading across his face as he caught sight of Carol. “Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence, pretty lady.”
“The deals off Merle,” she said, presumably walking away from him. I didn’t dare look back. Not at the chance of him seeing the tears going down my face. “Leave’er alone.”
_____________
I dashed outside, hurrying toward the courtyard. It felt less like a leisurely stroll and more like I was on the heels of someone blissfully unaware of my pursuit. Truth be told, I kind of was. “Hey!” I called out, breathless, desperate to halt him before he ascended the guard tower.
He spun around, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. Yet, with a nod of his chin, he paused, giving me a moment to close the distance. I brushed past him, determination fueling my stride, and flung open the heavy door of the guard tower, casting a glance back to urge him onward. With a hint of hesitation, he followed me inside.
“I forgave you,” I declared, cutting straight to the point. “For leaving— I forgave you, and I even forgave your douchebag of a brother—”
“Libs,”
“Mmm-mmm,” I shook my head, refusing to give him an opportunity to speak. “You told me you could make this right, that you could — fix it — or whatever, but you can’t. It’s not fixable, Daryl.”
He shifted awkwardly, his discomfort palpable, as he gnawed on his thumbnail like it held all the answers. A part of me felt a twinge of guilt for boxing him in like this.
“Your brother held me at gun point. Your brother nearly killed my best friend. Your brother put me and Maggie in a room with a man that sexually assaulted us. Your brother—“ I choked on my words, stifling tears that threatened to spill. “He grazed his eyes over my naked body. Then he came back, put a bag over my head, and led me out to kill me. Your brother, did all of that, knowing that we could’ve brought you to him at the drop of a hat.”
A faint, flickering light spilled from the top of the guard tower, casting elongated shadows that barely illuminated his features. His jaw quivered, and I couldn’t tell if it was my words echoing in his mind or if he was on the verge of speaking. My anger, a raging storm inside me, battled against the urge to pull him close and soothe away the tension between us.
I wanted to tell him we’d figure absolutely everything out and not to worry about my fury.
I wanted to run my fingers through his lengthening hair and whisper sweet nothings like I had just days before.
But I couldn’t shake that he’d taken a knife and pointed it at my deepest hurt.
“And you left with him.” I finally managed to say, my voice a fragile whisper in the heavy air.
The air hung heavy around us, saturated with an overwhelming mix of emotions that seemed to swirl like an unseen storm. Anger coursed through my veins, mingling with an ache of longing and a deep, aching sorrow that tugged at my heart. Unspoken apologies lingered in the charged atmosphere, thick enough to cut through the silence. As we stood locked in each other’s gaze, time stretched endlessly, every second feeling like an eternity, our unyielding stares conveying everything words could not.
Outside the guard tower, the faint groans of walkers echoed in the distance, a grim reminder of the world we had come to know—a world filled with danger and uncertainty. Nature’s sounds intertwined with these eerie noises, creating a backdrop that contrasted starkly with our isolated moment. Inside the tower, however, there was only the sound of low, measured breathing—his and mine—an intimate rhythm that felt both comforting and suffocating.
In that precarious moment, isolated in the guard tower, I was acutely aware of how different things could have been if he hadn’t chosen to run away. The weight of missed opportunities pressed down on me, amplifying the sense of loss that loomed between us as we remained locked in our tense silence.
“I thought you’d understand,” he finally said, his hand dropping from his mouth.
Confusion twisted my features. “What?”
I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, a telltale sign of his swirling emotions. “Y’always talk about how your sister always made shitty decisions — brought you down. I figured you’d get it.”
I blinked, grappling with his words, then shook my head vigorously. “If my sister held you hostage and tried to kill you—if—” I faltered, searching for the right way to express the weight of my thoughts. “If—if either of my sisters tortured you or—” My head continued to shake in denial. “No, Daryl.”
“You say that. But if the roles were reversed you don’t know.”
“I do!” I fought back, my voice rising with the intensity of my conviction.
“You don’t!” I saw it then—the way tears shimmered in the dim light, tracing paths down his cheeks. “Merle’s all I got! He’s -- he’s blood. Ain’t nobody else gonna give a shit about him like me!”
“You’re coddling him!”
His face contorted, “what?”
“Y’all coddle each other and all it does is make y’all both look like pieces of shit.” I snapped, not quite yelling anymore. “He ain’t no baby. He needs to take responsibility for the shit he did, he doesn’t need you out here justifying what he ain’t sorry for—“
“He is—“
“He ain’t!” I shot back, my frustration bubbling over. “You both act like the world’s got a vendetta against you, but really, it's just throwing back what you put out. That’s why you got people that love you and he don’t.”
Daryl’s mouth twisted. “S’fucked up.”
It was. I knew Daryl didn’t deserve to hear that. I could see the hurt reflected in Daryl's eyes as he grappled with the weight of his brother's solitude. Deep down, I knew he didn’t deserve to hear the bitter truth—that his brother was cared for by no one but him. But he was right, I did get it. I did get what it was like to love somebody that nobody else did, and I despised it.
All I ever wanted was for my sister to bask in happiness, to feel the warmth of love surrounding her like a protective blanket like Aunt Bea and Uncle Clyde had provided for me. Both of my sisters, but Lacey most of all. She had less fight. I believed with all my heart that she deserved everything beautiful the world had to offer — even though, I knew that she’d done nothing to earn that happiness. Accepting that had felt like swallowing a jagged pill; it burned as it went down. In that moment, I found myself empathizing with Daryl, sensing the weight of his struggle and the burden of love he carried alone.
He’d come so far and he truly did deserve nothing but good things. He wasn't perfect—far from it—but he poured his heart into trying to be better, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.
“M’sorry.” He whispered.
Taking a leap of faith, I reached out and grasped his hand, my thumb gliding over his with hesitant tenderness. “I’m angry because I look at you differently,” I confessed, my gaze fixed on the coarse contours of his thumb. “You and Glenn—y’all know things…it’s different with y’all.”
“Y’ain’t havin’ it all out with Glenn,” he replied, his voice low and uncertain.
let out a humorless laugh. “I did, you just weren’t there to see it.” My eyes caught on a circular mark, an unhealed scar brandished above his knuckle. “He didn’t leave either.” I murmured, tracing it with my gaze.
“I can fix it, Libs.” he echoed the words he’d said the day prior, but I shook my head.
“You can’t,” I hushed. “I’m mad, and you can’t fix that. You just—“ My finger lightly brushed against the scar, thickly swallowing once I’d surmised it was a self-inflicted cigarette burn. “Let me be mad at you until I’m not anymore.” My eyes flickered up and I saw him studying where my fingers were. “None of this though,” I added, tracing over the scar once more.
“Libs,” he sounded broken — regretful maybe?
“Please.”
He didn’t meet my gaze; his eyes were cast downward as if searching for the right words. “I thought you hated me.”
“Nope.” I shot back before the weight of his words could settle. “I’m angry.”
“Ya should hate me,” he mumbled, a shadow of defeat coloring his voice.
“Stop.” I interlocked our fingers, carefully avoiding the burn. “I don’t hate you, Dixon. If I hated you, I wouldn’t be so mad.”
.tired of silence and being polite.
Notes:
so, idk if y’all have watched the deleted scene between Merle and Carol from season 3, but if y’all have, y’all know that it’s around that time she starts going a little….y’know…crazy? mmm.. willing to do anything to protect the group… yeaaaah, and this is just Carol’s semi-justified overstepping. (but if you know anything ab me, you know I love Carol/Melissa McBride and could take both her and Norman Reedus, and I don’t mean in a fight)
Anyways~ hope y’all loved this chapter bc it’s my favorite so far and I’m ridiculously proud of it. (so if you hate it, plz don’t let me know)
Chapter 32: can i ride you?
Summary:
He gently shooed my hand away from trying to turn the key and guided it, instead to the clutch. With a determined and patient look, he began to explain the steps to turn the engine on and get us moving. Apparently the phrase, ‘easy as riding a bike’, didn’t account for motorcycles because I had a strong feeling I’d need more than one lesson before I was taking off anywhere.
Not that it really mattered all that much to me.
Notes:
season finale! (this has hints of episode 15, but I couldn’t really give Libby a solid place there and felt like I’d just be repeating too much of the script. rip Merle tho)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.and i don’t know what i’m crying for.
The next morning unfolded in a peculiar manner—everything felt distant and surreal, like watching a film through a foggy lens.
As dawn broke, we all stirred from our slumber and instinctively fell into the rhythm of hard work. Energized by a sense of purpose, we set about fortifying our makeshift fortress. Despite the lingering regret gnawing at me for not accompanying Merle the day before, the atmosphere around me was charged with a collective determination. For the first time since we had taken over the prison, there was an undeniable sense of unity among us.
Each person was focused and committed, working shoulder to shoulder to transform this structure into a true home. It felt like we were not just defending a location but actively claiming this place as a sanctuary—a haven where we could build our lives anew.
No infighting or threats of violence.
Even Judith seemed to possess an uncanny awareness of our circumstances as I prepared to change her first diaper of the day. As I gently lifted her into my arms, her little chubby cheeks pressed warmly against mine, and I couldn't resist squeezing her a little tighter, almost as a personal charm to draw in good luck.
Outside, the atmosphere was heavy with apprehension, evident in the grim expressions of those around us. Despite this, I made a conscious effort to focus on the silver lining of the looming threat—a war that could soon arrive on our doorstep. The stark reality was that it was a fight for survival: us or them. The thought of potential loss was a bitter pill to swallow, but knowing that if it fell upon us, at least we would face it together as a family, offered me a degree of solace.
Just then, my attention was drawn to the sight of Hershel limping cautiously toward us from the courtyard. Moments later, Daryl entered the scene, his usual stoic expression revealing little about what was weighing on his mind. Finally, Rick made his way in, his brow furrowed, hinting at the gravity of the discussions that had likely just taken place.
I couldn’t shake my curiosity about the urgent meetings between the same makeshift war council that had convened the day before. As I cradled Judith closer, I felt the anxiety in the air, mingling with the warmth of her presence, and I couldn’t help but wish for the flicker of suspicion that rose in me to dissipate. But I couldn’t keep myself from wondering what new obstacle there was to climb.
I wouldn’t find out til later, not until it was too late to do anything.
Not until Rick began frantically searching for Merle and Michonne that the gravity of the situation began to unfold. He was driven by a sense of urgency, a desperation to unravel the layers of a deal that had been quietly orchestrated away from the rest of the group.
Nobody else had a clue about the intricacies at play—none of us realized how close we were to a betrayal—Michonne specifically. Only a select few were privy to the truth: Hershel, Daryl, and Merle himself. They had each been pulled into this covert agreement. As Rick raced against time, the unsettling reality of loyalty and secrets began to settle.
As I stood in the guard tower, my heart sank at the sight of the woman with the glimmering katana striding back through the chain link entrance, completely alone. A heavy dread settled in my stomach; had something gone wrong? Daryl and Merle were nowhere to be seen. The only small comfort I grasped at was the absence of the governor, his dark presence not looming behind her.
By the time I descended the weathered steps, I found Rick waiting for me, his face a mix of concern and determination. He quickly reassured me, his voice steady but urgent, that Daryl had ventured out to bring his brother back.
That never happened though.
What Daryl returned with was a silence that screamed of sorrow.
I didn’t grieve for Merle; my heart ached for Daryl, who now bore the heavy burden of despair pressing down on his chest like a leaden weight. For months, we had speculated about what could have happened to Merle after Atlanta. The uncertainty had gnawed so thoroughly, but now, the finality of his fate struck with a brutal clarity that left Daryl reeling. The anguish etched on his features was a reminder of the stark reality we found ourselves in, where loss was a cruel companion. As the memories of their complicated bond flickered in his eyes, I felt a deep sense of helplessness, wishing I could lift even a fraction of that crushing sorrow from him.
_____________
Daryl had slept in our cramped cell for the first time since his return—or at least that’s where he had chosen to lay his head until the first light of dawn began to creep softly through the small barred windows outside the cell block. His shuffling movements off the bottom bunk sent tremors through the metal frame, shaking me from my own restless sleep. I quickly pushed myself upright, rubbing my eyes and trying to shake off the sleep that clung to me. Not wanting to let him slip away before I had a chance to talk, I hurriedly made my way out of the shadows of our tiny quarters, eager to catch up to him.
“I’m sorry about Merle,” I mumbled, reaching for his wrist to slow him down. I could feel the tension in his muscles, a coiled spring ready to snap, and I hoped my touch wouldn’t be what triggered that action.
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over me like a gentle tide. “Y’ain’t gotta be, I know ya didn’t like’im.”
I frowned, both bewildered by his calm demeanor and puzzled by the sympathetic look he offered. “He was one of us.” I said, trying to convey solidarity. “And he was still your brother— I’m sorry for how it played out.”
He nodded slightly, the acknowledgment a brief flicker of understanding in his eyes.
I let his wrist fall from my grasp and began easing back into our cell, but not before telling him I’d get all of his bags packed up and ready to roll for our faux abandonment of the prison. It was a brilliant plan really — forged late the night prior and headed by Hershel and Michonne.
It hurt in a weird sort of way, knowing that despite Rick’s betrayal of Michonne, she was still ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with our group to defend the prison. I found myself grappling with mixed emotions, bewildered by how easily she seemed to forgive him. But nevertheless, I was grateful for whatever extra help we could get. Though — it did make me look at Rick a little different.
Of course I knew he was driven by a fierce desire to protect the people he loved—his family. Rick wasn’t a cold-blooded killer— at least not yet anyways. I wanted to believe his intentions were pure, that he was just a man caught in a web of desperate choices. But could he really be so naive as to think the Governor would play by the rules, even if we had handed Michonne over?
The mere fact that he contemplated such a drastic move was unsettling. It forced me to reevaluate who Rick truly was and the lengths he was willing to go to for his loved ones. It opened a Pandora’s box of questions about loyalty, sacrifice, and the shadows lurking beneath his choices.
As I went through my things, filling my backpack up with all that I owned, it began to hit me how little it truly consisted of. Just three shirts, a pair of well-worn active shorts, Daryl's frayed flannel that held a faint scent of him, a couple of socks and underwear, and my Walkman, the Billy Joel cassette nestled inside like a hidden treasure. Zipping up the bag felt bittersweet as memories of everything I had lost flickered through my mind. Uncle Clyde had filled his truck with essentials that could have lasted me for ages, but life had twisted in unexpected ways, leaving me with no choice but to travel light.
When I turned my attention to Daryl’s things, it hit me harder. His supplies were even more meager: a handful of socks and underwear, a pair of jeans that had clearly weathered countless storms, and a single sleeveless shirt. I knew he had layered up for the chilly day, but still, the ache in my chest deepened, reminding me to grab him more clothes the next time I could.
Slinging the two bags over my shoulders, I took a moment to metaphorically kiss my cell goodbye, hoping that it was going to be more of a see you later kind of deal. Living in a jail cell didn’t exactly scream joy, yet somehow, it felt like the first place I could truly call home since everything had spiraled out of control. It was a strange sort of comfort, a sense of reality that grounded me amid the chaos.
As I stepped outside to the cars, a warm sense of satisfaction washed over me when I spotted Carl carefully tucking Soup’s makeshift cat bed—once Judith’s makeshift crib—into the back seat. It was heartening to see how the little feline had transformed into the community cat. Although, he still tended to favor Jude.
Once the vehicles were fully loaded, I took a moment to slip away and find Rick. I wanted to let him know that we’d accounted for everything that mattered—guns, food, blankets—all safely packed in the SUV. To my surprise, he didn’t give me a hard time about my decision to stay behind with the others, minus Hershel, Carl, Beth, and Judith. After the chaos with Michonne, it felt like Rick had turned a corner, stepping back from the iron grip of leadership he had clung to for so long. His newfound openness felt like a breath of fresh air in our tense world.
I barely had time to brace myself in the generator room before the unmistakable sound of destruction echoed through the air—Woodbury had arrived. The rumble of engines was deafening, at least half a dozen cutting through our defenses like a hot knife through butter.
Then came the explosions, each one a jarring reminder of the danger closing in. My thoughts raced—please, let them not be anywhere near the catwalk where Maggie and Glenn were hiding. Or in the shadowy corners of the courtyard where Rick and Daryl were poised to sabotage the vehicles once they breached our walls. For now, though, all I could cling to was the fragile assurance of my own safety; I was hidden deep enough that no one had made it to this room yet. Michonne and Carol were likely safe too, tucked away in solitary.
All the noise rocking around our home was jarring and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t the least bit scared. I was terrified.
As the minutes crawled by, I could hear the sharp clatter of flash bombs ricocheting off surfaces and the frantic shouts of Woodbury soldiers, a cacophony of panic. It was my cue; it was time to set off the alarms. As I triggered them, the noise exploded, drowning everything in a symphony of chaos.
Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity until a new sound emerged from the din—a panicked crowd outside, mixed with a deliberate knock on the heavy metal door that shielded me from the chaos.
With a second knock, I recognized it was Carol, and with a mixture of confusion and hope, I threw open the door. “We did it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Let’s go see how the others made out,” Michonne urged, eyes scanning the corridor ahead for any remnants of danger lurking around the corner.
Step by step, Carol, Michonne and I dashed out of the prison and into the courtyard, adrenaline pumping as we were eager to reunite with the rest of our people. My eyes darted around, taking in the scene before me. The remnants of the guard towers loomed in the distance—charred silhouettes against the pale sky—still defiantly standing despite the devastation. The acrid smell of smoke lingered, a grim reminder of the recent chaos, but I felt a flicker of relief that this was the source of the explosions, and everyone seemed to be unharmed.
Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a crunch of gravel beneath tires made my heart race, a flash of fear gripping me at the thought of the governor’s return. But then, I spotted Hershel maneuvering the SUV back into the prison yard, and the tension in my chest began to ease.
A firm hand landed on my shoulder, bringing with it the familiar scent of cigarette smoke that I had come to recognize so well. “Y’alright?” a voice asked, laced with concern.
A smoke was held out in offering, to which I denied as I always did. “Be better if someone could confirm they got him.” I replied, the weight of uncertainty still hanging in the air.
With a pat to my shoulder, he urged me forward to where some of the group had been talking. Without needing to hear anyone else’s opinions or exactly what the conversation had been about, I quickly agreed with Michonne as she was the first one to talk about going after the governor.
"We should finish it," Daryl added.
"It is finished, didn’t you see 'em hightail it outta here?" Maggie argued.
"They could regroup," Michonne pointed out.
“We need to hit’em now, while they’re still shaken up,” I crouched down, holding a hand out to an approaching Soup. “We can’t do this again.”
"She’s right,” Glenn added. “And we can't take the chance, he's not gonna stop.”
Carol, breathlessly nodded. "We can't keep living like this."
"So we take the fight back to Woodbury?" Maggie questioned, looking from Glenn then to me. "We barely made it back last time."
"I don't care," Daryl huffed.
“Last time they had the upper hand. We got it now.” I said, drumming my fingers along my weapon to make a point.
"Yeah…" Rick nods, eyeing the group thoughtfully. "Let's check on the others.”
With a firm pat on my shoulder, he pushed me forward to join the group buzzing with tension. I didn't need to wait to catch every detail of their discussion; I immediately found common ground with Michonne, who was the first to voice what was on all our minds—going after the Governor.
"We should finish it," Daryl said, his voice laced with determination..
"It is finished, didn’t you see 'em hightail it outta here?" Maggie countered, her brow furrowed in concern.
"They could regroup," Michonne shot back.
“We need to hit’em now, while they’re still shaken up,” I chimed in, crouching down to greet an approaching Soup. “We can’t do this again.”
"She’s right,” Glenn added. “And we can't take the chance, he's not gonna stop.”
Carol, breathlessly nodded. "We can't keep living like this."
"So we take the fight back to Woodbury?" Maggie asked, glancing between Glenn and me, doubt shadowing her eyes. "We barely made it back last time."
"I don't care," Daryl huffed.
“Last time they had the upper hand. We got it now.” I drummed my fingers along the cold metal of my weapon, letting the sound punctuate my words.
"Yeah…" Rick glanced at our group, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Let's check on the others."
I grabbed a few things out of the back of the SUV before heading in, slightly jealous that Carol got her hands on Judith first. There was something so calming about holding a baby that I believed would fix all my problems for the day.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I treaded carefully on all my interactions with Libby, but no matter how cautious, I still felt dumb whenever I said anything to’er. This mornin’, all I could do was deny her condolences for my brother, n’ felt too awkward to argue with’er about packin’ my shit up. I knew she was only bein’ nice cause Merle died. Deep down, she was still angry with me.
Yet, there I was again, actin’ like if I lent her a hand, even just a little, maybe she’d turn around n’ all would be forgiven. “I got it,” I said, grabbing two bags from her shoulder, convinced I was doing the right thing.
She turned around, looked at me with confused brows, and tried snatching them back. “They’re light. I got them.” She said, reachin’ even higher.
“Nah, get somethin’ different, these ain’t even that light,” I said, brushing her off while makin’ my way past.
But just as I figured I was in the clear, I felt her weight shift onto my back. “Maybe you’re just weak,” Libby teased, yanking on the two bags I’d taken from her while trying to steady herself as I stumbled to regain my balance.
“Shit, girl,” I huffed.
“Give’em back, Dixon!” she hollered, working one of the bags down my arm with surprising agility.
A rush of warmth flooded my cheeks as the unmistakable sound of Carol's laughter drifted towards me from just up ahead and I couldn’t stop myself from turning away in an attempt to shield myself from further embarrassment. I shouldn’t have even tried to help — now I looked like a damn idiot to more than just Libby.
I came to a halt and let the bag slide off my arm and hit the ground with a thud. “Get off, I’ll give it to ya,” I said, shifting my shoulders until I felt her weight finally lift. I let the second bag drop too.
Before I knew it, she had scooped them back up, flinging them over her shoulders with a fierce grip on the straps. “What’re you doing?” Libby asked, planting herself smack in front of me before I had a chance to keep walking.
I tilted my head in confusion, and she just pointed behind me. “Go grab something,” she insisted, looping an arm through mine and steering me toward the SUV. “Just cause I’m not letting you steal my haul doesn’t mean your arms suddenly don’t work. Look, there’s that big box full of weapons—go get’em tough guy.”
She released my arm, but I could still feel the weight of her gaze as I moved closer to the car, lifting the heavy box of weapons. Before I turned around, I rolled my eyes at the fact she had walked me all the way to the vehicle—like I’s some kid. But honestly, I couldn't help but enjoy the fact that she was being so friendly. I wasn’t about to complain, even if it was a little ridiculous.
As I turned around, her face brightened, and she met me halfway with an energy that was hard to ignore. “See,” she said, her eyes raking over my arms without a hint of modesty. “You look so much hotter carrying this instead.”
“Shut up,” I fired back, picking up my pace, hoping she wouldn’t notice the heat creeping into my cheeks. The last thing I needed was for her to see how much her words affected me.
As if she didn't already know.
My chest fluttered at her teasing—she hadn’t picked at me at all in over a week, and I was secretly happy to hear her flirting with me again. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, and this moment marked a hopeful shift back towards the easy rhythm we once shared.
As we stepped inside, I caught snippets of Rick and Hershel arguing, while Carl stormed off in frustration. The poor kid had been through a lot lately, so I couldn't blame him for bein’ so pissed at his old man. Once all this shit calmed down, I figure Libby might could sit’n talk to him. S’what she wanted to do before the apocalypse— be some kinda kid-shrink or whatever, and Carl could probably use one’a them right about now. Honestly, we all could. Rick especially.
When Rick turned away from Hershel, there was a look on his face that suggested he was about to crumble under whatever weight had just been thrown onto him. I set down the box I was carrying on one of the tables and nodded at him, a silent signal that I’s ready to roll whenever he was.
“Still think it looks good?” Libby's voice cut through the air, pulling me from my thoughts.
I turned around to see her adjusting my flannel, wrapping it around her body like it was tailor-made just for her. Confusion washed over me like a cold wave. Just two days ago, she had been seething with anger, her words sharp and cutting as she proclaimed her intentions to remain mad at me indefinitely. I could still hear the echo of her frustrated voice, laced with emotion, as she told me she’d be angry until she simply…wasn’t anymore.
Was now that time? She seemed to be in a much better mood. Yet, a knot of uncertainty twisted in my stomach. The fear of losing the tentative peace we seemed to have found loomed over me, making it hard to find the right words to say. I’s scared if I said the wrong thing she was just gonna snap back at me and start hatin’ me all over again.
But then she took my hand, all delicate like, and began tuggin’ me behind her, back into the courtyard. I wutn’t gonna tell her ta stop— she could’a been takin’ me out ta sacrifice me to the walkers n’ I still dont think I’d tell’er to stop. Not with her fingers tangled up in mine like they were.
“Can I ride you?” The question slipped past her pretty little lips and sent heat to every inch of my body.
“Huh?” I stammered, lookin’ around at the obvious destruction surrounding us.
Her expression shifted to one of confusion, her thumb grazing my own in a gentle, electrifying caress. “Can I ride with you?”
I swallowed hard, the word ‘with’ echoing in my mind. “Yeah,” I finally managed to reply, my voice thick with heated emotions.
Her lips curled into a small, mischievous smile that felt like it was special and just for me. “You okay?” she asked softly, her fingers gently squeezing mine.
I nodded, trying to push down the remnants of the blush that had appeared. With a playful spark in her eyes, she hopped onto my bike as if she owned it, confidence radiating from her every move.
“Come on, teach me.” She urged, looking around for the ignition. My eyes flicked to the group beginning to spill out of the building, but I brushed aside the distraction. I just wanted a little more time to focus on the redhead in front of me.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
He gently shooed my hand away from trying to turn the key and guided it, instead to the clutch. With a determined and patient look, he began to explain the steps to turn the engine on and get us moving. Apparently the phrase, ‘easy as riding a bike’, didn’t account for motorcycles because I had a strong feeling I’d need more than one lesson before I was taking off anywhere.
Not that it really mattered all that much to me.
After the confirmation that we’d drove Woodbury out had settled, I’d been riding a victorious high. Everything had fallen perfectly into place, and now we just needed to squash out the lingering threat to finally breathe easy. When Daryl tried helping with my bags, I couldn’t help but tease him— things were going so good, and I didn’t want to damper my mood by pinning down my grudge. And he did look good whenever he put his muscles to work. Once I started flirting with him though, I couldn’t stop from slipping back into our previous…situationship.
But right now, I was captivated by the way he lit up while explaining how the motorcycle would stall if I let go of the brake too quickly. Just as I was starting to get lost in the moment, Rick’s sharp whistle pierced the air, signaling that our one-on-one time had come to an end.
"Rick, we're staying," Glenn was announcing as we walked up. "We don't know where the Governor is. If he comes back, we'll hold him off."
"Just the four of us?" Daryl questioned, glancing between Rick, Michonne, and me, his brow furrowed with temporary concern. "All right."
"I appreciate you stayin'," Rick gave an appreciative nod towards Glenn before spinning his fingers around in a circle, letting us know it was time to go.
I don’t know why I did it—not really. Maybe it was because I’d been touch starved, or it could’ve also been my victorious high still rolling strong. Whatever the reason, I found myself entwining my fingers with Daryl’s, pulling him toward his bike with a sense of boldness that surprised us both. Even before he left, we were never overly physical with each other— at least not in front of everyone else. So I was surprised he let me keep pushing the limits and didn’t pull away. It sparked an unexpected thrill.
It also meant that as much as my pulse raced, I didn’t let my hand wander down his torso, to linger at the top of his pants as we sped down the open road. I’d dipped my toe into deeper waters already, and the response had been more than I anticipated.
It felt like I was on the edge of something exhilarating yet fragile, and I didn’t want to overstep. I knew there would be plenty of opportunities to explore what lay beneath the surface after we wrapped up our business with the governor.
As we zipped down the winding road, the bumpiness of dirt and gravel gradually gave way to smooth asphalt, a welcome change that lasted for about twenty minutes. Soon, we entered a vast clearing where remnants of what once might have been flourishing crops stretched out on either side. Up ahead, a cluster of heavy-duty vehicles stood haphazardly parked along the roadside, their presence imposing yet oddly abandoned. There didn’t seem to be any movement or signs of life— the opposite actually, as there were three or four walkers munching down on something out in the desolate fields.
The geeks were too occupied to either care or notice us when we approached, and by the time they did there was either a katana, bolt, or knife stuck through their skulls. With each one we took down, it became increasingly clear: most of the bodies scattered around us belonged to the Woodbury soldiers who had just previously attacked us.
I began inspecting a vehicle, careful to avoid stepping in any walkers guts. My eyes were immediately drawn to the shattered windshield, riddled with bullet holes and aimed directly at the driver. This hadn’t been an accident, it had to have been an ambush of some sort. A loud bang came from the vehicle behind me, causing all four of us to jump into defensive poses. From where I stood, I couldn’t see everything that was going on, but I slowly reached for my own weapon as I saw Rick draw his. Slow and calculated, Daryl opened the door and out poured a dark-haired woman, hands held up, and trembling in fear.
Daryl slammed the door shut while the rest of us began closely approaching. She stood there, wide-eyed and trembling, caught between fear and uncertainty, whether to trust us or not.
The way I saw it, she didn’t really have that many options.
“What the hell happened?” Rick demanded, lowering his weapon just a fraction.
The woman looked around, making eye contact with each of us before explaining that they’d tried to retreat back to Woodbury, not being able to justify the cost of the fight with us. “But he made us pull over,” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she continued, “When we refused to go back, he just started gunning us down.”
Her name was Karen, and she’d managed to pull a dead body on top of her to trick the governor into thinking she was already dead. My stomach churned whenever she revealed that he stuck around to inspect his massacre before driving off with two men named Martinez and Shumpert.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she kept explaining. “People that I knew…I loved some of them—they just started rising and tearing into each other’s flesh. I had to make a run for the truck before they got me too.” She was all out sobbing now, and in that moment, an instinct stirred within me. I wanted to reach out and let her know that everything would be okay. Was that human nature taking over? The overwhelming urge to tell someone that was in such a panicked state that things would be okay.
“You know which way he went?” Daryl asked, uncaring about the woman’s distress.
She shook her head vigorously, pressing herself against the truck as Daryl began to pace, his restless energy filling the space. I swallowed hard, scanning the scene alongside Michonne, who seemed deep in thought, weighing Karen’s frantic words. Rick stood nearby, his eyes methodically scanning the empty roads, finally landing on Karen—the only survivor of the recent carnage.
After convening away from her, we’d come to some form of agreement on what to do; if the governor chose to return to Woodbury, likely to pin the massacre on us, Karen would be our witness to the truth. And if he stayed away… well, we’d still have her to convey all the chaos that had unfolded. It would be a start to toward de-escalating tensions—a truce that would hopefully go over much better than our previous one had.
At the end of the day, our goal was clear: we wanted peace at the prison and revenge against the governor. The people of Woodbury had done us no harm; our quarrel lay solely with their leader.
With the daylight quickly fading, we relayed our plan to Karen before loading her up in the truck with Rick and Michonne. Our destination was Woodbury, but we decided to keep the vehicles a few blocks back—safety first, especially if the governor had returned and decided to adopt a ‘shoot first’ policy.
The closer we inched to Woodbury from the outskirts of the woods, the more clear it became that there wasn’t much going on within the walls— likely a sign that the governor hadn’t returned. It would make sense for him not to. How else would he explain away losing his entire militia but still managed to walk away without a scratch? He was a smooth talker, but I don’t think even he could charm his way out of that one.
When the makeshift walls of Woodbury came into view, a wave of unease washed over me, as I remembered the last time I’d been inside those walls. I’d been stripped down, humiliated, and shot in crossfire. Oscar had died there. Merle and Daryl had been pitted against each other. And even Andrea, who we thought lost, had been revealed to be alive, tangled in the web of that twisted place.
The five of us maneuvered through the scattered graveyard of vehicles outside of the perimeter of Woodbury, covered by nothing more than the bullet peppered metal and the night sky when the first set of shots rang out. My heart leapt into my throat and I couldn’t hold back the small cry that escaped my lips as I hunched down, instincts kicking in. Karen, who was following me closely, had placed a soft hand on my shoulder before asking if I was okay.
In that moment, I felt like crying—not just because of the fear but because of the weight of it all.
This entire situation was beyond fucked. Neither of us deserved to be in this situation and I wanted to throw my arms around her neck and apologize for how much this situation had spiraled. But I didn’t. No matter how much I wanted to backpedal the last few weeks, I couldn’t undo anything that had already happened. My sorrow and fear would have to wait until later. Right now I needed to be a fierce soldier—later wasn’t necessarily promised anyway.
I untucked my gun from its holster and joined in on the frantic volley of gunfire that was taking place. Whatever chance at a peace treaty we were going for was surely dissipating the longer this went on.
“Tyreese!” Karen's voice pierced through the chaos, her arms up in a desperate plea. “It’s me, don’t sh--“
“Get down!” Before she could finish, Rick yanked her down and out of the line of fire.
Then came the silence—a stark, heavy pause that clung to the air amid the wake of swirling gun smoke. “Karen?” A deep voice called out from somewhere on top of the walls. “Karen, are you okay?”
With a cautious glance over the car, Karen emerged, hands raised high, her face a mask of determination masking her fear. “I’m fine!”
"Where's the Governor?" Tyreese shouted back.
"He fired on everyone," Karen choked out, swallowing back tears. "He killed them all."
Another stretch of stunned silence. I felt an arm on my waist briefly, as Daryl inched closer to Rick. He looked into the night sky, squinting as if he could truly see another enemy from the ramparts, but nevertheless, I found myself following suit. "Why are you with them?" The same male voice called out again, appalled. I couldn’t blame him; we were the enemy.
"They saved me!" Karen announced, looking over to the four of us, who were still crouched behind the car.
As if assuming the best, Rick let everyone know, “we’re comin' out!"
“Do what?” I shot him a wild look, my heart racing. Daryl growled something under his breath, his irritation palpable, but Rick merely reinforced his words, holstering his gun as if that gesture alone would assure our safety.
Rick took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the car first, his hands raised high in a gesture of surrender. Michonne and I followed close behind, stepping into the uncertain light. Daryl hesitated, weapons still clenched tightly in his hands, casting Rick a sharp, uncertain glance before finally relenting and lifting his arms in surrender. The tension hung thickly in the air as we exposed ourselves to whatever awaited us.
We moved towards the entrance, cautiously following a few feet behind Karen, until the gate began to groan open. The anticipation hung in the air until two familiar figures stepped through, and suddenly, everything clicked. That name—Tyreese—echoed in my mind, and I realized why he looked so stunned to see Karen with us. He’d witnessed one of Rick’s crazy episodes first hand. "What are you doin' here?" Tyreese asked, particularly soft as his eyes flickered from Rick to Karen a few times.
"We were comin' to finish this," Rick admitted, though unapologetically, "until we saw what the governor did."
"He -- he killed them?" The words barely left his lips, yet I sensed he wasn't entirely taken aback by the revelation.
It seemed like even Rick himself had trouble piecing together why the governor did what he did, especially with no signs of reappearing at Woodbury. It made the deaths of his militia all the more pointless. "Yeah," Rick finally responded with a heavy nod. "Karen told us Andrea hopped the wall goin' for the prison. She never made it. She might be here."
I hoped that maybe she had taken a different route, or perhaps a herd had slowed her down. Surely, she hadn’t been bitten—no, that was too horrific to even think about. Andrea was smart and determined above all else. Even if she had left to join our side, her and the governor had been romantically involved. I twisted my face in disgust just thinking about that—but it had been the truth. He would’ve wanted her to get to us safely, wouldn’t he? But then, I recalled how he had sent Merle to hunt down Michonne when she left. But Andrea was different. My heart raced at the thought, yet I couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at me.
Tyreese granted us entry, then followed Rick as he led us to the area where Glenn, Maggie, and I were held. My stomach churned as I tried pushing the memories down. I shifted uncomfortably as we shuffled down the hallway. “This is where he had Libby, Glenn, and Maggie," Rick told Tyreese.
"The governor held people here?" Tyreese's voice trembled with disbelief, his eyes wide with horror.
“Did more’n hold 'em," Daryl spat out, venom dripping from his words as he held his gun higher.
I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat that I hadn’t even noticed before. Straightening up, I readied my weapon, adrenaline coursing through me. We were drawing closer to the door where the governor had kept Maggie and me, and my stomach twisted violently when a loud thud echoed from behind it, blood trickling ominously under the door.
That didn’t mean anything though. It could’ve been explained away by a thousand different things. Right?
"Will you open it?" Michonne asked Rick, her tone uncharacteristically heavy.
Maybe it couldn’t be explained away.
Maybe I was just a stupid kid that thought too optimistically.
Maybe I just didn’t want to lose another piece of the beginning and I was trying to force the reality away from my mind. As Rick counted off, I held my gun steady, but I wanted nothing more than to run away. Far away to some countryside chateau where I would never have to know of anyone’s injuries or deaths ever again. I could carefully curate a graveyard for the ones I’d already lost, placing their undisturbed bodies next to one another in a perfect row, with wildflowers planted alongside so something could bloom from their deaths.
When Rick reached three, the door was pushed open and the first thing to be seen was a bloody body, one of a used to be walker, then two bare feet to the left, "Andrea!" Michonne’s katana fell uselessly to the floor as she dropped to her knees. With trembling hands, she gently brushed the tangled blonde hair away from Andrea's face, desperate to find answers on what had happened behind the previously closed door.
"I tried to stop them," she murmured, just as I stepped warily into the room. I didn’t want to see this, but I needed to—I needed to let her know that I was here and things would be okay.
"You're burnin' up," Michonne said breathlessly.
And when she peeled back her blood-coated jacket—the one her sister Amy used to own, I wanted to tell her that I’d dig a beautiful grave for her as well. That I’d plant extra flowers alongside it and she’d never even remember the angry red bite that adorned her shoulder.
"Judith, Carl, the rest of them…" she trailed off, struggling for words.
"Us," Rick whispered, kneeling closer to her. "The rest of us."
"Are they alive?"
“Yeah,” he replied, a sad smile painting across his lips. “They’re alive.”
"It's good you found them," she told Michonne, her eyes flickering around the room. "No one can make it alone now." I didn’t even try to stop the sob that left my throat when our gazes met.
"I never could," Daryl’s voice trembled, grief heavy in his tone.
"I just didn't want anyone to die," she looked apologetically at Rick. "I can do it myself."
"No," Michonne protested.
"Oh, I have to," she insisted. "While I still can." With trembling lips, Michonne nodded, reluctantly surrendering to Andrea’s final plea. “Please?” Andrea’s gaze landed on the gun in Rick’s hand, and I couldn’t suppress the small smirk that tugged at my lips when she teased him about knowing how the safety worked.
"Well, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Michonne sniffled, wiping away some more tears.
I shook my head, finally sinking down to the floor beside Rick. “Me either,” I said softly, reaching for her trembling hand.
Something inside of me shattered the night we lost Andrea. It had been so fragile and light, I didn’t know it had even existed until it was gone, and now I’d mourn it for the rest of my life. When we finally gathered up the Woodburians and took them to the prison, it had been daylight once more, and by the time I laid my head down, I was beyond resting.
I cried every tear my body could muster, but sleep was a distant dream, only arriving when darkness finally enveloped my cell, and the bottom bunk shook with the indication Daryl had finally turned in as well.
.i don’t think i could love you more.
Notes:
we got some soft #Liryl, but then lots of other emotions too, cause idk if anyone’s realized this yet, but Libby has in fact been going through it for season 3 okay?
prob gonna have a cute buffer chapter to fill in before season 4, then we’ll dive in… cause tbh season 4-7 were my favs!!! and I’ve been looking forward to sinking my teeth into writing them since I started.
Thanks to all those that are still reading, and thanks to anyone who’s kindly leaving reviews. They genuinely help keep me going 🩵
Chapter 33: a lick’a what she was sayin’
Summary:
I wrinkled my nose, crossing my arms defiantly. “Good,” I declared. “I don’t need you bringing back anymore girls to flirt with you anyhow.”
“Stop,” he replied, his tone half-amused.
Pouting my lips, I leaned in dramatically and grabbed his arm. “Can you please help with the fences today, Daryl? They’re piling up pretty high by D-block.” I mimicked an exaggerated southern accent, channeling the overly eager girl who’d been throwing herself at him since he rescued her and her sister on the road a little over a month ago.
Notes:
explicit from the start….but I’ll still put ** before and after. this covers the months of late nov-through about mid dec, before the prison fell.
(shoutout to gothic-pumpkin & dixons-sunshine on tumblr for encouraging me to run w this plot line bc I was super scared to take this risk w Libby, and they gave me so much love and encouragement to go through w it) 🤍
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.but i can't help getting caught up in it all.
**
The night was alive with the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the faint, low growls of walkers shuffling outside the gates, but they were both things that I cared little to pay attention to when Daryl’s cock was brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot inside of me.
“Fuck,” I moaned, desperately digging my fingers into the chocolate locks that had grown so much since our days at the quarry. “Do that again, please.”
Bottoming out again, he lifted my leg all the more higher to rest against the crook of his neck. In another life I likely would’ve complained about how far he was stretching my leg, but the only stretch I was concerned about in that moment was how hungrily my cunt stretched around his cock.
Short and quaint grunts echoed atop of me, and I struggled to see Daryl’s face through the curtain of hair and moonlight that shrouded over us, but I could catch a few glimpses of how beautifully strained he looked and I knew not to expect him to last much longer. It was my favorite part about having sex with Daryl—getting to know his body and each delicately timed reaction that came with it.
“Libs—“
He broke off as he plunged into me once more, not even managing an entire word. He pounded into me three, four, five more times, his thrusts long and hard.
“Dar, you can cum.” I whispered in between gasps.
I could almost feel a wave of frustration dripping off of him as he shook his head vigorously. “Nah, you first.”
He’d been on a ‘you first’, tangent lately. For everything, really. I showered first in the morning, I went before him for breakfast, and I even got first dibs on what nights I wanted for shifts. To be honest, the shift schedule didn't make much difference; we usually ended up keeping each other company on whatever nights we had to work. But still, I had to admit, his insistence on putting me first was starting to feel like a playful challenge.
I was determined to break that cycle for a little bit, even just for tonight. “Daryl, baby,” baby. A term of endearment that was used scarcely and strictly in moments like this. “Please cum for me.” I rotated my hips the best that I could given the position he had me in, and clenched down tightly as he continued to pound into me.
“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath before pulling out.
Despite his flustered demeanor, he still managed to hold my leg up until he was finished. I honestly admired how little he manhandled me, no matter the situation. With careful movements, he eased me down until my back touched the blanket, and I winced as his sticky cum grazed my skin.
Before I could catch my breath, Daryl began twisting around until his mouth was suckling my nipple. “Dar,” I whined, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he wasn’t having any of it, his hold was strong.
With his lips wrapped perfectly around a hardened nipple, he drug his hand down to settle between my thighs, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinding up, searching for a pressure I knew he’d provide. And surely, the pad of his index finger began working quickly, circling my clit—teasing it really, before he flattened another alongside it and moved them both rather roughly around. It was sloppy, but it was so intoxicating to know that I was the only person that got to explore this side of him.
Daryl wasn’t a virgin when we first start fucking, not a virgin by any means…but he also wasn’t exactly an expert in pleasure either. He’d come a long way from back at the CDC, and I was pleased to know everything he’d learned and become accustomed to, had all been tailored to fit me.
What used to only be achieved from a vibrator (mainly because I rarely had interest in sex, just orgasms), I was reaching beyond what that could do whenever I wanted with Daryl. And he looked absolutely gorgeous while doing it. Much better than a little purple or pink bullet at least.
In that moment, watching the moonlight bounce off his sweat covered forehead as he switched which nipple he wanted to pay attention to, I thought he was the hottest guy that had ever walked the planet. It might not be saying much, but I would bet all that I owned that if he and that one guy from Supernatural were both in a room together, I’d easily choose Daryl over him in a heartbeat.
“Dar, I want more.” I whimpered, thrusting my hips up in impatience. I would’ve been fine had he wanted to stop after he came, but stopping now would be a disservice to both me and him.
Popping off of my breast, he peppered gentle kisses all the way up my chest until they lingered above my lips. “Yes, m’am.” He muttered as he pressed his own against mine.
Gasping at the entry of one of his thick fingers, I welcomed his tongue to explore my mouth and to swallow each moan that followed. He gently curled his fingers in that perfect come hither motion while his thumb began drawing circles around my clit. I could’ve cried from pleasure when his lips explored down my neck again, before placing short and sweet kisses all along my breasts.
It absolutely wasn’t fair how well he worked my body. The way he got so unbelievably lost along my skin when it reacted to his touch so perfectly.
I groaned and tried sputtering out that I was close, but I choked on my words whenever heat washed over me. I was sure my cheeks were burning hot enough to light a fire. And he kept working me over until I was pushing up and away from him, a soft, breathy laugh escaping his chest as he pulled me back down.
**
This was Heaven.
Lying in the tiptop of a refinished guard tower, my body curled against Daryl's, the sound of groaning walkers and crickets still chirping: it was Heaven.
“I missed you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, unabashed and unfiltered. I knew how cheesy they sounded, but in that moment, I didn’t care.
I felt his chest hitch and a flicker of disappointment washed over me when silence filled the space where his response should have been. But should I really have expected him to respond? He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything. But—well, he was something. Not my boyfriend though. He was something else entirely, and even if it didn’t have labels, he meant a lot to me, and I hated when he was gone for so long.
This time, he returned from a three-week search for the governor, a mission that seemed to stretch endlessly. As winter’s chill began to creep in, I found myself grounded at the prison, relegated to the confines of its cold stone walls, placed firmly on a ‘no travel’ list until the weather warmed and the harshness of winter relented. It wasn’t just Daryl who pushed for me to let go of the hunt for a while; everyone around me echoed the same sentiment. I don't know if you know, but trying to argue with Hershel Greene is like trying to drive a nail with a spaghetti noodle.
It had been about three months since we’d last saw him, and ever since Andrea’s death, Michonne, Daryl, and I had been searching nonstop, each of us with our own vendetta against him. Now, though, it was down to just Michonne and Daryl.
Being at the prison wasn’t so bad though; it was a far cry from being holed up in some random house, nervously waiting for the next herd to tear through. I found it bittersweet to think of last winter, and how T-Dog and Lori weren’t there to weather another one with us.
Calloused fingers brushed gingerly through my bushed up curls, and I found myself leaning further into them. “Council wants to have a meeting,” he murmured, drawing me in tighter against him.
I nuzzled into his chest, a small smile playing on my lips. “I know.”
“Is it the council, or is it Carol?” he asked, resting his chin on the crown of my head, a soft inquiry laced with curiosity.
Me. The word danced on the tip of my tongue, but I knew navigating that territory was risky. “Both,” I said instead, weaving our legs together in a comfortable tangle. “You’ve done wonders each time you’ve come back, and it helps our community.”
He huffed, twisting one hand free from my hair as he fumbled in the darkness for his jeans. I softened my grip, letting him search for the pack of cigarettes I knew he craved.
“Hey,” I teased, snatching the lighter from his palm. With a careful flick, I ignited the flame and held it out toward the waiting stick dangling from his lips. “You’ve brought more than just a handful of people here, you know. They’ve all become crucial to our little prison.” He tilted his neck back, allowing the cigarette to catch fire.
“Glenn’s more’n capable of doin’ it too,” he shrugged off my remark.
“Mmm-mmm. You’re a great judge of character, and you’d never let anyone get the best of you. Glenn’s too trusting,” I replied, feeling him pull me closer once more.
“You tell him that?”
“I don’t have to, he already knows.”
Daryl drew a deep breath from his cigarette, exhaling smoke in careful circles that glimmered in the moonlight like ghostly halos. A grin tugged at the corners of my lips at his ridiculous trick, and I pressed myself further into his arms, accidentally prompting him to choke on the remaining smoke lodged in his lungs. With a gasp, he rolled me off, propelling himself up as he coughed violently, half-convulsed in a fit. “That’s why you shouldn’t be smoking those things,” I teased, amusement obvious in my voice.
He shot me a wry glance, still wheezing. “This is why I ain’t stayin’.”
I wrinkled my nose, crossing my arms defiantly. “Good,” I declared. “I don’t need you bringing back anymore girls to flirt with you anyhow.”
“Stop,” he replied, his tone half-amused.
Pouting my lips, I leaned in dramatically and grabbed his arm. “Can you please help with the fences today, Daryl? They’re piling up pretty high by D-block.” I mimicked an exaggerated southern accent, channeling the overly eager girl who’d been throwing herself at him since he rescued her and her sister on the road a little over a month ago.
Kristen was her name. A bit older than me, with a sister named Anna who was my age, almost to the day. Truth be told, Kristen by herself wasn’t that terrible, but watching her flirt with Daryl set something ablaze inside me. I hated the sight of it, and I hated her for it. Even more because Daryl, oblivious in some senses, fed into a lot of it. He’d taken a certain role at the prison—being part of the council and all, and he’d become more comfortable with the attention it garnered. Not that he was all touchy-feely all of a sudden, but it irked me whenever she so freely laid her hands on him. Even if he did pull away.
It felt so petty to resent her for simply flirting with a man who wasn’t mine to begin with, yet no amount of self-reprimanding could quell that urge to shove her aside whenever she got too close.
“She ain’t all that bad,” Daryl shrugged, shaking me off and grinding his cigarette into the stone floor beneath us. “Ain’t no worse than you.”
Heat rushed to my face—part embarrassment, part fury.
She was all that bad, and here he was, defending her. A bubbling frustration swirled inside me, making me regret bringing her up at all. “Doesn’t matter,” I sighed, desperately trying to shift the conversation away before I blurted out how I really felt.
Not like he didn’t already know—or at least have an inkling of knowing. I wasn’t exactly subtle.
_____________
Two weeks passed and despite the way he’d brushed it off in the beginning, Daryl had finally accepted that he was undoubtedly the best judge of character right next to Rick Grimes himself. These days though—that was a little questionable. Rick had taken a backseat to leadership, instead electing a form of prison council that consisted of: Hershel, Carol, Glenn, Sasha, Daryl, and myself. Rick’s focus had shifted towards being a father, and it was clear that this choice was having a profound impact.
After talking to both him and Carl in a makeshift therapy session, it ultimately was best for both of them and it was truly starting to show. I was proud of who they were shaping out to be, and saw so much improvement in their relationship just in a few months.
Carl had once been so worried about Judith growing up in a dysfunctional family when she was born. Yet, looking at things now, I think it was safe to say while it may have still been a bit dysfunctional, she’d grow up just fine.
“Hey,” Daryl nudged my dangling legs from the bottom bunk. “Got nightshift tonight—when’s yours?”
“Two nights from now.” I replied, hopping from my bunk. “You want me to bring a snack, or are you?”
The term ‘snack’ meant either a granola bar or one of those expired Little Debbie cakes we’d split before or after our typical heated session in the guard tower. It was the only reason I looked forward to nightshifts.
“That girl wants to start takin’ watch,” he mumbled as I turned around. “Was gonna let her sit in with me tonight, then just come see you on your next one.”
That girl. She’d really been on one over the last few days— I guess I wasn’t the only one excited for Daryl to be back.
I felt a thick knot form in my throat, bitterness surging within me, but I forced a nod. “Sounds good.” The words sliced through the air sharper than I intended, so I quickly grabbed my bow and beat a hasty retreat from our cramped cell, heart racing.
Why was I letting this get to me so much? It shouldn’t matter that he was off spending time with someone else—especially not some girl. Daryl wasn’t that kind of guy. At least, I didn’t think he was. Then again, he *had* slept with me after I made a drunken attempt at giving him a blowjob.
A surge of frustration coursed through me as I fought the urge to wheel around and beg him to tell her to take watch with someone else. I didn’t want her near him. We may not have been anything official, but everyone knew Daryl and I were a thing. At least everyone except Daryl knew that.
Nothing about mine and his relationship had been kept a secret and even if we’d tried, it would’ve been the lousiest kept secret in existence. We snuck around the prison, careful not to be caught in the act, but truthfully, there was no real privacy and as hushed as we might’ve been, people knew who was sleeping with who. It’s why we’d become more prone to seclude ourselves in the guard tower at night. Once Daryl had realized people were whispering about him, (via Carol), he’d clammed up and only allowed any physical contact to be explored in strict privacy.
Kristen hadn’t been around for that though. She came to the prison after Daryl and I began slipping away to our own oasis. She never seemed bothered by the closeness Daryl and I shared, almost as if she was blissfully unaware or simply didn’t care.
But as I thought about the two of them alone in that guard tower, an idea began to dig at me—a delicious little plot born from jealousy. The more I imagined it, the more I felt the urge to set my plan in motion.
_____________
Our numbers were now in the thirties, maybe even the forties, but I hadn’t bothered recounting on my journey through the cafeteria, I was looking for one person, and one person only in the sea of people. A short brunette, with her hair in a ponytail, a pearly smile, and a voice that reeked of southern hospitality.
I passed by Beth, who’d also been looking for someone: Zach. A boy that had just joined our community two weeks prior. He was a product of a supply run that had gone awry, forcing Glenn and his group into a suburban neighborhood filled with abandoned homes, where they found Zach and a handful of other college kids who holed up in a cookie-cutter house, which looked just like any other on the block. He wasn’t shy by any means and had been putting the moves on our resident ‘daddy’s girl’ since he’d met her.
Watching their interactions was sweet, a tangible symbol that life was slowly becoming more bearable again. After all the shit we’d faced, seeing moments like those served as a comforting reminder that a sense of normalcy was returning. It was nice to have the luxury of time to make friends, to flirt with one another, and to voice our trivial complaints. Just the other day, we’d debated the color of curtains we wanted to hang up on our cell bars; an odd request, but one that sparked lively discussions. Each conversation helped weave us closer together, transforming our once bleak existence into something that resembled a community filled with hope and companionship.
“I think I saw her and Anna sitting at one of the longer tables a few minutes ago.” Beth had told me before scurrying off in search of her newfound crush.
Taking her instructions, I shuffled over to the three sets of long tables in the cafeteria and scanned down each aisle until my eyes landed on the familiar brunette ponytail. My mind ran through my plan again, mentally practicing my lines as I approached and swallowing down my nerves.
It wasn’t that serious. Just a little nudge for her to mind her business and leave Daryl alone.
With a final sigh, I slapped a picture perfect smile on my face before calling her name. Her eyes were scrunched as she turned to face me, but not two seconds later she’d plastered on her own smile. “Hey,” she greeted, briefly looking between her sister then back up at me.
“Hey, I was wondering if you were busy tonight?” It was posed as a question.
Shaking her head, her face softened along with her bright smile. “Nope. I’m supposed to do nightshift with Carol tomorrow, but that’s all I have planned for nights this week.” Internally, I scoffed. Doing double nightshifts were horrible and even with the petty vendetta I had against her, I felt wrong for continuing, but she pressed me on what I needed her for.
“Seriously, it’s nothing,” I brushed her off. “I was gonna meet up with Glenn tonight for something and needed someone to cover my shift. It’s not that big of a deal though.”
Her lips drew in a tight line, “I can’t do watch by myself anyways. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, “Oh, no. Daryl normally sits on watch with me, I just figured you would want more training, but since you’re sitting with Carol tomorrow, it’s not a big deal. I promise.”
And when her face changed in realization, I knew she was going to backpedal before she even started. “Oh! I can do it tonight too. I just couldn’t do it alone yet.”
_____________
A thrill surged through me, tinged with a hint of guilt that curled in my stomach. I had set my plan into motion, knowing full well it skirted the boundaries of what was appropriate—perhaps even veering into the realm of childishness.
But the thought of her spending any of her free time with Daryl was enough to fuel my determination. I felt a rush of exhilaration at the disruption I was about to cause, convinced it was time to show her just how off-limits he truly was.
As I ascended the metal stairs, anticipation buzzed through me. I could already picture the scene unfolding in the next thirty minutes, and my heart raced at the idea of finally revealing to her what she seemed to be ignoring all along: he was already taken.
Again; Daryl and I were exclusive to everyone but him. I didn’t necessarily think it was overstepping to make it more obvious to someone that seemed to be ignoring the obvious. Maybe that’s why things ended up how they did though—I was too caught up in my emotions to even consider how anyone else would’ve looked at it.
I sent out a short whistle, notifying him that I’d finally reached the top, though I’m sure with his expert hearing he already knew. When I heard the repetition of the whistle shot back to me, I began moving towards where it had come from until my eyes adjusted to see his frame leaning over the railing and looking out past the fences.
“Quiet night?” I asked, leaning into his side, soaking in the warmth of his body against the cool night air.
He hummed in response, placing an arm around my shoulder and tucking me closer before muttering something about it being ‘too damn cold for this shit’, and shuffling inside the closed off area of the tower.
Responding that it wasn’t too cold, my fingers teasingly toyed with the seams of his jacket, inching it off bit by bit. “Libby,” he whispered, mostly into my hair as he peered down at me. “Let’s warm up first.”
With a playful pout, I responded, “Don’t wanna.”
“Yer bein’ needy,” he teased with a half-hearted scoff, nudging my forehead playfully and coaxing me to lift my chin and meet his gaze. In that moment, I couldn't help but mourn the loss of electricity in this post-apocalyptic world—the darkness made it impossible to savor the vibrant depths of his blue eyes, which seemed to hold galaxies of emotion.
Without a second thought, I tilted my head just enough to bridge the distance between us, locking my lips onto his. I was more than pleasantly surprised when he instantly responded, his lips moving against mine with an eagerness I hadn’t expected. Usually, he would need a moment to fully take in the moment, but he wasted no time to weave his fingers into my hair.
When I pulled back, his eyes flickered over my face in confusion.
**
But I paid him no mind as I quickly got to work on my knees. I could see his Adam’s apple bob in the glowing moonlight, and thought, like I always did, that there was nothing hotter than having Daryl Dixon so vulnerable. You’d think that I would’ve stopped my ministrations when his vulnerability came into play—that since I cared so much for him, I’d put aside all my jealousy and admit what I had planned.
I didn’t though. I continued to unbuckle his belt and loosen the buttons on his pants until they dropped around his ankle. “Want it in my mouth.” I’d said, while giving his cock sweet kitten licks, tasting a little before taking him in fully. I loved how heavy he felt there, and the way his head nodded back the deeper I took him.
Daryl had always been extremely responsive to me, but there was something about my hand gently massaging his balls that always managed to be his undoing. Not five minutes in, and he was forcing me off, pushing me back into a lying position.
“Fuckin’ hate this texture,” he muttered, yanking my fleece pajama pants down, followed swiftly by the unsexy underwear I’d been wearing. “Ready for it ta get warm again. Sick’a these things.”
I stifled a laugh. It was hardly my fault that our run crew had fortuitously unearthed a whole retail display filled with brightly colored holiday-themed pajama pants—each pair softer than a cloud and delightfully warm against the chilly air. Yet here he was, a connoisseur of the bizarre who willingly indulged in squirrel guts and sardines, yet brimming with opinions about my wardrobe choices.
A gasp left my body as his lips attached to my inner thigh. “I’ll be sure to stock up on shorts next time I have a chance.” I leisurely whispered, giving in to the pleasure he was so close to providing.
**
He abruptly pulled away, his body tensing as a jolt of awareness coursed through him. Taking a brief but deliberate pause, he scanned the shadowy corners of the empty room with a suspicious glint in his eyes, as if expecting some unseen danger to emerge from the nowhere. It was then that I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a heavy metal door swinging shut reverberated through the guard tower, followed by the light, quick footsteps ascending the rickety stairs. My heart raced, a wild thump in my chest; it was happening.
In a flurry of panic, Daryl hurled my previously discarded pajama pants in my direction, his face twisted in frustration as expletives flew from his lips like arrow from his crossbow. The sheer turmoil written across his features struck a chord of regret within me, reminding me of the hasty decision I’d made to cause the man I cared for such distress. Just as I was starting to rethink my choice, the upper door swung open with a creak, and there stood Kristen, donned in cozy, well-fitting attire that seemed incongruous with the urgent atmosphere.
I’m sure if it were daylight, all of ours faces would be similar shades of pink. “Oh my god!” she shrieked, her eyes wide with shock as she momentarily froze in the doorway. “I’m so sorry, oh my god! I thought—”
“Shit, girl! Close the damn door!” Daryl spat, his voice edged with indignation and a hint of desperation.
And it was almost comical—if Daryl hadn’t looked utterly mortified and if I wasn’t witnessing the fallout of a rash decision that had come at the expense of his dignity—I may have even laughed, when she took two steps in the room, and closed the door behind her.
In a frantic attempt to regain some semblance of composure, I scrambled to fix myself up, adjusting my pants and smoothing down my hair, all while consciously avoiding eye contact with Daryl for as long as humanly possible. The tension hung thick in the air, a surreal blend of embarrassment, anxiety, and an unspoken acknowledgment that we’d been caught in the act.
_____________
The rest of the night, I found myself wrestling with the decision I’d made.
Doubts swirled in my mind like a storm as I replayed everything that had happened. Daryl didn’t seem pissed at me, but I knew that was partly due to the fact that we were surrounded by a relative stranger. That and he had no clue that I was the one who orchestrated the whole fiasco. Maybe, I thought, if he continued to see it as nothing but a mere accident, I could play it off. That was the goal, right? To have Kristen witness us in a slightly indecent position and create a fabricated explanation for why I hadn’t bothered to inform Daryl about my shift swap with her.
Truthfully, my so-called ‘plan’ was unraveling from the very beginning, primarily because I hadn’t even formulated a believable excuse for why I had asked Kristen to cover for me. Much less, I had no idea how to justify my failure to tell Daryl about it. The truth was, I was so consumed by jealousy and my own twisted emotions that I acted impulsively, leaping without considering where I would actually land.
That’s why I was rushing around the courtyard now, hunting for either Glenn or Maggie to help cover my ass. Glenn was my only hope to navigate this maze of deception I had constructed.
God, I was so stupid.
The look of humiliation etched on Daryl’s face played repeatedly in my mind, haunting me like a nightmare. He hadn’t been in his bunk when I had slipped out that morning, and with every corner I turned in my frantic search, I cringed at the thought of encountering him unexpectedly and having him demand some kind of explanation right then and there. I had always prided myself on being a convincing liar, especially as a stripper. But that didn’t mean I loved telling lies; I merely did it because it paid the bills and required little effort. Those men, whom I would charm with a smile, didn’t matter to me beyond their wallets.
But Daryl—he was different. He mattered. I found myself grappling with my own feelings, caught in a tangled web of confusion. Did I love him? Maybe. Or maybe I didn’t. I knew one thing: mortifying someone you ‘loved’ wasn’t love at all. It was an act of selfishness and I was…I was selfish.
Fuck.
I was horrible.
“Maggie!” I shouted, my heart pounding against my ribcage as waves of relief surged through me like a tide. I’d found one of them. “Maggie, where’s Glenn?” I pressed, panic threading through my voice.
Her brown eyes, usually filled with a familiar warmth, widened in shock at my panicked state. She set down the heavy bucket of water she had been lugging, the sloshing liquid spilling over the rim onto the asphalt. With a swift, instinctive movement, she reached out and placed her hand gently on my shoulder. “Is everything alright?” she asked, searching my face for answers, but I just shook my head.
“No. I need Glenn, just Glenn. It’s important.”
“He’s on a run. Should be back this evenin’, tomorrow at the latest.” she explained, her voice calm but laced with concern.
My heart sank. I’d have to avoid Daryl for—until Glenn got back. I groaned, shrugging Maggie’s hand from my shoulder and cursing the ground. “Libby, what’s goin’ on?”
“Complicated.” I replied, trying to maintain some form of calm. “Look, when Glenn gets back, tell him to come find me immediately. If anyone else asks, just -- I’m sick, okay?”
Yeah, I thought, sick in the head for doing shit like this.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Ain’t ever dealt with a blow like that one. From Merle, n’ my Pa, n’ hell, everyone else actually, but ain’t ever had to deal with that sting comin’ from someone like Libby. It felt like a repeated kick in the gut anytime I thought about it.
Even worse cause she was laid up in the top bunk, actin’ like she was sick or somethin’. Maybe she was—I don’t know. She was damn sure actin’ funny, that’s for sure.
When the top bunk creaked, and I saw her silhouette disappear out the cell, I knew it was her nightly bathroom routine and went ahead and flicked on the battery powered lamp that sat on the makeshift bedside table. Somethin’ about her outright avoidin’ me made it all the more harder for me to give her the benefit of the doubt.
I loved her—from the minute I decided to return to the prison when I’s in the woods with Merle—I knew I loved her. I only knew it cause I ain’t never felt so much for somebody before, n’ love sounded right. It felt right. But still, I ain’t ever loved somebody before, so I wutn’t real sure how to handle it. Each moment felt like I‘s sailing through uncharted waters, vulnerable and unsure, but irresistibly drawn to her.
Besides; Libby was an absolute magnet for everyone. Everyone, and I mean, everyone, loved her— they gravitated towards her. So what was I, compared to everyone else. Just one’a many. There wutn’t a single person that coulda held a candle to her, but me? I’s just some asshole that she spent a lotta her time with. Now that we’s growin’ at the prison, it was just a matter’a time before someone that matched her better came and swept her away.
Still, I held on tight to the little moments we shared. I‘s just happy to have her attention, even if only for a little bit.
Footsteps padded down the dim corridor, and I heard them halt right after the turn—likely a reaction to that damn light I should’a left off
I swallowed hard, then stood and made my way to the cracked cell door. Just as I thought—Libby was just starting to head my way— likely due to the fact she saw my shadow heading her way. “Hey,” she whispered, no trace of sickness in her voice as she scooted past me and into our space. With a firm grip, I pulled the door shut behind her, calming myself before turning to talk to her.
“Y’alright?” I asked.
She was already half-hidden beneath the blankets, her back turned to me, by the time I got the words out. No matter how calm and patient I was, I couldn’t get past the obvious avoidance. “Libs,” I called again, attempting to gain her attention. Still, she ignored me.
I walked towards the bunk, my fingers softly tracing the curve of her blanket-covered waist. The moment I made contact, she tensed—a brief pause that said everything. I knew she was deliberately shutting me out now. “Liberty, girl, c’mon,” I hated how much it sounded like I’s begging her. I mean, I was, but I didn’t like it.
Finally, she twisted, knocking my hand off in the process. It was ridiculous how perfect she looked, even with her two wild braids sticking out, reminiscent of Pippi Longstocking. “I don’t feel good,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied, nodding slowly. “I know, I -- about last night. I’s just wonderin’ why ya didn’t say nothin’.”
Her expression hardened, and a look of horror washed over her features. “Forgot.” Bullshit.
I knew she thought she was a good liar, but I wutn’t buyin’ it—not for a second.
“What’d’ya need to go do?” I pressed further.
Hot bile surged in my throat when she finally answered. “Had to talk to Glenn about something. It was important.”
My ears were burning, and I fought the urge to start yellin’ at her like I know she deserved. But I clenched my jaw and held back, choosing instead to scan her one last time before goin’ for my bow, resting on a nearby chair. “Yeah?” I challenged.
Libby was now perched on her hands, her intense gaze following my every move. “Yeah,” she echoed, tilting her head slightly. “What’re you doing?”
With a deep breath, I closed my eyes, swirling emotions threatening to spill over. I could be a little bitch when I was far away from here— I’ll be damned if I broke down like a sissy in front of her. The bed rattled and when I re-opened my eyes she was climbing down the ladder. “Glenn’s been on a run for three days, Libby.”
Her face fell, reality crashing down as she processed my words.
“Dar, I-“
“Why?” I asked, still confused on what exactly it was she was tryin’ to achieve with her shitty lies.
She fumbled over her words, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, it was stupid--Dar, she was always hanging around you, and--I didn’t mean--I wasn’t thinking, I’m so sorry.”
My face twisted. Ain’t a lick’a what she was sayin’ addin’ up. How could it? She was a mess. “Libby, just -- I’m gonna head out for a few days. We can—“
“No!” She damn near shouted. “Daryl, please,” most the time, hearin’ her say that, woulda only encouraged me to do something that would make her twist her fingers in my hair. But right now, all I wanted was to soothe her tears. I didn’t need everyone awake and up in my business.
Not after last night.
Enough of my business was probably bein’ chattered about during all hours of the day.
“Libby, I just need to think.”
“I’m sorry, Daryl. Please--please don’t go. You can be mad at me, but please, just stay.” Her tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. I had to stop myself from reachin’ out and brushing them away. Having her stand in front of me and beg me— it ruined me.
But so did her admission that followed.
They shattered what little composure I had left.
“I just, I wanted to--she was hanging all over you, and flirting, and I hated it. I hated how handsy she was with you, because--well, we’re -- I mean, we’re not together but we’re still, kind of--“ She reached for my arm, but I instinctively pulled away, the distance between us feeling like a chasm. “I thought that if she saw us, then it’d make her stop and-“
“N’ what about me? Huh?” I took a step back, scanning over her as if I was seeing a stranger in the girl who usually occupied my thoughts.
“Daryl, I—”
“Yer that big of a whore, huh?” The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, a rush of anger boiling over as I finally grasped what exactly it was that she‘d done. “Yer willin’ ta let just anybody watch ya get fucker? Is that it? How I feel don’t matter? S’all about you? You think I wanted someone else seein’ me like that?”
When she moved closer, I pushed her away, my grip tightening on my bow. “Fuck this,” I muttered.
I’m pretty sure she tried comin’ after me, but Glenn rushed down the hallway lookin’ for her n’ I could only assume why. Good to know he made it back in one piece.
.jealousy, jealousy.
Notes:
….sooooooo…..we LOVE a little drama and LOVE to see our oc fucking up bc she’s only human 😶 low-key, I ain’t no better then Libby, bc fr, leave the man I’m so OBVIOUSLY with ALONE 👺
…also, did we just read a confession from Daryl??? internal or not, our man has obviously been thinking ab his feelings since before Merle died. it only took like?? a yearish to come to terms. bets on when he’ll actually say something to her lmao??
Chapter 34: a Lady Gaga concert
Summary:
He dipped his chin down, the corner of his mouth lifting into a shadow of a smile. “M’sorry for callin’ you a whore,” I shook my head, opening my mouth to tell him not to apologize, but he quieted me. “Y’ain’t no whore. I’s just mad s’all.” Apologies didn’t come easy to him, that much I knew, and I felt better just giving forgiveness where it truly wasn’t needed.
“I’m glad you’re back, Dar.” I mustered up a cherry cake smile.
Notes:
takes place over the course of a little over a week after Daryl leaves (also, plz be gentle with Melanie bc she’s a previous little Ariana Grande sized oc) (and if you’re a theatre kid you can imagine her as Ari as Galinda…bc the lyrics are also from wicked and they’re a vibe) (if you can’t tell I’ve seen wicked 4x since it’s release)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.because I knew you.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
Waking up with crusty eyes from crying all night was nothing to me. Until I turned fourteen, I was all too familiar with the sight of red cheeks and swollen eyelids staring back at me in the mirror. So, when a slight sting settled in the corners of my eyes while I tackled fence duty, it hardly bothered me. The fact that Daryl had been gone for four days now and there was no hint of his return, well, that bothered me.
"I like your tattoo," came a soft voice beside me.
I turned to see Melanie, a small blonde girl, smiling. She and I came from completely different worlds—our lives were like parallel lines that would never meet—but we were the same age. I wouldn’t quite call us friends, yet she consistently found a reason to talk to me whenever she could. In fact, her little gestures were the only reason I remembered her name at all.
“Thanks,” I replied, a matching smile of my own, looking down at the tattoo in question: a small Rainbow Fish on my forearm.
I’d gotten it the spring before the dead began to rise, and had plans to add other children’s book characters alongside it. But the end of the world’s timing threw off my scheduling unfortunately. I always thought it would spark conversations with kids who needed a bit of magic in their lives, a fun little thing to talk about if they liked any of the characters.
After a few more moments of sticking the shambling walkers, Melanie paused, wiping the sweat from her brow, and looked over at me with curiosity. “I have one too,” she said, peeling off her coat to reveal a design on her shoulder blade. “It’s not the rainbow fish, but it’s my favorite from when I was little.” There, perched like a memory, was Corduroy bear—just a little smaller than an index card, yet bursting with nostalgia.
My lips curled into a small smile. “He’s cute!” I squeaked, feeling a genuine warmth towards her.
“Thanks! I spotted yours a few weeks back, but I was too shy to say anything,” she admitted, tugging at her sleeves and giving a nervous laugh. “Talking to strangers isn’t really my forte.”
It was refreshing, really—sharing these little snippets of our pasts against the backdrop of the present disarray.
“That’s a very hit or miss thing in the midst of an apocalypse,” I replied, an ironic smile tugging at my lips.
Melanie half laughed, “If Michonne hadn’t saw me duck down in that car I was hiding in, I can’t be too sure I’d be alive right now.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “I had no idea Michonne brought you in!” I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. Michonne had just returned from her latest hunt for the Governor, and she had brought a family of four with her to bolster our growing village.
It reminded me just how long Melanie had actually been with our community—well before I’d established my role in things.
When everyone voiced their concerns about the cooler weather and urged me to stop joining Michonne and Daryl on their excursions, I found myself stepping into an unexpected role as the welcoming committee for our new arrivals. It became my mission to make sure that each newcomer felt genuinely welcomed and at ease in our community. I took it upon myself to personally show them around, guiding them through the layout of the prison and explaining our daily routines.
I diligently assigned them to their cells, ensuring that each person had a semi-comfortable space to call their own, and I helped them navigate our schedules, introducing them to various tasks and opportunities. My natural inclination towards connecting with others turned out to be an asset; I engaged in friendly conversations, listened to their stories, and shared my own experiences, hoping to give them a better sense of belonging. With my enthusiasm, and according to Glenn, being the ‘people-iest people person’, I quickly became the most approachable and friendly face in the prison, making the transition easier for everyone. In many ways, this role suited me perfectly, and I began to thrive in positions that I never imagined for myself.
It made the fallout between Daryl and I, all the more painstaking. People heard him storm out, it didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night, and of course gossip spreads fast. I was being whispered about and side-glanced at one too many time for it to be accidental.
“Her and your boyfriend!” she teasingly added, a playful glint in her eye. My heart sank at the mention, but she was blissfully unaware and continued with her story. “Men scare me, but being approached by a woman wielding a sword asking how many people I’ve killed…” She paused, grimacing slightly at the memory. “Daryl didn’t seem nearly as terrifying, even with all those squirrels perched on his shoulder.”
For a fleeting moment, I forgot about the argument Daryl and I had just had. The warmth of our conversation enveloped me, and a smile broke through my earlier turmoil. “Oh, the first time I met Daryl, he held me at arrow point!”
Her mouth gaped “No!” she replied, before she let out a fit of laughter.
“He’s really come a long way since then,” I said, wide-eyed for added effect, savoring this lighter moment.
Just then, I caught sight of our relief crew approaching, and instinctively, I let the cold metal of my crowbar fall from my grasp, a hushed sigh of relief escaping my lips. I was on the verge of retreating to my bunk, ready to let the weight of my emotions spill out. But before I could make my escape, Melanie called out my name.
And that sent another pang straight to my heart.
She called me ‘Libs’, and it wasn’t much—petty I guess—but Daryl had been the only one since my Uncle to call me that, and it was something particularly special to me. I liked that only he called me that. But now Melanie was, and I didn’t want to correct her.
“Yeah?” I turned, swiftly masking the turmoil brewing inside, a skill honed over the years.
Bouncing towards me, she looked like Tinker Bell, her petite frame complemented by the playful bun atop her head. “Have lunch with me?”
Without even considering it, I nodded. “Sure.”
_____________
Melanie wasn’t from here, I’d found out over both lunch, dinner, and her agreeing to paint my nails with some pink Sally Hanson nail polish that had been snatched up on a supply run. She was a college student at Ole Miss, pursuing a fast-track law degree, and was flying back from a concert in Miami when her flight got laid over in Atlanta. Then the apocalypse happened and she’d been on her own ever since. All of her family lived in Oregon and she’d last talked to her mom when she’d been leaving Miami a little over a year ago.
With a laugh, she’d blamed her impulsive decision to catch a Lady Gaga concert for the chaotic state of the world, joking that it was the universe's way of punishing her for stepping out of her comfort zone.
I found myself drawn to Melanie in a way I hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling—friendship, perhaps? I’d never really had ‘girlfriends’ before. Sure, I worked at a strip club filled with women, but those relationships never extended beyond the flashing lights and loud music of the night. We weren’t exactly chatting about our lives over coffee.
But Melanie was different. She wasn’t like Glenn, and I often felt she wouldn’t quite get my quirks and references. Still, there was something about her kindness that made every conversation feel easy and warm, like a shared secret in the middle of a disasterous world.
Three nights after we first crossed paths, I couldn’t be more grateful for her presence. As I prepared to call it a night, I was met with a jarring sight—Carol standing outside my cell, her expression grim and heavy. My heart plummeted, knowing that look could carry a thousand awful messages. Even Soup sensed the tension; he darted away from me and into our dimly lit cell, his little shadow flitting toward Daryl’s unmade bunk, as if sensing the storm that was brewing outside.
As I prepared to call it a night, I was met with a jarring sight—Carol standing outside my cell, her expression grim and heavy. My heart plummeted, knowing that look could carry a thousand awful messages. Even Soup sensed the tension; he darted away from me and into our dimly lit cell, his little shadow flitting toward Daryl’s unmade bunk, as if sensing the storm that was brewing outside.
Caught in a whirlwind of anxiety, I debated whether to rush toward her or approach slowly. Surely, if something had happened to Daryl, I’d have found out by now, right? We might have been at odds, but that didn’t erase the devastation I would feel if he was hurt. I didn’t even want to think about the other possibility.
As I drew closer, I opened my mouth to speak, but Carol’s voice sliced through the air like a dagger. “Did he even say where he was going?” she hissed, her tone chill enough to freeze blood.
I swallowed hard. Recently, Carol had transformed from the fierce but compassionate woman I’d known into someone icier, more unyielding. “No,” I said, shaking my head. She adored Daryl—much like I loved Glenn. Their bond transcended friendship; it was something deeper, something strong.
Her eyes were like sharpened steel, cutting right through me. “You had no right doin’ what you did to him,” she shot. I knew better than to respond; that would only fan the flames of her fury. “Or to her. It was childish, Liberty!”
I cast my gaze down, my heart heavy as I glanced at the others filtering into their cells, each of them taking note of the hostility brewing between us. “Now he’s gone. He didn’t tell anyone where he was goin’ or when he’d be back, and it’s all on you! You hurt him.” The venom in her words was palpable, and I could feel the ears of the prison weighing in on our confrontation.
When I finally mustered the courage to part my lips, I barely managed to gather my thoughts before she silenced me with another biting remark. “He deserved better. He trusted you, and you stripped him of his dignity. You should be ashamed…”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, igniting the shame I already felt. She was right; I was acutely aware of my own failures. Daryl was still gone, and I hadn’t had the chance to mend all that I’d broken, no opportunity to offer the apologies that lingered like ghosts in my mind. I withdrew into myself, preferring solitude over facing the churning disappointment of our inner circle. Glenn and Soup had been the only two to check on me since Daryl left, and I understood why.
I honestly expected Carol to confront me a lot sooner than she did.
She had invested so much into Daryl’s emotional well-being, helping him navigate his feelings and how to handle them, that it was only inevitable she would hold me accountable for my shitty impulsive decisions. I’d recklessly tampered with the heart of someone she put so much time and effort into that I’d very potentially undone what she’d fixed up. Still, even while knowing that, it didn’t soften the blow of her words.
With purposeful strides, she stepped closer, lowering her voice, although it hardly mattered now—everyone had already absorbed the wrath she directed at me. “We’re having a meeting when either Sasha or Daryl comes back, whoever gets back first. After what you’ve done, I no longer believe you’re mature enough to hold a position in the council.” Her gaze bore into me, a promise to tear me apart from the inside out. Without another word, she turned and strode away, descending the metal stairs and vanishing from sight.
Soup brushed between my legs, tickling my calf lightly, causing me to wipe tears I hadn’t realized were falling and scratch the itch that the tickle had caused, but I didn’t know how long I actually stood outside of the cell until an airy voice whispered for me to follow them, then guided me outside and to the outer side of to one of our garden houses. There, Melanie braided my hair and let me cry, even though I didn’t deserve to.
It was Soup’s gentle nudge against my leg that snapped me back to reality, his playful tickle urging me to wipe away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. I lingered in the hallway, lost in my thoughts, until I was beckoned by a soft voice guiding me outside to one of our garden houses. There, Melanie patiently braided my hair as I let the tears flow—though deep down, I felt undeserving of such kindness.
_____________
“Maybe I should open up a beauty salon, you know?” Melanie chided, massaging my scalp with some clarifying shampoo. “There can’t be that much competition in the middle of an apocalypse. Besides, there’s another beauty supply store we passed on our trip back that I’m seriously going to need you to talk to Glenn about raiding.”
Melanie had declared a spa day for us, insisting that after my confrontation with Carol, I deserved some serious pampering (I didn't). And by pampering, she really meant that she’d be giving me the works—she had painted my toenails a bright pink (her signature color), led a DIY yoga session, plucked my eyebrows with precision, and we even applied each others almost expired face masks. Now, she was meticulously working on my hair.
When Michonne, Daryl, and I had sought refuge in a beauty supply shop; it had felt like a hidden treasure. We agreed that making a quick return to the prison with a good haul would be more than worth it. The shelves were stocked full with hair products, brushes, razors, and nearly every beauty item you could dream of. After sending Glenn and others back with better transportation, we loaded up our haul, grinning like kids in a candy store.
I smiled at my apocalyptic hairdresser, knowing how she felt about asserting herself. “I’ll say something.” I assured.
Glenn headed the majority of our supply runs, and I knew how eager he was to clear out all the stores along Highway 19—it was almost like a personal challenge for him. We could always use hygiene products, so bringing it up with him made perfect sense. Maybe I’d even join them; it had been ages since I’d gone on a run.
“Alright, hair’s all shampooed and conditioned!” she exclaimed in a sing-song voice, wrapping my freshly washed hair in a towel. “Don’t even think about falling asleep with wet hair!”
“Yes, ma’am!” I rolled my eyes playfully at her sternness. Melanie had a knack for hair care; her shiny, thick blonde locks were evidence of that. But judging by her instructions, I could tell she hadn’t quite grasped the challenges of dealing with my wild, bushy mane.
She grabbed my arm, laughing as we made our way out of the showers, going on about this had been the closest to a normal day she’d had since this all started.
“I wish we lived in the same block,” Melanie poked her bottom lip out just a bit as we approached d-block. “Where are you in the morning?”
“Laundry.”
She scoffed dramatically. “Laundry? I wish! I’m stuck on watch.”
It’s not that I loathed doing laundry—it was just that time dragged on in that cramped laundry room. Plus, with Carol also on laundry duty, it was a recipe for disaster, and I wanted to avoid her at all costs. So, without hesitation, I offered to switch shifts with Melanie before bidding her goodnight.
Gently, I pulled back the purple and beige sheet that covered my cell, and saw that a crossbow was leaning like an ominous sentinel in the corner. I swallowed; I felt my pulse racing as my mind shuffled through what to do. I hadn’t expected him to be back.
Daryl was sprawled on his bunk, propped against the wall, meticulously inspecting the tip of an arrow. I swallowed hard, setting my shower caddy down in its usual spot and letting my damp hair unfurl from the towel. I needed to think. He hadn’t been around when Melanie and I left for our showers just over an hour ago; clearly, he must’ve just gotten back.
Either that, or he’d been back for a while and just decided to make his appearance over on c-block.
My fingers curled around the cold iron ladder leading to my mattress, but as I climbed just a couple of rungs, the knot in my stomach pulled me back down. No, this couldn’t wait until morning. I rounded the bed, settling myself in the cramped space of the bottom bunk, positioning myself directly in front of him.
For the first time, his eyes swept over my face.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said after taking a second to grapple my thoughts. “For what I did, and how I acted. I know it wasn’t right, and you didn’t deserve any of that. I was jealous and angry and I let it get to me.” He chewed away on the inner part of his bottom lip, studying me carefully. “I’m just-- I’m sorry, Dar.”
Time stretched in the silence that followed, his contemplation palpable as he finally raised his eyes to meet mine. Dirt was embedded in the fine lines of his face, but I didn’t mind, not when his pretty blues were the main focus. I’d missed him so much.
He dipped his chin down, the corner of his mouth lifting into a shadow of a smile. “M’sorry for callin’ you a whore,” I shook my head, opening my mouth to tell him not to apologize, but he quieted me. “Y’ain’t no whore. I’s just mad s’all.” Apologies didn’t come easy to him, that much I knew, and I felt better just giving forgiveness where it truly wasn’t needed.
“I’m glad you’re back, Dar.” I mustered up a cherry cake smile.
I was. With him being back, it gave me a chance to do more than tell him I was sorry; I could show him. My impulsive decision absolutely gutted any opportunity of some form of romance flourishing between us, but I don’t think it had ruined our friendship. Not completely anyway.
Having Melanie around might help things as well, I thought. There was that blossom of brand-new friendship pulsating with her and I, it was almost like the friend version of puppy love. We hadn’t had the chance to grow bored of each other’s company yet.
Figuring silence would probably be the best way to let him finish settling back in, I climbed back up the ladder and cozied under my comforter. I could only do so much at once.
_____________
Just as Carol said, once either Sasha or Daryl got back, we’d be having a meeting to discuss my role on the council. It was the first thing Glenn told me when he peeked inside my cell and climbed onto the top bunk to have breakfast with me the next morning. My watch shift got canceled by Mrs. Peletier herself, and according to Glenn, she’d been on a roll gathering everyone up.
“Did you guys talk?” He asked, spooning some scrambled eggs into his mouth.
Being a positive ray of sunshine for the day was my goal. “We did! It went…good, I think.” I smiled brightly, as though the rift between me and Daryl had been but a small issue.
“That’s good! If you two are on better terms, things might go over better.” He replied.
I hesitated, savoring the sweetness of the instant pudding lingering on my tongue as I took three slow bites, desperately trying to drown out the swirl of anxiety in my mind. “I hope so,” I replied, though my voice quivered slightly.
We finished our first meal of the day in silence, the room heavy with unspoken thoughts. As we slipped out of my cell and headed toward the council’s meeting room—once a warden’s office—I could feel my heart racing. Daryl was already there, man-spreading in a rolling chair and twiddling with his knife. The sight did little to ease my frayed nerves. Then again, I’m not sure if being the last person to enter would’ve been any better—probably would’ve been a lot worse actually. All those eyes on me and whatnot.
He nodded up as we entered, his curiosity immediately piqued. “Y’all know what this is about?” he asked, glancing between Glenn and me. I instinctively avoided his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
“Carol didn’t tell you?” Glenn asked, incredulous. His head turned to me, searching for answers.
My goal to remain all sunshine-y was faltering due to the new information and sudden attention. I wanted to shrink down and hide away from this confrontation, even more so now that I knew Daryl was in the dark about everything. It was bad enough that we’d be re-hashing the problem. I didn’t necessarily want him to be blindsided, but I didn’t want to have to tell him either, so I looked towards the door, hoping that we could hurry up and get it all over with.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Daryl sit up straighter, rolling his chair a bit closer to Glenn. “Hey,” he said, trying to engage him.
A thick silence enveloped us for a moment, then Glenn sighed, the sound heavy. “Carol wants to decide whether or not Libby should stay on the council after what went down between the two of you.”
“That ain’t none’a her business,” Daryl replied, his voice low and strained. “Don’t nobody else gotta know.”
My eyes flickered to him, alarm coursing through me. Daryl hadn’t been there to see how everything had unraveled when he stormed out or to witness Carol's explosive confrontation outside our cell two nights ago either.
“Everyone already knows,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Panic gripped me, constricting my throat as tears threatened to betray the calm facade I fought to maintain.
Glenn, the ever-calm anchor, took a deep breath and explained how the tail end of our argument echoed through c-block, a late-night performance for anyone still awake. As if that wasn’t enough, Carol had practically turned our issues into a public service announcement the night before, ensuring no one missed out on the prison gossip. By the time he finished, my cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I struggled to hold back the heavy tears welling in my eyes.
Self-consciously, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, my gaze locked on the ground. This wasn’t fair for Daryl. Me—maybe—but not him.
The screech of metal on concrete jerked my attention up. In walked both Michonne and Hershel, the latter limping with a makeshift prosthetic leg. A newer member of our community, George, had been a handy man before the apocalypse and rigged our resident veterinarian-turned-doctor up with something that served him better than crutches.
“Uh-uh,” Daryl shook his head, brow furrowed in irritation just as Michonne attempted to take her seat. “Meeting’s done. We ain’t doin’ this.”
“Daryl,” Michonne started, rising right back up. I watched her shoulders relax as the door opened once more, Carol coming through to complete our council meeting.
Daryl’s jaw tightened as he locked eyes with her, repeating himself with a stubborn set to his shoulders. I shrank beside Glenn, wishing to disappear as the tension crackled between them. I hated that I’d been the one to cause all of this conflict and that it was over something so high school.
Carol placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but her face was anything but. It was the same face she’d had on whenever I was at the receiving end of her harsh words a few nights prior. (deserved or not)
“It needs to be addressed.” She said in her usual tone with Daryl. This wasn’t a punishment for him; it was for me.
“Has been,” he shot back, a flicker of defiance sparking in his eyes. “We’re good.” Daryl made to move past her, but I think even he knew it wouldn’t be that simple to just brush Carol off.
Her expression darkened and at that point I was ready to just resign from my position. “It caused issues within the prison and among the council. This isn’t something we can just overlook.”
“I think,” Hershel began, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on me. The silence thickened, the air heavy with expectation. It was an unspoken term, but he was the assumed head of the council. “We should give Libby a chance to speak.”
Daryl whirled around, chewing on the bottom of his lip like he wanted to say something. Carol’s steely gaze sent a shiver down my spine. Glenn, Michonne, and Hershel were all watching me curiously, as if my shitty explanation would do more than make both me and Daryl more uncomfortable than we already were.
“I completely understand the frustration from everyone, and I’m sorry for…” I trailed off, desperate to find the right words, “everything. I think taking a step back from the council might be better than reopening this situation—”
“Nope.” Daryl cut through my words like a knife, spinning back to face Carol. “So, she fucked up one time, how many time have the rest of us fucked somethin’ up round here? You rationed out more than we could afford twice,” his body shifted to face both Michonne and Hershel, “you n’ me’re always off on some wild goose chase. Nothin' says we even need to be on the council. This is the first meetin’ I’ve been to since y’all convinced me ta stop lookin’ for the governor. And a lotta that convincin’ was just Libby remindin’ me how cold the trail went.”
He shouldn’t have been defending me so hard. I’d done Daryl so wrong, but there he was, fighting tooth and nail to keep me in a position I no longer felt that I deserved to be in. He kept going on about mistakes that everyone on the council had made, but wouldn’t stop putting me in the spotlight while I battled my own guilt. Up until that point, I technically hadn’t— there wasn’t much I could screw up in my role other than doing exactly what I’d done.
“C’mon,” Daryl said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along as he navigated past Carol, a silent assurance that we‘d get through this together.
_____________
It took Daryl approximately three cigarettes and two room temperature beers out and behind b-block to calm down. Before that, he’d been a ball of tension, grunting and puffing like a simmering kettle, which reminded me of the man he used to be back before prison. I remained silent, scared that if I tried talking to him while he was so emotionally charged it would be a mistake on my part. The only reason I was there in the first place was because he’d continued to drag me along behind him when we left the meeting.
There was an obvious tension still between us, but it felt a lot easier to breathe now that we weren’t surrounded by others, and I found myself holding my hand out, motioning for the cigarette that had just been kissed by his lips. He only furrowed his eyebrows before handing it to me though, watching intently as I took three short drags.
I wasn’t a smoker, but that wasn’t to say I’d never smoked.
“Ya smoke like a girl,” he scoffed, taking the cigarette from my held out hand. “You wearin’ makeup?” he began inspecting the faint pink stain around the filter before sticking it back in his mouth.
“Well, interesting observation, but I am a girl,” I shot back, secretly warmed by the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And yes, I am wearing makeup. I, uh, made a new friend.”
For the next thirty minutes I filled him in on everything he’d missed since he’d been gone, including my new found friendship with Melanie. The conversation was nice actually — after the heaviness that had been around me for the last week. He mentioned all the deer he reluctantly let go and how he hadn’t even gone that far—close to where Woodbury used to be. We were both skirting around the topic we’d eventually need to discuss: Kristen.
It wasn’t until he finished his third beer that the brunette was brought up, the alcohol loosening his tongue, asking if I’d spoken to her or if she said anything to me since that night, to which I shook my head on both. He hummed, a short silence blanketing us thinly. “Ya should,” he murmured while cracking open another Bud Light, the sound of the fizz from the beer echoing in the stillness.
Deep down, I knew he was right; an apology was long overdue for orchestrating that shit with Kristen. Yet, a spark of jealousy flared inside me at the mere thought of it.
Jealousy was what got the best of me and started all of this.
“Yeah,” I sighed, leaning back against the cool concrete steps.
_____________
The following morning (and after a few practice rounds with Melanie) I managed to see Kristen in the middle of fence duty and decided to use my position as a council member (while I still had it), to pull her away. I was aware of the awkwardness that she likely heavily felt, as I felt it as well, but it didn’t outweigh the need for this delicate and overdue conversation.
I cleared my throat once we’d made it halfway to the c-block courtyard, pausing before our feet connected with concrete. Kristen stopped as well after noticing my lack of continuing and look back at me with furrowed brows. “About the other night,” I sighed, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry. It was wrong and on so many levels inappropriate; you didn’t deserve any of that. Really, I’m just…sorry.” My voice was defeated, pathetic almost, as I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. I was tired of the awkward conversations I kept needing to have.
Her lips drew in a tight line while her face flushed a rosy pink as she relived the moment. I’d put her in a position where truly, that was the first and only viable reaction when thinking back. She shouldn’t have been witness to, nor even known about what Daryl and I did in the guard tower.
It made my stomach turn just knowing that that information was general knowledge now— not for my sake, I didn’t mind— but for Daryl. He was more emotionally sensitive to things like that and I cringed at my own jealousy fueled decision.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice small. “I’ve been there before, but I promise, he doesn’t have eyes for me or anyone else really. I mean,” her eyes scanned the field behind me, not necessarily looking for anything, but to collect her thoughts. “I only flirted with him after I found out you two weren’t a thing, but he either: didn’t catch my drift, or he wasn’t interested, and not to gloat or anything, but I’m a huge flirt—he definitely knew what I was doing.”
I knew all too well about being a huge flirt, especially with Daryl, and if only she knew how oblivious he really was, she’d understand just how low she was shooting about him not catching her drift. Sometimes even I questioned whether he knew I had a big, fat, crush on him…and we’d been fucking for almost a year.
I shifted, leaning my weight onto my other foot, letting out a sigh. My fingers quit fiddling with my shirt, and I drew my lips up into a small smile. “I got ahead of myself and wasn’t thinking when I told you to come up there that night. I’ve never needed to be jealous before, so I’m really sorry you got that end of the stick.”
Kristen shook her head, returning my smile. “Like I said; I’ve been there before.”
We chatted leisurely for a few minutes, but before long, Melanie swooped in, claiming she needed to fix my ‘messy braids’ (a scheme we’d set up, just in case the awkwardness was too much). But it wasn’t—the air was clear and I felt ten tons lighter.
.i have changed for good.
Notes:
ok ok ok. do we 💙 Melanie? is Carol being valid? are we excited for the next chapter?
give me the opinions and thoughts and everything bc I’m so hype ab season 4! we have 1 episode left until we enter, and I think this drama is totally necessary.
also.. I really think amping up Carol now, helps reiterate her dilemma in the next few seasons. I mean… I love her.. but that lady is psycho
Chapter 35: you didn’t come here to discuss carrots
Summary:
“Carol,” I said, breaking eye contact, feeling a mix of discomfort from her words and a reluctance to dive into those feelings with her.
No matter our current relationship, I respected Carol — once upon a time, I had pitied her for her situation, but that pity had morphed into deep respect. She was fiercely loyal to our group, and above all, the safety of everyone behind these walls was her top priority.
Almost dangerously so.
Chapter Text
.remember all the things we wanted.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
“She hates me.” Libby puffed, tossing the clean sheet and blanket Melanie just brought her onto the top bunk.
The blonde girl gave her an apologetic, tight-lipped, smile. “I’m on laundry duty Tuesdays and Thursdays, you know that. Just tell me instead and—“
“Uh-uh!” Libs cut her off, a frustrated groan echoing through our cell as she struggled to tuck in one side of the sheet. “It’s the principle.”
From what I’d gathered during Libby’s perturbed entrance after her shower, was that she’d asked Carol if she’d drop a set of clean bedding off in our cell this morning, and the woman failed to deliver. The weird thing was, is she dropped clean bedding off to everyone else in c-block that had submitted a request, no problem. So within the hour, she’d gone to get Melanie (who Carol had taken a particular shining to), so she could borrow one of her many hoarded sheet sets and some plush pink throw for the night.
It’d been about a month since mine n’ Libby’s fight, n’ Carol still ain’t let up on the girl.
All Libby gets from’er is either side eye or short words. Hell— if she’s w’me all she gets is ignored. I knew Carol was ticked that Libs was still on the council, n’ I got a earful about it, but unless I’s willing to talk about how I felt about’er, Carol wutn’t hearin’ it.
A waterfall of red curls draped like a curtain over the railing of the top bunk, and brown eyes peeked into the bottom. “I just want to let you know, Melanie and Glenn would never bully you just because you pissed me off,” she sneered teasingly.
“Excuse me,” Melanie helped herself to take a seat at the foot of my bed. “I’d absolutely bully you if you pissed her off. Especially, if she forgave you before I was ready for her to.” Her brows knitted together as she darted her gaze between me and Libby, who was flipping off the top bunk, showing off her impressive flexibility.
“Whose side are you on?” Libby questioned, crawling over my legs and positioning herself beside Melanie.
I never asked to be part’a their girl-talk session, n’ I sure as hell didn’t offer up my mattress as their meeting spot, but somehow I got roped into being involved in their debate. Each time one of’em finished sayin’ their piece, they’d snap their heads over at me, eyes sparkling with anticipation, waiting for me to shrug my shoulders or tell’em I didn’t care. It was obvious neither of’em cared for my opinion, just that I contributed.
After a twenty minute go around, Melanie finally scooched off my bed followed by Libby who told’er she’d walk with’er to d-block. It just took’em another twenty minutes to actually leave our cell, and by then I was exhausted of hearin’ them debate over a potential argument between Libby n’ me, that could potentially happen in the potential future.
_____________
The next day, I’s s’pose to be goin’ on a run with Glenn, Maggie, n’ Zach, but after the endless stream of ‘potentials’ last night, I had the urge to swing by the pantry first. I wanted to try’n get Carol to ease up a little bit on Libby; the tension was startin’ to weigh on everyone else (and I didn’t want there to be another late night visit from Melanie that wouldn’t end until well past midnight).
I leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to come through like she did around this time every morning. It had been a busy week after a pretty dry month, n’ she was s’pose to be trainin’ some people to help out with keepin’ stock in the pantry up to date. After our run today, we wouldn't have another one lined up for another two weeks, and we were all countin’ on that one to last us for a while. The logistics behind it were takin’ a little longer though, so today’s run would set us through til then.
“Thought you were goin’ on that run today,” Carol said, lookin up from her notepad, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
I tipped my chin up in response. “I am, just wanted to talk to you first.”
Her brows rose, as she propped her stock list on her hip and gave me her attention. She wutn’t dumb though, she probably already knew what I’s down here for. S’bullshit how easily she read through mine—even more bullshit how she pretended to wonder, lookin’ at me all expectantly.
“You coulda dropped her some bedding off like ya did the rest of’em,” I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I followed her into the pantry. “S’been a month, give’er a break.”
Carol wutn’t even the one Libby had wronged—I was. I didn’t see why she was still holding onto that grudge like her life depended on it. Sure, maybe I did forgive Libby a little fast, but that wutn’t nobody else’s business but mine. I knew Libby wutn’t like that—she was allowed to make mistakes—that didn’t make her somebody that deserved to be ostracized.
At least—I didn’t think so.
“What she did was wrong, and you’re happier goin’ and turnin’ a blind eye than bein’ upset that she manipulated you,” Carol said, slamming a bag of dried milk onto an aluminum cart. She spun around to grab another, her frustration radiating through the air.
“Cause she ain’t a bad person, just screwed up once—“
“You left cause’a what she did.” Her tone shifted, edged with anger, although her voice stayed steady. “Haven’t heard you yell like that since before Merle, and it’s been a while since you even spoke with that much fire in your voice. This place needs you,” she said, bending to lift another bag of flour, setting it down next to the milk. Her gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. “It needs you more than her, and she threatened the structure of the entire council—“
“Nah, Glenn said you were the one that ordered the meeting.” I cut in, trying hard to keep my own irritation in check.
A heavy silence settled over the pantry, but Carol didn’t break her steely stare. Gone were the days of the woman who’d crumbled to the ground at the hands of a forceful man, and I’s proud of her for how far she’d come — but shit, did her harsh gaze have a way of makin’ my determination falter. “I don’t care what you and Libby do in your free time, Daryl; it’s none of my business. Fooling around in the guard tower while you’re supposed to be on watch? What if something happened? I’ve been combing through those breaches in the fence since October, and so far, none have happened during either of your shifts.” She rounded the table, her gaze still drilling into me.
All I could do was chew on the inside of my lip. She was makin’ her point, n’ I wutn’t gonna make it outta here without lettin’ her finish.
“The whole prison knows what y’all were doin’ up there and you don’t think people are gonna be asking questions? Two people died due to a breach by e-block. You were late to your guard shift, and we brushed it off, but I’m starting to wonder what made you late.”
E-block was part of the tombs that hadn’t been cleared. It was blocked off pretty good now, but in the early weeks of the prison, we really needed someone stationed there around the clock. We were stretched thin, couldn't afford to have someone there all the time — until that couple snuck around late that morning and ended up getting mauled. Me, Libby, and Michonne had ended up stayin’ back for a while until a better schedule was worked out. That day’s tragedy hadn’t been Libby’s fault though, it’d been mine. But getting Carol to believe me? That was a whole other fight, n’ I couldn’t convince her without tellin’ her all the details about that mornin’.
Them people were dead cause I couldn’t stop myself from hanging up that ugly curtain so nobody else could watch Libby change. It didn’t bother her much, that shit never did, but enough’a the guys were gapin’ at’er when she just walked around. I didn’t need no line out our cell, waitin’ to sneak a peek.
Her gaze softened as she took a few steps forward. She placed a gentle hand on my upper arm, as though she hadn’t just tore into me for the last five minutes. “She distracts you—she has since we took the prison. You’re right, Libby isn’t bad, not entirely, but like I said,” she rubbed my upper arm, patting it firmly and ushering me out the pantry. “You’re more important to the council than she is, and we can’t afford—“
I scoffed. This conversation was hitting a dead end, and all it did was stir up a whirlpool of emotions inside me. Nothin’ really came outta it, but I still couldn’t stop myself from takin’ up for that girl—not even when Carol was makin’ sense. It just…I don’t know, it just pissed me off that she was makin’ sense. “She does her part, just as much as everyone else.” I shot back, my voice tightening.
We stepped into the kitchen, meandering toward the doorway; it was her subtle way of kickin’ me out. But in that moment, her eyes grew warm, almost as if she was gonna pull me back in. “Daryl, you love her, but you don’t have to make excuses for her.”
Love.
The word hit me like a punch to the gut, twisting my insides and threatenin’ to spill my dinner from last night. I’d never said it aloud, and just because I acknowledged it to myself didn’t mean I‘s ready to share it, especially not with Libby. My eyes darted to the edge of the door, ensuring no one was eavesdropping.
I continued to chew on the corner of my mouth, grinding until it hurt. “Ain’t like that,” I dismissed her gently, a cop-out for sure. Carol, being who she was, could see right through me, and I didn’t need her prying further. “Give’er a break, she’s tryin’ to fix things.” I adjusted my bow and cleared my throat, deliberately avoiding her gaze as I headed out to catch Glenn n’ them before they slid out.
It didn’t matter what was true anymore; Carol had made up her mind about the situation. I wutn’t gonna be able to convince her otherwise. If she thought we were screwin’ on every single shift, then that’s what we were doin’.
Still, Carol was right: the two of us had just got lucky that nothing bad happened during one of those shifts where we were more interested in each other than anything else outside of our bubble. I wiped my hand over my face when I tasted blood from how hard I’ve chewed the inner part of my mouth thinkin’ bout all’a this; it pissed me off that even if she wutn’t all the way right, Carol had a point.
That couple was dead cause I was too worried about other people seein’ Libby naked than I was about anything else. She wutn’t my girlfriend — our community was growin’ and lots of guys (and girls, who I forgot I ever had to worry about) her age were pourin’ in — she deserved an opportunity with someone that matched her better. Some that wutn’t so jealous that he’d let two people die because of it.
But none’a that meant that Libby wutn’t crucial to the council, cause she was. She talked to everyone, young and old, and really worked with them to find a perfect spot for them in the prison — and she loved doin’ it.
Countless nights I listened to her go on about these people’s life stories and how interesting each person was. She somehow managed to weave them into their own special role here, even the little kids, making sure they felt needed in this new world. I could tell a difference on who was integrated into the community before Libby took over and after.
Zach; he was a wide receiver in college and apparently an avid gamer (not sure how that part ties into why he’s good for runs, but Libby said he’d work good with Glenn. George; some handyman turned engineer, he was an essential part of maintaining and fixing our structural integrity. Michelle; an elementary teacher who had excellent handwriting and was particularly good at staying organized, she’s who ran our scheduling. All the little kids; Libby knew’em by name and remembered all their favorite colors so she could make them an easier to read map on construction paper.
Across the catwalk, I saw Libby flying my way with some bag clutched in her hand and a bright smile lighting up her face. “Hey!” she said eagerly, holding the bag out. “It’s got some—“
“Not right now, girl,” I brushed her off, skimming past her to go to the lot. I’s confused enough as it was, n’ it wutn’t Libby’s fault, but I didn’t need to have her up in my head too. Not after Carol already picked it clean.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
With Carol still angry with me, I elected not to go on the run with Daryl today, even after Melanie slipped into my cell this morning, her eyes wide with desperation as she pleaded for me to join them. After all, Glenn had returned from his last expedition wielding the entire Harry Potter series, and the thought of immersing myself in the wizarding world felt far more appealing than braving the bleak reality outside these prison walls.
I didn’t have anything on my schedule for today, so unless something came up and my assistance was sought out, I could cozy on my bunk and read to my hearts desire for the first time in a long time.
The prison hummed with a rare stillness as I flipped through each page of the first two books: fence duty, hand plowing the fields, the supply run and organizing, made for most cell blocks to be empty. All the newcomers weren’t really ‘newcomers’ anymore and they’d all settled comfortably into their roles, so I felt satisfied.
I pulled Melanie's plush pink blanket snugly over my shoulders, inhaling a comforting hint of vanilla as I rested my cheek against my palm. Remus Lupin had just been appointed the new DADA professor, and I let my mind wander over the trivial (and cursed) fictional position.
A soft clanging of cell bars drew my attention away from my story, my gaze drifting toward the cell door as it was pulled open. Carol stepped inside, cradling a clean set of bedding, which she placed neatly on a makeshift side table in the corner of the cell. She patted it once, and glanced up at me pithily.
“Thank you,” I murmured, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed, trying to mask my curiosity with a calm demeanor. “Do you need any help today?”
Carol grounded a fierce gaze in my direction, crossing her arms. “Do you wanna know why I told Hershel and Rick I didn’t want you on the council from the beginning?”
Humiliation washed my face. I had been blissfully unaware of her reservations about my position (at least prior to the situation a few weeks ago), but now the weight of her words settled heavily in the air. The council had been formed based on recommendations from Rick and a few others in our tightly-knit community. Maggie had opted out willingly, as had Tyreese, though he had pushed for Sasha to represent Woodbury. I still couldn’t grasp how I had landed on that list of options in the first place, let alone been chosen.
I had this nagging feeling that, whether I wanted to hear it or not, Carol was about to unload her grievances about my role.
Raising my eyebrows, I silently urged her to continue. I braced myself for the truth, knowing it might cut deep. Until now, I had thought we had no issues between us; now, I was about to find out otherwise.
“Daryl loves you, and he can’t seem to separate that love from the responsibilities he carries for our people.” Her voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering as she narrowed her eyes at me.
I could sense this wasn’t going in a good direction, and it had barely begun.
“Carol,” I said, breaking eye contact, feeling a mix of discomfort from her words and a reluctance to dive into those feelings with her.
No matter our current relationship, I respected Carol — once upon a time, I had pitied her for her situation, but that pity had morphed into deep respect. She was fiercely loyal to our group, and above all, the safety of everyone behind these walls was her top priority.
Almost dangerously so.
I was aware of the secret self-defense lessons she’d been implementing with the children of the prison. While I didn’t outright disagree with the idea, I had voiced my concerns. Teaching a five-year-old how to wield a knife without parental consent? It felt risky — not to mention the strong encouragment from Rick about letting the children be children. After his fallout with Carl a few months back, he’d doubled down on how comfortablehe felt about kids with weapons. Her heart was in the right place, but psychologically, she could be messing or worsening those kids. But of course, she shut me down and told me to mind my business — and there was something in her eyes that day that made me question her own mental state. Yet, I chose to trust her judgment.
“He’s a leader, Libby. Our community is stronger because of the people he brings in, they trust him, he keeps meat on the table, and when you’re not around he’s more focused on building this place up to be an established place to live in.” Carol locked eyes with me again, her determination evident.
When I’m not around. A flicker of something ignited within me. If Carol hadn’t cornered me in my cell — made me feel ashamed for simply existing — I doubt I would’ve become so upset. If she’d come in here and been angry about what I did to Daryl a few weeks back, I might have welcomed the shame; after all, I deserved that.
But she wasn’t shooting words about how I’d embarrassed him or how I didn’t deserve his forgiveness so easily. No. She was attacking me for my own existence. Putting underserved blame on me, with her ‘issues’ that weren’t mine to own.
My jaw clenched tighter as she pushed on. “I didn’t want you on the council because I knew something like this was gonna happen,” she said. And maybe — maybe she had a point. I wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue, nor did I strive to be one. I flirted with Daryl; relentlessly, like I always had from damn near the moment I met him. Naturally I expected him to bite back sometimes, give me the attention I craved, but he wasn’t the only one I flirted with… he knew that — Carol knew that — and I typically never publicly teased Daryl more than I did any of the rest of them.
He was just the only one I was having actual sex with. Which, I could see as being a problem considering we were messing around on our watch shifts, but she’d yet to point that out. Carol just seemed fixated solely on how my presence was reshaping Daryl’s focus. How most of his mistakes were actually my fault, because ‘you should’ve worn something less revealing’, ‘he gets distracted when he sees other guys talking to you’, or ‘you should think about how he feels’.
“Libby, he has feelings for you and that’s a problem right now—“
“Let me stop you right there,” I cut her off, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not *my* problem.” I scrunched my face in defiance. “Actually, none of that is my problem. I do my job and I do it well and I always have. Searching for the governor, going on supply runs, and making sure everyone that calls this place home feels at home — I do it.”
I wished she’d just go away; to stop talking about Daryl’s feelings, to get rid of her simmering anger towards me, to quit making me feel responsible for things that weren't my fault.
I accepted that I’d messed up during the guard tower incident with Daryl. I was ready to take my share of the blame and accountability for that. Of course people probably wondered if that was the only time Daryl and I messed around during ‘work’ hours. But Carol’s words felt like they were dragging in months’ worth of guilt that wasn’t mine to carry, all while speaking to me like I was a child being reprimanded.
Typically, I found her to be a little over-bearing in an almost endearing way, but right now, she’d overstepped more than I was comfortable with. I wanted her and the threatening gaze she had me under, out of my cell. “It’s your problem when it affects how he does his job,” she countered, undeterred as I began my descent from the top bunk.
I shook my head in protest. “No,” I said, sitting to put my shoes on. “If you have a problem with Daryl getting distracted, if you have a problem with Daryl doing his part, if you have a problem with Daryl putting one person before the community as a whole, it sounds like you have a problem with Daryl.” Holstering my pistol, I made my way out of the cell, angry and confused about a problem I wasn’t even aware of until twenty minutes ago.
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Daryl POV
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“Here,” Melanie said, pushing a handful of candy bars at me. “Put them in your pocket and don’t say a word.” I furrowed my eyebrows, wonderin’ what the hell she was on about, but she must’a caught my drift cause she continued to explain that they were for her n’ Libs’ ‘girl’s night’ and she didn’t want them to be counted on inventory.
I didn’t even know the girl was comin’, but apparently she’d been added as a last minute runner n’ Libby had too, but for some reason she hadn’t felt like tagging along. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was cause’a how I shut her down earlier, but that timing didn’t make sense.
Regardless, this was my first run with Melanie, n’ I was actually pretty impressed. She reminded me a lot of Glenn during those runs in Atlanta—quick, observant, and observant.
She’d be good for the run next month, I thought, mentally reminding myself to make sure Carol could spare her. With the amount of organizing Carol was slated to do today, I was honestly surprised she’d allowed Melanie to come with us.
As Glenn and Maggie navigated the front aisles of the store, Melanie and I worked our way through the fridges, emptying them of any bottled water and unexpired Gatorade. The smell was God awful, a mingling of stale air and forgotten remnants, but our haul was startin’ to look damn sure impressive.
The sound of a bell ringing prompted everyone to look up, weapons raised instinctively. It was just Zach, giving us the heads-up that we had about ten more minutes until a wave of walkers would likely converge on the store. This was supposed to be a short, quick run—just enough supplies to hold us over until the big haul in a few weeks. We didn’t come with enough ammo or back up to fend off too many.
“I’m gonna check the back freezer,” Melanie said, deftly maneuvering around a few bodies strewn across the floor.
I tipped my chin up in acknowledgment, setting the basket of drinks down and trailing behind her. Even though it was a small gas station and we cleared it pretty fast, I didn’t want there to be any surprises lurking around. She was cautious though — readying her knife expertly and slowly pushing the metal door open before stepping inside.
“Damn,” she mumbled, lowering her weapon after what appeared to be a joint suicide scene in front of us.
Although the sight was unsettling, it wasn’t long before we tuned it out—death had become a familiar part of our lives—and we shifted our focus to scavenging through the remnants of the freezer. There was no water, but enough beer to stock a small bar. Melanie tilted her head, wondering if we should worry with it or not. After a few seconds of deliberating, I grabbed three cases and headed out to see if there was any room. It wutn’t a need, but it damn sure wouldn’t hurt to have some extra stashed away once our current stock began to dwindle.
With the slam of the trunk and a few bolts through some walkers, Glenn felt like we could call it a day. It was nearing dinner time n’ we still needed to unload everything when we got back.
“This area’s startin’ to fill up pretty bad,” Maggie commented, throwing her bag into the passenger side of the Hyundai. “We really need to work on the fences at the prison.”
Zach took aim at another walker emerging from behind one of the gas pumps, then turned to check on Melanie and Glenn, who were busy hauling out the last few baskets. He saw it before the rest of us: the herd. It was a grim realization that explained the scattered walkers we had encountered on our approach.
“Glenn!” Maggie hissed, urgency spilling from her voice as she gestured frantically for him and Melanie to hurry up, but it was too late. We had been spotted far too late to make a clean escape.
In a split second, adrenaline kicked in. I strapped my bow down and pulled out my gun, firing at the nearest walkers. Bullets zipped through the air around us, a chaotic exchange of fire and retribution. I glanced over just in time to see Melanie swinging the basket, trying desperately to fend off the encroaching walkers that closed in on her and Glenn. “Melanie!” Zach hollered, makin’ a move to help, but I yanked him back, forcin’ him towards the car.
There wutn’t time for heroics — Glenn wouldn’t’ve abandoned her if she hadn’t been lost already. It was her screams that did me in. As we sped away, the knowin’ that I still had expired candy bars crammed into my jacket only deepened my sense of guilt. And a pit formed in my stomach for the girl I was gonna have to break the news to when we got back home.
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Libby POV
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I squinted into the distance, searching intently for the familiar figure of Rick Grimes, knowing he’d be out here somewhere. My eyebrows knotted when I didn’t immediately spot him in the semi-empty fields though, confused on what other business be had to attend to. His focus had been solely on farming and with how nice the weather was today, I couldn't imagine him elsewhere.
I heard the sound of approaching footsteps drawing particularly close behind me and a smile washed over my face when I saw Rick coming to a halt beside me. His silhouette was unmistakable, framed by the fading light, and his brow was furrowed in that familiar, contemplative way. He shifted his weight slightly, his eyes following my lead as they swept over the field with purpose. “Lookin’ for somethin’?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but I could detect a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Mmm, just some retired sheriff who should be out planting carrots,” I replied, a smirk tugging at my lips.
With a teasing nudge to my shoulder, Rick led the way to his meticulously arranged garden, and I followed eagerly. “How about some potatoes instead? Those carrots won’t be ready for at least a month,” he suggested, kneeling down to sift the soil through his fingers, the earthy scent mingling with the crisp air.
I couldn’t help but think how different he seemed now, unburdened by the weight of leadership. It made me wonder what he was like before the dead began rising. Was this the dad Carl grew up with? A flicker of hope sparked as I imagined a time when laughter came easily and moments like this were the norm.
As I bent down, my fingers brushed through the dirt, stirring up memories of a time long gone. It felt surreal to remember when happiness didn’t seem so elusive. Just over a year ago, I was a twenty-four-year-old college student by day, and a vibrant, confident stripper by night. I thrived on the little things—seven-dollar coffee and the sweet victory of beating my high score in a game. Rick Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Daryl Dixon; just names that felt easily forgotten.
Rick raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight and looking down at me with his familiar intensity. “You didn’t come here to discuss carrots,” he remarked.
I straightened up, shaking my head with a sigh. “Rick,” I began, locking eyes with him, “when the council was formed… did Carol ever mention anything about me?”
He leaned against his hip, wiping his hand across his face as he contemplated my question. I knew Rick wouldn’t scold me with his words like Carol had; he was a master at navigating tough conversations, adept at unraveling thoughts in a way that felt grounded. It was part of what made him such a resilient and compelling leader.
“Yeah,” he replied slowly, “yeah, she did.” With Rick taking a backseat to leadership, it had been a while since any talk of how things were being run had been briefed by him. If it didn’t have anything to do with farming or very occasionally going on runs, Rick wasn’t all hands on deck. “She had some concerns about Daryl’s decision-making skills with you in his ear, and uh - a few mentions of maturity.” He cast an uncertain glance around, avoiding eye contact.
“Maturity?” I echoed, a mix of disbelief and indignation coloring my tone. “Glenn’s younger than me, and Sasha’s only a couple years older.”
“Yeah, I know - I know, I pointed that out,” he replied, nodding earnestly. “You were advocated for by Hershel, me, Maggie…but you know how Carol gets when it comes to worrying about Daryl.”
I huffed, stuffing my hands into my pockets to fend off the chill. “Why’d you guys push for me to be on the council?” My curiosity was burning, eager for answers.
His smile was genuine; friendly, when he motioned for me to walk with him back towards the prison. I hardly found myself conversing much with Rick, our paths just rarely crossed, but when we did, I was always reminded of the clean-shaven officer who once fearlessly led a group of strangers into Atlanta, chasing the flicker of hope at the CDC.
Oh, how different he was now.
Still — there was the same bright smile and steady voice that compelled me to thoughtlessly follow him. There were few people in my entire life that I trusted to never lead me astray, and it was such a weird thing that I’d met two of them at the end of the world.
“Libby,” he said, casting a brief glance my way. “People listen to you a lot more than you think.” Dale had said that at one point too — it was part of the last conversation I had with him. it was when he’d told me about Vienna. “You’re logical and you care about the people here. Look around,” he waved his hand toward the courtyard we were passing, where a lively group gathered around a picnic table. “This place is their home now. They find purpose because you’ve integrated them into our community.”
“But I affect Daryl,” I countered, my insecurities creeping in, a lingering whisper from Carol’s words. “I - Rick, the guard tower thing —“
“You got ahead of yourself.” he interjected smoothly. “Sometimes,” he paused, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “you just need to slow down and breathe. One mistake doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done. And Daryl,” he added, his eyes glinting with a knowing look, “maybe ease off on the compliments and innuendos a bit.”
His encouragement wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter.
“Daryl would risk it all for you. And I think—” Rick glanced around the cafeteria, as if scanning for potential eavesdroppers, “Carol’s concerned that with you two workin’ so close together, it’ll be more likely to happen.”
Gazing around myself, ensuring Carol wasn’t, in fact, listening, I shook my head. “He’d do that for anyone, Rick. It’s just who he is.”
Rick gave me a look that was hard to decipher, a blend of confusion and disbelief swirling in his eyes. With a resigned sigh, he offered the guidance I obviously needed. “Think on it, Libby. You’re clearly still grappling with the fallout from that stunt you pulled last month and how it’s shifted things between you two. Take your time. Reflect on it.”
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Daryl POV
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I ran it over and over in my head: how I was gonna tell Libby that Melanie didn’t make it. Nothin’ sounded like enough though.
Melanie wutn’t even s’pose to have been on the run in the first place — it was a last minute decision that Glenn and I had green-lighted. And if things woulda gone just a little different, Libby woulda been with us too. The thought of Libby in Melanie’s place sent a chill down my spine, and I hated myself for feeling a flicker of relief that it was Melanie and not Libby.
I ain’t ever been so happy that redhead decided to hang back.
Focusin’ on what I needed to do, I felt a lump sliding down my throat when I pulled the key from my bike’s ignition. Carol stood nearby, flanked by the two little girls who’d joined our group at the prison just a few months back. They were eagerly waiting for Glenn to reverse the car so they could begin unloadin‘. For a brief moment, the chatter of the girls and the sound of slamming car doors faded into silence, and I felt a desperate longing to prolong this moment. I wanted to give Libby just a little more time, to shield her from the news that would haunt her through the night and steal away her peace.
Swinging my leg over the bike, I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, steeling myself to break the news to Carol. She’d taken a liking to Melanie recently, n’ while they hadn’t been particularly close, I knew it’d be a blow that she’d want to know about. “How’d it go?” she asked, but her jaw quickly tightened when she took the hint of the somber demeanor of our run crew.
Glenn’s face dropped as he shook his head, popping the trunk open so the others could start unloading their gear. The night had long since fallen, casting a dark shroud over everything, and in the wake of our loss, the black sky felt suffocatingly heavy. “Melanie didn’t make it,” he announced, his lips pressed together in a hard line, his eyes locking onto mine with a gravity that made my stomach twist. “I’ll tell Libby. I was the only one to see everything that happened, and she’s gonna have questions.”
There was no room for debate in Glenn’s tone; he had made his decision and wasn’t about to linger for any input. I wanted to join him, but I knew crowding Libby in a moment like that would only stress her out more.
I waited until every last loose Gatorade and bottle of water was perfectly stacked in the pantry, the back of the Hyundai now as bare as it had been when we set off that morning. I made my way toward C-block, feeling a mix of anticipation and heaviness in my heart.
I wanted to be proud of the haul, but the weight of losing Melanie eclipsed any satisfaction I might have found in a trunk full of snacks and drinks.
As I fished around in my pockets for a pack of cigarettes, my fingers brushed against the candy bars she’d tucked in there earlier—two Milkyways and two Snickers, meant for the girls’ night she’d been so excited about. It was a small, bittersweet reminder of her spirit and the plans Libby had made with her.
The cigarette I lit had long been stubbed out by the time I made it to my cell. From the outside, I could hear the faint sound of sniffling, but no voices followed, leading me to believe Glenn had already slipped out. It had been over an hour since we’d been back, n’ being as we had showers now, he probably took the opportunity to let Libby have a moment alone.
Or maybe I‘s just spinnin’ stories in my mind, seeking any excuse to keep stalling. I didn’t want to see Libby all heart broken — not when things had been so looking so good over the past month.
Biting the inside of my lip, I pushed aside the cell bars n’ slid out from behind the flimsy curtain that offered a false sense of privacy. And there she was, curled on my bunk with her red, tear-streaked cheeks turned toward the wall. The silence hung heavy, broken only by her soft sniffling. I wutn’t real sure of what to do, so I remained frozen for a moment, caught between concern and helplessness.
I finally made a move to set my things down, and as I passed in front’a her, she scooched over, instinctively seeking comfort in the small space of my bunk beneath the thin fabric I called a blanket.
The sound of her sniffles tugged at something deep inside me, unraveling any restraint I had to ease into consoling her. In a rush, I kicked off my boots and climbed onto the mattress beside her. I couldn’t help but reflect on how strange this all felt—there was a time when the very idea of sharing a bed with anyone, especially a girl, would have sent me reeling. But here I was, pulling her into my chest as she cried, and oddly enough, it felt right.
If it were anyone else, I might’a recoiled at the intimacy of the moment like I had the last forty-two years of my life. But with her—or Carol—my walls crumbled, and the urgency to comfort her overtook all my previous reservations.
I held her tight for what was probably hours, our breaths mingling in the quiet as her sobs gradually eased. When she finally pulled back, I thought she must have run out of tears. Her eyes were swollen and she looked exhausted. Still beautiful, I thought. “We gotta stop, Dar,” she croaked, her voice hoarse, her fingers resting lightly on my chest.
Squinting my eyes, I wutn’t real sure what she was talkin’ about, or how it related to Melanie’s death, but I carded my fingers through her hair and kept listenin’. “Carol’s been mad at me for a month now, and I talked to Rick today, and…” She paused, swallowing hard as if the weight of her words was too much to bear. “And now Melanie…I’m -- I’m emotionally exhausted, and I just can’t take everyone else wondering about us.”
My lips parted in protest. “Ain’t none’a their business, Libs. I’ll talk to Carol again, n’ we’ll figure it out alright?” But I didn’t really know what I’s s’pose to figure out.
“Dar,” she sighed, lifting her hand to my face, her fingers grazing my stubble like it was some kinda fancy silk. “When Michonne goes back out, I think I’m going to go with her. I’ve been stuck in the prison for almost four months and I need some time away.”
“I’ll come-“
“No.” She shut me down before I could finish. “I need— I need time away from everything.”
That stung.
Her deciding to walk away felt like a slap across the face. I’d tried so hard to open up and love her, but she was throwing all of it out the window like it didn’t even matter. Like it all really was about the sex for her.
“Hey,” she whispered, nudging my forehead with hers so gently I almost forgot the ache in my chest.
Trying to swallow the lump that formed in my throat, I pressed closer. “I get it,” I managed to say.
“You don’t.” Libby insisted, somehow managing to pull herself even closer, tucking her face into the curve of my neck like it was where she was meant to be. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just so tired, and with Michonne… I can clear my head when I’m with her.” A groan clawed at my throat when her lips brushed against my neck, trailing sweet kisses up to my jawline. For as long as I could remember, brown had always seemed plain to me, but now? Now it was everything. Especially the shade that mirrored her eyes.
“It’s still pretty cold.” I pointed out half-heartedly, grasping at straws to convince her to stay at the prison. But I knew deep down that she wouldn’t change her mind, no matter how much I begged.
Loving her felt like a double-edged sword; it physically hurt to feel this way, and somehow, that didn’t make any sense. Why in the hell did people want to feel this way about someone else? It was consuming.
Libby pulled back and brushed my cheek again. “We can’t keep doing this, Dar. What happened in the guard tower…that would’ve never happened if things between us were healthy and it can’t happen again. I can’t,” she took a pause, but she really didn’t need to. I knew what she was gettin’ at. “I can’t cross those lines and jeopardize our reputations.”
There was something so sad in her eyes and I ached to tell her that I didn’t care. She could shatter what little of a decent reputation I actually had all she wanted as long as I could have her. That wutn’t happenin’ though; not after she’d just told me how emotionally drained she was. Admitting my feelings about her now would be selfish.
Libby wutn’t perfect, but she tried so hard to be, and I knew, deep down she wutn’t doin’ none of this to hurt me. I knew she wutn’t. Still, a nagging thought echoed in my mind—what if she secretly hated me? All this bullshit about needing space felt like it could be a ruse, a way to escape.
.now all our memories, they’re haunted.
Notes:
omglmnop, I hate that I basically created Melanie just to 💀 her, but like…TWD writers be doin’ it, so why can’t I? I’m obsessed with the little conflict that Libby and Carol have going on (mainly bc batshit crazy Carol is my fav).
Chapter 36: pink-cheeked and looking at the pads
Summary:
The entire run had been for nothing.
And I still couldn’t shake the fear from my bones of the memory of my near death experience I’d encountered with the walker. Just thinking about it sent involuntary shivers racing down my spine, causing me to instinctively tug the scratchy blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if it could somehow shield me from the terror.
Chapter Text
.i have emotional motion sickness.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange-y pink, I secured the last of my belongings onto my horse, readying myself to embark on yet another journey; this one taking me back to a place I longed for. My adventure with Michonne, or rather the endless search, had, as usual, culminated in disappointment after nine (if I’d counted correctly) long weeks of exhausting efforts. I had lost count of the sunrises and sunsets we had witnessed together since Andrea’s death, but I knew in my heart that it was time to let go of the governor—who was surely either dead or transformed into one of the lifeless bastards roaming Georgia. The journey had been uneventful, which was a relief, but I found myself yearning for the familiar confines of the prison. I craved the simple luxuries (if that's what you would call them) of life: showers, the comfort of my somewhat lumpy mattress, and more than anything else, I longed for the presence of a certain archer waiting back home.
From the moment I told Daryl I was heading out again, I could see the conflict in his eyes. He had offered to join me, a gesture that I had swiftly brushed aside. But deep down, I knew this excursion was necessary—for both of us. With everything that had transpired with Carol, Rick, and Melanie, I was emotionally battered. I couldn't afford yet another blow to my already fraying heart.
Daryl and I would come back from this though. We parted on particularly perfect terms, but there was still a weird ache in my chest the first few days away. I almost wished we’d have been on bad terms so I could’ve at least been angry and not itching to go back so soon. After all, the whole point of leaving was to ground myself and sift through the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me when it came to the man that was Daryl Dixon.
It’d been over two months and I’d yet to do that.
Whenever my mind circled back to my desires, the urge to reach out to Daryl was overwhelming; I wanted to know what he wanted, what he felt. I’d never considered myself the most romantically inclined person, but I was sure as hell more aware of things than Daryl could ever expect. To say the least, it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret that he had actual feelings for me; it wasn’t just sex for him, and it hadn’t been for a while. I just wasn’t sure how deep all of that went.
It was one thing to have feelings for someone, but another to be in love with them.
What if he didn’t want me as much as I wanted him? The thought filled me with apprehension, a heavy weight lodged deep in my gut. I was terrified to dive into something like a relationship amidst an apocalypse, yet the bleak reality was that this upheaval was likely our new normal.
Again, I wasn’t particularly romantically inclined, but there were two things I was undeniably sure of: I wanted to explore more deeply about how I felt for Daryl, and I was terrified of rejection.
What had started with just a stupid crush and hot sex, was now so much more. We were bonded beyond a typical ‘friends with benefits’ kind of thing, and after that out of character rage I felt for Kristen, the thought of him being with anyone besides me made me sick.
Love was such a strong word though.
_____________
We hadn’t been very far from the prison; maybe an hour ride, but still far enough out that it wasn’t a smart move to travel after dark. When we approached the gates of the penitentiary though, I wondered if there even was a safe time to travel here anymore.
Walkers had been piling the fences pretty rough when Michonne and I left, but it seemed like the crowds had doubled in size. I nudged the side of the horse’s belly, urging her to pick up the pace, while Michonne let out a sharp whistle, signaling our approach. It was a far cry from the Libby that had clutched so tightly to Daryl’s waist atop of nervous Nelly the day we fell off a small mountain.
I spotted Rick and Carl bolting towards the gates, readying them open for Michonne and I to pass through. After a few seconds, we seamlessly made it into the safety of the prison fences, and I never thought I’d be happier to hear the groaning of the gate closing behind me and trapping me within the confines of our sanctuary.
Carl’s first priority had been the horses, whereas Rick busied himself with engulfing me and Michonne into warm hugs. “We’re glad to see you,” he said, his voice full of genuine relief.
Michonne smiled, “glad to see you too,” she replied. She turned to rummage through one of the saddlebags, pulling out a small stack of comic books we’d scavenged from a deserted strip mall. The moment Carl laid eyes on them, pure excitement lit up his face, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to see him being a boy again, I thought to myself. Only about fifteen months had slipped by since the sunny days at the quarry, but that little carefree mama’s boy who once splashed in the water, had to grow up exponentially quick and face the horrors of death and the relentless threat of the walking dead. But today, as Carl eagerly flipped through the pages of the comic books while Michonne handed Rick an electric razor, I felt a surge of happiness—Carl was finally enjoying his youth.
“Y’all gonna stay a little while?” Rick asked, his gaze bouncing between us while Carl led the two horses toward the pen. I barely caught Michonne’s reply, my thoughts momentarily drifting as the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine echoed in the distance. I turned to see Daryl riding down the inclined driveway, a smile playing at his lips as he caught sight of us.
As he rode closer, my heart surged, and I couldn't help but beam at him. When his bike finally ground to a halt just a few feet away, the moment felt electric. He switched off the engine, and part of me ached to rush over and wrap my arms around him. He’d occupied my mind nearly the entire time I’d been gone, and now, being this close, it felt almost unreal. Not to mention how good he currently looked.
“Well, look who’s back,” he said, a wave of relief washing over his features as his eyes roamed over me. My heart raced, and I caught myself nervously licking my lips, an instinctive blend of attraction and excitement overwhelming me.
But just as I was really beginning to savor this reunion, Michonne’s words cut through the moment. She mentioned that we hadn’t found the governor, and I watched Daryl’s expression shift as he exchanged an understanding look with Rick. I knew he hadn’t completely lost hope, but he was at least honest enough with himself to recognize that our search was cold. It pissed me off to no end, but I knew that too. Michonne seemed to be the only one still truly holding on to the flicker of hope that we might find him.
His eyes flickered back to mine, “M’glad to see y’all in one piece.”
“Thinking of looking over near Macon.” Michonne shot out. She had been fixated on that location ever since we skirted Alabama’s border about a week ago. But Macon? That was dicey territory—especially if it was just Michonne going solo. Even back when it was the three of us—her, Daryl, and me—we only dared venture as far as The Peachtree Mall, and that had felt like a gamble. “It’s worth a shot,” she insisted, her eyes locked on the increasingly troubled expression on Rick’s face as he turned away.
“Seventy miles of walkers?” Daryl pointed out, his skepticism palpable. “You might run into a few unneighbourly types. Is it?”
It wasn’t. Michonne knew it wasn’t. But her stubborn streak often clouded her judgment. Setting out alone these days was like playing with fire, and especially over ten or twenty miles? If something went sideways, even Daryl wouldn’t be able to track her down that far—not after too long had passed.
I had half a mind to go with her, but I also knew how she was, and if my heart wasn’t in it — if I was just tagging along to watch her six — she’d refuse my help.
Daryl’s eyes shifted to Rick, “I’m gonna go check out the Big Spot. The one I was talking about just seein’.”
Rick averted his gaze, his frustration spilling over as he kicked at some rubble, then glanced toward the tree line. “Yeah, I gotta go and check out the snares,” he replied. “I don’t want to lose whatever we catch to the walkers.”
After the first month of Woodbury settling in with us, Rick began pulling away from runs. He hadn’t all out refused or anything, but anytime a run got mentioned — like now — he’d divert his attention and excuse himself promptly. That didn’t stop him from going out into the woods occasionally, or venturing up and down the side road that led to the prison, but smooth pavement hadn’t felt his footfall in months.
“I’ll go,” Michonne declared, just as Carl returned from settling the horses, earning her a groan of disappointment from the boy.
It took one slight tip up of Daryl’s chin for me to eagerly offer my services as well. Adjusting my bow to ensure its security, I brushed along his jacket clad biceps, imploring him to scoot up so I had room to join him on his bike. My departure last month was to reevaluate my situation with Daryl, but never to change my coquettish tendencies. Daryl Dixon was too damn fun to flirt with.
_____________
Despite how casual this run had come off from Daryl’s tone, judging by the nearly forty-five minute drive, this must’ve been a decently thought out trip.
The roar of Daryl’s motorcycle rumbled beneath me, a steady thrum that cut through the quiet of the early spring day. The air was sharp but fresh, carrying the damp smell of earth and the faint metallic tang of blood—always blood these days. Trees blurred by in bursts of green and brown, their branches still sparse from winter, but hopeful buds dotted the ends like a promise of better days. I held on tighter to Daryl, as the cracked asphalt whipped past beneath us, his shoulders solid and steady, a comforting presence I had sorely missed.
Occasionally, I spotted a walker in the distance, shuffling aimlessly near the tree line, their movements sluggish under the weight of decay. The sun broke through scattered clouds, casting a harsh, almost too-bright light that made the remnants of the old world—abandoned cars, faded road signs—seem like ghostly echoes. The smell of gasoline lingers in the air as we speed on, and for a moment, it was almost easy to forget the ever-present danger. But then Daryl’s hand shifted on the handlebars, signaling our approach, and the tension coils back in my chest as I prepared myself to jump into action if needed.
The Big Spot loomed ahead, a hulking relic of a better time, its bright blue signage faded and packed with rust. Daryl slowed the motorcycle, the engine’s growl cutting through the eerie stillness. The air had changed from crisp, windy air, to that of damp asphalt and decay, stronger now as we neared the parking lot. Scattered debris littered the cracked pavement—splintered barricades, abandoned vehicles, and toppled army supply crates. My eyes caught movement in the shadows—a walker dragging a mangled leg near the store’s broken entrance.
Daryl brought the bike to a halt next to a chain-link fence, his gaze sweeping the area with that sharp, hunter’s focus. Without a word, I climbed off, my boots crunching on shattered glass, and my body tingled with an edge of adrenaline.
As I stood there, taking in the remnants of what was once a makeshift army base, a wave of unease rolled through me. Sandbags were scattered like forgotten toys, and bullet casings glint dully in the weak sunlight, telling a silent story of a battle long lost. The skeletal remains of tents flap lazily in the breeze, their once-pristine army green now stained with blood and grime.
It was strange to think about the soldiers who were here—people who probably thought they could hold the line. The irony wasn’t lost on me: their defenses were crumbling now, but the walkers kept shambling on. I caught my reflection in a shattered side mirror, smeared with dirt, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we were any different—just survivors, holding on until we couldn’t anymore. And in the bright, blinding sunlight, I thought I looked eerily like my sister…a bitter thing with everything considered.
The heavy thunk of an SUV door broke my reverie, and a bright-eyed Glenn bounded toward me, his energy a stark contrast to the cold decay surrounding us. “Libby,” he called. Before I could say anything, he had me pulled into a quick embrace. “It’s been, what, a month? It’s been ages since you decided to ditch me for that long.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “One of us has to complete the main quest.”
He grinned, “So I’m the side quester?”
With a playful nudge, I zeroed in on an unfamiliar face over his shoulder. Turning, Glenn waved a hand toward the man, who looked a little uneasy but offered a polite nod.“Bob Stookey,” he said, extending a hand.
“Liberty!” I sent him a cheesy grin. “You been settling in good?”
Bob shrugged, his smile faint but genuine. “Best I can. Seems like you’ve got a solid group here.”
Glenn clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, nodding toward me. “She’s one of the best. You’ll see.”
Rolling my eyes, I scoffed at Glenn’s bragging. Of course, I would’ve done the same if the roles had been reversed, after all — why have a best friend if you aren’t ready to gush about their awesome post-apocalyptic survival skills?
After a brief reunion with Zach, Sasha, and Tyreese, we’d joined Daryl in scouting outside the cut through area of the fence. "Army came in and put these fences up,” Daryl noted, gesturing around. “To make it a place for the people to go. Last week, when we spotted this place, there was a bunch of walkers behind this chainlink keepin’ people out, like a bunch of guard dogs.”
“So they all just left?” Bob asked, incredulously.
Besides a few walkers lingering around, the lot was unusually deserted, so Bob’s wondering out loud was much appreciated by me. Sasha and Glenn then explained that they’d drawn all the walkers out by placing a boombox hooked to two car batteries about ten minutes down the road. It was impressive, a plan that I doubted I would’ve thought of myself.
“All right,” Daryl said, bumping his bow off his shoulder and crouching to go through the gap in the fence. “Let’s make a sweep. Make sure it’s safe. Grab what you can, we’ll come back tomorrow with more people.”
Repeating his motions, we all dispersed among the parking lot turned army base. Tension hummed under my skin as I clutched the knife strapped to my belt. My boots crunch over gravel and shards of glass, my eyes darting toward overturned army supplies and abandoned vehicles. Each one feels like it could hold a nasty surprise, but all I find are echoes of the chaos that happened here—bloody handprints smeared on a truck door, a child’s stuffed animal lying in the dirt, half-melted from the sun, and for a second, I wonder how many people died here just trying to get food or supplies.
I moved carefully along the outer edge of the lot, scanning the shadows within tents and the gaps between barriers. A low groan catches my attention, and I freeze, turning toward the sound. A walker slumped against the far edge of a barricade, its legs crushed beneath a fallen beam, arms reaching toward me in a mindless hunger. I stepped closer, my knife ready, and with a swift jab into its temple ends its misery before it can make any more noise.
Glancing back toward the others, I see Daryl motioning for us to regroup near the doors. My pulse quickens as I jog over, wiping the blade on my jeans and exchanging a quick glance with Michonne. She gives me a nod as she tucked her katana away, clearly running into a lurker of her own.
Daryl leaned against the brick ledge of one of the expansive store windows, slamming his elbow against the glass in a bid to lure any walkers lurking within. “Just give it a second.” he muttered, his voice low and steady.
I took a moment to really look at him for the first time since my return—*really* see him. He was wearing his typical attire, nothing new or improved. The jeans still bore the dust of the road, the shirt he wore beneath his vest and jacket combo was still fraying, and he still had on the same boots he’d found months back. But his hair... that was different. It had grown longer, brushing against the back of his neck, and a faint shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, giving him an even more rugged look.
A warmth surged through me as I took him in; a teasing laugh erupted from Zach a few feet away, jolting me back to the moment. Until he spoke, I thought his laughter had been aimed at me. "Okay, I think I got it," he declared, a mischievous grin creeping across his face.
"Got what?" Michonne chimed in, her curiosity piqued as she rounded the corner.
Zach leaned casually against the building adjacent to Daryl, exuding certainty. "Oh, I've been tryin'a guess what Daryl did before the turn," he boasted.
"He's been tryna guess for, like, six weeks," Daryl mused.
“Yeah, I’m pacing myself,” Zach shot back defensively. “One shot a day.”
I already knew the answer—because the truth was, Daryl hadn’t done a damn thing. It had been the topic of one of our late-night conversations long before we took the prison, back when our relationship was still flirting at the edges of something deeper that wasn’t strictly sex.
“Alright, shoot,” Daryl said, tilting his chin up with a hint of playful bravado.
Zach sighed with exaggerated drama, “Well, the way you are at the prison,” he shot a quick glance at Daryl, who had turned his gaze elsewhere, chewing on his lip in thought. “You bein' on the council, you're able to track, you're helpin' people," Zach paused, clearly unsure before pressing on, "but you're still being kind of, uh…surly." With the way Zach was analyzing him, I was curious to find out what all he’d prodded Daryl as.
“Big swing here,” he continued, “Homicide cop.”
I couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer; it spilled out, blending with Michonne’s giggles. Daryl shot us a sly look, narrowing his eyes. "What’s so funny?"
"Nothin'," Michonne swallowed her laughter, but a smile still plastered across her face. "It makes perfect sense."
"Actually," Daryl straightened up, his eyes shimmered full of mischief. "The man's right. Undercover."
"Come on, really?"
"Yep," Daryl replied, doing his best to mask his face in a faux seriousness. "I mean, I don't like to talk about it 'cause it was a lotta heavy shit, y’know?"
Zach scoffed, “Dude, come on, really?” Daryl shot him a look, then cleared his throat, the glint in his eye revealing he was only kidding. "Okay, I'll just keep guessin', I guess."
"Yeah, you keep doin' that," Daryl agreed, glancing back as a walker flung itself at the window he’d been leaning on.
"We gonna do this, Detective?" Michonne asked, following behind Daryl who’d just pushed himself away from the box store window.
“Let’s do it,” he agreed, striding toward the entrance. A wild flutter of excitement stirred inside me, not just from the mission at hand but from Daryl’s new and undeniable confidence. I had to rein in my thoughts, reminding myself of the need for professionalism, even as I envisioned returning to our cell together.
Our group swept through the store in a tight formation as instructed by Sasha prior to coming in. There were a few walkers roaming the store, all of which were previous soldiers and my heart broke just a little each time we put one down — I silently hoped that somehow, someway, there were other army camps that had survived.
Navigating the aisles with careful precision, ensuring that all the walkers were taken care of, I noted the surprisingly well-stocked shelves. It seemed that the makeshift base hadn’t lasted long enough to loot the place of its goods. Non-perishables lined the aisles, and I even spotted some first aid supplies. “Find anything worth findin’?” Daryl called out, his flashlight beam illuminating my path as he guided a buggy my way.
“Can’t have too many band-aids and gauze right?” I replied, gathering as many supplies as I could—band-aids, gauze, and even some triple antibiotic ointment—tossing them into the cart that had come to a stop beside me. “What you got on that list?” I asked, trying to peek at the paper Daryl held.
His handwriting was a professional mangle—chicken scratch at its finest—but I managed to make out a few items before he tilted the paper away, partially hiding it from me.
Rather than urge him to let me read, I went ahead and began grabbing the few supplies I was able to make out, and tossing them in the buggy. I knew that Daryl wasn’t the most educated of the bunch. Not to say he wasn’t smart, because I knew first hand just how ridiculously impressive that man was; but the glimpses of misspelled sixth-grade level words reminded me that he hadn’t completed further than tenth-grade, and I knew how insecure he actually felt about that.
“Ain’t dumb,” my heart dropped momentarily at his words, somehow thinking that he’d been reading my mind. “But uh, d’these got sizes or somethin’?” Pads, he was pink-cheeked and looking at the pads.
Biting back a smirk, I stepped closer and gathered an armful. “Grab them all. We need to stay stocked up on these things.” Given the size of his list, I figured we had a lot to collect, and now wasn’t the time to give him a lesson on sanitary products.
Looking back, it felt strangely domestic in a bizarre way—strolling down the aisles of a department store, our arms brushing against one another while watching him blush over something as normal as periods. For a minute, I envisioned us in another life; one without walkers, death, or prison cells—a world filled with vibrant lights where he’d push a buggy around an end-cap, teasing me about riding on the opposite end of the cart.
Newnan, Georgia, USA, Earth circa. early 2011, sucked absolute balls.
The only good thing about life anymore was being alive at the same time as the group of people I was with. Glenn, Daryl, Rick, Michonne…everyone; they all meant the world to me and I was more than happy to exist in this horrible, no good world with them.
Daryl scoffed, reaching onto one of the shelves and swishing around a clear Solo cup that had a suspiciously gooey, purple substance in it. “Some shit I’d expect from Merle,” he muttered, setting it back down with a distasteful look. “Ain’t they s’pose ta serve n’ protect or somethin’?”
It wasn’t a real question, just like it wasn’t genuine disgust in his tone when he said his deceased brother’s name. A faint smile tugged at my lips as I bumped my shoulder against his. “Didn’t Merle serve?” I pointed out, glancing away from the cup of Lean.
Daryl didn't answer. Instead, he breathed out a soft laugh and returned to his list.
A small, confident, smile painted my lips as I watched the very man I’d been waiting over a month to see again. I had a good feeling about us now that I was back from my journey. Nothing had actually been solved during the trip, but I think the time away from him after so many intense emotions in such a short period of time, helped us. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all. For the first time since the early parts of winter, I felt good. It wasn’t just the Daryl part I felt good about either; it was returning to my welcoming role at the prison, my relationship with Carol, and finally grounding myself in our prison community.
As if pulled by an unseen force, I shuffled forward, until my fingers finally found his. I squeezed his hand, looking up at him with a beaming smile. “I missed you.”
Daryl cracked a crooked smile, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “S’good to have ya back, girl.” Which, in Daryl Dixon language meant that he’d missed me too.
Across the store, the sound of shattering glass echoed and interrupted the small moment we were having, followed by the shout of pain and what I assumed to be the crashing of a shelf. Daryl swiftly snatched his crossbow from the child’s seat of the buggy—an unsurprising but fitting resting place for his prized possession—and darted toward the source of the noise.
I crouched instinctively, staying low in case whatever had caused the crash was an undetected walker. It wasn’t impossible, but the lack of panic from anyone else around me suggested it was probably something much less sinister.
My eyes sparkled with excitement as I spotted a row of deodorant as I waited for the all clear from someone that knew what the crash had been about. With summer just around the corner, hygiene products felt as essential as food itself. “Everyone’s alright!” Zach announced, prompting me to push up from my not so stealthy position. “We’re over in wine and beer.”
I wasn’t in a rush, but I turned the buggy around and headed toward the alcohol aisle. With only a vague idea of what we might need back at the prison, I figured lending a hand would be more useful than stocking up on items that may not even be that important. As I maneuvered through the store, a flashlight beam shone over me. I threw up a peace sign to Glenn, who was now waiting for me to join him, presumably on his way to the chaos as well.
In a sudden turn of events, my hands pushed away from the shopping cart as I inhaled a sharp breath out of fear, when the ceiling crackled and a walker fell through — well mostly fell through. It dangled grotesquely like a macabre piñata, our eyes all glued to its abrupt entrance.
“Yeah, uh, we should probably go now,” Glenn stammered, cautiously watching the piñata walker groan down at us.
My mouth opened to agree, but Daryl beat me to the punch. "Bob's still stuck, get 'im outta there,” he growled and jumped head first into action, Tyreese and Zach joining him in the rescue mission of Bob, who I’d quickly noted was the victim of the fallen shelf.
The sound of the ceiling collapsing echoed amongst the store. With every passing second there’s another sickening crunch of another walker hitting the floor. By the looks of things, my Bowie wasn’t going to get the job done — so I unholstered my pistol, tightening my grip as dust and debris flurried around us.
My heart pounded in my chest whenever I made to follow Glenn, only for a walker to literally crash that idea into pieces. “Son of a bitch!” I hollered, shielding myself from the chunks of ceiling that rained down. Pivoting, I scanned to find another way through and heard Daryl shouting my name, his voice cutting through the disarray. “I’m good!” I yelled back, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Adrenaline surged as I began taking a defensive stance against a deformed geek shuffling toward me, only for the building to shake and a suspicious sound of creaking machinery to fill the room.
You had to be fucking kidding me, I thought. This was some shit that only happened in video games — or at least it was supposed to only happen in video games. Up above a frying oil display, that Daryl now stood on, was an actual helicopter sinking through the ceiling.
In a flurry of shots, Glenn opened fire from across the room, picking off the walkers that had begun scrambling to reach Daryl atop the oil-peak. Cold, leathery fingers clamped down on my upper arm, alarming me of the forgotten walker that I’d turned my attention away from. My stomach plummeted when its teeth scraped against my skin, ghosting over flesh that would’ve been its next meal had I been distracted a millisecond longer. Adrenaline surged inside of me as I pushed the geek back with all the force I could muster, my heart pounding furiously along with the gutting fear clawing its way up my throat.
With a single shot, I dropped the walker that had nearly ended it all for me, and my eyes darted around for any others lurking. What I saw instead, was admittedly worse than a few more geeks coming towards me — Zach’s ankle was pulled back and a horrifying scream of pain replaced the panic.
“Come on!” I heard Glenn demand, tugging me back and towards the exit, but I couldn’t stop my neck from craning to watch as the helicopter broke through the ceiling, devouring what was left of Zach.
_____________
We returned just as the last rays of sunlight began to fade, casting long shadows across the prison ground. A part of me deeply regretted not staying behind, allowing myself to soak in a warm homecoming. Instead, Michonne and I’s return to the prison was grim, bearing death and bad news.
Zach was lost, Bob was injured, and we didn’t even make it out with any supplies.
The entire run had been for nothing.
And I still couldn’t shake the fear from my bones of the memory of my near death experience I’d encountered with the walker. Just thinking about it sent involuntary shivers racing down my spine, causing me to instinctively tug the scratchy blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if it could somehow shield me from the terror.
Daryl had gone to tell Beth about her boyfriend’s tragic death — a horrible thing for anyone, but her especially. Two boyfriends lost in the span of eighteen months was a hard concept to even wrap my mind around. She was still so young, and while I’m sure neither relationship had been drastically serious for her, I understood on a clinical level, the complex trauma she was experiencing, and that broke my heart the most.
I curled onto my side, resting my head on the pillow I’d been longing to touch again for over a month, but I felt no happiness or relief. Death was here when I left, and death was still here to greet me when I returned. No amount of showering or scratchy blankets could change that.
Uncle Clyde and Aunt Bea were dead, Dale was dead, T-Dog was dead, Lori was dead, Andrea was dead, Melanie was dead, Zach was dead. Each name pressed heavily on my heart, and after seeing the mutilated soldiers today I could only assume the worst for my sister as well. Everyone was just dead, and it wasn’t fair — why did they get to die, while I remained here, stuck grappling with the pain of their absence in this piece of shit world.
I squeezed my eyelids shut, desperate to escape into the solace of sleep rather than succumb to the tears threatening to spill. I didn’t want to dwell on the dark thoughts of my own mortality, the chilling whisper of death that had brushed against me only a few hours earlier.
As the curtain in our cell rustled, curiosity drew me to peek through my lashes to see what all I could read just from Daryl’s face about how breaking the news to Beth went, and shockingly he looked even more upset now than before. I wondered if her reaction had truly been that awful — had she crumbled apart like I would’ve if it had been Daryl instead of Zach? The simple idea made my throat tighten painfully.
I sat up, pushing onto my knees and letting the blanket fall off my shoulders. Daryl set his crossbow down in its usual spot, before finally looking up at my bunk. “How is she?” My voice emerged as a whisper, softer than I’d spoken in ages.
He chewed his lip, a habit I’d come to know well, and nodded unenthusiastically. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words, and over time I’d learned to read his subtle cues and slight shifts in order to decipher how he felt. It was rare to catch him in a chatty mood, especially when it came to his feelings, so when he wordlessly ducked into his bunk, purposefully avoiding my eyes, I knew this was deeper than just his usual silence.
I slipped down the ladder, my toes curling a little when my bare feet touched the cold concrete floor, and I padded over to where he laid — arms tucked tightly together while he stared blankly at the railing of the top bunk.
“Dar,” I whispered, letting my knees touch the mattress as I slowly joined his side.
He tensed, not relaxing like he normally did, and a flicker of hurt bubbled in me. It had been a while since I’d felt the need to walk on eggshells when it came to being physical with Daryl — half a year maybe — he typically melted into my touch after a brief stint of uncertainty. “We ain’t gotta do this again,” he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.
I rolled to my side and propped myself up with my elbow, “What?”
There hadn’t been any flicker of emotion on his face when I’d initially come to lay beside him, but now his brows were knotted in turmoil, his gaze fixed on the bunk railing. “M’sick’a losin’ people, Libby,” he growled, a tremor in his voice that sent alarm bells ringing through me. “M’sick’a a lotta things. Don’t need you comin’ n’ stirrin’ shit up again.” He sat up, meticulously avoiding contact, and when he finally locked eyes with me, I was thrust back to the day we found Sophia.
His blue eyes flared with a mix of anger and anguish, and his mouth curled into something bitter as he stood up, pushing away from the mattress like it burned. “After your little friend died, you’re the one that said we couldn’t keep doin’ this anyway-“
“Dar, I just meant while we were on duty,” I argued, struggling to grasp the emotional whiplash.
“Don’t matter,” he spat, his voice sharp as a blade. “Ya still left. I told ya that ya didn’t have to, n’ ya still walked away. We coulda figured somethin’ out; ya didn’t have to go.”
I prided myself in understanding more than the average person when it came to Daryl Dixon, but that didn’t mean I fully grasped all of who he was — right now, for example — we’d parted on good terms when I left all those weeks ago, and today when we first got back, so this animosity all of a sudden came from left field. And when he’d initially come into the cell, he seemed more upset about losing Zach than anything, so I was confused on how this had even become an issue with me.
I took a steady breath, attempting to keep a hold of my emotions. This was Daryl — when he got emotional, he got angry, and his words would shoot to kill. There was no arguing or reasoning with him, not unless I wanted the entire prison to hear whatever horrible things he’d spew.
The solution was simple really. I’d embarrassed him once, and I didn’t want to do that again. My emotional stability could take a beating, his couldn’t.
He reached for his bow, but not before turning to throw me another dirty look — a punch to the gut really. “Don’t need ya to be all on top’a me no more. I ain’t your little boyfriend, n’ m’sick’a you thinkin’ that I am. Should’a never stuck my dick in ya.”
I wasn’t sure whether that hurt more than him calling me a stupid bitch when he marched out the cell, but I did know that I’d experienced my first heartbreak that night. My first real heartbreak.…
.somebody roll the windows down.
Notes:
oooof, I really don’t know how I feel about this chapter. I think season depression is starting to get to me, because I’ve been writing like a maniac (I have ab 20,000 words typed up that I’m editing tonight), and nothing feels good.
Chapter 37: smelled like ‘outside’
Summary:
Grief was tricky to navigate, and I found it easier to throw myself into working than to dwell on it.
So I pointlessly fluffed the pillows, cleared some work space, and made sure all the cell doors locked, before finally leaving the depths of what used to be the tombs. Where T-dog had died. Where I hoped that nobody else would suffer that same fate.
Chapter Text
.i can see inside you, the sickness is rising, don’t try to deny what you feel.
So remember when I said that my emotional stability could take a beating and Daryl’s couldn’t? Yeah…let’s pretend that thought never crossed my mind, because emotionally, I was a wreck when he left.
My first night back at the prison was a symphony of sobs, muffled by my pillow, as a flood of memories from the past eighteen months crashed over me like relentless waves. He wasn’t my boyfriend, that had been made clear from the get go, but I let my emotions cross that line — no — I let them bound past that line like there was a race and they needed that first place ribbon. It shouldn’t have hurt so much when he threw it all back in my face the way that he did. Especially when I knew he only said all that because his own emotions were out of wack.
Morning arrived, and I struggled to rouse myself from a restless sleep, uncertain of whether Daryl had returned in the night. The cell, dimly lit and silent, provided no clues—only the distant sounds of baby Jude babbling somewhere in C-block and scattered chatter from other cells. I’d undoubtedly missed breakfast, and the quietness indicated that most everyone was off tending to their daily chores, leaving me to wrestle with the thoughts swirling in my mind.
This wouldn’t be the first time Daryl had lashed out with cruel, thoughtless words, but the sting felt sharper this time. Be it because of my underestimated sensitivity or the bond we’d forged since the end of the world, it hurt some kind of awful.
Deciding not to spend my entire morning moping about a guy (because, of all times to have boy problems, it would be during an apocalypse), I stared at the ceiling for approximately thirty more seconds, steeling myself for the day ahead, before finally rolling out of my bunk. A sharp gasp left my mouth when my feet hit the floor and I saw a figure perched on Daryl’s bed. Relief washed over me as I recognized Soup, looking over at me nonchalant.
Immediately, the rather large Bobcat, extended his front legs in a big stretch, arching his back enough to make his little nubby tail tremble, then he made his way over to me. Soup was our resident prison mascot, and always the biggest shock to newcomers (which I found weird considering there are dead people walking outside the gates). He’d grown from a tiny little kitten, that I assumed had been just that, a simple house kitten — into a roughly twenty pound, predator who liked to cuddle with Rick, Daryl, or Michonne. I was chopped liver; though, Daryl assumed it was only because I slept on the top bunk.
“Hey Soupy Duper,” I cooed, scratching the scruffy part of his neck, leaning down to encourage a headbutt from him. “Glad to know that you’ve been holding down the fort.”
After changing into my clothes, Soup followed me closely as we made our way to the cafeteria. When I reached Beth and Judith at the table, he plopped himself squarely in the middle, unwilling to let any distance separate us. To be fair, we’d been separated for a longer period of time this go around.
Daryl broke the news to Beth last night, but after our fight — if that’s what you’d call it — he stormed out and never let me know how his talk with the teenager went. “Hey,” I sent her a small smile, tilting my head to see past the bobcat.
She sat cross legged, spooning some kind of mush into Judith’s mouth, and unusually bright eyed for a girl who just lost her boyfriend. “Hey, glad to see you back,” Beth replied, mirroring my smile.
“Luckily, I think that was my last time searching,” I scrunched my nose at Judith, who was actively refusing to eat, too distracted by Soup curling down beside her. “So I’ll be open for Judy duty full time.”
“How’s Daryl?” Beth asked. When I asked what she meant, she explained to me that he’d left her cell last night uncharacteristically upset. I didn’t want to divulge too much, but I briefly recounted how he had a mild crash out, leaving before we could resolve anything. I didn’t want to expose too much, but still felt the urge to understand what led to his anger towards me in the first place.
I listened while Beth, in true to Beth character, chattered on about Daryl’s shift since Michonne and I went out on the road. He started bringing more and more people in, and prioritizing supply runs and eliminating breaches more than he ever had before. Up until Zach, the prison had gone thirty days without an accident…sixty-eight days since a death, that being Melanie. It was weird hearing about the prison functioning while I wasn’t here, not that it was the first time, but I never heard about what all went on until now. It was bizarre how the world continues to spin regardless if you’re present or not.
As Beth settled Judith onto a colorful playmat on the floor—a relic in the middle of an apocalypse, much like the infant herself—she shifted her gaze, an uneasy look flickering across her features. “He and Carol got into it over you about a week ago,” she said, her tone cautious.
My brows pulled together, panic and confusion flooding my mind; how was I even an issue while I was gone? Carol loved hard, firm, tough; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she must’ve been coming from a place of concern and Daryl took it different or illogically.
After all, haven’t we all had rifts with our friends, no matter how strong the bond is?
I opened my mouth to ask if she knew what it was about (teenagers like her knew everything), but she was already spilling the information she’d gathered. “You and Michonne ain’t ever been gone for so long before,” she began, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “He said he wanted to go look for y’all if y’all weren’t back after ninety days. Carol didn’t like that,” Her brows knitted together as she continued, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of her words. “She said that y’all knew the risks when y’all left, but he got real loud and said that he wasn’t gonna leave you out there—“
“He said me?” I interjected, the words catching in my throat, as my pulse quickened. I was well aware that Daryl had feelings for me, he did a horrible job at hiding them, but he also did a horrible job at opening up about them too.
It was more…he went out of his way to do things for me that he didn’t do for other people, and when he didn’t have time for anyone else, he always had it for me. Daryl’s love language was acts of service and quality time, and I undoubtedly was showered with both when it came to him.
But never had he ever spoken any sweet words to me, or touched me softly unless we were alone. Even just standing up for me — that was saved for particular times — not against his best friend.
“He said ‘her’,” Beth clarified, her cheeks flushing slightly. “But I think Carol knew which ‘her’ he was talking about.”
I’d be lying if I said that tid bit of information didn’t make my heart flutter. For a moment, I reveled in the news that he’d been worried about me enough that he wasn’t concerned with masking. But, I wasn’t naive — I knew that he probably ruminated over that moment, and beat himself up over the accidental exposure of his feelings. A pack of cigarettes was probably the victim of his frustration later that particular evening.
I could hear gunshot ringing out like a school bell; they weren’t coming from C, but elsewhere. Had there been a breach? Slinging my bow over my shoulders, I sprang into action, abruptly leaving Soup behind in the care of Beth — or vice versa. “I think they’re coming from D!” I heard Sasha yell, her footsteps falling close behind my own as we sprinted for the door.
“Who’s on guard?” I yelled, glancing back just in time to see Tyreese push his way in front of me and his sister.
“Hershel!” Daryl‘s voice cut in, who, due to Tyreese’s linebacker build, I hadn’t noticed coming behind him.
If Hershel was on watch and he hadn’t alerted any one of a breach, that meant there wasn’t one. Whatever disarray had D in shambles started on the inside. We hadn’t had anything like this happen until now, this was new territory and we had no idea what to expect. Was it an accident? Maybe a kid got too curious and there was a weapon laying around. Or had one of the many people in our community snapped? No matter how many scenarios I rifled through, I couldn’t land on one that I preferred.
In a forceful burst, Tyreese slammed open the heavy metal door, followed closely by Daryl, then Sasha and me, all of us filing down the caged metal stairs with our weapons in hand. The first person I spotted was Glenn, crouching down, talking urgently to one of the little girls from D-block, Mika. “Walkers in D!” He called out, confirming one of my unfortunate thoughts.
Outside of the gate, working his way back in, Rick yelled, “What about C?” That’s where his daughter was, sweet baby Judith, probably still babbling away, patting Soup’s fur, and blissfully unaware of the danger.
“Clear!” I confirmed, descending the next set of stairs, an arrow nocked and ready in my bow.
Sasha was right behind me, her breathing heavy; I could feel her nerves crackling, mirroring my own. She had a tendency to overthink, and I knew her mind was racing with the same theories mine wasas. “We locked the gates to the tombs. Hershel’s on guard,” she explained, tension lacing her voice.
“It ain’t a breach!” Daryl exclaimed, pushing past Tyreese once we reached the ground, he was the first one in the contaminated cellblock. He was always the first one on the scene of anything like this. Armed and ready. I couldn’t deny the panic that flurried inside of me during those times — if something truly horrible were to happen in the first spur, Daryl would take the brunt of it.
Whatever had happened in D: a sudden death, suicide, accident — it was a puzzle that didn’t make any sense, not with the procedures we had in place, which made me all the more worried. “We followed the plans!” Sasha insisted from behind me, her worry mirroring my own.
The steel door of D-block slammed shut behind us, its echo cutting through the chaotic symphony of screams, growls, and gunshots. The stench of blood and death clawed through my senses, a sickening indicator of how quickly everything spiraled out of control. My boots slapped against the concrete as I moved closely behind Daryl, who moved with deadly precision, his crossbow at the ready.
After sending an arrow through one walker I reached down and snatched my pistol from its holster. It wasn’t my weapon of choice, but the compound bow now strapped to my back wasn’t quick enough for this kind of close-quarter bloodbath. My pulse pounded in my ears as I shot the gun, the sound loud and jarring.
The first walker lunged at me, its milky eyes fixed on my throat, and it was then that I recognized who it was—Anna— Kristen’s younger sister that had almost the same birthday as me. My aim buckled as I pulled the trigger, the blast obliterating her head and painting the wall behind her in dark, wet streaks. I fought back a wave of nausea, realization settling angrily inside of my bones.
For months, our community grew and grew and grew; I spent ninety percent of my winter meticulously assigning these specific cell blocks to these specific people. I took them on their tour of the prison and down to the ‘home store’, as Beth called it, to pick out anything they wanted to make their little prison cell feel more like a home. Fairy lights, posters, camping lamps, and curtains; whatever fit their specific aesthetic that someone had brought back from a supply run.
All of those beautiful, bright lives, were now stumbling around in abundance, mauling one another. And there was no sure sign as to why.
In the midst of the turmoil, I spotted little Toby—barely older than a toddler—frantically escaping what had once been our reliable handyman, George. Without a second thought, I scooped him up, pressing his small face into my chest, shielding him as the echo of a gunshot rang out, silencing his pursuer. I quickly passed him to Karen, who was already on high alert, checking him for bites with a practiced urgency.
Rick and Sasha were both running in and out of the lower cells, hollering that the ground floor was clear, but nobody checked upstairs yet. My eyes raked across the lower level, searching for a sign of anymore lingering undead, before I bounded up the metal steps to the upper level.
I creeped around the body of a blonde woman named Kristi, she was in her mid-thirties and used to be a preschool teacher. With less chaos swarming, I decided to holster my gun and readjust my compound, sending my first arrow flying into her skull before she had the opportunity to reanimate.
More footsteps thundered up the staircase behind me, and I quickly decided to stick to the right and sweep those cells first. A millisecond, at most, had past when I heard a snarl echoing from behind. “Get down!” Daryl shouted, leveling his crossbow as I struggled to maintain my footing out of shock.
I turned to see Glenn pinned against the wall, panic etched across his face as the wet teeth of a walker chomped away, struggling to get to his skin. Daryl’s aim was immaculate, but that didn’t ease my comfortability with being in the line of fire, so I did as he said and dropped down until I heard the swoosh of his bolt pierce the skull of Glenn’s attacker. It crumpled tontje ground, falling back into the shadows of the cell it had emerged from.
Rick dashed toward us, his instinct to protect kicking in as he helped Glenn to his feet. “You good?” I asked, my voice trembling as I reached out to steady him. He nodded, but the dazed look in his eyes told me he was still grappling with the near miss. Our loss of Zach was still fresh, and I don't think I could handle losing Glenn.
My eyes caught on the scattered bodies below as I went to peak into the cell that Glenn, Daryl, and Rick were all interested in — curious as to who Glenn’s attacker had once been. Of first glance, I counted five bodies, but I knew there were more. There were always more. “Oh, it’s Patrick,” Daryl mumbled, and I suddenly had no interest in looking inside the cell. Instead, I focused on getting a headcount on dead bodies from where I stood. “That's all of them,” he added, joining me to look over the railing.
“Nine, plus Patrick and Kristi. That’s over half of D block,” I said lowly, defeated with wonder on how this had all happened.
_____________
Daryl POV
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Some kind of flu wiped out a chunk of the prison, and Bob had made one’a the most valid points I’d heard in a long time. Ain’t no chance we were gonna get lucky with just the two cases — not with Rick sayin’ he’d seen this shit out in the woods, and damn sure not with us livin’ so close together.
When Hershel called a meeting, I insisted Glenn to go find Libby while I got Carol; I said some awful things to the red head last night, n’ I don’t see her payin’ me any mind unless she absolutely has to for the near future.
Couldn’t blame her, that was my whole master plan after all: spew some bullshit so she’d be pissed at me and leave me alone. It felt easier to function if I didn’t have to worry about losin’ her everytime I turned around. I figured when she got back after her trip with Michonne, maybe we’d work something out between us, I didn’t like her bein’ gone, n’ I underestimated just how much I’s gonna miss her. But then Zach died, and Beth said she didn’t cry anymore cause she was numb to it all. It put some things into perspective for me.
Libby wutn’t the kind of girl that liked to be ordered around — she was hands on. The girl was tough, strong-willed, a quick learner, and unstoppable when her heart went into something, which only made my situation harder. The love thing. Cause I couldn’t stand the idea of letting her be any of that. I wanted to tell her to stick to doing laundry, to stop puttin’ herself in danger: no more runs, no more leaping into action, no more anything. I just wanted her to do everything I said so that I could keep her safe.
I didn’t understand it. Not one bit.
Cause I didn’t actually like none’a that. S’not why I started lovin’ Libby to start with, n’ I wutn’t sure that if she changed I’d still feel this way about her. Either way I thought about it, resorting to blocking my emotions off from her seemed to be the only option I had for now.
If I ended up losing her, it might make things a hell of a lot easier.
But I had to admit, it stung when her n’ Glenn walked into the makeshift meeting room and she didn’t even spare me a glance. No anger or sadness or frustration. There just wutn’t anything.
Hershel started explaining what had likely gone down in D block to those who hadn’t been there for Dr. S’s assessment. The mystery of the breach had been solved, but it opened a shitload of new issues we needed to address.
"Patrick was fine yesterday, and he died overnight,” Carol fidgeted, glancing around the table. “Two people died that quick? We'll have to separate everyone that's been exposed."
"That's everyone in that cell block," I pointed out. "That's all of us, maybe more."
Hershel nodded solemnly. “We know that this sickness can be lethal. We don't know how easily it spreads. Is anyone else showing symptoms that we know of?"
Carol, her impatience bubbling to the surface, cut in assertively, "We can't just wait and see. There's children. It isn't just the illness; people die, and they become a threat.”
“She’s right,” Libby added, her voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't help but study her scrunched up face, worry etched across it. “I get sick at the drop of a hat, and I’m in the same cell block as Jude. The sick can’t stay with the healthy.”
A shiver of fear raced through my mind, bringing up memories I preferred to keep buried — the time on the farm when Libby got sick n’ I found her all cold and naked in her tent. It wutn’t a memory I liked to think about, but it was just evidence of her words ringing true. Her immune system was also why she’d fallen back on searchin’ for the governor once winter hit, it wutn’t worth her gettin’ sick over.
"We need a place for them to go," Hershel agreed. "They can't stay in D. We can't risk going in there to clean it up."
“We can use cell block A,” Carol elected, not hesitating in her suggestion.
"Death Row?" Glenn echoed, incredulous. "I'm not sure that's much of an upgrade."
"It's clean," Libby pointed out.
"That's an upgrade. Think that'll work for Dr. S.?" I asked, finally tearing my gaze away from Libby’s face.
"I'll help Caleb get it set up," Hershel began, but the distant sound of coughing had all of us on our feet and out the door.
Tyreese was passing by, one arm slung around his girlfriend while she coughed violently. I heard Karen tell him that she was alright, as Carol stepped into the hallway, bypassing me. "You sure?" She asked, eyeing Karen with skepticism. "You don't sound so good."
"We're just taking her back to my cell so she can rest," Ty assured, a calm smile on his face. He didn’t know about the illness, neither did Karen. They were both unawares to the situation, free of panic for just a few more seconds.
"Tyreese,” Hershel warned, stepping out of the room and placing both hands on his hips with an air of authority. “I don't think that's a good idea,"
"Why? What's going on now?" Karen wondered aloud.
Silence hung heavy in the air. The next words could determine how the rest of the prison takes the news of an illness goin’ around and alter how we handled the developing crisis. I don’t think none of us were equipped to deal with that side of things.
Delicate sure as hell wutn’t my forte.
Libby took a few steps forward, a wave of calm settling over her features as she took the initiative, “We think it’s a type of flu or something.” She explained, easing ahead until all I could see was her woven, red hair. “It’s how Patrick died.”
A slow horror passed over the couple as Hershel took a stand next to Libby, “Judith is in that cell block. She's vulnerable. Anyone that may be sick or even exposed should stay away."
"It -- it killed Patrick?" Karen stammered, her eyes flashing between Hershel and Libby.
Ty shook his head vehemently, his focus intensifying as he looked at Sasha, searching for reassurance. “She's gonna be okay," Ty insisted, desperation creeping into his voice as he longed for some kind of affirmation from his sister. "Now that we know what Patrick died from, we can treat it, right?"
"Don't panic,” Libby urged, her voice steady but soft in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “We’re gonna figure this out.”
It wutn’t long before she agreed to take off with Glenn to go find another one of our people that had been coming down with the sickness. Without as much of a glance at me, Libby had shared a space for a total of twenty minutes before disappearing.
"Have to call another meeting later," Hershel stated, as everyone except me n’ Carol disappeared.
I nodded, chewing at the inner part of my cheek and slinging my bow back over my shoulder. "All right. I'll get to buryin' the dead ones."
"You wear gloves and a mask," Hershel ordered, maintaining eye contact with me until I agreed.
Satisfied enough with my answer, the old man started walkin’ away, headin’ to figure out our medical situation. Carol hadn’t been as emotional as I expected her to be over so many losses, n’ I noticed how little she’d moved since we emerged into the hallway.
“Y’alright?” I stopped in front’a her.
"I'm worried about Lizzie and Mika.” She confessed. Them two little girls had been so far up Carol’s ass, I’s surprised their noses wutn’t brown — but they made her happy n’ after all that woman’s been through, I wutn’t gonna tease her over the two little shadows she’d accumulated.
Their dad had been one of our field workers, one of Rick’s favorites. Carol had to put him down during the breach. "They were around Patrick,” she added, her eyes searching mine for comfort, filled with an ongoing worry that seemed too familiar.
"We all were," I attempted to reassure her, knowing full well the lurking dread we all faced. "Karen n' David are gon' be separated til they feel better,”
"You're right." Carol nodded, unconvincingly. "You okay?"
"Mhmm," I chewed my lip, avoiding the topic of Libby, which had become a sensitive area for us after our argument the previous week, so I didn’t have much to tell her. "Gotta be."
_____________
Libby POV
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I spent the better part of what remained in the day, organizing and prepping both A and solitary for a large intake of sick people. I hoped and crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t be more than Karen and David, but with our luck, I’d rather be over prepared. It also wouldn’t hurt to have the beds in solitary stocked for those of us who’d already been exposed. Until Dr. S had a lid on things, we couldn’t afford to take the risk of exposing the entire prison.
The mask (or bandana, really), that covered my face while I supplied Karen and David with a days worth of food, water, and some liquid Tylenol in case they started running a fever, was starting to give me a fever. It felt like such a first world problem, the wearing the mask thing, but considering there was zero ventilation where I was at, and the Georgia heat was amping up, I was relieved to brush the beads of sweat that had trickled down my nose away when I unwrapped my diy facemask.
I did not envy the ones who were out digging graves for a number of reasons, but the heat was the number one contender. The other spots being consumed by raw emotions and the overwhelming sense of confusing grief.
I felt ashamed for some of my mourning, compared to others; because who was I to mourn the loss of my beloved accomplishment of integrating the majority of D block into the community, while Ansley mourned the loss of her five year old son? Why should I feel so gutted over some people I hadn’t had a conversation with in weeks, while Kristen waited patiently to bury her little sister?
Grief was tricky to navigate, and I found it easier to throw myself into working than to dwell on it.
So I pointlessly fluffed the pillows, cleared some work space, and made sure all the cell doors locked, before finally leaving the depths of what used to be the tombs. Where T-dog had died. Where I hoped that nobody else would suffer that same fate.
_____________
I didn’t share a cell with Daryl Dixon the night before. Instead, I woke up on the floor of solitary, with Glenn occupying the space beside me — or at least he had been when we went to sleep. He was long gone by the time I lifted up, stretched my limbs and shook off the stringy cobwebs of sleep.
It was weird, but for a flicker of a moment, the tune of Vienna crossed my mind, and my heart ached for my Walkman. A little piece of normalcy that I’d smuggled from Hershel’s farm. I still had it, in my cell, tucked inside of my backpack, cozied between a pair of blue jean shorts and an old, previously owned flannel.
With a short sigh, I snagged an expired Nutrigrain bar from the gray snack bin that served as our so-called ‘quarantine breakfast.’ Surprisingly it still tasted decent as I made my way to the courtyard. Somehow, someway, I’d slept ridiculously hard through the night, and I was in an unusually perky mood considering the circumstances.
In the current state of the world, specifically at the prison, waking up in such good spirits was practically a rebellion, and I intended to savor this pep in my step. Mid-stride, I paused to braid my hair—a lazy attempt to keep it out of my face—though I knew it paled in comparison to how Beth would have done it, with her nimble fingers and all. For now, I embraced my messy braid and the strange lightness in my heart.
But the sound of deep, raspy coughing sliced through the air, stirring guilt in me for feeling so bright. Up ahead, Sasha, who had been a picture of health twenty-four hours before, was slumped against the wall, struggling to move toward the metal door.
I could already hear Glenn’s voice, berating me for my actions out of worry for my own weak immune system. But I cleared my throat to notify her of my presence before ducking my head under her arm and allowing her to lean on me. “How long you been feeling like this?” I asked, concern lacing my voice. If we could narrow down when symptoms roughly began, maybe we could start narrowing down when they started looking like Sasha did now.
“Throat started itching after I laid down last night,” she wheezed.
“Come on,” I adjusted my hold to take more of her weight. “Let’s get you to Dr. S.”
As we stepped into the courtyard, I spotted Glenn deep in conversation with Hershel, a frown etched across his face. He had confided in me last night about his fears—how the losses were piling up, and the illness spreading like wildfire. It was becoming a nightmare; after Karen and David, five more had been struck down—Sasha made six.
Her hacking, quickly drew attention to us, Hershel and Glenn with equally horrified looks on their faces. I held a warning hand out, “I’ve got her. We need to have a meeting,” I all of a sudden decided out loud. It felt like the right words to say at the moment, especially given the circumstance of a part of our council coming down with it.
Neither of the men responded verbally to Sasha's insistence that she was okay, nor did they acknowledge my suggestion for a meeting. But when my eyes met Hershel’s, he lowered his chin in a subtle, solemn nod. I hoped that meant he was on board with the plan because my mind was already set on making that meeting my next destination, just as soon as I secured Sasha under Dr. S’s care.
I couldn't help but let dread creep in, the weight of worry pressing on my chest—for her, for Glenn, for Hershel, and for everyone that called this place home.
People were our greatest resource, and unfortunately, history had shown that plagues were often our greatest downfall. We were a small population, with roughly sixty souls making up our community. By health standards, an epidemic is defined by fifteen reported cases per one hundred thousand people. So, what did that make us when our tiny group had already lost more than a handful to this deadly affliction? We were long past that threshold.
The thought loomed ominously in my mind: the reality that everything we had built, all of our hard-fought progress, was on the brink of collapse due to something so trivial and insidious as the goddamn flu. It was almost absurd—surviving the trials of the apocalypse only to fall victim to a virus that we might have otherwise shrugged off in normal times.
As I flung the doors to death row open, a stone lodged itself in my throat at the sickly-sweet stench of death that hit me like a wave. I remembered how, when I was younger, my aunt would say I smelled like ‘outside’ after a long day playing in the sun—her words turned nostalgic as I realized that the scent of the outside world had transformed dramatically. Now it was infused with the odor of death; rotting flesh, steely blood, and melted corpses. That’s what the inside of A-block reminded me of; ‘outside’.
With each slow, steady step Sasha and I took, calling out for Dr. S, my heart shattered a little more. To our right sat Mr. Livelle, a used to be trucker, who now was sitting dazed and confused. To our left, Alaina Brown, a cashier from a little gas station in Atlanta, coughed up blood, her very life staining the ground beneath her. And there, reaching through the bars of his cell, was Orion Anderson—a drifter with a knack for plumbing—growling and grasping at our arms like a caged animal, desperate fo fresh meat.
Just as I was about to reach for my knife, the unsettling sound of shuffling echoed ahead. Instinctively, I angled myself in front of Sasha, my heart racing. A hand appeared, grasping the railing of the stairway, and there was Dr. S—his appearance a ghostly shadow of the man we‘d relied on for the past twenty-four hours. Struggling for breath, he looked to be as much of a victim of this monstrous flu as Sasha was. “We have to tell them,” he gasped, the conjestion thick in his voice. “It’s starting.”
_____________
“Mr. Livelle turned while I was in there,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. My thoughts were skittering like leaves in a storm, and I couldn’t quite grasp why it felt so dreamlike. It was as if I was on the edge of dissociation, dancing in the shadows of reality, yet somehow too vividly aware of every detail around me.
Ideas, worries, anxiety, and grief darted through my mind at breakneck speed, drowning out the council’s conversation. I struggled to focus on the words being spoken, lost in the chaos of my thoughts.
There was talk about how fast the disease was spreading, and isolation for the sick. But then the conversation shifted to a disgusting new revelation: the murder of Karen and David.
It had apparently happened early this morning when nobody else was in quarantine yet. They were burned to death; nothing but char remained. It made me sick to think about. Two more lives wasted, and by someone within our community.
But I couldn’t dwell on it for too long — my mind wouldn’t let me. It raced ahead, so relentlessly that I felt the beads of sweat gathering at my temples. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to snap out of the restless trance my brain was in. Anything to stave off the pounding in my head.
For the last eighteen or so months, we’d spent all of our time fighting the dead and hadn’t truly thought about the threats that have weakened humanity ever since the beginning of time. Modern medicine was a recent development, and unfortunately for me, I couldn’t make a stop at Walmart to grab a pack of ibuprofen and call it a day anymore.
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Daryl POV
_____________
"You get it, you have to go through it." Hershel said, his voice steady.
Michonne’s shoulders dropped, “But it just kills you.”
"The illness doesn't, the symptoms do," Hershel corrected. "We need antibiotics."
"We've been through every pharmacy nearby. And then some.” I reminded them, knowing the futility of my words. We ain’t seen nothin’ stronger than DayQuil in the prison for ages.
Libby’s elbows hit the wooden table, an uneasy look etched across her face. “Sounds like a seventy mile trip is still in the cards after all,” she said, trying for a smile at Michonne. But it was a hollow gesture; there was no joy behind her lips.
“That veterinary college at West Peachtree Tech,” Hershel locked eyes with me. "That's one place people may not've thought to raid for medication. The drugs for animals there are the same we need."
"That's fifty miles," I replied, but the truth was — it wutn’t like we had a bag full of options. Wutn’t no damn CVS or local dealer to grab anything good from no more. Fifty miles might be worth it.
I glanced over to Libby, who was surprisingly looking at me, and searched for something…I wutn’t sure what, but I knew it was something I probably didn’t deserve. Her eyes were bloodshot though, so I looked away quickly in an attempt to wipe that image from my mind.
Fifty miles was definitely worth it.
"Too big a risk before. Ain't now, I'm gon' take a group out,” I leapt to my feet, adjusting my bow in the process. “Best not waste any more time."
"I'm in," Michonne volunteered.
"You haven't been exposed, Daryl has,” Hershel warned, his tone heavy with concern. “You get in a car with him…”
His hesitation hung in the air, the unspoken implication obvious.
I studied her unconcerned look, smirking a little when she responded. “He's already given me fleas.”
That's when Libby started coughing — a harsh, rattling sound that sliced through the air. Every head turned toward her. Glenn moved instinctively closer, but Libby raised a hand, stopping him. Her breathing calmed, but her hand trembled, betraying her.
“I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. “Just need to isolate.”
“We can’t wait too long to get those antibiotics,” Michonne pressed, her voice tight with worry.
Libby groaned, pushing a hand through her messy hair. “Don’t rush into dumb mistakes because of me,” she insisted, locking eyes with Michonne. “We need those meds, but y’all need to make it back safe.”
The room was heavy with tension. Glenn hovered closer to Libby, but still kept his distance. I could see the worry etched on Hershel’s face; first Sasha, and now Libby — this damn flu was picking us off one by one. “Libby,” Glenn said softly, his voice trembling.
I knew this must’ve been a hard one for him to swallow. They’d be joined at the hip longer than I even knew her name. If her bein’ infected cut me deep, I couldn't imagine how he felt.
“I’ll be fine.” she snapped, her voice hoarse, but her tone sharp. Then her gaze was back on Michonne — it even bounced to me briefly. “We’ve got people a lot sicker than me, who can’t afford for y’all to go out all fuzzed up and worried about me. And don’t tell me they won’t,” she shot at Glenn. “I traveled with both of them for three months. I know how they are.”
Glenn looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he sighed and took a step back. I could see it in his face—something was goin’ on with him. He wutn’t the type to back down easy, not when it came to her.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I was just—”
Libby glanced at him, her shoulders stiff. “I’ll be fine, Glenn.“ She reiterated in that sharp tone, unlike the one she normally took with him.
I couldn’t take the way she looked — pale, weak, slick with sweat, but still trying to fight everyone off like nothing was wrong. Like this sickness wutn’t killin’ people within hours. My jaw tightened. “Y’ain’t fine,” I couldn't help but murmur. “And we ain’t gonna act like you are.”
Her bloodshot eyes flicked to me, tired but there was still that familiar fire in them. “Then be useful and go get the damn meds, Daryl.” Her first time speaking directly to me since I’s an asshole to her, and her voice was like ice. It hit hard.
I clenched my fists and turned to Michonne. “Let’s move,” I said, keeping my voice low, my determination steeling.
Libby didn’t look at me again as I left, and I told myself that was for the best. But her cough echoed in my head long after the door shut behind me.
.it seems that all that was good has died and is decaying in me.
Notes:
Soooo…idk if anyone’s caught on, but have y’all maybe noticed that Soup has a second sense to a lot of things and foreshadows certain parts of the storyline? I have a strong belief that animals are more capable of recognizing things being off before humans, so I thought it would be fun to incorporate that!
Also, I’m obsessed with the next chapter, so I really hope y’all love it! #Liryl is going through the ringer.. but like… angst is a right of passage for Darnell Dickson
Chapter 38: mandatory flu shots
Summary:
My chest ached, and it wasn’t just the fever twisting my insides. It was a hollow, gnawing grief, a feeling that coiled tightly around my heart, squeezing it until I was tempted to double over and bawl.
I swallowed hard, remembering what Aunt Bea had said. About Daryl. Heat crept up my neck, and I felt stupid, embarrassed. Even a fever dream couldn’t let me off the hook about my feelings for him. My obvious feelings, apparently.
Chapter Text
.i wouldn’t know where to start, sweet music playing in the dark.
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Daryl POV
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It was rough drivin’ away from the prison, knowin’ just what we were leavin’ behind. If somethin’ stopped us or delayed our trek, that remark I got from Libby mighta just been the last one I ever got. I know I probably shouldn’t think that way, but what the hell else was I s’pose to think? The only woman that I’d probably ever love was down with some kind of fatal flu, and she probably thought I hated her. If she died, she’d die thinkin’ that I hated her. That spendin’ all that time with her since the outbreak was bullshit.
She’d never know how I felt about her. Never know that the only reason I’s such an ass to her was cause I’s too much of a pussy to tell’er that I loved her and I’s scared to lose her.
Ain’t that some ironic shit.
The possibility of losin’ her was higher now than it had been when I decided to push her away.
It all felt so stupid now. The whole reason Libby left with Michonne was to put distance between us — it was all about keepin’ us focused on our responsibilities to the prison separate from the relationship we’d started to develop together. Wutn’t sure what else to call it, cause we sure as hell wutn’t just sleepin’ together no more; not at that point. We both knew that, but she’d been the only one willing to address it n’ I shut her down. Made things even more complicated — pushed her away. If I’d of just nutted up and told her that I’s head over heels for her, she wouldn’t’a needed to leave for two months. She wouldn’t’a been confused, or angry, or sad, n’ we could’a been workin’ on somethin’ together.
But nah, I went and fucked that right on up.
And what do I do when she comes back? I flirt with’er on a run. I opened myself up, ready and willing, just to turn around n’ basically tell her to fuck off — as if she hadn’t already been gone for two months chasin’ some ghost.
A flash of the governor crossed my mind, remindin’ me of the rift I’d had with Michonne earlier. “Hey,” I murmured over to the passenger seat where she sat. “I know you weren't runnin' off. Thing is, that trail went cold.” I snuck a quick glance at the empty road before shooting my gaze back to her. “You know that, right? If it was any different, I'd be right out there with you.“
It took a few seconds, but after a small stint of nothing, Michonne nodded. I knew she was still pissed about the governor — hell, so was I — but I think she was gettin’ even more pissed at herself for still stubbornly searchin’.
I made an attempt to fill the tension in the car by fiddling with the radio, because between me, Michonne, Bob, and Ty, there was enough of it to shred through valleys of walkers. “D’ya hand me one a’them CDs right there?” I asked Michonne, nodding down to the glovebox.
Thing is; when she went to hand me the case full of discs, I’d be damned if I didn’t catch a faint voice over the radio.
“…find sanctuary.”
My head jerked back to the static ridden radio, workin’ the knobs to try and catch that flickering station again. “Was that a voice?” Bob asked in just as much disbelief as I was.
“Shh!” I hissed, holding up a finger to silence him, still trying to tune the knobs and crank up the volume.
“…determined to survive…keep alive…”
This was new. It wutn’t like the emergency broadcasts we’d heard a hundred times over. This was a different voice on a different station sayin’ different things.
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Libby POV
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My body was on fire, I felt like I was burning from the inside out. If someone were to come and tell me that my bones were made of glass now, I’d probably believe them, because every time I moved, I was sure that my legs would shatter beneath me.
This was horrible. Worse than anything I’d ever experienced before.
To make matters worse, Glenn showed up, sweaty and coughing, about two hours after I did. And right behind him? Hershel. Though, our resident veterinarian wasn’t sweaty or sick; he was risking his health to take care of us. A true doctor through and through.
He gave us elderberry tea, cold rags, and simple reassurances that in truth, weren’t much, but they were enough to have me at least meeting his gaze and granting him a smile. Something to let him know that I appreciated his presence and efforts. After all, I’d been a bitch to his son-in-law earlier, and all he’d been trying to do was express his own worry for me.
It wasn’t like I’d intentionally snapped at Glenn. My mind was just aching and I couldn’t focus, everything was on my nerves. I would’ve snapped at anyone. That didn’t mean he deserved my awful attitude though.
That’s probably why I was currently gasping for air as my body racked with a violent cough. It was a surprise I didn't lose half a lung in the process. Hershel knelt beside me, his face banded with calm determination. His weathered hands, calloused from years of farm work, gently repositioned the cold rag on my forehead. He had a way about him—steady, reassuring. Even in the middle of shit hitting the fan, he managed to exude a kind of quiet authority that made it easier to breathe.
“You need to rest, Liberty,” he murmured, his southern drawl wrapping around me like a warm blanket, drowning out the cacophony of coughing and strained breaths that filled the air.
Nearby, Sasha was slumped against the wall, her wheezing punctuating the oppressive silence, while Glenn lingered close, his strength clearly waning. The three of us all tried to pull together, but the struggle was heavier than we anticipated in our current state. Hershel stood alone against the tide of illness, an unwavering hope for everyone in cell block A.
I shook my head, a weak protest bubbling within me as I fought to sit up. “You can’t handle all of this alone, and what if you get sick? You should—”
“Stop,” Hershel interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “I’ve been around long enough to know what my limits are. And you’ve been burning the candle at both ends.”
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Daryl POV
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All night.
It took us all night and half the day trying to shake off those walkers on the road. We was lucky we were able to; there were at least a hundred trailing us, and with Ty laggin’ behind so much it made me almost regret askin’ him to come.
But I got it. His girl had just been murdered, and now his little sister was hangin’ on by a thread, sick with a disease we couldn’t cure. Nothin’ to ease her pain, no way to help her until we made it back. She was runnin’ on the hope that we’d make it back on time.
All of’em back there were, not just Sasha —Dr. S, Glenn, Hershel, Libby. They were all countin’ on us, so I didn’t have time to mope around n’ grieve someone that might not even be dead yet. Libby’d kick my ass if she found out I was wastin’ time all in my feelings about her bein’ sick that I didn’t make it back to Glenn in time.
We was followin’ a trail in the the woods, the earth beneath our feet crunching with every step, leading us to a town so’s we could find a vehicle and get the show on the road again, when I spotted something half-buried in the dirt. I knelt down, scraping away the loose dirt to reveal the object beneath and began inspecting it a little closer. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Michonne’s head tilt.
"Is that jasper?" she asked, her voice light, almost teasing.
“Uh-huh,” I replied, turning the smooth stone over in my hand.
“It’s a good color," she remarked with a smile that hinted she knew I was lost in thought during our trek. "Brings out your eyes.”
I shoved the rock into my pocket, feeling its cool weight against my leg. "When Miss Richards went into A block, we were leavin'. Asked me to keep a lookout," I explained. "I'm gon' use it for her ol' man's marker."
"You know all them back there?" Michonne asked, her eyes sharp as she scanned the shadows around us.
"You stay in one place more 'n a couple hours, be surprised what you pick up," I pointed out. “And Libby, she uh, she really got to know everybody, ya know? Talked about the newcomers a lot.”
Michonne gave me a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable but her tone edged with something deeper. “Libby’s got a way about her. People gravitate toward her, but she doesn't do a good job at setting boundaries with people. Guess it’s why Glenn’s so protective.” Her tone was casual, but I could sense the edge. “Could probably say the same for how Carol is with you.”
I grunted in response, tightening my grip on my crossbow strap. I wutn’t in the mood to talk about Libby or Carol. Not now, not with one of them sick back at the prison and me out here.
“She’ll pull through,” Michonne said after a beat, her voice softening. “You know that, right?”
I stopped in my tracks, turning to face her. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with me if she’s okay or not,” I shot back, sharper than I meant to.
Michonne didn’t flinch. She just raised an eyebrow, her hand resting lightly on her hip. “Doesn’t it? She’s not just ‘one of them’ to you.”
Tyreese and Bob had slowed behind us, giving us space. I clenched my jaw, looking away, pretending to scan the treeline for walkers. “Ain’t got time for this.”
Michonne smirked faintly. “Time or not, you care. We all see it.“
Her words sat heavy in the air, like the humidity sweltering around us. I wanted to tell her to drop it, to let me focus, but the truth of what she said poked at me. Libby was back there, sick and fighting, and here I was—runnin’ through the woods, a day behind, and arguin’ for no good reason. If we didn’t make it back in time with what they needed, it wouldn’t matter what I felt or didn’t feel.
“Keep movin’,” I muttered, shouldering past her and taking the lead, the weight of my thoughts pulling me down even as my feet carried me forward.
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Libby POV
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The air in the prison block was oppressively thick, saturated with a stench of illness and hopelessness that clung to the damp walls and permeated every corner. My body felt as if it had been engulfed in flames; each nerve ending screamed with agony, while my muscles ached fiercely under the relentless grip of fatigue. My throat was raw and parched, and each shallow breath I took was like dragging jagged shards of glass that cut against the fragile lining of my lungs.
The cell around me blurred at the edges, the walls wavering like they might collapse in on me at any second. Hershel had told me to rest until Daryl got back it the meds, and I’d tried, but it felt impossible when the fever twisted time into nothing but torture. Each second dripped by like molasses, stretching into an eternity of discomfort and desperation.
I blinked, my vision swimming, and when it cleared, she was there. Aunt Bea. Her dark hair danced in the faint light that sifted through the barred window, cascading around her shoulders like a familiar cloak. She wore her usual faded jeans and a well-worn button-up shirt, the fabric telling tales of countless days spent in the sun. With one hand perched on her hip, her expression danced between affection and exasperation.
“Lord, girl, you look a sight,” she drawled, shaking her head as if to dispel the image of me sprawled on the prison bunk. “What in the world have you gotten yourself into this time?”
I blinked again, trying to focus through the haze. My voice emerged raspy and weak, "Aunt Bea?"
“Course it’s me.” She stepped closer, her shoes tapping lightly against the concrete.
I stared at her, my heart tightening with a mix of joy and anguish. "What are you doing here?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
Her face softened as she leaned against the wall. “Came to check on you, honey. Someone’s gotta, with that fever of yours. You’re burnin’ up.”
Despite everything, a weak smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Bad immune system and all.”
Her expression shifted, veiling her warmth in shadow. “I’ll never forgive your daddy, you know. For what he did to you. If he’d’a taken care of ya, you wouldn't be gettin’ sick at the drop of a hat.”
I swallowed hard, memories of my father flashing like dark clouds behind my eyelids. "I don’t -- I don’t wanna talk about him."
She nodded, her gaze softening. “That’s alright, baby. You ain’t gotta,” she reassured, her brow raising slightly as she leaned in with a knowing look. “What about that fella, though? What’s his name? The one with the scowl and the crossbow?”
I knew this was a hallucination—Aunt Bea had been gone for over a year, just like everyone else who ever cared for me—but still, despite the painful awareness, I desperately wanted to bury my face and hide from her probing eyes.
If I wasn't so feverish, I’m sure my cheeks would be tinged pink. “Daryl?” I rasped, coughing weakly.
Aunt Bea smiled, tipping her head knowingly. “You wanna talk about him babydoll? He cares about you.”
I shook my head, the movement sluggish and weak. “We’re not on good terms right now, so I’d rather not. Besides, it’s not like that.”
Could you lie to ghosts? Or did they just know everything?
“Uh-huh,” she replied, unconvinced. “You keep telling yourself that, honey. But don’t waste time, you hear me? Time’s got a way of runnin’ out when you least expect it.”
Before I could respond, a violent coughing fit seized me. I curled forward, my chest convulsing, and tasted blood on my tongue. By the time it subsided, my body felt even heavier, like I’d been submurged underwater.
When I finally opened my eyes, Aunt Bea was gone. My heart sank—until I felt the weight shift at the foot of my bunk.
“Hey, sweet pea,” came a soft, familiar voice.
My older sister sat there, hair tied back, a faint shadow of weariness in her eyes.
“Sissy,” I rasped, nearly inaudible.
She gave me a small, steady smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of my sweaty hair behind my ear. “Finally got to go to jail, huh?”
I tried to respond, but my throat burned too much to speak.
“Don’t talk. Just listen,” she murmured. “You’re gonna be okay, Libby. You’ve been through worse. You’re stronger than this.”
Her voice was soothing, but there was an edge to it—a quiet confidence that reminded me of how she’d always handled everything, no matter how bad it got. She reached for my hand, holding it gently in hers.
“Roll over for me,” she said softly. “Let me braid your hair.”
As her fingers moved, I thought I caught the faintest scent of pine and smoke, like the woods we used to play in as kids. Her movements were precise, methodical, like someone who’d done this a thousand times before.
“You’re safe,” she murmured. “Just rest, Libby. I’m here.”
As her voice faded into the depths of my fevered haze, the comfort of her hands in my hair remained, anchoring me as I drifted back into the chilling embrace of delirium.
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Daryl POV
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Unless you count Merle and a handful of people in the very beginning, I went nearly two full years without encountering any addicts or drunks since the dead started walkin’. Not until Bob.
The Daryl sitting here now—this version of me, who came back from drifting, who found a sense of belonging at the prison and a stronger backbone—this Daryl had no patience for selfish pricks who didn’t care about nobody else’s survival except their own.
The tension had been thick enough to slice with a knife when he almost pulled a gun on me just because I was about to toss his bottle. I doubted he had the guts to actually pull the trigger, but the thought of it infuriated me. I sat in the passenger seat fuming, absently twirling the piece of jasper between my fingers, willing myself to calm down, cause from the sounds of Michonne and Ty’s conversation, we had a mighty long road trip ahead of us.
Seven hours.
Seven hours of sitting on the edge of our seats, racing to get back to people that might not even be alive anymore. Our trip was only supposed to take a day — it’d been two, almost three. Fifty miles turned into eighty, and that was the furthest any of us had been away from the prison before. "Takin' highway 100," Ty called out, striding past me and getting into the back of the van.
"I heard," I muttered, my gaze locked onto the jasper in my palm, oblivious to everything else.
Michonne took her seat behind the wheel, casting me a somber glance. “You were right, what you said before," she admitted. "About the trail going cold. I don't need to go out anymore."
"Good," I replied tersely, slamming the door shut with a finality that echoed my frustration, before tucking the smooth rock back into my pocket.
A heavy silence enveloped us, only to be broken by Michonne’s quiet voice. “And I was right earlier too. About Libby.”
My jaw tightened, and I turned my head, pretending to watch the trees rush past as we sped down the road. Wutn’t no way in hell I‘s about to have that conversation, not here, not now. Hell, not ever. Michonne didn’t push, but I could feel her scrutiny from the driver’s seat.
The van rocked over a pothole, and I shifted uncomfortably, forcing my focus back to the jasper in my pocket. The smooth edges grounded me, gave my hands something to do while my mind raced.
Libby.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake her from my thoughts.
She was just some pretty girl who stumbled into my life by accidentally shooting my deer—s’all she was s’pose to be. But my curiosity got the better of me. Now; I didn't really know what she was to me, but she damn sure was more than some pretty girl. Somewhere, between fighting alongside her, teaching her to track, hunting, working together — we’d developed far past friends with benefits. Far past friends. Even the benefits thing wutn’t really happening anymore, not since she set me up. Still, I forgave her.
And now we were fighting again, and I kicked myself for even causing this blowout. Things could’ve been good between us, but I just didn’t know how to handle the way I felt about her.
Hell, I was forty-three years old. I’d spent most of my life running from people, not toward them. What the hell did I know about being in a relationship? About loving someone? Especially someone like her—eighteen years younger, with this spark that effortlessly drew people to her.
She deserved better. She deserved someone who could give her something more than just surviving day to day.
And that wutn’t me.
My grip on the jasper tightened. The van hit another bump, jostling me back into the present. Tyreese and Bob were talking quietly in the back, but their words were muffled, distant.
The truth was, I felt like a fool. A man my age, fumbling around like some kid with a crush. It wasn’t just the age gap that prodded at me—it was everything else, too. The scars on my back, the ghosts in my head, the way I still felt like the scared, angry little boy Merle used to push around.
Libby didn’t know the half of it.
Didn’t mean I didn’t want her to.
She had opened up to me in ways I never expected—a vulnerability that made me want to return the favor, but the walls I’d built were like concrete, and I didn’t know how to even start breaking that down.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I’d gotten bad, but not nearly as bad as Henry was.
After having my hair, imaginatively braided, I’d actually rested for a few hours, but as was usual, that rest was cut short because duty would always call. And Hershel, as tough as he was, could only handle so much by himself, and it was taking Glenn, Sasha, and I to help hold Henry down for Hershel to finally intubate him.
"Drink some of that," Hershel instructed, nodding toward a metal cup brimming with dark elderberry tea. "All of you."
Per doctor’s orders, Glenn took a quick sip before passing it to me so I could repeat the motions. Carefully, I took a smaller gulp than I normally would. The sleep I got earlier had, at the very least, gave me a slight edge over my exhausted companions. I then passed the cup to Sasha, who took her turn, grimacing at the taste.
"Some council meetin', huh?" Hershel said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"We're two members short," Sasha rasped.
Eyeing us, a playful glint in his blue eyes, he shrugged. "I think we should make some new rules before they get back.”
“Mandatory flu shots,” I chimed in, a cough escaping after.
"Spaghetti Tuesdays every Wednesday," Hershel countered.
I stifled a snicker that quickly morphed into a violent, wet cough. The metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth, and I leaned over to spit into the rag that I had been dragging around with me for far too long.
"First, we have to find some spaghetti,” Hershel continued, his voice laced with determination as he fought to keep our spirits afloat in the face of reality.
Hershel felt it best that we stay in pairs so if one of us got winded, the other could take over. I let Sasha do the first half of pumping air into Henry’s lungs, I knew she’d try arguing if I tried telling her to rest, but once Glenn had returned from helping Hershel, it was a no brainer on who to send to bed first out of the three of us.
The sound of Sasha's labored breaths echoed in the corridor as she and Hershel disappeared from view. Glenn slumped against the wall beside me, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. He looked like hell—clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, and a shirt drenched with sweat, clinging to him.
“Rest,” I said, my voice scratchy. “I’ll pump for a bit.”
He didn’t argue, just gave me a tired nod and handed over the bag. His hand lingered on mine for a second longer than it needed to, his way of saying thank you without words.
I settled into his spot and started compressing the bag, keeping my movements steady. The soft hiss of air into Henry’s lungs was the only sound in the room for a while. Glenn leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes half-closed, but I could tell he wasn’t asleep. With all that was going on, I couldn’t blame him, and that probably added on to why he looked so awful. The pallor of his skin, beads of sweat pooling on every crevice of his body…it made him appear almost walker-like.
I pressed my eyes shut, trying to shove the image away. Hershel said there was hope, so there was. Imagining my best friend as a mindless, undead creature wouldn’t do any good. Not when there was hope.
The hallucinations I’d had earlier came back to me in jagged flashes, vivid and unsettling. Aunt Bea standing at the foot of my cell, looking so real I could till hear the floor under her boots. Then my sister—my sissy—sitting by me, her hands gentle, her voice soft. My throat tightened at the bittersweet fever-haze of a memory.
I found myself mourning for them both all over again. Aunt Bea, gone to a walker’s bite. My sister… I didn’t even know. Maybe she was alive, somewhere out there. Maybe not.
My chest ached, and it wasn’t just the fever twisting my insides. It was a hollow, gnawing grief, a feeling that coiled tightly around my heart, squeezing it until I was tempted to double over and bawl.
I swallowed hard, remembering what Aunt Bea had said. About Daryl. Heat crept up my neck, and I felt stupid, embarrassed. Even a fever dream couldn’t let me off the hook about my feelings for him. My obvious feelings, apparently.
I couldn’t help but ponder whether she would have liked him. Probably. Daryl was rough around the edges, his initial demeanor ornary and unapologetic, but I don't think she’d have minded too much. She had an eye for the redeemable, and there was a plethora of warm, honest, and strong qualities that he brought to the table.
But where was he now? Where the hell were any of them? They’d been gone far too long. A shiver of dread crawled up my spine. What if something happened? What if they ran into walkers, or ran out of ammo, or worse? My stomach twisted painfully at the thought. They’d gone further out than normal — what if they ran into another group?
I tried to tell myself they’d make it back. That Daryl always made it back. But what if this time was different? What if I never saw him again?
What if the last thing I ever said to him was something bitchy about him doing his part and getting the medicine?
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, and with it came an uncontrollable rush of panic.
They were dead. They had to be. It was the only explanation. They were gone, and I’d never get the chance to fix things, to tell Daryl I—
I couldn’t breathe.
My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, and my hands shook as I fumbled with the bag.“Glenn,” I gasped, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own wheezing.
He was at my side in an instant, his hand on my shoulder, his eyes wide with panic. “Hershel!” he tried, his own voice cracking with a cough.
I clutched the cell bars, abandoning the respirator, desperate to draw in air myself, but my lungs wouldn't cooperate. Spots swirled in front of my eyes, and I could hear Glenn's voice trying to steady me, but his words faded into an echo, like a voice struggling to be heard through water.
The last thing I saw before everything faded was Glenn’s face, pale and terrified, trying to shout for help, but slowly sinking next to me as well.
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Daryl POV
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Ain’t never wondered what heartbreak might feel like. Didn’t ever seem like it would be in the cards for me.
But fuck did it burn.
It sat deep, twisted in my chest like a fist squeezing tight, and every breath felt raw, like I’d swallowed shards of glass. My head kept replayin’ every word I said to her that night Zach died, and every angry look she gave me afterwards, and the worst part—the part that gutted me—was the fact that I deserved it. Maybe she finally saw what I really was: just some broken-down redneck who didn’t know how to be enough. I couldn’t even make it back with the medicine she absolutely needed before she had blood pourin’ out her mouth and nostrils.
I didn't deserve to sit next to her, but I’d be damned if someone was gonna tell me to leave. Not til she woke up n’ bitched me out of this cell herself.
.be still, my foolish heart, don’t ruin this on me.
Notes:
Ahh! This is like.. top 5 of my favorite chapters I’ve ever written, so I hope y’all love it so so so much. I loved spending time with Daryl, and really diving into his internal battle with his feeling towards Libby. idc idc, he 100% would self sabotage and get angry at himself for doing it. and OMG Libby’s hallucinations (which, btw, fever dreams are so scary). Any guesses on who her sister might be? I have a head canon that Aunt Bea looks like Loretta Lynn, so like.. if y’all want to imagine, feel free.
Chapter 39: and i was shit at poker
Summary:
Before I could respond, another explosion rocked the prison, the force nearly knocking me to the ground. Glenn instinctively grabbed my arm, steadying me even as he staggered himself. “It has to be an attack,” he muttered. I steadied myself, grasping the railing as I began to navigate toward the stairs, Glenn following alongside me.
I chewed the inside of my lip, “there’s only one person out there that would attack us,” and it killed me to think about it happening. His trail was cold as ice.
Chapter Text
.this is a place where I don’t feel alone.
The hum of the generator in the distance was almost soothing. I blinked up at the railing of the top bunk above me, and felt like my body was floating and sinking at the same time. Out of instinct, I turned my head and caught sight of Daryl sitting across the cell, his back pressed against the cold wall. He looked half-asleep, but his posture betrayed him.
“You’ve got a way of collecting strays,” a voice murmured, low and teasing.
My chest tightened. My sister stood at the foot of the bunk, one hand brushing her hair out of her face, the other on her hip. She looked as she had earlier—sharp and untouchable, but almost like she’d aged a few years.
Am I dead?
“Daryl?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper and my eyes darting back to the archer sitting on the floor. He didn’t look up when I said his name, nor did he make any indication that he was privy to another person in the cell with us. Another fever induced hallucination, then. “You think he’s a stray?” I flickered back to my sister.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in a way that made me feel like a little kid again. “You’re the one keeping him close. Always have to be someone’s project, don’t you?”
“He’s not a stray and it’s not like that,” I retorted. Oddly enough, my previously sore throat felt perfectly fine now. I glanced toward Daryl again. He still hadn’t moved, hadn’t even twitched.
She stepped closer, her boots silent against the concrete. “Sure it’s not. But if it were, you’d know better, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s not,” I insisted, shaking my head. “And we’re not -- we’re not even good right now.”
Her lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You think that matters? You don’t get to pretend this thing between you two isn’t happening just because you’re scared.”
“I’m not pretending,” I snapped.
My sister crouched down, leveling our gazes. “Then stop acting like you don’t know what you want.” Her voice was softer now, the teasing gone, the same woman who braided my hair earlier had returned. “Figure it out, Libby. Before someone else does it for you.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her that I’m not a little kid anymore and I can handle my relationships by myself, but the cell swam in and out of focus. When I blinked, she was gone.
My breath caught, and my eyes darted toward Daryl again. Still there, still silent.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and l saw Daryl’s head shoot up right before Maggie appeared in the cell doorway. I wanted to ask her about Glenn, to see if he was okay, but I couldn’t. My mouth was opening, but words weren’t coming out, and judging by the nonresponse to my movements, I could only assume that I was still hallucinating.
“Hey, they’re hauling off bodies,” Maggie said, looking down at Daryl. “They could use your help. My dad’s makin’ his rounds, he’ll be in to check on her soon.” Her eyes flicked to where I laid, and I could’ve swore that we made eye contact, but again…she showed no signs of being aware.
Daryl didn’t respond for a long pause, and it pissed me off because I felt myself slipping. The cell getting hazy and my vision swimming.
I wanted to wake up, but my body clearly had other ideas.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I left her cell. I didn’t want to, but I knew that damn red-head wutn’t gonna wake up — not with me in there. She was probably gonna stay asleep until the second I walked out A-block out of nothing but pure spite.
We lost over a dozen people in the time it took us to get medicine, including Dr. S. Almost lost Glenn and Libby at the same damn time. If we’d’a been gone another half hour, we would’a lost one of them for sure. There was only one respirator, and they were both choking on their own blood. But from what Hershel said, Bob rushed in right on time and intubated Libby himself.
He still had a long way to go after what he pulled at the college, but he saved my girls life and that was enough to redeem himself a little bit. And I know he stayed up all night workin’ on all the others, gettin’ ‘em medicine and fluids — the stuff they needed.
Rick managed to keep the prison floating while we were gone too. Stepped back up and ran things like he used to. If it wutn’t for him and Carl, this place would be over run by walkers.
The truck rattled as we bounced along the uneven dirt path back toward the prison. Tyreese sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, his jaw set tight. He hadn’t said much since we got back to the prison last night, and I didn’t press him. Couldn’t blame him for being quiet. We’d lost too many people too fast, and Sasha had only just pulled through by the skin of her teeth. Her, Glenn, and Libby— they all extorted themselves to help Hershel as much as possible.
I kept one hand on the wheel and the other drumming against my thigh, thinking about how long it was gonna take to put things back together. The fences were patched up for now, but with the dead still pushing against ‘em, they wouldn’t hold forever, they might not even hold for a week. The crops Hershel planted were barely getting by, and with so many people gone, we didn’t have enough hands to keep things running smooth. Anytime I thought we were starting to build something, the world found a way to prove me wrong.
As I pulled into the yard, the prison loomed ahead. Tyreese didn’t wait for me to cut the engine before he climbed out and Hershel was already walking toward us from the gate, his limp a little worse after the long night of keeping people alive. “How’s Glenn doing?” Ty asked, brushing some sweat away from his forehead.
"He made it through the night," Hershel replied wearily. "Breathing on his own now. Maggie and Bob are with him, he seems stable enough for me to get some air."
"He's a tough sumbitch," I remark, thinking about how close we came to really losin’ him last night.
“He is.” Hershel dipped his chin.
Pointing at him, I added, “You're a tough sumbitch.”
"I am," he replied, walkin’ past me, dragging some rocks with his limp foot. “Libby’s awake.” He continued, pausing to look back at me.
The way he’d been walking away, I felt like he wutn’t sure whether he should tell me or not, so I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew I’d spent the night with her.
I chewed the inside of my lip and squinted against the sun as I gazed at him. “She alright?”
“Asked where you were. I told her you’d be back after while.”
He wutn’t giving much away, and I didn’t understand some people’s tendency to do that. To just leave things open ended — if he thought I should go back and see her, I didn’t know why he couldn’t just say that. That implication shit got on my nerves.
"How 'bout Carol?" I tipped my chin up. She loved Libby, albeit not the biggest fan of her sometimes, that didn’t mean Carol didn’t care about her, and she hadn’t even come by to check on how she was doing. "She up in A block with Lizzie?"
"No," Hershel said, a little too quick for my liking. "Talk to Rick about her. She's okay. Just talk to him."
_____________
Libby POV
____________
I wasn’t conscious earlier—I’d already deduced that much, but I’d be damned if that explosion didn’t jolt me awake. It rattled the entire prison, a deafening roar echoing through the long, narrow halls, shaking the walls and swirling clouds of dust down from the cracked, cement ceilings. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the ceiling above, dizzy and disoriented.
A violent cough erupted from deep within in my chest, and my throat burned as I struggled to sit up, fingers trembling as I braced myself against the thin, frumpy mattress. My head spun, and every joint in my body screamed with exhaustion. Weak. Sick. The fever had broken, but the ache of it still settled inside of me.
Dangling my hands between my knees, I focused on the floor, willing myself to stand. Explosions don’t just happen out of nowhere. Something was going down outside — our home was being attacked and we’d already lost enough people to the flu — I refused to waste away on death row while my family fought a battle I knew nothing about.
Distant gunfire sliced through the air, jolting me into action. It took every ounce of strength to push myself upright, my muscles screaming at me to lay back down, but I silenced their protests and took a step toward my cell door.
My legs swayed unsteadily, each motion was a battle that I refused to lose — not with the possibility that a real one was happening outside. As I reached the exit, I hesitated, the hallways were eerily silent, contrasting with the noises beyond the walls. Then I saw Glenn.
He was shuffling down the hallway, sluggish and awkward. He looked about as bad as I felt—pale, sweaty, exhaustion a permanent aura. He had one hand pressed against the wall for support, trying to keep himself upright, but he was struggling just as much as I was.
We were quite a pair of best friends.
I swallowed thickly, forcing the words from my dry, scratchy throat. “What’s going on?” I asked, though the question was most definitely pointless. Glenn knew just as much as I did. We’d both been knocked out and secluded in A-block for the last…probably three or four days. I doubted that either of us would actually be any help at all.
“I don’t know. I heard the explosion,” he croaked, his voice thick with fatigue. He paused for a moment, careful not to double over as he had a short coughing fit, and I saw his fingers tremble as they gripped onto the wall for balance. “I need to find Maggie.”
Before I could respond, another explosion rocked the prison, the force nearly knocking me to the ground. Glenn instinctively grabbed my arm, steadying me even as he staggered himself. “It has to be an attack,” he muttered. I steadied myself, grasping the railing as I began to navigate toward the stairs, Glenn following alongside me.
I chewed the inside of my lip, “there’s only one person out there that would attack us,” and it killed me to think about it happening. His trail was cold as ice.
More voices started piling into A-block, likely people coming to retrieve their loved ones that survived the flu. The fact that Maggie wasn’t here deepened the dread settling in my chest. She’d be on the front lines, fighting to protect our home—her and Daryl. Fuck.
“Come on,” I said, straightening my back up and taking a deep breath. It hurt. From my chest all the way into the depths of my bones, the breath hurt, but if he was out there — the governor— we needed to muscle up.
Then his name was in the air and the sweet southern panicked voice of Maggie pierced the cell block as she raced inside, worry clouding her eyes as she saw Glenn and I moseying down the stairwell.
“What the hell's going on?” Glenn managed out as Maggie placed herself between us, allowing herself to be a source of stability all while dragging us towards the exit.
“We have to get everybody out of here,” she rambled, adrenaline propelling us out the door just as A-block was destroyed by an explosion.
Everything — the sanctuary that we’d built up, was being obliterated. Less than a week ago, we’d been protected inside of concrete walls, safe from the danger that lurked outside. Within a week, over half of our people died of the flu, and now we were facing the threat that had been in the back of our minds for nine months now.
When our feet hit the courtyard, Maggie was pushing us toward the ‘safety bus’, covering us from the gunfire that cracked through the air. Every bone in my body ached, begging me to stop, but I couldn’t. I scanned the yard, my eyes searching for my archer, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of him, praying he was out there still alive.
But I only saw smoke before I was shoved onto the bus ahead of Glenn. “Beth! Where’s Beth?” Maggie shouted from somewhere behind me. The youngest Greene sister wasn’t on the bus and had apparently taken off to find Maggie amidst the chaos.
I looked back to see what the move was going to be, but in my heart, I already knew we couldn’t just leave without her. Sending Glenn a knowing look, I began following him back out the bus, behind Maggie. “No, I’ll find her,” she placed a firm hand on Glenn’s chest, knocking him back and in my walkway to prevent either of us from following her. “I’ll be right back.” She whirled around without waiting for either of us to argue, taking off to find Beth.
We reluctantly waited on her to come back, obeying her wishes by staying on the bus. But after a bullet pierced through the window, nailing Ms. Louise Williams in the chest, it was time to pull off as cries of terror echoed inside of the bus. So, as the story goes, Glenn begged for them to wait a little longer — to give his wife a chance to make it back — but majority rules when you’re in a life or death situation, leaving Glenn and I no choice but to bounce.
The courtyard was a war zone. Walkers mingled with the living, gunfire ripping through the air, and explosions were rattling the ground beneath us.
We were no better than dead, stumbling around trying to avoid walkers and bullets with no weapons for ourselves. So we stayed low and moved as quickly as our weakened bodies would allow.
“This way!” Glenn shouted, pointing toward a pile of debris that offered some cover. Before we could reach it though, another explosion erupted nearby, sending chunks of concrete and dust swirling into the air.
Things got hazy after that — my ears rang, my vision blurred, and for a moment, I thought I might collapse. I lost sight of him within all of the smoke and noise.
I had no choice but to turn and run the other way with no real destination as to where I was going. I was weak, tired, and pretty sure my best friend just died.
Pretty sure everyone I knew had just died.
_____________
Was I a coward? In that moment, the weight of the question pressed heavily on my chest, suffocating me with its intensity.
I should’ve tried looking for Glenn or what was left of him at least, I’d probably die whether I did or didn’t, so the fact that I just ran away from the one person who would’ve never ran away from me. Self-loathing bubbled up within me and I felt disgusted with myself.
I surveyed my surroundings as I sat on the bottom step, and the harsh reality sank in. No weapons, no supplies — nothing but my own frail body, still reeling from the lingering effects of the flu. The exhaustion seeped deep into my bones, a reminder that even the simplest of tasks felt monumental. Venturing into the woods like this would be the biggest gamble of my life, and I was shit at poker.
And sitting in c-block? Maybe that was a slow death in its own right.
It was the only place I knew to go though. It was home. Just up the staircase and to the right was my cell, a sanctuary filled with memories, draped in a privacy curtain held up by duct tape. Inside was everything I owned, everything that defined me. I imagined the top bunk, likely a mess, while the bottom was lazily made. On a typical evening, I could picture a certain archer meticulously fidgeting with his arrows. At the foot of the bunk, there would be a book bag with some clothes in it, and a used Walkman. Across the room, leaned against the wall, stood my pride and joy: a Matthews Reezen compound bow, its homemade arrow case resting right beside it.
A jolt of adrenaline surged through me. I leapt to my feet taking the stairs two at a time, and burst into my cell. My eyes locked onto my bow. “Son of a bitch,” I whispered, a grin creeping up my face. “Son of a bitch.” I repeated, still in disbelief as I reached for my bow, ensuring it was really there.
I whirled around, scanning the room, and there it was — my bag, exactly where I had left it. I scooped it up and emptied its contents onto the bottom bunk, sifting through the familiar items. I began to set aside things that wouldn’t benefit me, but my fingers faltered when they landed on the Walkman. Dale’s Billy Joel tape was still nestled inside. It was small enough to take with me, right? I couldn’t leave it behind.
With a shrug, I tossed the Walkman into my pack, followed closely by a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, three fresh pairs of underwear, and a water bottle that had taken residence on Daryl’s makeshift bedside table. My brow furrowed in concentration as I carefully dug beneath his pillow, searching for the familiar shape of the knife I knew he kept hidden there. I found it, and with a quick movement, strapped it to my belt loop.
Preparing myself for whatever laid beyond the prison walls, and for the journey ahead, a deep sigh escaped my lips. Which…really would’ve gone over pretty well if I hadn't temporarily forgotten that I was still healing from the flu and doubled over in a coughing fit instead.
I needed rest — well, really I needed medicine, but that was out of the question, so I needed rest. Once I left the confines of the prison, there was no telling when I’d be able to catch any sleep again, and regardless of the crumbled walls outside of c-block, for now, my cell had gone untouched. Defeated, I dropped my bag to the floor and began searching the side table for the lock stopper.
I didn’t shed a single tear until I had secured the heavy cell door behind me, the metallic clank echoing through the emptiness. My belongings were neatly piled next to the door, a collection of essentials ready for a quick escape if the opportunity arose. The hollow silence of the block swallowed me whole, a cruel reminder that I was completely alone.
When my eyes landed on the bottom bunk—his bunk—the first tears burned hot against my tired eyes. I sank down slowly, pulling the thin, blanket over me, and the faint scent of his mint shampoo hit like a knife to the chest. It was still there, an invisible thread tying me to him, embedded in the fabric of the well-worn pillow where his head had rested countless nights before. That was when the dam broke. The tears came harder, an ache deep in my chest that I couldn’t will away.
This was the second time in a few days time that I’d wondered his fate, and somehow, this time was a lot more soul crushing. I curled into myself, pressing my face into the pillow, as if breathing him in might somehow bring him back. Each breath sent a fresh wave of grief washing over me, an ache that throbbed deep within my chest, overwhelming and relentless.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
It didn't matter one bit whether we found a trail or not. These woods was roamin’ with walkers, n’ unless they got real real lucky, we wouldn't be findin’ nobody out here. Nobody alive, anyway.
All of it was my fault. I’s the one that told Michonne and Libby the trail was cold, that the governor wutn’t out there no more. I quit lookin’ cause Libby wouldn't let me forget it. If I would’a just pushed back, looked a little more, a little further out—maybe I could’ve found him.
Now everything was ruined.
A-block was blown to pieces; Libby and Glenn were both gone. Rick got shot in the field. Hershel…he was dead before the battle even started. Michonne was probably gone too; she’d been out there in the middle of it. Little ass-kicker didn’t stand a chance. None’a them kids did. Except maybe Carl.
Goin’ back to look for him wutn’t no option though. If he made it, he woulda been out here.
It was somethin’, and I wutn’t plannin’ on lettin’ Beth track the footprints we found — she’d have us all turned around, lookin’ for a ghost. They were small, but not too small to be Carl’s or maybe Maggie’s. "Could be Luke's," Beth said brightly. "Or Molly's. Whoever they are, it means they're alive."
"No," I corrected, "means they were alive four or five hours ago."
"They're alive!" she shot back, stomping along the trail of the footprints.
Not only was she just muckin’ up the trail, but she also did a shit job at judging how big that footprint was. It wutn’t much smaller than hers, if smaller at all. But I kept up after her, not caring enough to tell her to stop. I was done gettin’ my hopes up for things.
All that mattered now was keepin’ her alive. S’the least I could do for her old man, cause I sure as hell let him down. If it wutn’t for me, he’d still be alive.
I bit the inside of my cheek, not caring that I’d already tore it to shreds. It took everything in me not to call out to Beth and start yelling at her for goin’ outta sight, but I just myself up instead. If she wanted to waste our first day out on the road tracking, I’d give her a day, I kept reminding myself.
But from the looks of the smashed up grapes on the ground that she walked right on past, she wutn’t gonna get very far. I clicked my tongue to get her attention before pointing out the grapes scattered on the ground. “They picked up the pace right here.” I scanned the direction they’d’a taken off in and noted the strides gettin’ wider. “Got out in a hurry. Things went bad." I pointed out.
"Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith," Beth said in that same bitchy attitude she’d had from the get go. It wutn’t my fault it was the truth and she couldn’t handle it.
"Yeah, faith," I spat back. "Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do nothin' for your father." I regretted them words as soon as they flew out.
Why was I always like this? Such a piece’a shit whenever my emotions started to get too much. God forbid I feel like givin’ up, nope; I gotta bring her down with me. As if she ain’t been through enough already. She don’t need me pissin’ in her Cheerios.
It bothered her — what I said — I knew it did. But she still just whirled around and started snatching grapes off the vine. “They'll be hungry when we find 'em," When.
Call it denial. Call it faith. Call it stupidity. I didn’t care. I’d been nasty enough to her for the day, so I decided to feed into whatever it was and hand her my bandana.
It took’er a few seconds to pluck up the want to actually take it from me, but when she did, I tried conveying an apology of sorts, hoping she understood that I was without me having to say anything. Even though I’d given several small apologies to Libby, I still wutn’t no good at those things. So just for good measure, I decided to go ahead and follow the damn trail she’d been wanting to track, urging her to follow me.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
Did I sleep for one hour or one year? Who could really be sure? I awoke feeling surprisingly revived—not bad for a girl who’d been battling the flu just two days prior and felt like she was dancing with death.
I’d definitely rested for the better part of seven hours, and my likelihood of surviving had increased drastically all because of it. So I planned on making the most of my luck and scavenge around the cell block before heading out and chancing it on the road.
I couldn’t have been the only person to survive, there had to be others. Rick and Daryl...they were impossible to kill. Rick had come back from the dead and travelled to Atlanta to find his family, and I’d witnessed first hand how stubborn Daryl Dixon was whenever we got bucked off a horse and fell forty feet. There was no way he was dead. He’d live out of sheer spite. And Maggie — she had to be alive. I needed to find her, to tell her about Glenn.
A pang of regret hit me hard, tightening like a noose around my throat as memories of Glenn surged back. If the explosion hadn’t killed him, surely the rocks collapsing around him had, or maybe the walkers. And I’d just…left him.
Some friend I was.
The least I could do was let his wife know.
With grim determination, I strapped my bow and arrows to my back, grabbing my book bag as I set out to scavenge the cells. At first, it felt gross. It felt as if I were trespassing through the remnants of lives once lived, teetering on the edge of being caught like a child stealing cookies from the jar. But when I unearthed a handgun and a couple of cans of peaches, I shoved the guilt aside. This was survival; they were either dead or gone, and I couldn’t afford to ponder the morality of ‘stealing’ from the lost.
That was until I heard it—a faint clink of glass that made my heart leap into my throat. Had my luck run dry? Did I sleep just long enough for the walkers to invade this cell block all over again?
Walkers didn't cough though.
Cautiously, I maneuvered out of the cell, creeping toward the railing. I peered over the edge, my breath hitching. Son of a bitch.
“Glenn!” I hissed, the urgency of his name bursting from my lips, startling him enough to raise his gun instinctively. But as recognition flickered across his face, disbelief replaced the tension in his grip.
“Libby!” he whispered back, his voice a blend of shock and relief.
I dashed down the stairwell, eager to give him a hug — to see if it was really him or a ghost. But when I reached him and flung my arms around his neck, I guess I started crying, because he really was here and alive and not dead. “I thought after the explosion-” I stammered, my words tumbling out in a rush tinged with emotion.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, brushing his fingers through my tangled hair.
Things were going to be okay now. I wasn't alone and Glenn wasn't dead. We were going to get out of this place together and regroup with everyone else. There were no other options in my mind. Even though everything seemed to be pinned against that aspect of seeing anyone in our old group again, I refused to let that thought overtake me.
They were out there, and we’d find them.
“I think the blast knocked me out,” he explained. “I thought you were dead.” He recounted how he had woke up on the remnants of the catwalk, walkers clawing at him, and all he could think about were the old prison guard uniforms.
“There’s still some things worth grabbing,” I said as we entered his cell. He’d been knocked out, a far cry from cozying up in bed and getting some much needed rest — not mention his missing wife. “You get what you need from in here and meet me by the stairwell. I’ll finish searching for supplies.”
He nodded weakly, sinking down onto his cot to catch his breath. I didn’t wait for a response, turning on my heel to check the other cells for anything useful. Most were filled with your same typical junky human things, but a few yielded small treasures—a half-empty bottle of water, some more canned peaches, even a surprisingly intact first aid kit shoved into a corner. Each find felt like a tiny victory against the backdrop of our circumstances.
We didn’t know if our people were alive or if there was even a place left to meet up at. For all we knew, this could be the end of the line. It could end up just being Glenn and I. Perhaps, if we were lucky, we might stumble upon another group of survivors eventually, but the thought felt almost futile amidst the overwhelming loss we were going through right now.
As I worked, the sounds of Glenn rummaging in his cell echoed faintly through the block. I tucked the last can of peaches into my bag and glanced toward the stairwell. He was there, midway up the steps, fitting the armor onto his too-thin frame. His hands trembled as he adjusted the chest plate, his movements slow but determined. I swallowed hard, taking one last lingering look around the empty cells that had served as our home— a place filled with memories of struggle and survival and too many lost ghosts to count. Then, with my own determination rekindled, I made my way toward him. We were barely holding on, but at least we had each other—and for now, that would have to be enough.
.this is a place where I feel at home.
Notes:
out of the frying pan and into the fire ahhh chapter. No, but fr, if y’all thought Daryl and Libby were gonna have a fun reunion before shit hit the fan y’all were WRONG! But~ we get to meet Abe, Eugene, Rosita, and Tara in the next chapter which is fun, bc I was heavily inspired by Rosita for Libby.
I always wondered why Rosita was the only girly in the apocalypse to serve cunt (I mean, Maggie kind of does, but Rosita SERVES), and I felt the need to bring another girl that will match that energy.
and omg…we’re also officially leaving the prison, which is SO sad everytime…it’s my favorite.
Thank y’all for all the kind reviews!! They keep me excited and push me to keep writing (literally how I wrote 7k words, edited, and got this chapter up within 6 hours)
Chapter 40: end of the world cult
Summary:
Daryl would’ve probably kicked my ass for piling into the back of a strangers truck, but for me, right now, it was my option for survival.
I mean, it wasn’t like I was actually going to Washington, D.C— I’d duck and roll from the back of this thing before I left the state of Georgia without some answers about the family I’d be leaving behind. The ride sure would be nice though.
Notes:
soooo…the ao3 curse strikes again. ya girl has literally been ridiculously sick to the point of hospitalization… but i’m getting better now! so~ my first post of the new year will be not 1, not 2, not 3, but FOUR new chapters TODAY. so stay tuned!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.i’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror.
“Glenn, no,” I growled, forging ahead until I realized he wasn’t right behind me. After meleeing a walker, I sprinted after him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Glenn Rhee, have you lost your mind? She’s one of them!”
“We can’t just leave her here,” he argued
The ‘her’ in question: a girl, probably around mine and Glenn’s age, sitting inside of a caged off part of the courtyard, with short black hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Glenn had spotted her when we first ventured outside. I was initially impressed with his ability to just stroll past her—I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. “Yes, we can. It’s simple: turn around and follow me.”
He sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of my words. Through the foggy plastic of his mask, I caught a fleeting glimpse of frustration on his features. The silence between us hung thick in the air as he brushed past, heading toward the caged enclosure.
I turned my eyes to the walker-infested field sprawled ahead me, desperately scanning for any signs of life amid the chaos. But there was nothing. ”Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath a mix of annoyance and resignation washing over me as I reluctantly trailed after Glenn into the prison yard.
Two walkers had already crowded around his bright orange back pack, and I felt a tight knot of urgency in my stomach; there was no option but to draw their attention toward me for however long it took to give Glenn enough time to open up that damn cage.
He was a good guy, I understood that, but it wouldn't kill him to turn a blind eye sometimes. It wasn’t like that girl was one of us; she was a stranger, part of the group that had rolled in with tanks and left our home in ruins. If we left her here, our hands would still be clean and I wouldn’t be clapping my hands like a fool, making myself walker bait.
“Come on!” Glenn shouted, slinging the gate open.
I had half a mind to stay out in the courtyard and wait on him to return, but I also knew that if that girl were to get defensive and hurt him, I’d never forgive myself for not going in to help. With that in consideration, I took down another walker and sprinted his way.
By the time I made it into the cramped cage, two more geeks had gathered outside, their growls promising to draw more attention our way. “It’s full.” Glenn noted, sliding the clip back into the gun with a click. “Did you even fire a shot?” he asked, glancing down at the girl who shook her head sheepishly. Then his gaze snapped to me, as if it were supposed to prove something.
But it didn’t; I couldn’t care less how many shots she fired. She was part of the crew that tore down our fences and stole our home. Mercy? Mercy could suck a dick.
And this chick didn't even have a sense of survival to the point that it almost pissed me off. Glenn was desperately trying to get her to stand up and move out, but she wasn’t budging.
“I was part of this.” The girl snapped.
“Sing it, sister,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the disapproving look Glenn shot my way.
“I know,” he said, keeping his focus on the girl, who still sat immobilized on the ground.
“So what are you doing?” She asked incredulously, and frankly, I was glad I wasn’t the only one asking the real questions anymore.
“We need your help,” Glenn said, earning himself a confused look from both the girl and myself, but he seemed to have at least gained her attention. “We're gonna run out of bullets,” he directed towards me, before thrusting the gun and knife back into the girls hands. “Take this and take this.”
“Glenn-“ I started to protest, my eyes darting to the weapon in her grasp, but he cut me off, soaking cloth in alcohol with purpose, quickly silencing my complaints with a simple order to back up.
A broken down car, about fifty feet away from the cage, was soon set ablaze by the Molotov. The walker distraction would only work for so long, and it wasn’t worth arguing with Glenn about trusting this girl to actually cover us or not. There was a chance we left the prison and she gunned us down as soon as we made it through the woods, but I also guess there was a chance that she did cover us and help us escape with minimal scratches.
Glenn and I could’ve made it though. Just the two of us. Sure, we probably would’ve been winded and struggled to do it, but we were survivors, and we would’ve made it out the gates. He only brought her into this for her own sake.
I just hope she actually deserved to be saved.
It took us about fifteen minutes to trek through the yard and the inner gates, and when I looked back at the prison before we pushed open the heavy metal doors, a wave of nostalgia crashed over me. I liked to think we left it looking very similar to how we found it. Albeit fire was burning and gates were knocked down, but it was reminiscent of when we first took it. For a moment, I saw echoes of our early days, filled with T-Dog and Lori—those were simpler times, when Rick believed in my ability to run for that gate and stake our claim on the prison.
Back then, things seemed so hard, but I wished like hell they were that kind of hard again.
Our feet hit hard pavement, and we slowed to catch our breaths. I wasn’t entirely sure where we were headed, but I could see the glimmer of determination in Glenn’s eyes. I was really just waiting on him to have me start tracking. We still had plenty of daylight left and if anyone came out this way, I felt good about picking up a trail.
“Did you see if any of our people got out?” Glenn asked, fixing his eyes on the woman.
She shook her head, just a slight movement. “All I saw was my sister in that field. She wasn't supposed to be there.” Her voice trembled, weighty with grief. “She had a gun, but they just swarmed her. She wasn't supposed to be there. I did it for him. I trusted him. And then he just killed that old man.”
“Hershel?” Glenn’s voice cracked.
The name hit like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath from me as my knees threatened to buckle. Hershel. I stared at her, the shock washing over me in waves as she confirmed his demise. The reality of her words cut into me, threatening to bleed me dry with grief. It didn’t feel real -- couldn’t be real. Hershel was the backbone of our group, the one who held us together when everything else fell apart. And now, he was supposed to be gone? Murdered by the man who I’d given up on searching for.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. None of it was supposed to happen like this. If Hershel was dead, what did that mean for the others?
“Libby and I,” I heard Glenn's voice cut through the haze of my grief, and I looked up to see him gesturing toward me. “We were on the bus, but we got off to help, and Maggie didn’t see us.” In that moment, I was struck by Glenn’s strength. Despite his own heartache, he pushed it aside, fueled by sheer resolve to find the love of his life.
There was a spark of hope radiating from him, and when our eyes met, it felt like a calming wave washed over me, easing the uncertainty that simmered beneath my skin. We had lost so many—too many—but that didn't mean we were alone in the escape. This stranger, whether she was good or bad, she made it, and she hadn’t even dropped a single bullet.
“Things aren't over,” Glenn muttered pointedly. “They're not over.”
“I want to believe that.” The woman said, a certain desperation in her voice. “I want to.”
Low, guttural groans of the undead whispered through the trees, pulling our attention to the tree line where four or five walkers staggered into view. They were emaciated, their decayed forms swaying with an unnatural rhythm. Probably stragglers from the prison—we hadn’t gotten far enough away yet. I slid my bow from my shoulder, nocking an arrow with practiced ease. My shot found its mark, driving through the skull of a particularly gaunt one reaching for Glenn, who’d unsheathed his knife. His movements were sluggish but deliberate as he worked through two of them.
But that girl…she just stood there. Frozen, wide-eyed, clutching her weapon but making no move to use it. Glenn’s exhaustion showed in every stumble, every labored breath, and only then—when he’d hit his limit and fallen to the ground—did she finally step forward, hesitating before clumsily swinging at a walker. The sight of her awkward, late attempt to help grated against my nerves, but I bit my tongue, focusing instead on the next threat lurching our way.
This one a particularly larger one.
I shouted for her to stop, trying desperately to get her to pay attention to the army truck rolling up behind us, but at that point I’d just surmised she truly had little to no survival instinct.
But she did, however, possess a large pair of balls, because unlike me, who had my weapon aimed and ready to attack whoever stepped from the vehicle, this woman whipped around quickly and shouted, “Hope you enjoyed the show, assholes!”
I wasn't quite sure what to make of the trio that staggered out of the truck, but one thing was crystal clear: there was no way in hell we could take them on—at least, not their leader.
The man who’d stepped out first was less a man, and more of a walking tank. All broad-shouldered and towering, he looked like he could bench-press a car. With a thick, red, handlebar, mustache that screamed authority as much as his stance did, he moved with a kind of military precision — eyes bright blue and calculating, unflinchingly so, as he scanned the scene like he was sizing us up for some kind of tactical decision. My instincts screamed danger, not just from his imposing presence, but from the way he looked at us, like he’d already decided where we belonged in his world. Glenn was still passed out on the ground behind us, and I found myself inching a little closer to him, as if I could shield him from whatever was about to happen.
The second one out was a woman, her cropped top and tactical gear doing little to divert the air of confidence she carried. She was all sharp lines and unreadable expressions, her hand resting casually on her hip near her gun. I couldn’t decide if she was sizing us up as potential allies or liabilities—or just waiting for the guy in front to make the call. Either way, my stomach tightened, the weight of the bow in my hands suddenly feeling insufficient.
And then there was the third one. The guy with a mullet who looked completely out of place, like he’d stumbled out of a comic book or something. He seemed more interested in the walkers we’d just killed than us, his eyes darting over the corpses with a weird kind of fascination. He was either the brains of their group or some idiot they were dragging along—maybe both.
But what unsettled me most wasn’t them. It was the way the leader’s gaze finally settled on Glenn, unconscious and vulnerable, and then shifted back to me, like he was trying to decide something monumental.
“You got a damn mouth on you, you know that?” The machine of a man said, his deep, southern accent bellowing with amusement. “What else you got?”
“Not shit you’re gonna get,” I shot back, training my aim on his temple.
Our chances of survival were low enough as it was, and if I was going to go down, I was gonna go down swinging. Whatever he wanted that we had, he could take from our cold dead bodies.
But I’ll be damned if that fucker didn’t crack a smile.
“Hey, we don’t need to go gettin’ our panties in a wad, sweetheart,” the man held his a hand of in defense, chuckling a little bit. “I get it—you’re feelin’ cornered. But let me paint you a picture, darlin’. Out there? It’s a goddamn meat grinder. And I don’t mean the kind you walk away from with a limp and a bad attitude. You two and your buddy over there?” He gestured to Glenn’s unconscious form with a nod of his head. “Ain’t gonna make it long without some help. Hell, I’m half-surprised you made it this far.”
My heart was racing with fear, but I refused to lower my weapon. “We’re doing just fine on our own” I replied, but even I could hear the slight tremble in my voice.
“I’m sure you are,” he replied, his voice almost kind. “But ‘just fine’ don’t mean squat when the world’s gone to shit.” His gaze flicked to the girl who I’d yet to gather a name from as she was hovering beside me, her jaw clenched tight. “Look, here’s the deal. My name’s Sergeant Abraham Ford. This here’s Miss Rosita Espinosa,” he motioned to the younger woman standing at his side, “and Doctor Eugene Porter.” The guy in the mullet gave an awkward little wave, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “We got a mission—a real one. Headed to D.C. to save the goddamn world.”
I almost, almost, lowered my bow right then and there out of nothing but pure shock and disbelief at how utterly ridiculous this guy sounded. “Save the world,” I echoed, letting my disbelief drip from each word. “Is that what you tell everyone you see on the side of the road? Sounds like some advertisement to join some end of the world cult.”
Abraham laughed, a big, booming one that echoed off the surrounding area. “Sweetheart, I ain’t here to get you to drink the purple kool-aid. We’ve got the man with the cure.” He thumbed toward Eugene, who straightened his posture, trying to look important.
I glanced at the girl who stood beside me, who raised an eyebrow. The skepticism on her face mirrored my own. “And what makes you think we’d want to join your little road trip, or that he even has a cure?” She asked, finally taking some kind an initiative in our precarious situation.
“Because you ain’t stupid,” Abraham said bluntly, his smile fading into something serious. “You know damn well this world ain’t about surviving anymore. It’s about findin’ a reason to survive. D.C.’s that reason. We can make it better. We can make it mean somethin’ again.”
“That’s great.” I mustered up a pretty smile, flashing it to both Abraham and Eugene, only to drop it a few seconds later. “What do you need us for?”
Abraham’s lips curved into a grim smile, his eyes narrowing. “I could give you the speech about how every pair of hands helps, but the truth is simpler: we’re all playin’ the same game out here. You’re tough. I see it plain as day. And I’d rather have someone like you with me than against me, partner. We get to D.C., maybe we save the world. Maybe we don’t. Either way, you’ll have a better shot with us than tryin’ to scrape by on your own.”
“And what if we don’t want to go?” I asked, lowering my weapon just slightly.
“Then we leave you to it,” Abraham said, his tone clipped. “Ain’t no skin off my back. But I’ll tell you this: there’s safety in numbers.”
I hesitated, glancing at Glenn, still out cold. My gut told me that these people weren’t killers, but what was I supposed to say to Glenn when he woke up? He wanted to find Maggie—I wanted to find Maggie. But we weren’t far from the walker infested prison, and there was no way in hell we’d make it far having to tote his unconscious body around.
This road was part of the escape route; maybe if we loaded up, then we’d eventually pass by the bus. Or if anyone escaped on foot, they could be traveling up this way.
And that was how I ended up striking a deal with the diesel truck that was Sergeant Abraham Ford. Tara; the girl who I’d been so determined to leave at the prison, vowed to write down every turn and every street sign we passed, so we could at the very least, have an idea of our location when Glenn woke up.
Daryl would’ve probably kicked my ass for piling into the back of a strangers truck, but for me, right now, it was my option for survival.
I mean, it wasn’t like I was actually going to Washington, D.C— I’d duck and roll from the back of this thing before I left the state of Georgia without some answers about the family I’d be leaving behind. The ride sure would be nice though.
_____________
The first thirty minutes of our journey went flawless and uneventful. We passed a few straggling walkers who tried to catch up with us, and I saw Tara scribbling down street signs on the back of her hand with Sharpie, but other than that, things were what I believed a typical road trip to be like these days—the truck rattling along the cracked road, the hum of the engine filling the silence.
After my many scouting missions with Daryl and Michonne, I knew these parts well enough that I felt comfortable making the call on when to dip out of the truck. Hopefully by then I could coax Glenn awake and we could be on our merry way.
But I hadn’t anticipated the sheer shock that would overcome me whenever we passed a painted blue prison bus, busted open and empty, with blood and grime smeared across the back. It was unmistakably the one from home— or what used to be home.
I sat up straighter, my chest tightening. My first instinct was to call out, to tell Abraham to stop the truck—but what would I even say? My throat felt like it was closing, and I gripped the rail so hard my knuckles ached. The last time I’d seen that bus, it was loaded with the people who couldn’t fight. Glenn and I were supposed to be on that bus, along with Maggie.
Maggie.
Where the hell was Maggie?
I glanced at Tara, who was staring at the bus as it drifted in the distance with her brows furrowed. “You okay?” She asked, her voice barely loud enough to hear over the engine.
I hummed in response, not trusting myself to talk yet, as my mind raced through the possibilities—none of them good. If Maggie had been on that bus…No. She wouldn’t have been. We saw it pull off. Even if she had managed to stop the bus on its way out, she would’ve stayed behind, looking for us when she realized we weren’t on there. That’s who she was. But what if—
What if the driver refused to stop and she was trapped?
No. No. I shook the thought away, forcing myself to breathe slower.
What had Glenn said about finding Maggie? There had been a logical explantion on why he was so worried about the bus.
There was nothing I could do. Not with Glenn like this—not with myself like this. Abraham had been right about having a better shot with him than scraping by on our own. Until Glenn was awake and capable of walking, we were better off in the bed of this truck.
I was useless, stupid, and panicky.
I was the one with shit survival skills and should've been left for dead at the prison.
I glanced down at Glenn, brushing some of the hair out of his face. When he woke up, I’d have to tell him what I saw and deal with the consequences. The closest I’d dealt with Glenn crashing out had been when Daryl brought Merle back to the prison—how would he react now? Would he panic? Blame me? Try to jump from the truck and army crawl his way back to the bus to see the scene for himself?
My pulse quickened at the thought, and I did my very best to push it down, but the closest I could get was staring at the tree line fluttering last us in the wind. The bus might’ve been ravaged, but that didn’t mean there still weren’t people out there. Our people.
_____________
It had been about an hour and a half since we passed the bus, and the weight of what I’d seen still felt like a stone in my chest. Glenn started to stir beside me, his head shifting slightly before his eyes fluttered open. I still hadn’t fully figured out how I was supposed to tell him about the information that I gathered or what his plan had been if we found the bus anyway.
The truck rocked over a bump, causing him to push himself up and lock eyes with mine.“Where are we?” His voice was hoarse, cracked with dryness and confusion.
“I don't know—“ Tara began, but I cut in, my tone steadier than I felt.
“A little over an hour north of the prison. Outskirts of Atlanta.” My mind automatically tracked the landmarks we’d passed: abandoned gas stations, wrecked highways, the familiar stretch of road— We hadn’t gotten far, not with all the stops Abraham had made to clear vehicles. My words hung heavy in the air, but Glenn barely took a moment to register them before moving on.
“We were fighting biters, and you passed out right after we left the prison,” Tara added. Her voice was casual, almost detached, as Glenn’s eyes swept his surroundings.
I saw it—the slight hitch in his breath, the way his shoulders tightened as realization started to creep in. I reached out, my hand resting lightly on his upper arm. “Hey, we didn’t have a lot of options. These guys seemed trustworthy enough—”
Glenn cut me off abruptly, his focus snapping to me. “Hey—hey, did we pass the bus?” His words came in a rush, his urgency sharp enough to make my stomach twist. “On the road, did we pass the prison bus?”
I froze, the image of that blue prison bus flashing in my mind like a long lost tragedy. I’d known it the moment I saw it—that bus had been his plan, his lifeline. He had wanted to believe that Maggie would be there—or someone from our group, and now I had to be the one to shatter that hope. Glenn’s question lingered, directed at Tara but with his eyes darting to me like he already knew I had the answer.
“Yeah.” Tara mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
“What did you see?” Glenn’s attention shifted back to me, his tone low and demanding. His brown eyes bored into mine, full of worry and determination, as if he could will the answer out of me if I didn’t say it fast enough. “Libby, what did you see?”
I tried to find the words, but my throat closed up, hot tears prickling at the edges of my vision. I felt weak— unable to meet his gaze or form the words that would crush him. Instead, I opted to shake my head, hoping the gesture would say enough.
“How long since we passed it?” Glenn asked, this time directing his question at Tara. His voice was tight, raw with frustration.
“A while.” she answered flatly, still refusing to look at him.
In the silence that followed, the hum of the truck’s engine seemed deafening. I pressed my fingers into my thighs to keep my hands from trembling, trying to ground myself. Glenn was spiraling, and all I could do was sit there, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a sickness.
I should’ve told Abraham to stop earlier. I was such a fucking idiot.
The gears behind his eyes began shifting as he started tapping on the back window of the truck. “Hey,” he said just loud enough for them to hear. “Hey, stop the truck.”
All he received was Abraham flipping him the bird.
“Hey, numbnuts, stop the truck!” Tara yelled, beating on the side of the door.
In that moment, I truly believed Glenn had lost it. Either the fever had fried his brain a little or he’d actually lost his mind. Or maybe love had made him crazy. Whatever it was, I never thought I’d see Glenn Rhee snatch up the assault rifle sitting at our feet and begin banging against the window until it cracked.
I wondered if he knew who he was up against, if he’d still be doing that.
Of course he would.
Maybe my fever had come back considering I was spending all this time questioning his motives instead of backing him up. Before I knew it, Tara would be taking my spot as his best friend.
The truck came to a grinding halt, but Glenn didn’t stick around to wait and find out who’d been his taxi driver before dropping the tailgate and sliding out. I shot Tara a look, before moving behind Glenn.
“Where the hell are you going?” Abraham asked, slamming the drivers side door shut, but Glenn wasn’t paying him any mind. “Where the hell are they going?” He asked, who I presumed was Tara, considering I’d taken the lead ahead of Glenn. “I don't know what your lady friend's have told you about the special nature of the mission we're on, but this shit is time-sensitive and we're already way behind schedule. So I need you to turn your ass around and get back in the truck.” Abraham ordered, walking ahead and placing himself in front of us.
I had to hand it to him, the man did know how to yap. He could probably give Shane a run for his money with how much bullshit he was spraying through his mouth.
“I gotta go.” Glenn said, the sick still evident in his voice.
My gaze drifted to him, puffy eyed and stuffed up— I tightened the grip I had on my bow. Glenn wasn’t doing well, and I couldn’t exactly praise the decision on going back to the bus, but there were some battles not worth fighting in. I had a feeling that seeing the bus might help him process our losses a little better, so I was gonna get him to that damn bus.
“It seems like neither one of you's been paying close enough attention to the hell on earth we've been living in. So let me tell you how to best avoid winding up just another dead-alive prick.” Abraham continued on, his eyes drifting between me and Glenn. “You find some strong, like-minded comrades and you stay stuck together like wet on water. We need people. The more the better. We need each other, partner. Even with all that gear on your shoulder, you won't last a night. Not by yourself.” He finished, nodding to Glenn’s bag of gear.
“He’s not by himself,” I shot, my irritation levels rising as I began to remember the doubt that people back at the quarry used to have. By no means were Glenn, Tara, and I the strongest individuals right now, but we’d made it— we were survivors, and we’d survive through this.
Glenn looked over at me, a flicker of appreciation on his face. “Yeah, I'll take my chances.”
As he made to continue walking forward, Abraham placed a strong hand on his chest, stopping him before he could, triggering me to reach for an arrow. “I'm gonna have to insist that you hold the hell up,” Abraham stated, not ignoring the arrow that was now knocked into my bow. “Now, believe it or not, the fate of the entire damn human race might depend on it.”
Dropping my bow, I was honestly surprised that Glenn spared the man the time to go on his spiel about Eugene having a cure for the virus that was spread within us, and how we needed to help ensure he get to Washington, DC in order to solve the worlds problems.
But as expected, Glenn’s min concern was finding his wife, so with a quick, “Sorry.” He began walking right past Abraham once again.
Turning on my heel, I picked up my stride alongside Glenn, Tara flanking his other and rambling on, “We had to get us off that road. You were passed out, we were out of bullets. I know how to get back to that bus. I wrote down every turn—“
“Doesn’t matter, I know where we’re at,” I cut her off, slickly.
I could hear the confusion in her voice, and couldn’t help but smirk a little, “But you told me to write everything down,” she said.
“Wanted to make sure your head was actually in the game,” I replied.
I wasn’t ashamed by the fact that I’d tricked her into doing work she didn’t need to do. She rolled into our home, smashed the gates, and was on the side of the enemy; if Glenn wanted to let her off easy, that was his own choice. I, on the other hand, had many other ideas on how to make sure she was really on our side.
“That's where she'd go to find me,” Glenn muttered. “She thought we were still on that bus, so that’s where we’re gonna go.”
Footsteps approached behind us, and I don’t know why I assumed Abraham had any plans of letting us walk away Scott free. “It’s a waste of time. Your girls told us what went down. There is zero chance you will ever find your wife again. Alive or dead. Mainly because, sorry to tell you, she's gone.”
Glenn stopped walking and I really wish he would’ve kept going—wish that he wouldn’t have dropped his pack to the ground. Because I didn’t mind Abraham, but my loyalties lied elsewhere, and I would kill for Glenn Rhee.
So when he rounded on the tank of a man, I internally groaned, and contemplated whether it was worth spilling blood over. My eyes flickered to Rosita, then over to Eugene— Rosita was already making her way towards the fight, but Eugene…well…he very well could’ve been on another planet.
Before I could think any better of it, I dropped my bow and shuffled towards them. “Glenn, stop!” I hollered, but the fight had already swallowed him whole.
When Abraham’s fist cocked back, I surged forward, throwing my entire body weight onto his back, struggling to pull him off of my friend. I didn’t seem to phase him much, but I’d learned one hell of a chokehold from Daryl Dixon, and figured if it could take down T-Dog, it had to at least phase Abraham. I did my best to inch my way up his back among the fists flying, and Rosita trying to peel me off, and when I had my hands locked, I felt his throaty growl against my wrist.
He was an Army Sergeant, of course this wasn’t his first time in a headlock, but I tried not to let his abrupt change in pace shake me off. I figured that his next move was on pure instinct, because he just didn’t seem like the kind of guy to take kindly to abusing women—a sharp and sudden backwards head butt. I barely had time to register the force of it as it collided with the side of my face, pain exploding in my cheekbone. I instantly let go, and dropped to the ground with my hand pressed harshly against my upper cheek.
Next time I’d have to practice on Daryl after he had one too many drinks and started acting like an asshole, because nothing could’ve prepared me for what it was like to actually put an unruly man into a headlock.
“Libby!” Tara’s voice cut through the noise. By the time I looked up, Glenn had tackled Abraham again, the two of them a tangled blur of fists and rage. I pressed my fingers to my swelling cheek, already imagining the bruises that would bloom there. I forced myself back to my feet when the sound of a machine gun filled the air.
Twisting my head to the sound, I saw at least a dozen walkers filing out the crops and Eugene firing a gun that he had no busy firing. Unsurprisingly though, it put a stop to the dick-slinging contest between Abraham and Glenn, and caused us to all collectively rush over to the man who had no sense of survival.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
It wutn’t a suck-ass camp, but it had been a suck-ass country club—I actually felt good when I got to smash that bottle of peach schnapps. If that girl wanted a drink, I’d get her a damn drink. Something that would have her not botherin’ me about lookin’ for booze no more.
Fuckin’ booze.
We’s losin’ daylight and this girl was worried about gettin’ wasted like some dumb college bitch. S’like she was livin’ in this fantasy land where we could just find decent shelter and food at the drop of a hat. She wanted to go out searchin’ for ghosts and liquor, rather than survive. Take care of myself, my ass.
"A motorcycle mechanic," Beth said, breaking the silence that had fallen over us. The silence that I’d been grateful for.
"Huh?"
"That's my guess," she replied. "For what you were doing before the turn. Did Zach ever guess that one?"
Zach. His death marked the beginning of our downfall, and I wondered if maybe he’d lucked out. S’pretty fucked up, but he never had to suffer a harsh death by burnin’ up with the flu and chokin’ on his own blood, n’ he didn’t have to get shot down by one of the governor’s people. Crushed by a helicopter wutn’t much better, but it sure beat livin’ long enough to suffer again.
"It don't matter," I mumbled, tryna shake her bumblin’ outta my ear. "Hasn't mattered for a long time."
"It's just what people talk about. You know, to feel normal,” she shot back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah, well, that never felt normal to me.”
Beth breathed out a laugh, moving a branch outta her way. “You’re always talking to Libby, and she’s normal.”
I bit my tongue at that — didn’t want to go there. The last time Libby and I had any kind of casual conversation was months ago. Before Melanie died and she went off with Michonne. Back in those days, Libby used to fill me in on any kind of nonsense that was fluttering around throughout the day. It was like clockwork. She’d waltz into our cell, fresh out of the shower, clad in an oversized t-shirt and boxers, with her hair all wet, and plop next to me on my bed. Then it was all energy and enthusiasm as she gossiped about who was going on a run, and niche drama in the community.
She always wafted in with a sweet scent — strawberries or vanilla, sometimes both.
I could practically smell it now, as Beth and I broke through the same thicket and stumbled upon the old, dilapidated house. “Found this place with Libby 'n Michonne." I said, glancing at the familiar structure. It was one of the first abandoned houses we found during the our search for the governor. When we cleared it, Libby had spotted a can of Vienna sausages and snatched them before I got a chance, claiming that had her name on’em. Turned out she’d been right — I learned that Libby’s was also a brand name for a lotta canned goods.
"I was expecting a liquor store," Beth said, her voice laced with doubt. I couldn’t blame the girl — this sure as hell didn’t look like nothin’ but a rundown junk house.
"No, this is better," I reassured, and began heading toward the shed that jutted out from the side of the house.
She hesitated a bit, but followed me anyway, peaking into the busted up door to see what I’s doin’. "What's that?" she asked as I handed her a crate stacked full of mason jars.
“Moonshine.”
She trailed after me and into the house. It looked the same as the last time I’s here; a mess of scattered paper on the ground, sink full’a dirty dishes, and the stench of stale air. So I did a quick sweep, not findin’ nothin’, just like I expected, before turnin’ back as Beth set the crate down on the table with a thud that echoed in the silence.
It wutn’t the finest venue for a girl like Beth’s first drink, but beggars can’t be choosers.
.it must be exhausting, always rooting for the anti-hero.
Notes:
I tried my hardest to kind of, transfer Libby’s feelings of confusion, hopelessness, and anxiety into words, but I'm super scared it didn't come off that way and she just looks like a whiny bitch that’s also a little dumb. (i mean, wig tho). sorry if she's annoying in this chapter. she's also in her self loathing era.
Chapter 41: missing someone too
Summary:
“We got to stay here. Who's gonna help me carry her up?” Rosita’s gaze fell to all the men—none of which looked particularly excited.
I stood, unstrapping my bow. “Mmm-mmm. We clear the place first. Then we’ll get her settled.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.like you’re not really happy, but you don't wanna die.
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Daryl POV
_____________
"My friends played," she shot back defensively. "I watched. Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow.” She glanced over at my bow, then back at me. “So now you drink."
"Ain't much of a game," I said, scoffing before taking a drink.
"That was a warm-up. Now you go."
Drinkin’ with Beth was different than drinkin’ with anyone else — most goody two-shoes, daddy’s girls, were all about takin’ shots and lettin’ their clothes fall off — Beth just wanted to sip her drink and feel the burn.
I’s also pretty convinced that she only wanted me to drink so she didn’t have to listen to herself talk. But I didn’t like how much this game of hers was pryin’ outta me. It wutn’t like none’a the stuff really mattered, but it was the way she started lookin’ at me different. Like it was so shocking I ain’t never left Georgia or been on vacation. She was lookin’ down on me cause of it; I just knew she was.
S’why she asked if I’d ever been to jail — cause that’s how I came off. That’s how much she really thought’a me. I wutn’t some hardworkin’, blue collared guy like her n’ her little boyfriend kept guessin’, I’s nothin’ but redneck trash in her eyes and it pissed me off.
Maybe I didn’t have a good payin’ job, n’ a house on a hill, but that don’t mean I ever went to jail. Not gettin’ locked up, s’the only thing I’s proud of myself for, but just cause I didn’t, don’t change what everybody else sees. Good for nothin’ garbage. S’all I was before, n’ all I am now, no matter how hard I tried to make them people see me as different. All that time I spent building myself up at the prison didn’t make a difference.
And the thing that bothered me most, was just how pissed off I was gettin’ at this stupid girl over this stupid game.
I pushed myself up from the floor, shattering it to pieces as I stomped over to the corner of the room. Once I made it all the way across the room, I started to realize just how strong that shit was and wondered how much I drank. I wutn’t drunk, but I’s definitely gettin’ there — at least that explained why my anger was flarin’ up so bad.
Dixon’s had an aggression problem when the alcohol started flowin’.
“You have to be quiet!" Beth whispered over to me loudly.
"Can't hear ya, I'm takin' a piss!" I hollered back, ignorin’ the sudden concern she had for walkers.
"Daryl, don't talk so loud," she chastised again.
I knew I’s bein’ an asshole, but I really didn’t give a damn. Couldn’t give a damn — not when my skin was on fire like it was. “What, are you my chaperone now?" I asked loudly, shootin’ her a look over my shoulder as I zipped my fly up. “Oh, wait. It's my turn, right?" I asked sarcastically, feigning excitement. "I've never -- never eaten frozen yogurt! Never had a pet pony,” I snarled, shoving a kitchen chair and rattling the table full of moonshine. “Never got nothin' from Santa Claus! Never relied on anyone for protection before!" She looked so uncomfortable, but I could just turn away, even when I tried I just spun right back around and kicked up glass. "Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything!"
"Daryl-"
"Never sung out in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun! Like everything was a big game. I sure as hell, never cut my wrists lookin' for attention!"
I had half a mind to stop actin’ like such an asshole with the way she stared up at me — like she was bein’ scolded for things she didn’t even mean to do. But the walker outside started stirrin’ up, growlin’ at all the racket I’s makin’, and the reminder of this shitty world just pissed me off some more.
My feet connected with the clutter all over the floor, adding onto the disturbance. "Sounds like our friend out there is tryin' to call all’a his buddies!"
"Daryl, just shut up.” Beth pleaded through clenched teeth.
Instead of listenin’ to her like I should have, I grabbed my bow up, taunting her about shootin’ it, before snatchin’ her arm and draggin’ her outside. I didn’t care if I’s scarin’ her, or makin’ her uncomfortable— that’s all she’d been doin’ to me since we left the prison.
Truth is; I did care. I’s just too fired up to take pause.
If anyone else saw how I’s handling Beth, they’d’a whooped my ass. Maggie, Hershel, Libby, Glenn; if they knew I’d slung her against my chest and forced her finger to pull the trigger of my crossbow…so when she pulled outta my grasp a second time, I didn’t reach for her again. “C'mere, Greene!" Didn’t stop me from bitching at her though. "Let's pull these out, get a little more target practice."
But she had her Buck knife in the things skull before I got my first bolt out. “The hell'd you do that for? I's havin' fun!" I snarled at her.
"No, you were being a jackass!" she snapped. "If anyone found my dad—“
"Don't!" I roared, cutting her off. “That ain't remotely the same!"
"Killing them is not supposed to be fun.”
"What do you want from me, girl?” I scrunched my face up. “Huh?"
"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything! Like nothing we went through matters, like none of the people we lost meant anything to you!” Beth’s voice was cracking and tears brimmed in her massive doe eyes. “It's bullshit!"
Takin’ a step closer to her, I responded. "Is that what you think?" I don’t think she missed the break in my own voice.
"That's what I know."
"You don't know nothin'."
"I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl!" she started shoutin’ again. "I'm not Libby, I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie. I've survived and you don't get it 'cause I'm not like you,” her eyes raked over my figure. “or them! But I made it and you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're afraid!"
"I ain't afraid of nothin'.”
"I remember," she swallowed, "when that little girl came outta the barn after my mom. And when you carried Libby inside after she almost froze to death. You were like me."
Even though I tried turning away from her, Beth rounded on me, movin’ in closer than I’s comfortable with—which was real ironic considering her next words. "And now god forbid you ever let anybody get too close!"
The words felt raw — bloody and real. Like they were out to get me. Like they took the shape of a man who stood six foot tall, with beer breath, a belt, and a temper. A man who shared the same last name as me.
But I wutn’t no little boy anymore, and I’d inherited the red hot anger of the gene pool. "Too close, huh?" I echoed. "You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear! Your whole family's gone, all you can do is just go out lookin' for hooch like some dumb college bitch!" Maybe I was still a little boy after all; the tears brimming in my eyes would’ve given my earlier thoughts a run for their money at least.
"Screw you, you don't get it,"
"No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead!"
"You don't know that!"
"Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gon' see 'em again!" My finger was so close to jabbin’ into her face, I could’a poked her eye clean out. “Rick, Libby—you ain't never gonna see Maggie again!"
I’s winded. Tired.
Tired of arguin’ with this girl about who might be dead and who might be alive. Tired of bein’ angry cause it was all my fault. Tired of tryin’ to convince myself that their lives didn’t matter.
Hershel was dead cause I stopped lookin’. I told Michonne and Libby that trail was cold. They let their guard down cause I assured them he’d lit out or died. There was no tellin’ how long he skirted our fences and watched us from afar; just waiting on us to slip up.
And Libby…I didn’t know if it was Beth’s arms wrapped around me in a bear hug or the simple thought of her name, but I felt bile rise hot in my throat.
A-block crumpled after a hit, and I ain’t sure if she’d managed to get out before it did, or if she was another casualty of being crushed to death. I didn’t really want to think about it. Out of everybody and everything that we’d lost, I tried to keep my mind clear of thinkin’ about that red-head.
It was easier to pretend like she hadn’t existed at all.
_____________
At some point between dusk and nightfall, Beth and I managed to finish our blowout and stumbled onto the front porch. I was surprised the universe hadn’t thrown us a group of walkers with how loud I’s bein’, but besides that one asshole earlier, ain’t not one of’em shuffled out the tree line. Not even with us sittin’ here talking all casual like now.
With the ugly truth exposed and that bubbling heat inside of me dialed down, I’s a lot more tolerant to listening to Beth go on about what life could’ve been like. Lettin’ her go on about the little fantasies she had for Maggie, Glenn, and their future. As she sat there, propped against the railing of the porch, talking about babies, and marriage, it struck me just how young she was. It’s only been about a year and a half since I met the Greene’s, and ninety percent of the time I’ve known them, they’d been an all hands on deck type family. Beth did her part in taking out walkers, helping around the prison, training to survive; she grew up quick, and this might’a been the first time I’d seen her as both a child and as an adult. She’d been stuck somewhere in between for so long in my eyes.
“Libby might be out there somewhere,” Beth looked out to the thick, dark forest. “Maggie could’ve made it to Glenn, and Glenn wouldn’t have left her behind.”
I knew she was tryna make me feel better, or inspire me, or some shit, but thinkin’ about the ‘mights’ and the ‘maybes’, ruined me. Libby, in some form or another, was still out there— but the Libby I knew, the one I loved, was a gut-wrenching memory. I had to believe that, or else I’d go right back to that prison and dig through the rubble trying to find her.
That didn’t stop Beth from looking back over to me and sending me a sad smile. “She’s probably out looking for you now,”
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
“Tell me somethin’, how the hell you so sure those footprints ain’t somebody else’s?” Abraham asked, his face all screwed up in genuine curiosity.
I looked over my shoulder. “I’m not,” I admitted. “But they’re about her foot size, and the dead walkers nearby were taken out with the same kind of hunting knife she’d use.”
“That’s a helluva leap, Red.” His tone was skeptical.
“It’s not a guarantee,” I said, shrugging. “But it narrows down who it’s not . Most folks at the prison were armed, but not with hunting knives. There weren’t exactly a lot of them to go around. And besides,” I spun around and walked backward beside Glenn. “It gives us a place to start.”
Glenn had asked me earlier if I minded splitting off and tracking for a bit while the rest the rest of them kept heading north. The request wasn’t odd — when Lori was pregnant and we were on the road, Daryl drilled me on learning the ropes about tracking and surviving. ’Make yourself useful if you’re gonna be out here’, he told me. And I may not be half the hunter Daryl was, but I prided myself on my abilities.
I found some footprints, walker bodies left to rot, and small signs of life, which, in my book, was a win.
Maybe it wasn’t Maggie — but it could’ve been Carol, or Beth. I wanted to believe it was one of them three. Glenn needed someone else to believe that there were others that made it. And I owed him that. After sitting in the back of Abraham’s truck for hours, feeling hopeless and ready to cut my losses after seeing the remnants of the prison bus—it was the least I could do to help him keep going.
Abraham caught up to Glenn and me, walking in that casual-but-imposing way of his. “Where’d you pick up them skills?”
“Tracking?” I adjusted my steps to sync with his stride. “Daryl Dixon School of Survival. Not much of a campus, but the teacher’s got pretty high standards.”
Beside me, Glenn’s steps hesitated for a moment, a slight stutter in his stride that caught my attention. But as quick as he stopped, he picked back up his pace. I glanced over at him, my curiosity piqued, and immediately clocked the furrow in his brow and the tight set of his lips. It was clear that something had started eating at him. I filed it away and into a drawer for me to ask him about once we stopped for the evening.
For now, we continued on the railroad, and paid close attention to where we stepped. There was a high probability that those footprints were heading this way, and I was waiting for my suspicions to be correct.
The weight of my backpack ached, settling heavily between my shoulders and pressing against my lower back. My whole body felt… off. Still weak. My muscles protested with every step — I don't think they‘d forgiven me for the brutal bout of flu they’d endured back at the prison. I’d recovered enough to keep moving, but not enough to forget how close I came to not. My lungs burned if I pushed too hard, and my legs threatened to give out if I didn’t pace myself. I hated it.
But there was no room for self-pity out here—I’d already had my spurt of that.
The railroad stretched out endlessly ahead of us. The sharp crunch of gravel underfoot filled the silence. Abraham, who I noted as the loudest of the group, was quiet now, balancing his attention between scanning the horizon and keeping Eugene in line. Eugene—his talk of a cure and saving the world felt like a siren's song; alluring yet suspicious. It sounded nice in theory. Hell, I wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that we had a shot at fixing this mess.
But the CDC. Dr. Jenner. That sterile, suffocating room. His face when he told us there was no hope, no cure, nothing left. I’d watched Rick argue with him, watched the fire in his eyes as he refused to accept the truth. I’d felt it too—the deep, bone-crushing despair of realizing it was all over. That the cavalry wasn’t coming.
Eugene’s claim? It felt way too good to be true. And if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that nothing in this world came easy.
Still, the others seemed willing to humor him, especially Abraham. That man’s faith in Eugene was… disturbing. Misplaced, maybe, but definitely unwavering. And honestly, I couldn’t blame him. In a world stripped of certainty, having a purpose—something to fight for—was everything. Without it, what was the point of it all?
I kept my eyes on the tracks, scanning for anything out of place. The faint impressions of footprints I’d found earlier kept nagging at me, pulling my thoughts back to Maggie. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t help it. The idea of finding her, of knowing she was potentially still alive, was the only thing keeping Glenn upright.
And then there was Daryl.
My stomach twisted at the thought of him. It had been a day or two or maybe even three since the prison fell, and I didn’t know if he’d made it out. If anyone could survive, it was Daryl. He was the toughest person I knew, resourceful and stubborn as hell. But he wasn’t invincible.
I let my mind wander for a moment, imagining him out there somewhere, tracking game or setting up camp in the woods. Maybe he’d found a group like I had. Maybe he was alone. Maybe he was—
No.
I cut the thought off before it could take root. Letting my mind go there would only lead to a type of sorrow I couldn’t afford right now. I had to focus on what was in front of me. On Glenn, on finding Maggie, on staying alive.
Glenn’s pace slowed, his steps faltering again. He was tired. We all were. But for him, this search wasn’t just about survival—it was about love. I’d seen the way he looked at Maggie, the way she’d been his anchor in all this shit. If we didn’t find her… I didn’t know what that would do to him.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the tracks. My legs ached, my lungs burned, but I kept moving. For Glenn, for Maggie, for the slim chance that somewhere out there, Daryl was doing the same.
_____________
Just after dusk, I noticed a series of obvious footprints etched within the railroad gravel. They were probably six or so hours old, but definitely still prominent. With the sun sinking, we agreed to pick back up in the morning and follow the prints until we couldn't follow them anymore.
Glenn settled next to me against the flat, grassy, earth, positioning his bright orange backpack so he could lean back on it. “I’m sorry for making this all about me,” he mumbled.
I hummed in response, turning my head to get a better look at him.
“Earlier, when you mentioned Daryl,” his eyes softened. “I forgot that you’re missing someone too,”
This, of course, was something I shook my head to. “It’s not like that with him. Maggie’s your wife, and we’ve got a really decent trail. We were arguing before all of this anyway—”
“He spent all night and most of the day with you before the prison fell.” Glenn interrupted quickly, knocking his shoulder against mine. “He’s probably out there looking for you, Libby. It is like that.”
I was trying hard not to think about the possibility that Daryl was actually searching for me. He’d told me he regretted ever ‘sticking his dick in me’, and all but threw everything we’d built, right back in my face. He was hot-headed, as usual, but there was no apology that came after his spout of anger. Not that there was exactly an opportunity…things spiraled before anything was able to be fixed between us. I realized though, that Glenn was right, I did miss him. It was just easier to distract myself with Maggie than it was to let my mind linger on Daryl. Looking for Maggie gave me purpose; being there for Glenn, gave me purpose.
And so, even though I was committed to finding Maggie, I sent Glenn a small smile, acknowledging that he’d made a valid point. He understood, I think, how I felt for Daryl. And I appreciated the fact that he didn't call me out for blatantly ignoring those feelings. It was nice to be known and understood.
I’d keep looking for Maggie, it was my first priority, and when I found her, if things went well, I’d look for Daryl.
Maybe he’d find me first.
_____________
The moment I saw the scrawled words on the weathered sign, my breath caught in my chest.
Glenn, go to Terminus. Maggie, Sasha, Bob.
For a moment, it didn’t seem real. My heart stumbled, then surged with a wave of joy so intense it nearly knocked me over. Maggie was alive. Maggie was alive. Not just her, either—Sasha and Bob had made it too. Against every terrible, unrelenting odd, they’d survived.
Before I even registered what I was doing, my feet were moving, racing after Glenn as he sprinted ahead. He didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate—he just ran. And I ran with him, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes echoing the quick rhythm of my heart. It pounded not just from the exertion, but from an exhilarating surge of hope.
Hope. Real, actual, burning hope.
I hadn’t felt it in so long, not like this. I’d clung to threads before. Little scraps of optimism, just enough to keep me moving, to keep me from giving up. But this was different. This wasn’t a maybe or an if. This was a definitive promise, laid out in Maggie’s handwriting, a testament that someone we loved had survived.
Glenn’s strides were long and desperate, and I did my best to keep up, my feet practically flying over the tracks. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but none of it mattered. I glanced back once, just to see if the others were following. Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene were a few paces behind, their faces a mix of confusion and determination. They’d catch up eventually. Right now, nothing else existed except for this moment and the promise of reunion.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Not yet. Instead, I felt an almost giddy kind of pride swelling in my chest. Maggie had done this—she had survived, and she had sent a lifeline back to Glenn. It wasn’t just a lifeline for him. It was a lifeline for all of us. Other people from our group could've seen it.
The weight I’d been carrying since the fall of the prison suddenly felt a little lighter. If Maggie, Sasha, and Bob had made it, then maybe others had too. Carol. Rick. Soup.
Another sign loomed closer as Glenn finally skidded to a stop, his hands gripping his knees as he stared at Maggie’s message. I slowed to a jog, then a walk, letting myself breathe, and the moment sink in. The world around us seemed to quiet, the only sound was the outlying crunch of footsteps as the others caught up.
Terminus.
The name lingered in my mind, charged of possibilities. What kind of place was it? A sanctuary, like the message had promised? Or something else? My gut knotted with a mixture of hope and suspicion. I wanted it to be the refuge we desperately needed—a chance to rest, to rebuild, to finally feel safe again. But part of me—maybe the smarter part—knew better than to trust too easily.
We had been burned before. The CDC, the farm, the prison—each time we thought we’d found sanctuary, it slipped away, leaving nothing but scars and regret. But maybe Terminus would be different.
I glanced over at Glenn, whose face was a tapestry of relief and determination. He wasn’t going to stop until he found Maggie, and honestly, I didn’t blame him. If it had been me, if it had been Daryl, I would’ve done the same.
The others caught up, their eyes darting between Glenn, me, and the sign. I didn’t say anything, just let the moment hang in the air. Abraham muttered something under his breath—probably about moving out or sticking to a plan—but I barely registered it. My focus was still on the words in front of me.
Somewhere deep down, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t dared to feel in weeks: confidence. This was the first step. Not the end, but a beginning.
As we started moving again, I found myself glancing back more often than usual, checking to make sure no one had fallen behind. It wasn’t like me—I was usually too caught up in my own head to worry about much else. But today felt different.
At least it did for another half hour before Abraham started hollering at us to slow down. “We're stopping here,” he said firmly. “Tired is slow. Slow is dead.”
Heaving with exhaustion, Glenn looked through squinted eyes at the sky. “It's barely noon.”
“I don't givea monkey's left nut!” Abraham barked without missing a beat. “None of us has slept more than a couple hours straight since we went all Casey Jones!” I followed his gaze as it swept over the rest of us, and, yeah—everyone looked like they’d been chewed up and spit back out. Abraham gestured to the looming tower along side us, his stance unyielding. “This place looks safe. We need to rest.”
Glenn’s jaw tightened as he drew in a breath to argue, but the asshole wasn’t about to let him get a word in. “I get it. You have to find her. Well, Rosita and me, we got a mission, too. It’s keeping that man alive, getting him to Washington, and saving the whole damn world. So we’re going in that tower, and we’re going now !”
As if the world wanted to punch that six-foot-five man in the face, the familiar sounds of walker snarls echoed from the top of the tower, drawing all eyes upwards.
Between Eugene’s outright stupidity, Abraham’s iron grip steering him away, and Glenn’s added panic, Tara was forced to the ground as nothing more than an obstacle between Eugene and safety.
“Hey, watch out!” I hissed, shoving the man away from Tara and her freshly sprained ankle.
Rosita seemed to be the only other person willing to spring into action, bringing back my almost forgotten apprehension on my attraction to men. “Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling next to Tara.
“I'm fine,” Tara lied, the strain in her voice betraying her words.
“We got to stay here. Who's gonna help me carry her up?” Rosita’s gaze fell to all the men—none of which looked particularly excited.
I stood, unstrapping my bow. “Mmm-mmm. We clear the place first. Then we’ll get her settled.”
Glenn’s gaze shifted to Tara. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered quickly, her expression tight.
“You wanna stop, or you wanna keep going?” Glenn pressed, his concern genuine but his voice clipped.
“Glenn—” I started, but Tara cut me off.
“No, keep going. I’m good,” she said firmly, but the pain carved onto her features told a different story.
“You sure?” Glenn asked again.
“Yeah,” Tara said.
Glenn’s attention snapped back to Abraham, his shoulders stiff with defiance. “Look, if she can keep going, we can all keep going. Or you guys can stay here. You don’t need us, we don’t need you. It’s okay.”
“Wow, you’re an ass,” Rosita bit out, her glare sharp enough to cut. “She will do whatever you say because she thinks she owes you. Man up. Stay here for a few hours.”
She wasn’t wrong, and Glenn’s silence only confirmed it. I crossed my arms “She’s right. It’s probably just sprained. We push too hard, and she’s walker bait.”
Glenn’s jaw twitched, his focus shifting to Abraham and Eugene. “You just care about keeping Eugene safe, right? It’s the only reason you want to stop?” Abraham’s nod was quick and sharp. Glenn squared his shoulders, resolve hardening. “We go until sundown. I give Eugene my riot gear right here, right now. Everybody wins.”
Rosita scoffed. “Except her.”
“You're not her mama,” Abraham snapped. “She says she can walk, she can walk.” His tone softened just enough as he turned back to Glenn. “You got yourself a deal.”
“Glenn, an hour wouldn’t hurt anything,” I tried, my voice gentler now, willing him to just look at me.
But he didn’t. Instead, he yanked off his gear, shoving it at Eugene with a force that said this wasn’t up for debate.
_____________
Two hours later and Tara was still limping. If she didn’t let it rest soon, she’d be laid up for a lot longer than necessary. I kept a watchful eye on her, the steady throb of frustration building with each awkward step Tara took. Glenn was my best friend—the kind of person who made you believe survival was possible, even in a world like this—but that didn’t mean he was always right. And this time, he wasn’t just wrong; he was careless.
I understood his desperation, maybe more than anyone. He loved Maggie in a way that twisted priorities until nothing else mattered. But that didn’t give him the right to endanger someone else. Tara was stubborn, but I could see through it—I was one and the same as her. She was in pain, barely keeping up, and Glenn was too wrapped up in his mission to notice.
I clenched my jaw as I straggled along, my bow digging deep into my shoulder. Glenn wasn’t cruel—far from it—but his determination was making him selfish.
And selfishness in this world got people killed.
Up ahead, about ten yards away, and clear as day was another message written in blood gleamed wetly in the fading light, its stark red letters stretching alongside the mouth of a dark tunnel. You know, the kind of tunnel you’d see in horror movies that absolutely has the slasher waiting to ambush you midway through.
“We're gaining on 'em,” Glenn said, his voice filled with satisfaction as his fingers brushed over the words. His lips tugged into a small smile. “Still wet.”
Behind me, Abraham puffed. “We sure as Shinola can’t go up and over.” He was right—I was a damn good climber, but there was no way in hell I was making it over that thing. Not even with the biggest boost around. “How about around?”
I nodded, the beginnings of a plan forming in my head. “Wouldn’t hurt to clear a path for others to come through either.”
“No,” Glenn objected. “That'll take a day, maybe more. If Maggie went through, I'm going through. We're close.”
“Glenn, we need to consider the fact that Tara can’t walk.” I countered, positioning myself in front of him. “If we get into trouble in there, she’s screwed. We know where Maggie’s heading. We’ll see her there.”
“I need to catch up with her before—“
“Shut up a second,” Abraham interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head toward the tunnel. “You hear that?” His tone shifted, more cautious. “That there is a long, dark tunnel full of reanimated corpses. I don't have full-on certainty that I can get Eugene through there alive. My recommendation would be take the day, make the detour and play it safe, but I know you're not gonna do that,” He let out a resigned sigh, a sad smile touching his lips. “So this is where we’ve got to part ways. I'm sorry. You're on your own.”
“No, you're not,” Tara said, her voice steady as she took a shaky step forward, her sprained ankle barely holding her weight.
I bit my tongue, suppressing the urge to argue. Maybe Abraham wasn’t the only one loyal to a fault—Tara was sure neck and neck for taking that piece of cake.
Abraham slugged off his backpack, pulling out a few cans of food and attempting to pass them to Glenn. Glenn refused, but Tara stepped in, taking the cans and tucking them neatly into my pack without a word.
Glenn glanced at Abraham, his expression conflicted. “Sorry, I— I hit you in the face.”
“I'm not,” Abraham replied with a sly smirk. “I like to fight.” Then, his gaze softened as he turned to me, his large hand resting on my shoulder. “I am sorry, however, for that shiner I gave you little lady.”
I shook my head, managing a small smile. “Don’t be. Maybe once you’re done saving the world, you can find me again and let me get in some more practice.”
He chuckled, nodded once, and turned back toward Eugene.
Rosita had Glenn pulled into a hug as she gave him a pointed look. “Try not to be an ass,” she said, her tone carrying a blend of affection before glancing at me. “And try to make sure he’s not an ass.”
I raised my fingertips in a mock salute. “I’ll do my best.”
Eugene, standing awkwardly to the side, cleared his throat. “You three are good people,” he said, his gaze flicking between Tara and me. “I have to say, though—you two are seriously hot.”
“Unfortunately unavailable.” I replied, offering an awkward smile.
“Yeah, I like girls,” Tara added.
Eugene tilted his head, his tone nonchalant. “I’m well aware of that.”
.like you’re hanging by a thread, but you gotta survive.
Notes:
i low-key didn't like this chapter v much...idk if it’s bc i’m sick or what, but idk… its very mid.
Chapter 42: funnel cakes and fried food
Summary:
“Libby!” Glenn shouted, his voice sharp with as the rush of air filled the vehicle.
The van screeched to a halt, the sudden stop jolting everyone forward. Abraham turned in his seat, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.someday, i’ll be falling without caution.
I adjusted the strap of my bow as we moved into the tunnel. The newfound emptiness between the three of us was weighing on me a lot more than I’d like to admit. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand Glenn’s drive—if it were Daryl out there, so close I could feel him, I couldn’t imagine being held back either—but it was the way that Glenn seemed willing to push past every warning sign that unnerved me. Our loss of the prison was still too raw, and I wasn’t sure that I could bear losing anyone else. And as Glenn led the charge into this darkness, I wondered how much more Tara could take.
Ahead, Glenn and her were talking in hushed tones, and I barely registered their words. Something about guilt, about surviving, about all the deaths. Tara mentioned Hershel, and I couldn’t bring myself to focus. So the sound of their conversation was little more than static in my ears. I didn’t want to hear it. Not now.
The tunnel was suffocating, dark and damp, with every sound amplified as if the walls were closing in. I kept my gaze sharp, and my bow ready.
Still, my mind wandered.
I could invision Maggie, Sasha, and Bob—determined and strong, but alone. Just like Tara, Glenn, and I. That thought made my chest tighten. Maggie had already lost so much. Everyone had. And still, she clung to the hope that someone she loved was still out there and looking for her. She didn’t even know that Glenn was right behind her. That flicker of hope was powering her through, even when the odds were so obviously against her. At least Glenn had something to go off of—Maggie was genuinely running on faith. And when we found her, if she was safe, I already knew my next move was finding Daryl.
I swallowed hard at the thought of him, my chest aching in a way that I didn’t quite understand. Daryl was capable, stronger than most, but that didn’t stop me from stressing. He had a knack for surviving, sure, but surviving wasn’t the same as living. And if he thought I was gone off somewhere else—or worse, dead—what would that do to him?
I shook the thought away. Maggie first, then I could worry about Dixon.
The tunnel seemed like it was growing darker, the dim light from Glenn’s flashlight barely cutting through the overbearing shadows. More frequently, a low growl would echo in the distance, sending a ripple of unease down my spine.
I shifted my bow slightly, trying to ease the ache in my shoulder. Tara stumbled ahead of me, and instinctively I reached out, steadying her before she waved me off. Tara’s ankle wasn’t going to hold up much longer. I knew it. Glenn had to know it, too.
But he didn’t stop.
“Glenn,” Tara said quietly, her voice strained. “We’ll find her, okay?”
“We’re close,” Glenn replied, his voice clipped. “I can feel it.”
I bit my tongue for the umpteenth time. I wanted to say something, to argue, to make Glenn stop for a few. But what could I say that wouldn’t make things worse or attract walkers? Glenn wasn’t just looking for Maggie—he was clinging to her like a lifeline. And maybe, in some ways, I was doing the same thing by following him.
Without him, I was alone.
A sole survivor after the loss of my home.
I focused on my breathing, the rhythm of my footsteps, the feel of the bow in my hand. Panicking would do me no good right now.
So…my mind wandered again, despite my best efforts. It felt like a safer thing to do than to have a full blown panic attack in the middle of this place.
What would it feel like to finally see Maggie? Relief, joy, maybe she’d even be angry at the risk Glenn was taking to find her. But I still couldn’t deny that I wanted it, too; the reunion. The proof that not everyone we loved was gone.
Ahead, Glenn stopped abruptly. The beam of his flashlight illuminated a massive pile of debris that blocked our path, the twisted metal and concrete with dozens of bodies of walkers embedded within.
My stomach sank as we stared at the collapse. I didn’t need to hear what Glenn had to say to know what he was thinking.
Legs trembling, I took a few steps forward, cautious of the snarling mouths that threatened to take a chunk of my flesh. There wasn’t any stirred up dust, but there was no way that it had been like this for very long. The message Maggie left for Glenn was relatively fresh — a few hours old at most. I chewed the bottom of my lip and adjusted the straps on both my backpack and bow before carefully navigating up the jagged pile of rocks.
“Hey,” Tara whispered from behind, just as Glenn began his ascent up the mound of debris as well. “What are you two doing?” But it didn’t take long before she was maneuvering her way up too.
Below, was a swarm of walkers stretched out like an unholy tide, their rotting faces turned upward sensing the fresh meat above. The air was thick with decay, the stench of rot clawing away at my senses. The walkers that hadn’t been crushed by the collapse were clawing up at us, their guttural moans echoing through the otherwise empty tunnel. My stomach turned as I took in the sheer number of them, Maggie at the forefront of my mind.
“She's not one of them,” Glenn said, an almost relieved sigh leaving his lips.
I studied the ground, furrowing my brows. “What?” I asked.
“There's no bodies on the ground,” he explained, nodding down. “That means Maggie made it through. She made it through.” He looked back, his gaze falling between Tara and I. “We have to get rid of them.”
“We don't have enough ammo.” Tara shot back without missing a beat.
“I only have so many arrows. It won’t make a dent.” I added.
“Then we'll push through,” he retorted.
I shook my head, nodding down to Tara’s ankle, “Glenn, no. We have to find another way.” For a moment, I questioned my own loyalty and how far I was willing to let Glenn take both himself, and Tara.
With a shaky hand, I extended my arm toward him, desperate to draw his attention away from the snarling walkers, and to hopefully coax him into figuring something else out. But his concentration was so unwavering and single-minded that he’d already begun working on his decent to the other side.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, waiting for my turn as Tara made her way behind Glenn. But, as I’d expected to happen at one point or another, Tara’s ankle chose the most inopportune moment to give out. “Jesus,” I exclaimed, inching forward to grab her by the shoulder as loose debris shifted over her foot, swallowing it in an instant.
Glenn’s head snapped around, his eyes locking onto the rocks now trapping Tara’s already fucked up ankle. “Tara, what is it?” he asked, scrambling back toward her. “What is it?”
Frantically, he began digging at the debris, his hands moving in desperation while I braced Tara, pulling her up with all my strength. Alongside the mountain of shifting rubble, the ominous snarls of walkers moved closer, the sound of their gnashing teeth sharp and relentless.
“Son of a bitch,” I bit out, letting Tara’s shoulder go as I reached to unstrap my bow. From my perch at the top of the debris, I had a decent line of sight to the walkers closest to them. My fingers were already drawing an arrow before I’d fully had a steady aim. I freed the first shot, watching it sink deep into the temple of a rotting corpse, its body crumpling onto the others in the crowd. Another followed almost immediately—a walker with one milky eye and a jaw half gone dropped before it could take another step. I drew again, my muscles beginning to burn from the effort.
“Go,” I heard Tara mumble from below. “Go find Maggie,” her voice was strained and I didn’t dare take a peak down at her on the chance of my own exterior breaking. “You guys, you can't save me.” She said, and from the inflection of her voice I knew she was looking up at me.
My mind flashed with everyone we truly couldn’t save. Dale. T-Dog. Lori. Hershel. And my stomach bubbled with anger over how unnecessary this situation had been. This didn’t have to happen.
“Even if you got this off me, I can't run. And if you help me, they're gonna get all of us.” Tara continued, urging us to leave her behind to get devoured.
I nocked another arrow. The walkers weren’t stopping — they were just closing in. “Glenn, go!” I yelled down at him. “Find Maggie. I’ll hold them off and get her out.” I wasn’t sure how true those words would end up being, but there was a reason we were all risking our lives, and I’d be damned if he didn’t at least try and make it worth it.
“There's got to be a way,” his gaze shot up to me. “There's got to be a different way.”
“Glenn, they're coming.” I said, sparing him a brief glance. “Go.”
He shook his head furiously, continuing to work on digging Tara out of the rubble. “I'm not leaving.“
“Get out of here!” She screamed at him, pushing his hands away. “Go!”
I heard it before I saw it—an engine revving. Gunshots rang from below, and I could hear Glenn yelling, but my focus stayed on the shining headlights coming from the opposite end of the tunnel. “Get down!” A familiar voice shouted, giving me point five seconds to officially drop to my stomach before bullets began flying.
_____________
I pressed my back against the barricade, muscles straining alongside Rosita as we worked to seal off the tunnel's end. The distant echoes of walkers faded once we walked back to the middle where everyone had settled, replaced by voices drifting from where Glenn and Maggie stood. For the first time in what felt like ages, the tension in my chest let up. Maggie and Glenn had found each other—against all odds, through all the bullshit. It was a moment so rare that it almost didn’t feel real.
As I stepped toward the group, I couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at my lips, but it wasn’t entirely out of relief or happiness. Glenn’s persistence had paid off in the best way possible, but the nagging thought of what if remained stuck in my head. He’d risked everything—our lives, Tara’s already fragile condition—for this reunion.
My shoes crunched over the rubble as I drew closer, my eyes scanning the group. Glenn was grinning from ear to ear, his arm slung protectively over Maggie’s shoulders, his voice warm and steady as he finished introcuding Tara. My heart swelled at the sight, but but I couldn’t ignore the strain etched across my brow. Tara’s face was pale, her ankle swollen and bound hastily, but she smiled anyway, clearly wanting to put on a brave front—Maggie still didn't know about her role in the prison ambush.
I stopped a next to them and folded my arms across my chest. I wanted to keep soaking in the joy of this reunion, to feel that same unfaltering hope Glenn had clung to, but my mind was already racing ahead. Maggie was safe. Maybe it was time to think about Daryl—if he was still out there, I needed to know.
I needed to find him.
“I’m glad you got out with him,” Maggie’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, breaking the momentary bubble.
“Yeah, me too,” I replied, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
I trailed a few steps behind them as we headed toward the rest of the group who were gathered around a muted fire. Sasha’s sharp gaze landed on us, a glimmer of suspicion in her features. “He just said that he knows what caused the outbreak,” Sasha said, pointing to Eugene.
“Yeah, he does,” I said flatly, pressing my lips into a thin, awkward line. I still wasn't quite sure what to think about Eugene’s claims.
“Let me guess. He asked you to go to DC with him?” Glenn asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked toward Abraham.
Abraham clapped his hands together. “I'm downright tickled y'all found each other,” he said as his eyes shifted to Glenn and Maggie. “You should spend the rest of the night celebrating. Because tomorrow there's absolutely no reason why the nine of us don't stuff ourselves in that van and head up to Washington.”
“He's right,” Tara chimed in, her voice quiet but still firm. “I'm gonna go.”
“No, he's wrong,” Eugene said, his voice cutting through the air abruptly. In an instant, every pair of eyes turned to him. “We're fifty-five percent of the way from Houston to Washington. Up until now, we've had an armored military vehicle for transport and we lost eight people—“
“That wasn't our fault,” Rosita snapped defensively, but Abraham quickly cut her off.
“They're gone!” His voice rang out sharply.
Heavy silence fell over us, the kind that filled every curve of the tunnel. It was Eugene who finally broke it, his tone measured. “I can’t imagine we’d have better luck with that grocery grabber we picked up. We’re a day’s walk from Terminus. Who knows what they’ve got there?”
I stayed quiet, watching the exchange with a sense of detachment. My mind wasn’t on Eugene’s percentages or Abraham’s insistence on Washington—it was with Daryl, wherever he might be. If Terminus wasn’t what we hoped, if there wasn’t safety or answers there, then I’d have to make my move.
Hell—I should probably leave at first light. A promised sanctuary wasn't exactly up Daryl’s alley and I couldn't see him going there on his own accord.
But maybe -- maybe he escaped with someone else. Carl or Judith. Maybe Beth. They’d be a priority for him. He’d want them somewhere that attested to being a safe haven. He’d wholeheartedly sacrifice his own comfort for theirs without a second thought, so maybe Terminus wouldn’t be a bad place to start.
If he wasn’t there, I could leave and start my search for him. There was a chance that some of our other people were already gathered there anyways.
_____________
I fiddled with the tip of an arrow, a pang of frustration curling in my chest when I saw that the shaft was splintered. Another one for the discard pile. I twirled it between my fingers, my mind already drifting to the possibilities—or lack thereof—that Terminus might hold. Would they have any extra arrows? Hell, would they have any weapons at all? And if they did, would they spare some of them out of the goodness of their hearts?
It was hard to imagine a place so generous existing anymore.
My gaze flicked to the tracks just outside the van window. The rhythmic bumping of the vehicle along the uneven tracks jostled us all. Eugene’s voice broke the boredom, his tone matter-of-fact as he announced, that we were less than two miles away.
Two miles. Close enough to smell the smoke from whatever fires they might be burning. Or the rot, I thought pessimisticly, if things had gone south. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Terminus was still standing. For all we knew, those signs could be relics of a sanctuary long since overrun
My grip tightened on the arrow as I sat back and glanced around at the others. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together, their hands entangled, while Sasha leaned into Bob’s shoulder, her eyes half-closed. Abraham and Eugene were up front, and Tara and Rosita sat quietly beside me. Everyone seemed to be at peace with are route—and with going to DC after Terminus.
Everyone except me.
I couldn’t shake the anxiousness that had sunk deep in my belly. It wasn’t just about Terminus—well, most of it was actually. If Terminus was a trap or fell apart or was a inkling of what Woodbury had been, I needed to make sure that some of my gear was secure. To know my bow and bag were stashed somewhere safe.
I cleared my throat, breaking the quiet. “We need to stop the van.”
Abraham’s head snapped around, his brows furrowing. “What for?”
“I need to stash my stuff,” I said simply, holding up the bag at my feet. “It’s a precaution. If Terminus doesn’t pan out, I don’t want to lose everything.”
“That’s a waste of time,” he said, turning back to the road. “We’re almost there.”
“If Terminus is what they say it is, then it doesn’t matter. If it’s not, then at least I’ll still have what I need to survive.” I countered, my tone firm.
Abraham sighed, his frustration evident as he shook his head. “We’re not stopping.”
I didn’t argue further. Instead, I reached for the van’s sliding door handle and yanked it open.
“Libby!” Glenn shouted, his voice sharp with as the rush of air filled the vehicle.
The van screeched to a halt, the sudden stop jolting everyone forward. Abraham turned in his seat, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
I hopped out, slinging my bag over my shoulder as my feet hit the dirt. “I’ll meet you there,” I said, my tone leaving no room for debate.
“Libby, are you sure about this?” Glenn asked, already climbing out after me. “I’ll go with you—”
“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “I’m better on my own. I’ll see you there in like, an hour. Just go.”
He hesitated, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. “If you’re not back in an hour—”
“I will be,” I said firmly, cutting him off again.
Glenn glanced back at the van, where Maggie had leaned out the door, her expression mirroring his unease. “Be careful,” he said finally, his voice low.
“Of course.”
With that, I turned and started down the tracks, the sound of the van door sliding shut behind me. The trail stretched out ahead of me, a seemingly infinite path of corroded metal. I dipped off into the break of trees, veering away from the obvious for about ten minutes before I began scanning the area for a good hiding spot, eventually settling on a cluster of thick brush a few yards to my left. Kneeling down, I worked quickly, securing my bag and bow in a hollowed-out space beneath the tangled roots of an old tree.
I stood and brushed my hands off, my eyes lingering on the spot for a moment. If this all went to hell, at least I had something to fall back on.
But as I made my way back toward the tracks, my thoughts drifted to Daryl once more. If Terminus turned out to be the sanctuary everyone was hoping for, I wouldn’t stay long—at least, not if Daryl wasn't there.
_____________
The closer I seemed to be getting to Terminus, the quieter the world seemed to become. The train tracks beneath my boots, usually accompanied by the distant groans of walkers or the rustling of wind, were eerily silent. It was unsettling, and the odd stillness had me on edge. My grip tightened on the knife in my hand, and I felt ridiculously naked without my bow.
As I kept forward, my eyes scanned the area. The tracks ahead curved softly, revealing more of the path that led to the supposed sanctuary. Grass and weeds budded through the gravel, and the air felt different—still heavy with the familiar, earthy decay of the new world but also tinged with something else. Smoke. And food?
My stomach growled at the faint, greasy scent of cooking meat. It could have been anything—a pig, a deer—but whatever it was, I had to stop myself from busting into a sprint to get to it. I shook the thought off, focusing back on my surroundings before I got too ahead of myself.
A few strides later, I passed the rusted gold van that I’d nearly dove out of earlier. They’d already arrived.
For a moment, my stomach knotted with doubt. Had I been stupid to let myself fall behind? No warning signs were going off yet. As a matter of fact— it seemed like it had been exactly as it promise. So far.
Actually, the only thing that really stood out was the lack of walkers along the path. It didn’t make sense. No matter where you went, walkers were pretty much always around, aimless and hungry, pulled by the faintest noise or movement. But here? Nothing. Not even the sound of their groans.
My eyes flicked up to the fencing that surrounded the complex. Metal barriers entwined with barbed wire stood tall. That alone wasn’t strange, but it was the way the gates themselves seemed… untouched. No walkers clawing at the steel, no blood smears or signs of struggle. Whatever mechanism Terminus used to keep them away worked, but it was a little unnerving not to see it in action.
I paused at the gate, my gaze trailing to the sign posted there: “Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive.” The words were worn but legible, painted in neat strokes. I swallowed harshly, hoping like hell that it really meant what it read.
Pushing the gate open, I stepped cautiously inside. The area was open, dotted with buildings that looked cobbled together from train cars and scavenged materials. The smell of food was stronger now, its greasy warmth curling in her stomach. It reminded me of the county fair Uncle Clyde took me to during my first Fall in Georgia, funnel cakes and fried food wafting in the open breeze.
Again though, my eyes swept over the area. No guards. No one watching the entrance. Odd. A place like this would need to be hypervigilant, yet the only figure in my eyesight was a woman tending to a grill.
My steps slowed as I approached. The woman, middle-aged, seemed focused on her task, her movements unhurried. The smell of meat sizzling over the flames was overwhelming now as it mixed with the smoke that hung in the air.
Again, my stomach churned. I stopped a few feet away, as my eyes darted around the yard one last time before settling solely on the woman. Something about all of it—the quiet, the lack of guards, the too-perfect setup—felt wrong.
.but for now, i’m only people watching.
Notes:
ugh~ this is kind of a short chapter, and I couldn't seem to make it longer no matter how hard I tried! (and if you can't tell, Libby’s fav thing to say is ‘son of a bitch’ , and anytime I type it, I can't help but hearing Dean Winchester’s voice saying it, so I giggle a little everytime)
Chapter 43: probably-expired cake topping
Summary:
“Did you guys hear that?” I asked, bolting upright from my spot at one side of the train car, my pulse quickening.
Eugene mirrored my reaction, pressing his cheek against the metal wall and squinting like it helped him hear better. “Affirmative. That’s the distinct rhythm of rapid gunfire. Based on proximity and cadence, I’d speculate we’re dealing with at least two automatic weapons, most likely M4 variants.”
Chapter Text
.wasteland, baby.
The air was thick with acetone and the artificial sweetness of frosting as I shoveled another spoonful of the probably-expired cake topping into my mouth. Melanie, relaxed in a criss-cross applesauce position on the floor, painted my toenails an ungodly shade of bright pink. I’d already accepted my unfortunate commitment to the flashy color when the curtain to my cell shifted abruptly.
Standing awkwardly in the doorway was Daryl, his gaze flickering from Melanie to the nail polish in her hand, and finally to me. His expression teetered between confusion and bemusement.
“Should I find somewhere else to sleep tonight?” he asked, his gravelly tone laced with a dry amusement.
I froze mid-bite, scrambling to swallow the mouthful of frosting before shaking my head profusely. “Mmm-mmm! No! We’re almost done!” I blurted, the words muffled and frantic as I wiped at my mouth. Casting a quick sweep around the room, I spotted my pack of ponytail holders and snatched them up. “Actually,” I said, holding them out, “can you braid my hair?”
Melanie paused her work, shooting me an incredulous look. “I told you I’d do it.”
“Yeah, but it’s getting late, and Daryl’s really good at French braiding,” I explained, my voice insistent.
“Yeah, but it's getting late and Daryls good at French braiding,” Melanie mimicked in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Whatever. But I want to try a new style soon!”
My eyes found Daryl’s again. “Will you? It’s still damp, so it should be pretty easy to work with.”
He lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning the cell as if searching for some escape route. Finally, with a quiet grumble, he stepped forward and took the ponytails from my outstretched hand. “Whatever,” he grumbled.
Daryl moved further into the cell, the curtain swishing closed behind him as he approached the bed. He settled in the open space behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight as he inspected my damp hair. His fingers combed through the tangles with the same gentleness he always used. Despite his usual rough demeanor, there was a deliberate care in his movements when he toyed with my hair, like he was determined to get it right without drawing attention to his efforts.
The quiet rhythm of his work was broken by a sudden, sharp tug that made me wince. He froze for a heartbeat, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out. His fingers hovered, almost hesitant now, as if he were recalibrating his approach. Despite the sting, I didn’t say anything, letting the steady pull and twist of the braid take over again.
But, not thirty seconds later, another sharp tug made me whimper involuntarily. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered, frustration edging his voice. “D’you try cutting your hair? It’s got a lotta uneven bits.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Melanie beat me to the punch. “No, I just thinned it out a little bit for her. She said it was starting to bother her with how thick it is,” she explained matter-of-factly.
I heard Daryl scoff as he tied off the end of my braid. “She your girlfriend now?” he teased, a smirk lurking in his tone.
I knew Daryl didn’t truly mind Melanie; in fact, he asked about her way more than he needed to. It made me smile, the idea that he actually liked her—or at the very least, tolerated her antics. I’d never really had ‘girlfriends’ before, so her friendship meant the world to me. There was something so impossibly sweet and positive about it, and I loved having her around. Just her presence made my days a little bit brighter.
It was also nice that she never took Daryl’s jabs to heart.
“You jealous?” she shot back, screwing the lid back onto her nail polish and leaning casually against the concrete wall.
That earned her nothing but a scoff.
—
About fifteen or so minutes later, after my nails had finally dried and Daryl had finished twisting my damp hair into two neat braids, I pushed up from the floor and stretched, feeling the stiffness in my legs from sitting so long. With a quick glance toward Daryl, now reclining back on the bed with his eyes closed, I grabbed my flip-flops and offered to walk Melanie back to her cell, her chatter filling the quiet halls as we stepped into the poorly lit corridor.
“He’s literally so in love with you,” she said, knocking my shoulder playfully.
Rolling my eyes, I groaned, “Stop.”
“He is!” she pressed, her tone annoyingly giddy. “He braids your hair, brings you little snacks, goes out of his way to get you socks after you mention ONE pair of yours has a hole in them, restrings your bow—“
“I get it!” I cut her off dramatically. “But that doesn’t mean he’s…” I hesitated, gathering myself a little. “I’ve already told you, we’ve been flirting and stuff for like, a year now. It’s just our dynamic or whatever.”
Melanie paused mid-step and folded her arms, her expression skeptical. “Libby, if you told him to jump, he’d ask you how high. You can’t tell me that man—”
“We only do it in private!” I interrupted, desperate to derail her train of thought before she got too carried away. “All those ‘things’ you mentioned? They’re done behind closed doors. And I’m fine with that, but trust me when I say,” I turned and started walking backward to coax her into following me, “it’s not like that.”
She looked at me dumbfounded. “You’re in denial.”
“I’m not,” I shot back.
“So, you’re telling me,” she started, lowering her voice dramatically, “that if Daryl Dixon,” she raised her tone to normal again, “told you he loved you, you wouldn’t believe it? Not even a little?”
I stopped outside of her cell, rolling my eyes. “If he told me he loved me, I’d check his forehead for a fever, because even if he did, he wouldn’t come to me and admit that all,” I waved my arms around in frustration. “freely and shit.”
She shook her head, pursing her lips. “But you love him?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Nope.”
“Liar.”
“Go to bed,” I ordered, gesturing toward her cell.
“You love him,” she teased in a singsong voice, ignoring me entirely.
I groaned. “Melanie…”
“It’s sweet!” She whined. “Come on, you literally don’t have anyone else to spill the beans to,”
“Probably because there are no beans to spill.”I shot back, exasperated.
Melanie smirked, leaning against the doorway. “You know, when I was in Miami before all this shit started, I slept with a guy twice my age…”
Spinning on my heel, I was already walking away. “Goodnight!”
“I’m just saying, I get the attraction!” She called after me.
_____________
It had been two days—two days since I made the stupid mistake of trusting this stupid place, of letting my stupid guard down, just for a second. Two days since I walked through those gates and let that weird mix of relief and suspicion lead me straight into this mess. I mean, sure, if I hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have known they were holding my people hostage, but now I was stuck too, no better off than anyone else. Worse, probably, since it was my own damn decision to walk in here alone. I hadn’t stood a fucking chance.
I should’ve known something was off. There were too few walkers, and that creepy, fake hospitality. A sanctuary like this didn’t stay safe without some serious defenses, and the absence of guards when I arrived should’ve been a bright red flag. But I’d ignored it. And now…now I was trapped in this metal train car, surrounded by scratched walls and beaten-down faces while we waited for…only God knows what.
Gareth’s voice looped through my mind—cool, calm, and almost taunting as he said, “It didn’t have to be this way.” Like I was the one who forced his hand. Like asking to see my friends before I ate their shitty barbecue was a fucking crime. I’d been cautious, but obviously not cautious enough.
Now, time dragged. Every second felt like an eternity, each minute filled with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the occasional shuffle as someone shifted against the metal walls. I kept going over it all in my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong, how I hadn’t seen this coming. It wasn’t like I trusted easily, but Terminus had been a calculated risk, and I’d still managed to screw it up.
I glanced at Glenn, his face as determined as ever, even though I could see the cracks forming beneath the surface. He’d gone through hell to find Maggie, and now here we were, trapped in this metal box like cattle waiting for slaughter. My stomach churned at the thought.
I hated this—hated being powerless, hated not knowing what was going to happen next. Every fiber of my being itched to act, to fight back, to do something , but what could I do? The train car was solid, and we were weaponless. It wasn’t like we could just kick down the door and make a run for it. These people were organized, disciplined, and for all we knew, armed to the teeth.
And then there was the guilt. If that’s what you wanted to call it, at least. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I hadn’t walked through the front gates — if I’d been just a little more cautious and tried to examine the place from outside — maybe I could’ve come up with a plan. Maybe I could’ve figured out a way to sneak in or something. But instead, I’d walked right into their trap like an idiot.
The eeriest thing though; was how calm Gareth had been, like this was just another day for him. Like locking people in train cars was as normal as setting the table for dinner. And that Mary woman, offering me food like she didn’t know exactly what was happening here.
I shifted against the wall, my legs stiff from sitting in the same position for too long. My things were still hidden, stashed safely miles down the tracks, but what good did that do me now? Without it, I was naked and vulnerable.
Two days. Two days of sitting, waiting, and wondering how the hell we were going to get out of this. I clenched my fists, trying to push back the wave of frustration threatening to swallow me whole. But—
“Did you guys hear that?” I asked, bolting upright from my spot at one side of the train car, my pulse quickening.
Eugene mirrored my reaction, pressing his cheek against the metal wall and squinting like it helped him hear better. “Affirmative. That’s the distinct rhythm of rapid gunfire. Based on proximity and cadence, I’d speculate we’re dealing with at least two automatic weapons, most likely M4 variants.”
His words made my brow furrow, but before I could ask him to elaborate, the sharp crack of another volley rang out, closer this time. Everyone was on their feet now, rushing to the same end of the train car, ears straining as the shots echoed through the air.
The train car fell into a tense silence, broken only by the muffled chaos outside. Distant shouting filtered through the cracks in the metal, too distorted to make out but laced with panic. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to piece it together.
More gunfire, even closer. The walls of the train car trembled faintly, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke seeped through the cracks. My throat tightened as I glanced at the others, their faces mirrors of my own anxiety and confusion.
Eugene adjusted his stance, his expression unusually serious. “Given the intensity of the engagement and the trajectory of those shots, I’d wager this is no casual altercation. The advancing party is organized and well-armed. Dare I say, tactical.”
The cacophony outside grew louder, more frantic, and then, suddenly, the distinct sound of shouting broke through the chaos. It wasn’t clear enough to make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—commands being barked, sharp and decisive. It was Gareth.
The air in the train car grew heavier, everyone exchanging uneasy glances as the sound of his voice cut through the chaos. Whatever was happening out there, it wasn’t over yet, but it was heading straight for us as we heard clear footsteps approaching our train car.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” Abraham said, turning to the sliding door.
There was a lot of things that I wasn’t, and dumb was one of them. There was no telling who was about to join us, and you would’ve had to be out of your goddamn mind if you thought I was about to be the welcoming party to whoever it was. One thing was for certain: Abraham Ford was built like a brick wall, and despite my particularly impressive height, I attempted to disappear behind said brick wall.
The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air as the door slid open, the light of Terminus spilling into the car. Dust particles danced in the glow, but no one dared to move. A few beats passed before Glenn’s breath hitched and a single word left his mouth.
“Rick.”
That name struck like lightning. My heart leapt into my throat as I craned my neck to see past Abraham, who stood as immovable as a fortress in front of me. I shifted to the side, just enough to peek around him, the faint scent of sweat and grime filling the air as the figure looked to the nine of us.
Rick.
He looked like hell. His face was hardened, streaked with blood and dirt, his eyes scanning the room. “You're here,” he said in disbelief. “You're here.” He repeated, firmer this time and with almost a sense of resolve.
My world felt like it had halted and begun spinning vehemently all at the same time. They were here. Rick, and Michonne, and Carl, and, “Daryl!”
I pressed my face firmly into his chest, sweat and dirt mingling with the salty tears that were now streaming down my cheeks. My heart pounded in my chest so hard that I was almost positive it was going to break through and leave a bloody mess all over the floor. My fingers twisted and traced each little detail of his vest, searching for genuine, confirming proof that he was actually here -- that Gareth hadn’t given me some kind of serious head injury and this was some sick figment of my imagination.
Pushing back, I looked up at his face in another attempt to confirm his tangibility. His mouth twitched but not quite out of happiness, and I noticed his eyes dancing along my face as well, like he too couldn’t entirely grasp that I was in fact alive, right in front of him.
He didn’t say anything when he hauled me back into a hug, pulling me tightly against his chest. Even though absolutely nothing was solved, and there was a faint hint of embarrassment knowing that there were other witnessing this public display of affection, things felt — right. Good. “Fuck, girl,” he mumbled into my hair.
His grip loosened around my waist as Maggie spoke, prompting me to spin around and watch her gesture to all of the unfamiliar faces (at least to Rick and co.) “They're our friends. They helped save us.”
“Yeah,” Daryl nodded his chin up. “Now they're friends of ours.”
“For however long that'll be,” Abraham responded drearily, turning away from the rest of us.
But with the same determination as he’d always had, Rick jaw twitched. “No,” he said, causing Abraham to pause his movements as Rick neared the crack of the door. “They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."
“Find out what?” Abraham asked, his gaze zeroing in on Rick.
“They’re fucking with the wrong people.”
_____________
Daryl got out with Beth who—hopefully—was still alive somewhere. While Michonne, Rick, and Carl had been together since right after the prison fell. The remnants of us were scattered, and yet somehow, we all managed to end up here, trapped like rats in a box.
In true, Rick Grimes fashion, he wasted no time assigning tasks. He had each of us fashioning makeshift weapons from whatever scraps and shards we could find in the train car. His urgency wasn’t lost on me; he knew, that the people who’d locked us in here would eventually return, and when they did, we needed to be ready. Especially since Rick had already killed at least two of them. That point alone hung in the air like static, a guarantee that this standoff was far from over.
I found myself gravitating closer to Daryl, the knot of fear in my chest tightening every time I strayed too far. It wasn’t rational—I knew that—but the idea of putting even a foot of space between us felt agonizing. Like he might shrivel up and disappear if I lost sight of him for even a second. I wasn’t sure if that fear was rooted in the trauma of what had already happened or the knowledge that things could always get worse. Either way, I refused to let my gaze linger away from him for much longer than a minute or two.
Daryl worked quietly, his hands steady as he reinforced a piece of metal with strips of fabric he’d torn from his shirt. His focus was intense, but his eyes darted toward me every so often, like he was also making sure I was still there. It was comforting in a way I didn’t want to admit, that silent acknowledgment that he might be equally as anxious about me disappearing.
The others moved with the same kind of determination. Glenn and Maggie worked side by side, their movements almost synchronized as they bent wires and sharpened pieces of wood. Abraham and Rosita were less subtle, their actions driven by the kind of anger that simmers just beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest incitement. Eugene sat huddled near the wall, fiddling with something small and metallic, muttering to himself.
It didn't take long before both Abraham and Daryl were pacing in the train car like bulls ready to be let loose at a rodeo. A whisper of a shadow flickered into our space before Daryl cleared his throat, causing the lot of us to freeze. “A’right, got four a’them pricks coming our way,” he said.
Rick’s eyes flickered across the darkened cart, not meeting any of our gazes. “Y'all know what to do. Go for their eyes first,” he paused, breathing heavily, preparing himself as the rest of us followed suit. “Then their throats.”
“Put your backs to the walls on either side of the car now.” A voice, that wasn’t Gareth’s, demanded.
None of us were moving though. Not one bit. We all stayed at the ready, waiting for that damn door to slide open…until footsteps echoed on top of the train car and a disembodied hand dropped a canister into the space. For a moment, as the little aluminum can clattered to the metal floor, we all looked at it dumbstruck.
I guess in some situations it paid to have military experience, because mere seconds later I was tackled to the ground by the very man who gave me a black eye one week prior.
_____________
Daryl was gone. Once the tear gas had evaporated from the room and we were able to take a head count we were short four people. Bob. Rick. Glenn. And Daryl.
We’d all just reunited, and for a brief moment, things had been looking really, really good. But in the blink of an eye, it all started spiraling again. My chest tightened, and I found myself gripping the wall of the train car to stay upright.
And then, just to make matters worse, the entire train car rocked violently with an explosion from somewhere outside, shaking the walls and rattling what little resolve we had left. The sound reverberated through my skull, and my pulse jumped as the distant echoes of shouting and gunfire reached us.
Panic clawed at my throat.
"What the hell is going on?" Abraham growled, slamming his fist against the metal door.
"Someone hit 'em," Michonne shot out her guess.
"Maybe our people got free," Sasha added, her words carrying a thread of cautious hope.
"'Scuse me," Eugene mumbled, walking toward the door and crouching beside it.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rosita asked with little patience.
"I might be able to use this shell to compromise the door," he said, wedging the grenade shell into the small crack between the door and the floor. "From the sound of things, there may not be anybody left to open it."
“Eugene, I'm sorry, but shut up,” Tara rolled her eyes and turned away from the locked entrance.
“Hey,” Carl called out, directing all eyes to him. “My dad's gonna be back. They all are.” He said, in that same Grimes resolve that his father carried.
Maggie stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “They are.” She agreed. “And we need to get ready to fight our way out with them when they do.”
I chewed the inner part of my cheek until it was raw and tired. Everything as of late had been out of the frying pan and into the fire — I was sick of it. Placing my hands on top of my head, my gaze fell on the hatch that the tear gas has been released from.
My breath caught in my throat as I snapped around to Abraham. “Hey,” I hissed, extending my arm to his bicep, earning me a confused stare from him. “Boost me up. That latch might not be locked.”
With a quick glance up, a shit eating grin appeared on his face. “Well I’ll be damned girl.” He whispered, before squatting low enough for me to get onto his shoulders.
But it was just another dead end. When my hands toyed with the latch, it wasn’t budging one bit. No matter how hard I pushed on it. Considering how downhill things were nowadays, I don’t know why I felt so disappointed by my unsuccessful attempt.
I slid down from Abraham’s shoulders, my feet hitting the floor with a dull thud that seemed louder than it should have. The air was thick with sweat and unease that clung to all of us. The cracks of light barely illuminated the train car, casting shadows over the worried faces around me. Sasha’s lips were pressed into a thin line as she glanced toward the door again, while Rosita rubbed at the back of her neck anxiously. Eugene was still crouched by the door, muttering to himself as he examined the grenade shell like it held the answer to all of our problems.
I rubbed my palms against my thighs, trying to ignore the creeping frustration building in my chest. My stupid attempt at the latch had been a bust, and now I felt like the eyes of the group were lingering on me—not with blame but with a shared desperation. I swallowed hard, willing myself to push past the lump in my throat. We were all in the same sinking boat, and it wasn’t just on me to get us out—but, damn, I sure felt guilty.
The stale heat of too many bodies in one place must not have only bothered me, because Sasha began pacing briefly before stopping to look down at Eugene with suspicious eyes.
“What's the cure, Eugene?”
Everyone’s gaze shifted to him, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge any of the newfound attention as he casually responded, “It's classified.”
“We don't know what's gonna happen,” Michonne mumbled, not breaking away from her own ministrations.
“You leave him be.” Abraham ordered in a tone that I was shocked Michonne took so…well.
Maggie passed by, handing me a makeshift shiv. “We need to keep working,” she said, in what I assumed was her attempt at diffusing the tension.
“Yeah, but it's time to hear it,” Sasha pressed, crouching next to Eugene. “‘Cause we don't know what's coming next.”
“What's next is we get out of this.” Tara retorted.
I turned to peak out one of the cracks, raising my eyebrows at the overwhelming amount of walkers. “Do we?” I asked sarcastically.
The realization of our situation stung.
I still believed that if anyone could pull through and turn this shit storm around, it would be Rick Grimes. But that didn’t mean we’d all escape unscathed. It actually hardly ever worked out that way.
To be honest, I just wanted to see Daryl again. That may have been juvenile, a sign of my still relatively young age, but I didn’t give a shit. I genuinely just wanted to be with him while the rest of the world ceased to exist.
I was sick of walkers.
I was sick of destruction.
I was sick of running.
I was definitely sick of being trapped in this train car, listening to Eugene ramble about this cure that didn’t even exist! He has concepts of a cure, but no actual cure. I couldn’t have been the only one to hear that—to grasp what he was actually saying.
The sound of clanging metal and gunshots grew closer, and within that flurry of ricocheting bullets, the door slid open as Rick’s voice cut through everything, barking orders as he ushered us out.
“Fight to the fence!”
The world outside was a whirlwind of growls, shouts, and the sickening crunch of weapons meeting bone. My eyes darted frantically, searching for Daryl amid the chaos. I thrusted my shiv into a walker’s skull, the motion automatic as my focus remained fixed on finding him. When my gaze finally locked onto the familiar angel wings adorning his vest, relief flooded through me. Steeling myself, I dodged another walker and bounded toward the fence, where Abraham was boosting people over.
_____________
It didn’t take long for us to break into the tree line and away from Terminus— maybe ten minutes. For some naive reason, I was only worried about trailing after Daryl as soon as he’d come into view.
That didn’t make any sense to me.
At least—not then it didn’t.
Why the only thing I could focus on was the way his arms swung so wildly, how his dark, inky hair has grown just to the cusp of his jawline and the way it now hid his eyes like a perfect curtain, and -- and how he kept looking back, not quite meeting my eyes, but always checking to see if I was still two steps behind him.
For a brief moment — for the first time in a while — I wished that I wasn’t Libby and he wasn’t Daryl, and that reaching out to entwine my fingers with his wouldn’t be such a transcendental gesture.
The embrace earlier had pushed boundaries for affection beyond closed doors.
That had been enough on his end for a while.
When we reached a particularly tall, decently tucked away tree, Daryl bent down and began shoveling brush out of the way before throwing Rick a shovel. Before long, Rick had attained an impressive amount of weapons from a shallow hole in the ground. It reminded me of my weapon hidden in a similar brush a few miles away.
I furrowed my brows when he shoved an unfamiliar compound bow into my hands. “Can you shoot this one?” he asked, not paying much attention to my response.
“The hell are we still around here for?” Abraham asked, looking down at Rick equally confused.
Rick didn’t spare him a glance, just continued rummaging through the duffel bag. “Guns, some supplies.” He responded, handing a pistol to Daryl. “Go along the fences. Use the rifles. Take out the rest of 'em.”
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded. My gaze searched for someone else’s — someone to confirm that I wasn’t the only one the least bit concerned.
“They don't get to live.” Rick responded.
“Rick, we got out.” Glenn chimed in, ever the voice of reason. “It's over.”
“It's not over till they're all dead,” Rick shot back, a level of disturbance in his tone.
“The hell it isn't.” Rosita snapped. “That place is on fire.”
“And full of walkers.” I added.
Abraham looked from Rick to Daryl then back to Rick. “I'm not dicking around with this crap. We just made it out.”
“The fences are down,” Maggie heaved a deep breath. “They'll run or die.”
Rick was getting ready to argue, it was written all over his face, but the rustling of branches drew everyone’s attention to the leafy area to our right. Surprisingly, no one held their weapons up, not even when she emerged covered in blood and guts carrying an automatic rifle and a crossbow — Daryl had already gone the distance to offer a relieving welcome to his best friend.
Somehow — someway; Carol was here.
Right in front of my eyes, another piece of our group had wiggled back in place.
The reunion had been brief, just long enough for us to find out that she’d been the one to sabotage Terminus and helped us escape and be introduced to our new friends. Then we were following her at her own insistence down the train tracks and through some woods to a little shack with a car parked right outside of it.
My heart fell to my butt.
Of course -- of course that’s where he’d be.
I nearly tripped over myself as I sprinted to the steps alongside Sasha, Rick, and Carl. My reconciliation may not have been as heartwarming all around, and maybe everyone found it a little odd, but I didn’t really care so much what anyone else thought once my hands were wrapped around my twenty-eight pound bobcat‘s neck. “Soupy!” Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this.
I’d had an inkling of hope — but I was all aware that he was a wild animal and when the prison fell, there was a likely chance he’d retreat back where he came from. I hadn’t even considered him trailing Judith, though, it made the most sense.
After our initial reunion (and Abraham’s colorful disbelief of my relatively domesticated bobcat), we opted to keep moving to stay on the safe side of not running into any of the leftover Termites or straggling walkers.
Everything seemed to be more or less okay now. We were still missing Beth, and DC was still up in the air, but we had a mighty group of fourteen, plus Soup, and it’d been a while since I’d felt so secure.
My shoulders turned inward, angled toward Daryl who drug alongside me. He’d been matching his steps with either mine, or slowing them down briefly to match Carol’s, sharing his company with the both of us— balancing who he brushed arms with. “Dar,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.
Without missing a beat, he looked down at me, humming in response.
“I hid my bag and my bow before I got to Terminus. I’m pretty sure I can find my way back, but uh,” I swallowed thickly. It’d been months since I’d asked him to go on a side trip with me, and something about it this time around felt so—awkward. “Can you come? I was gonna head out at first light.”
He worried his bottom lip, but didn’t hesitate to nod his head. “Yeah, probably get us a few squirrels while we’re out.” There was a familiar casualty in his tone, something I’d longed for ever since that night in the guard tower.
So much had happened between him and I. So much good and bad and sweet and heated and lovely and -- I wished he was the type of guy to know exactly how I felt without me having to say it. But then I wondered if that would still leave me with the same burning, heart pounding desire if he were to become that type of guy. Right now, currently, he was the epitome of everything I wanted for however long I had left to live on this decaying planet.
Fuck.
He was everything I wanted for the rest of my life. The nicotine addiction and his awkward attempts at flirting with me. It didn’t matter that he sucked at displaying affection, or that he struggled to communicate his feelings. And -- holy shit.
I was in love with Daryl Dixon.
.i’m in love, i’m in love with you.
Notes:
kkkkkkk.
ahhhh!
so libby’s ‘i’m so in touch with my feelings’ ass, finally realized and admitted to herself that she’s stupid in love with our greasy haired golden boy 🤍 ahhhh
and they’re all reunited and things are so good and Soup Can is back in the picture (honestly the best reunion in the whole chapter imo)
GUYSSSSS~ we could literally just cut this short and have this be the last chapter so that they can live happily in the woods and have dozens of little feral dixon babies. lmaooo~
But naur. Not gonna lie, this season was one of my favorites to watch but my LEAST favorites to write… cause like…this one REALLY drug on for me. Idk, I really hope season five will kinda kick things back into gear.
Chapter 44: a priest named gabriel
Summary:
Gabriel eyed me with a grimace-like smile. “Yes.”
“I guess that’s one way to choose a career path,” A priest named Gabriel.
Notes:
idk y’all. in MY opinion, TWD timeline speeds things up a little too quick for me, bc ain’t no WAY some of this shit happened as quick as they claim. so, for my version, we are currently in early March of 2012.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.wait for the signal, and i’ll meet you after dark.
“Ya sure you hid it over this way?” Daryl asked, crouching down by yet, another tree I’d claimed to have tucked my things neatly under.
Daryl and I had been trampling through the underbrush for probably thirty minutes now. We pushed aside broken limbs and kicked up loose dirt and leaves, desperately searching for any hint that might lead us to my missing belongings. The remnants of the apocalypse lay all around us, but aside from some scattered debris from long-abandoned camps, there were no signs of recent human activity lingering around—not a single indication that someone had fooled with any of it. At first, Daryl had started nagging me as a joke, but now the amusement in his voice had faded, replaced by taut tension. I could feel his gaze lingering on me, as if he was seriously questioning how I could have lost my stuff and to tell you the truth, it was a little embarrassing.
We ventured further down the overgrown railroad tracks, hoping against hope that maybe I’d been mistaken about where I’d left my things. The rusted metal tracks, once bustling with trains, now served as a reminder of a world that had come to a standstill. With each step, the weight of my embarrassment grew heavier.
After searching high and low, frustration bubbled to the surface. “I don’t know,” I finally conceded, my voice barely louder than a whisper. The admission tasted bitter as it left my lips, a stark reminder of the reality I faced: my things, my few possessions, were gone. In the apocalypse, where survival overshadowed sentimentality, I had managed to cling to just a few items that had provided me comfort and a little sense of normalcy. Among them, the compound bow that my uncle gifted me once upon a time, and Dale’s Billy Joel cassette.
As I sank back against the gnarled trunk of a large oak tree, a cloud of disappointment settled over me. Daryl, undeterred, took my defeat as a cue to double down on his search, shaking his head with an air of exasperation while muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch. I found myself increasingly annoyed by his relentless determination to recover my belongings while I sat idly by, sulking of my own loss.
Causing him to be even slightly unhappy had me feeling a tremendous level of guilt. That, mixed with my own disappointment, I pushed up from where I’d just slumped down, quickly rejoining the search. “I’m sorry…” I grumbled, trying to ignore that pit in my stomach. “I just feel dumb. I really thought this is where I left them.”
He didn't respond to that; only kept up with his movements. I wondered as I searched, when this gnawing guilt that had burrowed itself inside of me would finally go away. It’d been there since I agreed to load Glenn up in Abraham’s truck all the way back at the prison, and it never entirely went away. At first I’d assumed it to be a result of deciding something on Glenn’s behalf. But that hadn’t been it. I felt it again as Tara rolled her ankle, and again when I contemplated following Glenn through the tunnel, and again when I nearly dove out of a moving van. Each instance seemed to weave the guilt just a little tighter, making me question it just a little more.
For every misstep that had happened, I felt solely responsible, and there was no logical reason why. And I really hadn't had a chance to sit down and figure any of it out yet either.
I hadn't even had time to sit down and process anything. There was no mourning session held for all that we’d lost in the past couple of weeks — Hershel, the prison, our community. Even though we’d regrouped as a team again, Rick was already mapping out plans for our future. Everyone and everything that had been so important, was already buried and forgotten, as if they never existed at all.
And I had barely any choice but to go along with it. That’s all I’d been doing — surviving. That's why the guilt was eating at me. I felt guilty for just surviving.
Daryl tugged something that looked very much like my bag from an alcove of a tree trunk. “Y’ain’t dumb,”
I sighed out of both relief and disbelief as I watched him uncover my bow this time. A small smile tugged at my lips. “Dar…Oh my god. I was sure that I left it in that other clearing. There was a lot on my mind, maybe I just forgot. I mean, obviously I forgot.”
There was little to no emotion on his features as he held out my things, waiting for me to take them. “Sorry.” I said quickly, snatching the things from his hands. “I’ve just been all over the place. Sorry.”
“S’alright. Shit happens. You still got a lot on your mind?” he asked, digging into his back pocket in search of what I assumed to be a pack of cigarettes.
“I guess. Just everything at the prison, now all of this.” I bit my lip. “My mind’s been running a marathon and hasn't stopped since before the Big Spot.”
Bringing up that day was completely unintentional. I couldn’t believe the words had left my lips when they did, and crossed my fingers that he wouldn't misinterpret what meant. That had been the same night he reminded me, once again, that he ’wasn’t my little boyfriend’ and that he regretted ever ’sticking his dick in me’. But what I’d just said about that day, had nothing to do with his unapologetic anger. At least, not entirely.
It was the sequence of horrible situations that kept occurring. Our argument, technically, counted. But it was so -- minuscule compared to everything else. Zach’s death, and then D-block catching the flu, Karen and David’s murder, the rest of the prison catching the flu, the governors attack, Hershel’s death, being on the road, Terminus.
I hadn’t meant to drag up the past or rehash anything. But now it felt like the weight of our unresolved issues loomed heavily between us, and I worried that my comment had only stirred the pot, when really I was just trying to vent out my frustrations. The last thing I cared to do right now was argue with Daryl over something that, in the big scheme of things, didn't matter anymore.
He was here. Alive. Despite all the odds and ends, we somehow managed to fall right back into the same group we’d been in since the beginning, and that was a beautiful thing. That’s what mattered to me — not an anger from a time when things were rocky and death had just visited us.
I studied Daryl’s face, observing the whisper of tension in his jaw as he exhaled a puff of smoke. He took another draw, repeating the motions once more before replying. “I didn't mean what I said that night. Y’didn't deserve none’a that crap.”
“I don’t care about any of it.” I stated flatly. “I don't -- it doesn't matter. We’re here, and together, and -- Daryl, it’s okay. Everything back at the prison—water under the bridge.”
The cigarette wasn’t much more than ash now, and he let it fall from his fingertips to the ground. A flicker of yearning hit me, wishing he would’ve offered it to me like he used to just so I could kiss the same spot where his lips had been. Winter had just begun the last time our lips met, and I longed for just a sliver of that intimacy now.
“Water under the bridge, huh?” His face contorted in that kitten scrunch he had a habit of making.
“Did you mean any of it?” I asked, chancing a step closer.
He shook his head, his eyes downcast. “Nah,”
Maybe for the first time, since before the Big Spot, I smiled a smile that finally met my eyes as I nodded with confidence. “Water under the bridge.”
_____________
On our trek back to camp (if that’s what you’d call it), Daryl told me the eery feel he got while he and Carol were on watch the night prior, like someone might’ve been watching us — but there hadn’t been any tracks. I, of course, blamed it on the skin walkers, which only caused him to roll his eyes and tell me they must’ve been responsible for my bag being misplaced too. The banter was light; the feeling I got whenever I thought about someone actually watching us though? It made me physically shudder.
We weren’t all that far from Terminus, and even though the place itself was in burnt ruble by now, that didn’t mean some of them didn’t make it out alive and looking for vengeance. It was unlikely, but not completely off the table.
Nothing was ever completely off the table anymore.
Three dead squirrels swished side to side on Daryl’s back as I matched his steps from behind. It never ceased to amaze me how truly remarkable of an outdoorsman he was and how keen of an eye he had. We brushed through a break of trees, only to be met with a dozen guns pointed at us by our own people.
“We surrender,” Daryl held his hands up in defeat, a lazy joke that didn’t fail to make me smirk as we rejoined the group.
I fell in step alongside Carol, intentionally distancing myself from Daryl. Things were different now, at least they were for me. They felt different because I felt different, and I wanted to give myself a chance to come to terms with these new feelings before I even considered trying to explore things with Daryl again. He wasn’t just some hot-headed redneck with nice arms and an even nicer accent that I wanted to fuck — I mean, he was, but it wasn’t as simple as getting my guts rearranged anymore. Love had never found me before, and I didn’t want to screw something up before it even started.
Ahead, Bob and Sasha were playing a game of ‘good out of the bad’, and as a former optimist, I found it amusing to listen to Bob’s retorts about cozy feet and a captive audience. Their new relationship was a refreshing sight and I wondered what a relationship with me and Daryl might look like — though I doubted it would be much different than what it was now.
I couldn’t imagine him cradling my hand or offering such public displays of affection. But that would be okay with me. If all he could give was small gestures, I’d cherish them. God, I sound so pathetic and sappy. What happened to—
“Help!” A voice broke out in the distance. “Help!”
My first inclination is to jump into action, but just as Rick held his hand up to halt everyone, I was reminded how many times we’d been burned for helping people before.
“Dad, come on!” Carl argued, looking from his father’s held up hand to the woodsy area where the man’s voice was still screaming for help. “Come on!” Oh, Carl.
Between him and Judith, Rick had become a very dangerous and hardened man on their behalf — but the sweet, freckle faced boy, still wielded a certain level of influence over his father that made him fold so easily. With a reluctant groan, Rick conceded, tearing off into the direction of the commotion.
As we pushed through the trees for no more than three minutes, we found the source of the screaming. A priest, still dressed in his unblemished uniform, battling a small gang of walkers, desperately trying to keep them at bay as he clung to the top of a sturdy boulder. Being the people that we were (members of a bizarre order), we moved in and swiftly dispatched each corpse with ease.
I rounded the boulder, clearing it before strapping my bow back just as the priest slid down off the rock. “You okay?” Rick asked, looking him up and down, checking for any obvious bites or scratches.
The priest nodded slowly, before turning to the side and vomiting all of his lunch.
We had to have been about eighteen or so months into the apocalypse, so his reaction to the situation before him struck me as odd. Then again, his entire polished demeanor stood out to me just as much, if not more.
The priest straightened up, facing Rick directly and replied. "Yes. Thank you. I'm Gabriel."
My mouth gaped a little at the information. “Wait,” I chimed in, scrunching my eyebrows. “Like, ‘fear not, you’re having the Messiah’, Gabriel?”
The question earned me looks from everyone in the group, and I could feel a blush creeping up my neck at the attention. “What? I went to church, damn.” I grumbled in defense, turning my gaze back to the priest.
Gabriel eyed me with a grimace-like smile. “Yes.”
“I guess that’s one way to choose a career path,” A priest named Gabriel.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick cut in, silencing my teasing.
"Do I look like I would have any weapons?" Gabriel half-chuckled in response.
"We don't give two short 'n curlies what it looks like," Abraham called out.
"I have no weapons of any kind," Gabriel declared, the smile disappearing off his face when he realized nobody was taking his words lightly. “The word of God is the only protection I need.”
"Sure didn't look like it," Daryl remarked, eyeing the priest distinctly.
"I called for help," Gabriel said, laughing nervously again. "Help came. Do you have any food? Whatever I -- I had left it, uh, it just hit the ground."
Carl dipped his hands into his pockets and pulled out a handful of nuts, offering them to the priest. "We got some pecans.”
"Thank you," Gabriel said, just as Judith begins to babble. "That's a beautiful child.” Soup weaved his way through Tyreese’s legs, revealing himself to Gabriel, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he intended it to be a threat. The priest’s eyes darted back to Rick. “Do you have a camp?"
"No. Do you?"
"I have a church." He replied.
Whatever patience Rick had, it was quickly running out. "Hold your hands above your head,"
Father Gabriel's behavior raised more than just a few eyebrows. There was no doubt that something was off. Eighteen months minimum into the apocalypse, and he hadn’t taken down a single walker? It didn’t add up. His clothes were nicely pressed, he looked well-fed, and there wasn't a scratch on him. That wasn’t a thrown out piece of luck, or divine intervention; it was downright suspicious. Something was brewing beneath his nervous exterior, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a little more than just God’s word.
But still, he had a church, and that was a lot more than what we had right now, so I wasn't surprised when nobody argued about going to check the place out. On the bright side, our group was the size of a small army now, so if anyone wanted to step to us we could probably handle it.
Ya know, in case this was a trap.
Despite Gabriel's cringeworthy personality, I found it hard to believe he, himself was particularly dangerous. Sure, there was a possibility he had more followers waiting for us at his church, luring people in as some sinister plan, but if that were the case, he’d win an Oscar for his performance. Nothing about his body language hinted at a threat — no sneaky glances, no rigid posture.
That said, I wasn’t naive enough to think he was completely innocent. Not by a long shot. But I just doubted he was some deranged priest that was going to morph into one of our worst nightmares is all.
When we finally arrived at St. Sarah’s Episcopal Church, Rick made the decision to clear the place before allowing the rest of our group to settle in. And strangely enough — what we found was exactly what he told us we’d find. Nothing. An empty church full of things that you’d only find in the place of the Lord. Church pews, Bibles, an office, a podium, and even some color sheets of Noah’s Ark.
I wasn’t sure if I found that to be more suspicious or less.
"How'd you survive here for so long?" Rick asked Gabriel once everyone began filing into the church. “Where did your supplies come from?"
"Luck," he responded, earning himself a few looks. I wondered if he was used to it by now. "Our annual canned food drive. Things fell apart right after we finished it. It was just me. The food lasted a long time and then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby. Except for one."
"What kept you from it?" Rick leaned in.
"It's overrun."
My curiosity piqued, I stopped short of Rick and leaned against a pew. "How many?"
"A dozen or so, maybe more." Gabriel guessed.
"We can handle a dozen," Rick nods to me.
Sasha moved across the room. "Bob and I will go with you," she volunteered, placing a hand on Bob’s arm. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."
"That'll be okay?" Rick asked, though, I doubted Ty would turn him down.
"Sure. You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here." Tyreese smiled, looking to Judith then down to Soup. “He might be a better babysitter than me though.”
"I'm grateful for it. And everything else." Rick nodded before crouching to pat the cat’s head.
"I'll draw you a map," Gabriel offered.
"You don't need to," Rick said, standing back up. "You're coming with us."
With a nervous smile, Gabriel protested. "I'm not gonna be of any help. You saw me. I'm no good around those things."
"You're coming with us," Rick repeated. The deal was set in stone.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Rick said he didn’t need me; that just Sasha, Bob, Michonne and Libby’d be enough to clear the place and bring back some food. I wanted to argue, but figured it wutn’t worth it. Only reason I wanted to go at all was cause Libby was there. She was tough though, and strong. She didn’t need me to babysit her. I just didn’t like the idea of lettin’ her outta my sight again. Especially not with that creepy preacher man.
The hell was his problem anyway? All bundled up in a church, untouched by the shitstorm in the real world. Seemed like a load of shit to me. He was up to something, or he done did something — one of the two. People don’t get to just survive without gettin’ their hands dirty anymore.
And Carol. What she did to Karen and David was beyond fucked up, but I understand why she did it. Or at least I’ve convinced myself I understood. Those little girls, Lizzie and Mika, they probably got bit sometime after the prison fell, which must not’a helped her psyche too much. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t come back from it, cause she could. That woman had gone through hell and back before, and she could do it again. Hell, I’d make her do it again before I let her give up on herself. She wutn’t allowed to do that.
Eugene probably ain’t got no real cure, but if he did and this world really did become all kumbaya again, Carol was at the top of the list of people who deserved a second chance.
Next to me, she walked with determination and a clear train of thought beneath her tight expression. “Hey, I get it. You don't want to talk about it.” I stated the obvious. “You okay?”
“Gotta be.”
I swallowed. She was makin’ it real hard to have a conversation with her. “We get to start over. All of us with each other. You saved us all by yourself.”
“We got lucky. We all should be dead.” She retorted. I sure wouldn’t say I’m an optimist, but shit, this woman was really on something depressing. Ahead of us was a beat down car that probably ain’t run since the start of this shit. “I'll check it,” she tipped her chin up, quickening her pace.
I knew what she was doin’. I knew her. As much as she wanted to deflect and push me away, she wutn’t gonna be able to. Ain’t how our friendship worked, and that was her fault. She’d been the one so determined to make me care about her, so my persistence was only a result of that.
“Hey,” I called out to her as she poked her head into the trunk. “We ain't dead. And whatever happened, happened. Let's start over.”
She looked at me, her eyes hiding a lot more than she was saying. “I want to.”
“Well, you can,” I said, trying my best at being the type of person she needed. “Water under the bridge.”
There was a silence then, in which the two of us only stared at each other with unsure eyes. Nothing around us moved or made noise until Carol slammed the trunk shut, dropping her gaze. We should leave this here for backup in case things go south at the church,” she said, but I knew there was something off in the way her tone shifted.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I decided to revisit the conversation later, it was obvious I wasn't getting anywhere with her right now. “Want me to carry one of those?” I offered, but ended up throwing my own jug of water at her instead.
She pursed her lips, biting back a smile. “No.”
By the time I had my water picked back up, Carol was already ten steps ahead of me and into the woods. I amped up my stride to catch up, ready to tell her about what happened with Beth in hopes that if I went first, she’d finally let me know what was going on in her head, but she beat me to the punch.
“You and Libby seem to be friendly again,” she said, sparing me a quick glance.
I hummed in response, not really knowing what to say back to her. I knew how she really felt about my situation with Libby, and it wutn’t something I felt like revisiting.
She nudged my shoulder, earning her a look from me, but I was my with a genuine smile. Something I hadn't expected to get from her considering how despondent she’d been. “That’s good. She's grown up a lot in the past couple months.”
“She ain’t no kid,” I defended.
A far cry from it. She ain’t been a kid in a real long time—not even when she was a kid. Carol had this mindset that just cause Libby made a mistake, and wutn’t this grade-a mature angel of a woman, that she was nothin’ more than a snobby teenager, but she didn't know. Nobody knew half the shit I did. It’s why I defended her so hard.
“Well,” Carol started, a smirk playing on her lips. “Maybe not, but you’ve still got a couple years ahead of her.”
My jaw tightened at that comment. It was more than a couple years, and Carol knew that. And it wutn’t something I liked thinking about. She was completely grown, so there wutn’t anything gross going on, but still— thinking too long about it made me feel all kinds of wrong.
Eighteen years is a lot of years for an age gap. It didn't really matter how you looked at it, so that comment didn't make me feel any better about my resurgence of feelings for the girl. I really didn't even know if I’d call them a resurgence more than her just reappearing and lighting that flame again. “It don’t matter,” I mumbled, avoiding Carol’s eyes.
“Doesn’t it?” she urged, poking the issue some more.
“Nope.” I replied flatly, beelining it for the door of the church.
It didn't matter. I’s already in love with her, and there wutn’t a thing I wouldn't do for that girl. Even if she decided she wanted somebody else, it wouldn't change nothin’ on my end. I might not’a known what I’s gettin’ myself into when her and I started our little rendezvous back in the beginning, but I knew what it was now, and I’s perfectly okay with it.
I ain't ever been in love before, but just the proximity of being around her was good enough for me. Forever.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
This was highly reminiscent of the time we had at the CDC. Gabriel broke out the communion wine, and we spread out cans upon cans of food, creating a makeshift feast. Everyone was gathered in the sanctuary, warm smiles lighting up the dimly lit space. Today had been a good and successful day.
I was settled right next to Daryl, not allowing there to be even an inch of space between us as I leaned my partially wine-drunk head against his shoulder. It shifted under my touch, but only momentarily, before relaxing again, and I was thankful he didn't pull away. I had a feeling we wouldn't be getting a lot of privacy anytime in the near future, so the allowance of this slight bit of intimacy made my heart soar.
"I'd like to propose a toast," Abraham took the stand, raising his glass in the process. "I look around this room and I see survivors. Each and every one of you has earned that title. To the survivors."
A disorganized hook of cheers echoed in the room as everyone raised their glasses. I chose not to take another sip of the wine though. Surely a headache would be hitting me heavily in the early parts of the morning.
"Is that all you wanna be?" Abraham muttered, swallowing his serving. "Wake up in the mornin', fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse and repeat? 'Cause you can do that. I mean, you got the strength. You got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do? Well, that's just surrender. Now, we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the dead die and the living will have this world again, and that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip." He made a point to look at all of us with a pointed expression. Surprisingly calm all things considered. "Eugene, what's in DC?" Abraham requests.
“Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude. That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart." Eugene piped off.
"However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started. Come with us. Save the world for that little one." He nodded down to Judith. “Save it for yourselves. Save it for the people you love. Save it for the people out there who don't got nothin' left to do except survive."
As if responding in perfect timing, baby Jude began cooing loudly, causing everyone in the room to laugh just a little bit.
"What was that?" Rick asked, scrunching his nose up at his daughter. “I think she knows what I'm about to say. She's in. If she's in, I'm in. We're in."
Hope flared bright within me, and I figured that even if Eugene didn’t have the cure we were all hoping for, at least we’d all be together at the end of it all. There wasn’t much more I could ask for than this very moment. Well, aside from Daryl to sit back down and not start meandering away.
Inevitably, the impulse to follow him took hold of me, and without a single question about where he was headed, I found myself on my feet and trailing behind him. The destination didn’t matter much to me; it was enough for me to be near him, absorbing the steady rhythm of his movements. And he didn't seem to be bothered by the sound of my echoing footsteps anyhow.
We walked for what felt like an eternity—five minutes, maybe—until we reached a dense thicket where the tree line began to taper off. Daryl raised a hand, a quiet signal for me to stop. I peered through the branches, curiosity piqued, and my gaze landed on Carol, who was slamming the hood of a weathered old car.
Then, as if she already saw us, she paused, her eyes scanning our hiding spot. Daryl's shoulders shifted slightly, and with a nod, he gave me the green light to step out from the cover of the trees.
“What are you doin’?” Daryl asked her straight from the jump.
Her eyes flickered between the two of us as she let out a small sigh of defeat. “I don't know.”
“Come on,” Daryl nodded his head back to the woods where we came from.
I didn't have time to wonder how he knew she’d be out here, or why she’d been ready to get into a car in the first place, because just as we turned to leave, the unmistakable sound of wheels on pavement filled the otherwise quiet surroundings.
The three of us moved in unison, dropping behind the idling car as we waited for the approaching vehicle to pass. Once the engine’s roar retreated, Daryl wasted no time bolting to the intersection. I knew what he was doing—but I didn't expect him to come rushing back and start shattering the brake lights. I shared a confused look with Carol, who’d just finished moving away from the trunk of the car.
“They got Beth,” Daryl said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
That’s all we needed to hear before we joined him inside.
.show me the places where the others gave you scars.
Notes:
Caryl is my fav friendship, and Carol is my fav girl, but baby, she was off her ROCKER for a few seasons okurrr~ nobody was an exception, and I just know that she’d low-key give Daryl shit ab Libby (but fear not, bc Libby becomes her baby angel soon)
Also, I have S5 fully fleshed out, so I’m excited to write it! The next few seasons are action packed, so it should be pretty fun!!!
Chapter 45: not just a statistic
Summary:
“Forty-three,” I said, noting that passage of time since his birthday. “You would’ve just turned forty-three.”
Daryl looked at me again, still flustered. “Yeah, guess so,” he said slowly. “Ain’t no different than forty-two, I don’t think.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.daryl, you talk of the pain like it’s all alright.
For some reason it hadn’t crossed my mind that Daryl hadn’t already told Carol about how he and Beth got out — he’d recounted the story to me in detail while we were out looking for my things, and I just assumed he would’ve told his best friend first. Instead, I listened from the backseat of the musty car as he gave a brief overview to her now.
I shifted uncomfortably, my long legs cramped in the tight space. It was strange, hearing Daryl recount the story of how he and Beth had escaped, almost detached in the way he relayed the events to Carol. I’d heard the full version, with all the gritty details, told in that rough-around-the-edges way Daryl had when he felt like opening up. But now, his words were clipped, the emotion stripped away, as though he was trying to keep some part of it for himself.
I leaned my head against the dirty window, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the stale air in the car. The world outside was pitch black, the headlights off to avoid detection. I couldn’t help but feel the weight of how unprepared we were. Two bows, some knives, probably a pistol or two, and the sketchy hope that we‘d actually find Beth—it wasn’t exactly a solid plan.
We’d only just settled into the church, finally able to take a breath, and now here we were, once again. It seemed like my life lately had been a series of one impromptu trip after another, always chasing something—or someone.
My gaze flicked to the back of Daryl’s head, the set of his shoulders rigid as he drove. Finding Beth meant something more to him than just a generic good deed, a lot of his emotions were at stake, which I had to admit, made me nervous. I’d only witnessed Daryl crash out once, and that was after Sophia staggered from Hershel’s barn.
“Rick's gonna wonder where we went,” Daryl said abruptly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Tank's runnin' low.”
“We can end this quick. Just run him off the road.” Carol suggested.
Daryl’s head turned toward her briefly before he replied. “Nah, we're good for a bit.”
“If they're holding her somewhere, we can get it out of the driver,” she tried again, making her intentions clear.
I furrowed my brow, leaning my body between the two front seats. “Or he could just decide not to tell us, then we’re up shit creek with a hostage and no paddle.”
“Right now we got the advantage,” Daryl agreed. “We'll see who they are. If they're a group, see what they can do. And then we'll do what we gotta do to get her back.” Part of me wondered if there was anything he wouldn’t do to get Beth back during this trip, or if this was just a scouting mission. I supposed neither would likely be the answer. All just spur of the moment.
“They're heading north, I-85,” Carol commented after a beat of silence.
“What the hell?” I wondered out loud. “That’s downtown Atlanta. Last time we were there it was overrun. What kind of business would anyone have in that shithole?”
The thought of the city sent a cold ripple through me. I shifted back in my seat, the rough fabric scraping my elbow as memories from a different version of me began to surface. The first time I saw the city was through the scratched passenger window of my uncle’s pickup truck. I was fourteen, fresh off a plane from the dumps of Virginia, still raw from leaving the hellhole I grew up in. The skyline had loomed like a jagged pinnacle on the horizon, glittering in the afternoon sun. To me, it had felt enormous, a place that could swallow me whole. At the time, I thought I’d never belong in a city like that.
Years later, Atlanta had become mine in ways fourteen-year-old me couldn't have fathomed. I’d spent countless nights under those city lights. The strip club had been a means to an end—a way to chip away at college debt, and keep some semblance of independence where I didn't need to rely fully on my aunt and uncle. It wasn’t always glamorous, but I worshiped the whole of it all. I thrived under the lights and loud music, soaking up the attention like it was the air I breathed. Commanding a room with nothing but a coquettish smile and the curve of my hips felt like power—pure and intoxicating. I’d flaunt myself unapologetically, a kaleidoscope of confidence wrapped in glitter, and I enjoyed every single second of it. The girl I was back then—strutting in heels that turned heads, fearless and free—felt like a far cry from the one sitting in this car now.
That life hadn’t just been stripped away when the world fell apart; it had been ripped from my fingertips, leaving a raw emptiness in its place. There were some nights when I missed it so much I could almost hear the bass thumping in my chest, feel the stage lights warming my perfumed skin. It wasn’t the job or the money I mourned—it was the version of myself who got to thrive.
But that girl couldn’t exist in this new world, where silence and shadows kept you breathing. She didn’t belong here, and sometimes I thought that I didn’t either.
Still, no matter how much I missed it, as the road signs began to hint at the edges of the city, I couldn’t stop the feeling of unease sneaking in. Atlanta was a lot more dangerous now; it was a graveyard. The streets I used to walk, the landmarks I could navigate blindfolded—all of it was rotting, crawling with walkers.
_____________
It took us about half an hour to get to the bypass (that they chose not to take), confirming my Atlanta suspicions. We came to a silent halt as Daryl flipped the engine off, waiting to see who stepped out of the driver’s side.
The answer was no one. Instead, someone flung open the passenger side door. “Is that a cop?” he asked, leaning forward.
In response to his question, Carol pulled out a gun—not exactly a great answer, but it was good to know that we were armed with at least one pistol. “They might've seen us,” Carol defended her actions when Daryl gave her a look of question.
Carol kept the pistol on her lap, her expression hard, but there was a weird tension between her and Daryl that I wasn't familiar with. The driver of the car ahead of us remained inside, while the passenger continued to move bodies around on the side of the road. I could feel Daryl’s frustration building as he narrowed his eyes, his lips pressing into a tight line.
The stillness stretched on, broken only by the slam of a walker hand against Carol’s window. My fingers tapped anxiously against my knee as I watched it bump into our car continuously, and Daryl shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable by the attention it was drawing to us.
When the man finally slid back into the vehicle ahead, Daryl fiddled with the ignition just long enough for it to sputter. “Aw, shit. Tank’s tapped,” he muttered, more to himself than to us, his voice low.
“They'd have taken the bypass and they didn't. They‘re probably holed up in the city somewhere.” I pointed out, hoping to provide him with some sort of relief considering we were a hop, skip, and a jump away from downtown Atlanta.
He didn't respond, but cursed at the walker that was still bumping into the car. “We gotta move, find someplace to hole up till sunlight.”
“I know a place just a couple of blocks from here. We can make it.” Carol said, somehow unbothered by our current situation—that being about five more walkers heading our way through the dark.
The place was temporary housing.
A girl I used to work with, Summer, had me drop her off here a couple of times when she was going through a rough patch with her boyfriend. Back then, this place represented hope—somewhere to start over when everything else fell apart. I’d done some of my clinicals here too. Walking the halls, listening to the stories of kids who had seen far too much for their age, had left an impression on me. They were resilient, despite everything stacked against them. I used to think if I could give just one kid a better chance at life, maybe I could make sense of my own shitty upbringing.
Until I was nearly twenty, I had no idea places like this even existed. I used to wish my mom had brought my sisters and me to a place like this during our rough patches, but maybe she thought shielding us from this reality would keep us from becoming just another statistic.
Stepping inside now, I was hit by a wave of nostalgia. It was surprisingly untouched, and my heart ached for the one body we did find when we entered the place. All of this was beginning to feel a little too close to home—a life I’d forgot existed.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that it was the three of us—Carol, Daryl, and me—hiding out here together. All victims of abuse in our own ways, now standing in a place that once promised sanctuary for people like us. I glanced at Carol, her face unreadable, and wondered what this place meant to her. Daryl stayed near the doorway, his body tense, eyes sharp as he studied a book on the side table, but I couldn't make out what it said. It struck me how far we’d come to survive, and how much of us was still caught in the same cycles of hurt and survival.
“I'll take the top bunk. I think that one's more your style,” Carol said, before her eyes drifted to mine. “Bigger too.” I couldn't fight back the flush that crept up my neck. “You two should sleep. I'll take first watch.”
Daryl was busy shedding his jacket, vest, and outer shirt, while I only kicked off my tennis shoes and slid smoothly under the blanket. It had been weeks since I slept in an actual bed, so this was a real treat. “This is locked up pretty tight,” he said, finally sitting down next to where my head rested.
“I know.” Carol replied.
He ran his hand over his face, but my drowsiness was making my eyes heavy. Sleep sounded absolutely delightful.
“Then we're good, then.” I heard Daryl say, shifting further back. He was close enough that the scent of cigarette smoke and sweat grazed my pillow, and I felt a little disgusting for enjoying it.
“I'll keep first watch. I don't mind.” Carol insisted, her tone firmer this time.
Daryl sighed. “Suit yourself.”
I rolled onto my side, getting more comfortable, and internally thanking Carol for ‘allowing’ us to share a bed. It sounded silly, but I know her, and I also know that if something hadn’t shifted inside of her, she would’ve volunteered to sleep with me instead. But clearly something had changed on how she felt about Daryl and I, and whatever it was, I was grateful.
“You said we get to start over,” Carol’s voice broke through the temporary silence.
“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled.
“Did you?” she asked.
“I'm tryin',” he responded, twisting his head to look at me, but judging by the scarlet flush on his cheeks, and how he snapped his head back forward, I don’t think he intended for me to still have my eyes open. Especially not with how silent I was being. He cleared his throat, shifting a little. “Why don't you say what's really on your mind?”
“I don't think we get to save people anymore,” she admitted.
“Then why are you here?”
I didn’t hear her response as I drifted off to sleep, exhaustion pulling me under like a heavy tide. But my mind lingered on her words, even as sleep crept in, weighing down my eyelids.
_____________
The sun wasn’t up when I felt the spot next to me begin to shift, and out of instinct I twisted my fingers tightly into the fabric they were clinging onto. Slowly, my eyes peeled open, reminding me where I was and who I was holding—which only made me clench my hand tighter, tugging Daryl’s shirt, trying to get him to lay back down. I knew there was plenty we needed to do today, but that could wait at least until the sun rose.
“Dar,” I whispered, releasing his shirt and opting to push up and get a hand on his shoulder. “Lay with me.”
He hesitated, but ultimately relaxed back against the worn-in pillow that likely belonged to many heads before his. I tucked myself under his arm, forcing our proximity while I had the opportunity. In the next hour, Carol would be awake and we would be off in the city searching for Beth.
“Did you sleep good?” It was such a casual, first-world question, but I genuinely wanted to know if he’d gotten even a wink. He overthought things a lot, and tended to miss out on hours of sleep for as long as I’ve known him.
His chest rumbled, as he hummed in response. “You?”
“I wish I could sleep like that every night,” for more reasons than just the mattress.
Sleeping next to him, wrapped in blankets and the warmth of his arm curled protectively around me, felt like floating through a dream spun from starlight. The way his legs tangled with mine, our thighs fitting together as though the universe had sculpted them to align, grounded me like something I’d never felt before. And in the gentle hush of it all, a thought drifted to the surface, soft and undeniable: I loved him.
If the world was a kinder place—or if we had a more permanent dwelling, I’d tell him that. I wanted him to know how deep my feelings for him ran. There were few things I was excellent at, but I believed myself to be more than exceptional with my words, and I wanted to weave him pretty ones that made him wonder how long I’d been thinking them.
What a beautiful feeling this was.
I wish I could’ve lived in it for the rest of my life.
“Y’ever been to one’a these?” Daryl asked, his voice barely above a whisper, just cutting through the quiet around us.
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing as I tilted my head to catch a glimpse of his expression. It was unreadable, hidden behind a mask of contemplation. Snuggling deeper into his chest for comfort, I replied softly, “Sort of. I didn’t step foot in one until college. I did my clinicals at some temporary housing facilities. For a lot of those kids, it was the only opportunity they had to get any sort of psychological treatment.” My voice trailed off, a tightness forming in my gut as the weight of those memories passed over me.
“You think that shit worked for’em?”
Absentmindedly, I traced my fingers along the fabric of his shirt, fighting back the urge to ask him why he was curious. The answer was obvious to me. “The earlier they’re able to see someone the better. Psychology works, but it’s different for everyone.”
There was a brief silence as I sensed him pondering his next question. He brought one hand to his mouth—a nervous habit of his. “You did it?”
“Therapy?”
He nodded, a soft hum escaping his lips.
“Oh yeah,” I said with a scoff. “My uncle had me in it from the minute I moved in. There was a lot to unpack, but I -- I think it did me more good than I’ve ever given it credit for. I mean,” I pressed my hand firmly against his chest, pushing myself up to look at him. “It’s why I chose to pursue a career in it. I fully believe that victims of child abuse should be prioritized in order to steer clear of just becoming another statistic.”
As the words hung in the air, I noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor; his lips curved downward, and he turned his gaze away, struggling with my frankness. I was keenly aware of the fragile topic, more so than most, so I didn’t want to accidentally force him to clam up when he was revealing so much unintentionally.
“Dar,” his name on my lips tasted sweet, even with the bitter topic. “Being a statistic isn’t your fault. It’s a shitty position that --“ I paused, taking a deep breath. “Most child abuse cases start before the kid ever remembers. It’s -- it’s embedded in their core before memories are even being developed.”
“I think I was around four the first time I can remember being physically abused,” I admitted, swallowing thickly. “But it probably all began way before that—infant neglect, is what we call it. They neglected to change your diaper, or they neglected to give you a bath.”
“Being a statistic isn’t on you, Dar. It never was.”
He was still gnawing on the edge of his thumb, but he’d managed to finally meet my gaze at some point while I was talking. “You ain’t one,” he pointed out.
My mouth twitched at this point. “I got lucky. Most kids in my situation aren’t.”
Daryl averted his eyes, focusing on anything besides me. “Yeah,” he murmured, a hint of resignation in his voice.
“Hey,” I said softly, gently cupping his cheek with my hand to draw his focus back to me. “You’re not just a statistic anymore.”
His thumb slipped from his mouth, and he resorted to biting his bottom lip instead, nodding slowly. I wasn’t sure if he understood what I meant, if he wanted to end the conversation, or maybe a mix of both. It felt safer to change the subject. Daryl rarely opened up like this, and I didn’t want to force him further out of his comfort zone than he was willing to go.
My own words echoed in my mind: Being a statistic isn’t your fault. I meant it—with every fiber of my being—I meant it. But now, as I settled back to lay against him, my thoughts began to spiral. I began to slowly replay his reactions, the slight twitch of his jaw, the way he gnawed on his thumb like it was the only thing tethering him to the conversation. Daryl didn’t talk about his past often—it came in bits and pieces, like he wasn’t sure how much he could let slip without crumbling. But tonight, he’d given me a glimpse, a tiny crack in the armor he wore so tightly.
I knew enough about his upbringing to fill in the blanks, though he never painted the full picture. Daryl wasn’t the type to hand over his pain willingly; he held it close, like a dog guarding an old wound, afraid to let anyone see how deep it really went. How old had he been, I wondered, the first time someone raised a hand to him? Four? Younger? The thought made my stomach churn with disgust.
I knew better than most what abuse could do to a person. It didn’t just leave marks on your body; it seeped into your mind until it felt like there was nothing left of the person you could have been. Daryl had survived it though. Somehow, he’d clawed his way through all that and come out the other side still willing to care for people, even if he didn’t always know how to show it. Hell, it why we were where we were right now; he had good morals and valued the people he cared about.
He wasn't a statistic.
My heart swelled as I thought about how he’d trusted me, even if he didn’t realize it himself. Trust wasn’t something Daryl gave easily, but he’d let me in—just a little—and that felt monumental in a way I couldn’t quite find the words for.
A muffled thudding from down the hallway pulled me from my thoughts, the noise cutting through the otherwise quietness. I shifted, lifting my head slighty from his chest and turning to the sound. “Shit,” Daryl mumbled, rising up.
“What is it?” I asked, moving to a sitting position.
His feet swung off the bed as he began working on getting his boots on. “Couple walkers. One of’em’s a kid. M’gonna go take care of’em before Carol gets up.”
“Okay,” I replied, following his motions to get my own shoes on.
“Hey, you ain’t helpin’,” he interrupted my movements. “I got it. Just try’n get some more sleep, Libs.”
“I’m coming,” I argued, standing to stretch, not minding the grumbling he did under his breath.
Down the hall, I managed to quickly figure out why he didn't want me joining; I stood my ground though, holding back the tears that threatened to fall as I plunged my knife into the walkers skull. She couldn't have been more than eight years old.
Fuck this world.
Sighing, I bent to pick her emaciated body up, quickly explaining that we should burn them instead of leaving them here.
I weaved my way through the hallways of the used-to-be women's housing until Daryl pushed open the fire exit to the roof and led me out. It was bright and sunny, but the remanents of winter still blew through with a chilly breeze, just enough to make me shiver.
“Here,” Daryl said, laying the body down and shrugging off his jacket and vest combination, before handing me the thick coat that had become a second skin to him in the winter.
He pushed it my way, leaving me no room to argue as he slid his vest back over his shoulders and immediately got to work on preparing a fire. “Thanks,” I responded, slightly embarrassed by my lack of sleeves. “It was a lot warmer yesterday.”
“Ya look good,” he noted, glancing up at me. “It’ll be burnin’ up ‘fore ya know it.”
I blinked. Compliments were a rarity from him, and I’d gotten used to only hearing the honeyed words whenever he was eight inches deep inside of me. Having him give me one so casually, and him being seemingly unbothered by it, caused my cheeks to transform into a scarlet maroon color and my breathing to hitch just a tad. “Summer can’t get here fast enough,” I said. “I feel like this winter has drug on forever.”
“S’probably March or April by now,” he said, stepping back as the flames grew higher. He peaked over at me, drawing his eyes up my form.
He looked away with a flush when he realized I was watching him watch me.
“Forty-three,” I said, noting that passage of time since his birthday. “You would’ve just turned forty-three.”
Daryl looked at me again, still flustered. “Yeah, guess so,” he said slowly. “Ain’t no different than forty-two, I don’t think.”
“Mmm.” I hummed. “Any different than forty-one?”
He shook his head in response. I was tempted to tease him about his age, but he seemed to become standoffish with the way the conversation was going. With an added carefulness, he bent down and picked up the little girl’s body, placing her gently onto the flames. Then to my surprise he replied. “Got longer hair.”
“Yeah,” my lips quirked into a small smile. “A little more scruff around your chin too.”
The two of us continued to watch the fire burn up the body in a brief stint of silence. It was bizarre to know what was burning underneath the smoke and flames, and even more bizarre when I noted that it looked beautiful. “Twenty-seven feel any different than twenty-six?”
“Nope. But it feels a hell of a lot different than twenty-five. The walking dead and barely surviving might have something to do with that though.”
After sneaking a cigarette from his back pocket and lighting it up, Daryl offered me a puff (of which I denied). “You think that’ll ever be different?” he asked as he inhaled the nicotine.
I shrugged my shoulders half-heartedly. “If what Eugene says is true, then maybe one day,” I began. “But I’m not gonna hold my breath. Jenner was probably right about this being our extinction event. I just want to try surviving until I’m old and grey.”
“Old and grey,” Daryl echoed. “You got a while til then, girl.”
“Maybe.”
Stress was supposed to age you at an alarming rate; that’s why there was such a weird phenomena with Presidents seemingly aging quicker once they take office. The stress gets to them and before they know it, they’re prematurely greying and have a plethora of new wrinkles at the end of their term. There was something telling me that fighting undead corpses was a little more stressful than running a country though.
I couldn’t testify whether that part was true, but it was a pretty strong inkling. So maybe I’d have a full set of greys and wrinkles to match by the time I turned thirty. It’d been a while since I looked in the mirror, so I technically couldn’t write off not having any currently.
Ugh.
Aging didn’t scare me -- I was actually looking forward to getting older for a couple of reasons. One being the higher likelihood of the man next to me becoming more comfortable with a more mature number. The second being the honor of living. So many others didn’t get to age anymore; it was a blessing to see another birthday.
“Do you have a certain age you want to reach?” I asked, biting my lip at the peculiar question.
“A certain age?” he drew. “I don’t know, girl. I guess til I can’t keep up anymore.”
“Daryl. You can’t live forever.”
An amused smile emerged. He scoffed as he threw down his cigarette, stomping it out with his boot and turning toward me. “I don’t know, Libs. M’gonna keep surviving cause that’s the only thing I ever knew how to do. If somethin’ happens one day, somethin’ happens,” he said, a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes. “But I ain’t tryna get one foot in the grave yet. If that prick really does got a cure, then maybe I won’t have to worry about the undead part’a survivin’ for much longer though.”
“You won’t have to worry about surviving at all.”
He paused, sparing me a brief look of -- of an expression I couldn’t quite read, before he turned to start wrapping the body of the woman. “Dar, I’m serious,” I followed behind him. “If this ever ends, we’re gonna be able to start over again.”
“You will; you ain’t got no blood on your hands, girl.”
I furrowed my brows, taking a firm hold on his shoulder and stepping in front of him. “We get to start over. We both get to start over,” I repeated sternly. He was so quick to write off his importance and goodness, not once considering how cherished he truly was. The clanging of metal drew my attention from Daryl to the door being pushed open, revealing Carol.
_____________
“We should fill up,” Carol said, unscrewing the cap to the only water canister we had on us.
Daryl nodded. “All right.”
After watching the fire burn for a little longer on the rooftop, the three of us made a break for a taller building, one where we could hopefully get a better view of the city and an idea of where to start searching at. We were currently on the eighteenth story of a high rise business tower, getting ready to go follow a lead on a van with the same white crosses on the back of it as the car that took Beth.
I heard Daryl snickering on the opposite side of the room, staring at an art piece hanging above a cherry wood desk. “What?”
“I bet this cost some rich prick a lot of money,” he tipped his chin up at it. “Looks like a dog sat in paint, n’ wiped its ass all over the place.”
“Really?” Carol asked, passing him the canteen. “I kinda like it.”
Daryl scoffed out a laugh. “Stop.”
“I'm serious. You don't know me,” she shot back, tightening the rifle around her shoulder and dipping out the room.
“Yep, you keep tellin' yourself that.”
I followed Daryl out, grabbing up a marble from the desk on my way and rolling it in my palm. We trekked the eighteen stories down, stopping on the second floor to head across the sky bridge again.
Daryl peeked back at me every two flights, a look of light reassurance on his features— a confirmation that I was still four feet behind him at all times. I let myself indulge in the sweetness of it, because to know him, is to know that him keeping an eye on you was a form of affection and adoration.
“C’mon,” he called, ushering me ahead of him as Carol began sliding between the chained doors to the sky bridge.
I shrugged my bow off, and made to slide the marble into my pocket but dropped it instead. It rolled across the floor, clinking against the wall. “Go, I’m right behind you,” I said, urging him to go so I could chase after my new little treasure.
“Pfft,” he puffed, shoving his crossbow through the gap in the door and disappearing.
I crouched down to grab the marble, but it slipped away again, rolling further across the floor. A quiet laugh bubbled up in my chest as I scrambled after it, feeling ridiculous but unwilling to let it go. The small, glassy sphere glinted, catching my attention in a way that made no sense but felt oddly satisfying. It was silly, really—childish—but it wasn’t hurting anything. In a world where everything was life and death, sometimes it felt good to chase something trivial, something harmless, just because I could.
The marble danced away again, bumping softly against a pillar before finally coming to rest. I scooped it up triumphantly, rolling it back and forth in my palm with a small grin. It was smooth, cold, and oddly grounding. For just a moment, I allowed myself to savor it, the quiet absurdity of chasing after something so pointless.
But the crack of a gunshot shattered the simple moment, ripping through the silence like a thunderclap. My head snapped up, the marble getting tucked away in my pocket.The noise had come from outside the door Daryl had disappeared through. “Dar!” I shouted, coming to a halt outside the doors, immediately pushing my bow through the crack. “Dixon, are y’all good?”
As I came through the opening, an arm heaved me up. “Y’alright?” Daryl asked, as though I’d been the victim of the gunshot.
“Where were you?” Carol snapped, her voice cold. “We were ambushed and could've used a third-person. Where were you Liberty?”
My cheeks heated; I turned to her. “I -- ambushed?” My eyes scanned the area. “I dropped my marble, and I --”
“We needed you,” she cut in, relentless. “You need to grow up; we don’t have weapons now. You could’ve stepped in and done something, but you were too busy --“
“Hey,” Daryl interjected, placing a hand on her shoulder and easing her back. “It wutn’t her fault.”
My stomach knotted at the way she looked from Daryl to me, before she spun on her heel and marched off down the sky bridge. Shame curled itself beneath my skin. I never understood the sudden turn Carol had against me after I’d gotten angry at Daryl back when he went off with Merle. Ever since then, she’d looked at me different—held me to a different standard, and it didn’t make any sense. I thought after last night, after she suggested Daryl and I share a bed, that something had changed, but apparently that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Daryl nudged me along, treading alongside me as we caught up to Carol. I still wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but I took quick note of the lack of rifle and crossbow. “Three bullets,” she said, frustration rushing her voice. “We're in the middle of a city. He was stealing our weapons.Did you think I was gonna kill him?”
I knew what this was now. Or, at least, I thought I knew. She was pleading her case. I’d never pegged her as a desperate woman, but it was evident right then. Carol was begging Daryl for some kind of approval.
“I was aiming for his leg,” she continued. “Could that have killed him? Maybe, I don't know. But he was stealing our weapons.”
“He's a damn kid,” Daryl growled as we passed her, his own frustration building.
We stopped in front of a locked door and I began fishing for my knife to help pry the door open. I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire of their words. I’d sensed something was off when we first got in the car the night before, but now it was plain as day.
“Without weapons we could die. Beth could die,” Carol said, the desperation still in her undertone.
“We'll find more weapons,” Daryl grumbled, standing behind me as I crammed the knife into the crack of the door.
“I don't want you two to die. I don't want Beth to die. I don't want anybody at the church to die, but I can't stand around and watch it happen either. I can't,” Carol was still going on. “That's why I left. I just had to be somewhere else.”
“Well, you ain't somewhere else; you're right here!” Daryl snapped, apparently fed up with her moaning. I felt like I was in the middle of a lovers quarrel. “Tryin'.”
“Look, you're not who you were and neither am I,” she exhaled a heavy breath as the door finally popped open. “I don't know if I believe in God anymore or heaven, but if I'm going to hell, I'm making damn sure I'm holding it off as long as I can.”
When she bent to snatch up the bags Daryl had sat down, the flap of the crossbody tipped, spilling the contents all over the floor. My breath hitched as I read the title of the book that was now sprawled across the floor. *’Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse’*, it was a treatment text book; one that we gave to victims to help work through their problems whenever we weren’t there.
It all made sense now. The questions, and his sudden openness. He kept repeating the same thing: *trying*, and I this was plain evidence of the truth behind that.
Fuck.
_____________
The air was stale, carrying a faint, metallic tang that seemed to settle deep in my throat. We walked in silence through the remains of the city, every step echoing faintly off the cracked pavement and decaying buildings around us. Ahead, the van Daryl had spotted earlier loomed like some grim beacon in the distance. With only a bow slung over my shoulder and a handgun tucked in Carol’s waistband, I felt that we were woefully underprepared for whatever lay ahead.
My thoughts swirled as we moved. Carol’s biting words from earlier still clung to me, gnawing at the edges of my confidence. I couldn’t help but wonder why exactly I’d become her punching bag. She was colder now, quicker to judge and even quicker to dismiss. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve some of it—I wasn’t perfect—but it felt like she was holding me accountable for something I couldn’t even place. Was it disappointment? Distrust? Whatever it was, it stung more than I wanted to admit.
And then there was Daryl. The book. God, that fucking book. My stomach twisted every time I thought about it, the words on its cover burned into my mind. There was a fragile sort of trust in the way he’d let me glimpse even a fraction of his pain, and it left me both humbled and heartbroken after seeing that book.
He was trying.
The crunch of broken glass under my shoe brought me back to the present. We were close to the van now, its rusting frame leaning precariously at the edge of the overpass. I adjusted my grip on the bow, forcing my focus back to the task at hand. But even as I scanned the shadows for movement, my mind lingered on the weight of everything unspoken. Carol’s resentment. Daryl’s pain. My own insecurities. The van was right there, but all I could feel was the shit storm brewing between the three of us.
“All right, let's get this done,” Daryl announced, yanking open the backdoors of the van.
I studied the van and its delicate position. My eyes then flickered to Daryl before I swatted his hand away from the rusty vehicle. “It's not stable,” I pointed out, hoping he understood why I climbed in the back of it instead.
He grunted, ready to protest, but I heard Carol speaking to him. “She’s lighter.”
Apparently though, that wasn't a good enough excuse because he just followed me inside like the caveman he was anyways. Part of me was ready to turn around and snap at him, but I was more focused on finding what we needed so I could get out of the floating death trap. And to make things worse—as if I was the only one aware that this motherfucker was teetering on the edge of a twenty-foot drop—Carol climbed right on in too.
“There's more coming,” I heard her say from somewhere behind me as I dug through the side door. “We're gonna have to fight through.”
“Yeah,” Daryl grunted, snatching open the glovebox. “I see 'em.”
I rifled through the papers faster, glancing up just quick enough to see a dozen walkers heading our way. My fingers brushed over a stained map, the ink faded, but it wasn’t useful—just a crude outline of the city’s streets that wouldn’t help us anymore. I shoved it aside, feeling the van shift slightly under our weight. My heart thudded with every tiny groan of metal as I pushed deeper. Among the junk, I found an old notepad with scribbles and a half-empty packet of gum. Nothing useful.
A corner of something laminated caught my eye though, peeking out from the floorboard. I grabbed it, revealing what looked like a hospital ID badge. The name and photo were smeared with water stains beyond recognition, but the logo at the top was still intact—Grady Memorial. My fingers tightened around the badge as I turned toward Daryl. Before I could say anything, Carol’s voice cut through the van.
“We have to go!”
I slid from the drivers seat, followed by Daryl who was still rummaging through things. I turned back once my feet hit the pavement to see him flip a gurney over. “GMH, what's that? A hospital?” he asked, his face scrunching up.
“I don't know. Grady Memorial, maybe—“
“I found an ID badge, it’s Grady,” I cut her off, flashing the badge that was tucked neatly in the sleeve of Daryl’s jacket.
The walkers were on us before we could make a half decent plan. Carol fired off her first shot, the crack of the pistol reverberating through the street as the nearest one dropped. I spun, nocking an arrow and releasing it into the skull of another corpse. The sickening crunch of Daryl’s knife burying into one of their heads echoed behind me. There were too many, and with every one we dropped, three more seemed to stagger forward.
Carol stepped back toward the van as she aimed at the next corpse. She squeezed the trigger, the shot ringing out and landing true.I fired another arrow, but the rest of the horde was closing in fast. My hands fumbled for another as Daryl gripped my shoulder, spinning me back toward the van.
Despite my better judgement, I piled inside, followed by Carol, and then Daryl. “Anything we can use?” Carol asked frantically.
“Nothin' but what we got,” Daryl replied.
My breathing heavy and deep and anything but fucking steady. We were so fucked. “Son of a bitch!” I cursed, slamming my hand into the steering wheel.
“All right, hey, buckle up,” Daryl urged, his hands gripping the back of the drivers seat.
“Uh-uh, not without you,” my eyes were shut at this point, but I still argued with him. I wasn’t scared of heights or dying, but I was scared of losing him or Carol.
The clicking of the seat belt next to me indicated to me, that Carol followed Daryl’s orders to a ‘t’, but then again, she had a tendency to be less dramatic and worried in silence. My shoulder was jerked back abruptly as the van rocked to the sound of groans outside. I didn’t fight against the way he held me in place as he forced my seatbelt on, but that didn’t stop the tears from coming.
This was it. This was death. It was currently outside, beating on the van, forcing us off the overpass. It was licking my skin as the creaking hunk of metal plummeted to the bottom. It was the airbag, squeezing from the steering wheel and punching me in the face with force.
There was nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. The world felt still, like everything had slowed down after the fall. My head throbbed where the airbag had slammed into me, and I could feel the burn of tears streaking down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat and grime. I was alive.
I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes right away. My chest heaved as I tried to force the panic out, but it clung to me like the stench of the dead outside. The van creaked and groaned beneath us, the final echo of its violent descent. My hands trembled where they gripped the steering wheel, the imprint of my nails dug into my palms like they were still bracing for impact.
We weren’t dead.
That thought should’ve felt like a victory, but all I could think about was the sound of the walkers above, the ones that had pushed us to this moment. I couldn’t stop hearing their groans, couldn’t stop picturing the way the van had tilted on the edge before plunging. My stomach churned, and bile threatened to rise in my throat. It wasn’t relief I felt—it was disbelief.
Carol’s voice broke through the haze. “We’re okay,” she rasped, before repeating herself.
“Y’all good?” Daryl asked, his hand brushing my upper arm. I nodded shakily, not trusting my voice, and finally cracked my eyes open. The van’s shattered windshield framed the city skyline ahead, twisted and gray. Death was all around us, but it hadn’t caught up with us yet.
.but i know that you feel like a piece of you’s dead inside.
Notes:
omg. so… i apologize for next chapter…and a few after that…so here’s some fluff and sweet #Liryl.
and also, Matilda by Harry Styles is SUCH a vibe for this chapter.
Chapter 46: ya call that peachy
Summary:
“I told you, I’m fine,” I snapped, but the softness in his expression—buried under layers of tension of course—threw me off.
“Libs,” he said, quieter now but no less firm. “Go.”
Notes:
the formatting of this chapter is a little weird, but I hope you pick up on the vibes in the beginning. i’m trying to open up the depth of which this is going to affect Libby.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.i’m not the only one who finds it hard to understand.
This five-foot-eight, one hundred and thirty-eight pounds, well-spoken, headstrong girl has no idea where to go from here. She is scared, and broken, and coming unglued in the worst ways a person can. There is little hope for her to survive in a world so bleak and broken anymore.
This twenty-seven-year-old girl with flames for hair was cursed from the time she was conceived in the womb. Her father sacrificed her innocence at the alter in her childhood bedroom for his own personal experience of pleasure. Girlhood was but a stranger to her in the simplest of aspects.
This girl with a particularly bewitching face and eyes that glittered like golden honey and Autumn leaves was doomed by the narrative. She had no purpose anymore. Nothing to be optimistic about. No positive words to sprinkle around to make the archer's lips twitch up. Motivation was a distant memory.
This girl -- this girl is me. This girl is everything. This girl feels it all so the other version of her—the outside version—can be hollow. This girl is in pain all of the time. This girl is me, Liberty, and I couldn't tell you how long I’d be ‘this girl’, or why I couldn't function line a normal person, but I can tell you when I became this way.
So maybe I should bring you up to speed, so that you can make sense of the rest of my story.
_____________
My chest ached with every breath, the seatbelt having done its job all too well. A dark bruise was already blooming across my ribs, and from the grimace on Carol’s face, I knew she couldn’t have been faring much better. We sat slumped in an alleyway, catching our breath while Daryl hovered nearby. He didn’t say much—he rarely did—but the way his eyes scanned us both, checking for injuries we might’ve downplayed, spoke louder than words ever could. He handed Carol a canteen first, then passed it to me, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than usual.
I took a slow sip, the cool water feeling like heaven. But my fingers were still shaking, and I hated it. Hated the weakness it produced, even though I knew it wasn’t really weakness—it was just survival. I glanced at Daryl, his jaw set, and felt a pang of gratitude I didn’t know how to express. He’d been the one to pull me back, to force the seatbelt on before the crash. Without him…maybe my dance with death would've finally taken off in that beautiful waltz.
When we finally moved, it was slow and deliberate, every step calculated. Daryl took the lead, of course, while Carol and I kept close behind. My bow was drawn, the string taut in my fingers, but my arms still trembled faintly from adrenaline. We skirted around the edges of buildings, weaving through the hollowed-out remains of Atlanta’s streets, taking down walkers only when we couldn’t avoid them.
Still, my mind wasn’t entirely on the mission. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being alive. The crash had been brutal—more brutal than anything I’d been through before (which was saying a lot). I’d faced walkers, starvation, even people trying to kill me, but this… this had been different. I’d felt the inevitability of death in those last moments, tasted it in the air as the van tipped over the edge. And yet, here I was. My heart was still beating, my lungs still pulling air. It felt surreal, like I was walking in a haze.
I kept glancing at Daryl as we moved, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way he scanned the area. He’d been through just as much as I had, and he carried it like a goddamn warrior. Carol, too, with her determination, kept moving forward despite the pain I knew she was feeling. We shouldn’t have survived that crash.
Grady loomed ahead of us now, a shadowed promise of answers—or maybe more danger. I couldn’t tell anymore. My ribs throbbed with each step, but I pressed on, my bow still in my hands, as we worked open the door of yet another building.
This one was located directly across from the hospital, giving us more than just a decent view—it was the perfect vantage point. My thoughts drifted to Beth. Was she really in there, or had we misread the signs? Maybe the van had just been stolen, and its logo was just a red herring.
I wanted to believe she was alive, that we weren’t risking everything for heartbreak and bad news. But if she was alive, what kind of hell was she going through? A part of me thought she was lucky to have missed Terminus. But I knew better. No one got off easy anymore. If she was at Grady or not, I couldn’t imagine her captors treating her with a lot of kindness.
Daryl’s movement caught my eye as he snatched up a crumpled grocery store bag from the floor. Without a word, he started handing out its contents—a handful of stale snacks that were probably long expired, but sustenance was sustenance. He leaned against the towering windows, staring out at the hospital as if his willpower could pull Beth into view. The sight of him like that—still, quiet, focused—zoned me in for a moment.
“You said we ain't like we was before?” Daryl’s voice broke the silence, and I focused in on what he was saying to Carol, curious about where he was going with this.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“How was I?”
Hot-headed. Temperamental. Always trying to kill someone. Cocky. “It's like you were a kid,” Carol answered. That was a much better and kinder description than I was rolling out. “Now you're a man. And you,” she wagged her finger in my direction, and I wondered why I was getting pulled into the conversation. “You put on an excellent show of confidence and bravery, but now, your true colors show that you’re neither of those. You're scared and unsure of yourself.”
I blinked, shock and confusion overwhelming me. I had a mind to snap at her and tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about, but thought better of it. I was confident—maybe not in the ways she’d interpreted me to initially be, but I was confident.
And bravery took the form of me leaving my uncle in the rearview mirror as I drove up the dirt road and away from the only home I ever really knew. Bravery was standing up to Shane whenever he continuously tried running over me at the quarry. Bravery was being stuck in a ravine with Daryl while he hallucinated. Bravery was readily sacrificing myself to draw walkers away from Hershel and Beth while we were just clearing the prison. Bravery was doing what I had to do when I had to do it, even if it was a little ignorant sometimes.
I’d never been mad at Carol before—not really. Frustrated, confused, hurt, but never mad. Not until now. Not until she embellished a semi-sweet simile for Daryl and resorted to insulting me.
My anger simmered beneath the surface, boiling silently. I wasn’t about to lash out—not now, not here. Instead, I buried it, letting the frustration fester while I resolved to ignore whatever else Carol had to say. It was petty, sure, but it kept me from sparking a full-blown argument while we were situated with little to no weapons should our voices attract anything.
I didn’t realize I wouldn’t have to worry about noise discipline for long. The sound of a door slamming broke through my resolve, pulling us away from our makeshift cozy corner. As if to prove a point, I shoved myself off the wall I’d been leaning against, snatching up my bow with a swift motion. The ache in my ribs from the crash hadn’t faded, but the edge of my anger made it easier to ignore.
Daryl was close behind me, Carol trailing not far behind him as we followed the muffled thuds echoing down the hallway. When we turned the corner, we found the source—a walker pinned to the wall, a familiar bolt lodged in its neck. “That yours?” Carol asked, stopping on my left.
“Yeah,” Daryl grunted, yanking the bolt free with a practiced motion before driving his machete into the walker’s skull.
As if on cue, the pop of gunfire rang out from further down the hallway, the sound ricocheting off the walls. My muscles tensed, but instinct overrode hesitation. Still simmering with anger toward Carol, I bolted toward the noise, my eyes locking on a figure up ahead—a teenager, no older than Beth, wrestling with a walker and clearly losing the fight.
In a desperate move, the kid spotted me and tossed the walker in my direction like a human shield before sprinting away. I ducked, but not fast enough to avoid a hard knock to my shoulder as the corpse collided with me—and then Carol.
The scene quickly devolved into some Scooby-Doo ass charades. Carol hit the ground, the walker piling on top of her. I scrambled to recover, but before I could, Daryl came barreling around the corner. He skidded to a halt, trying to assess the situation, but not before knocking into me, sending me crashing to my ass.
Adrenaline fueled my movements as I groaned, kipping myself up, snatching my bow from where it fell and taking off after the kid without looking back to check on Daryl or Carol. My ribs protested with every step, the ache from the crash earlier making itself known again, but I didn’t care. The kid was ahead of me, darting into an adjacent room. I skidded around the corner just in time to see him frantically tugging at a massive bookshelf.
He didn’t see me coming.
I dropped my bow with a thud and tackled him, slamming us both to the ground in a heap. The collision sent the bookshelf teetering, and before either of us could make a run for it, it toppled right on over, pinning him beneath its weight as I rolled away. The kid cried out, struggling to free himself, but he was wedged tight.
“What’s your problem?” I snapped, panting heavily as I scrambled to my knees. My pulse thundered in my ears as I glanced toward the door he’d been moving the bookcase from. It was cracked open, a walker scratching to get through the opening.
Daryl entered a few seconds later, his face twisted. “What the hell, Libs?” he barked, stepping over the mess and snatching up his retrieved weapon. “Y’alright?”
“I caught him,” I said, motioning toward the boy, who was still struggling under the weight of the shelf. “I didn’t have time to ask nicely though.”
The kid coughed, looking between us with wide, panicked eyes. “Plea-- please. I had to protect myself.” he stammered, his hands pushing weakly against the shelf.
“Why you followin' us?” Daryl growled, handing Carol back her gun.
“I-I didn't, I swear! I thought you followed me!”the boy choked out as Daryl stepped closer, retrieving a carton of Morley’s. “Come on, man. Plea-- please!”
Daryl lit a cigarette, taking a long, deliberate drag as he glanced down at the boy pinned under the shelf. “Nah, I already helped you once. It ain’t happenin’ again,” he muttered, smoke curling around his words. “Have fun with Hoss over there.”
I froze, staring at him in disbelief. After everything he’d said recently about second chances, about trying to do better, this wasn’t what I’d expected. My stomach wrenched as the boy’s frantic pleas filled the room.
“Dar,” I called, my voice edged with frustration as he turned toward the door, ignoring me altogether.
“Daryl,” Carol repeated, her tone sharper, almost panicked. Her eyes darted between the boy and Daryl. “Stop.”
He whirled around, anger flashing on his features. “You almost died ’cause of him!” he snapped, his voice rising as he threw his arm up dramatically, cigarette still between his lips.
“But I didn't,” Carol said, a long forgotten glimmer of hope in her voice.
His eyes flicked from Carol, to me, then to the boy, before he shook his head and walked out the door. “Nah, let him be.”
I bit down on my frustration and nocked an arrow, turning to face the walker now clawing its way through the door toward the kid. “Dammit, Dixon,” I muttered, releasing the arrow.
The walker jerked as the arrow lodged into its skull—right beside another one. My head snapped around just as Daryl reappeared, his crossbow already lowered.
Together, the three of us worked to lift the shelf off the kid. The moment it was clear, he wriggled free, gasping for breath before scrambling toward the window. “I gotta go,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “They’re gonna come. They probably heard the shot. If they find me—”
“Who?” I demanded, following him. “Who’s coming?”
“Them,” he blurted, turning to me with wide, terrified eyes. “The people at the hospital.”
“Wait, wait, wait, just tell us--“ Daryl grabbed his shoulder, his voice cracking with urgency. “Is there a blonde girl there? You see a blonde girl?”
The kid looked between all of us before focusing back on Daryl. “Beth?”
Daryl’s whole body tensed. “You know her?”
“She helped me get out,” the kid said quickly, his words spilling out in a rush. “But she’s still there.” He darted back to the window just as a car with white crosses on the back rolled into view. “They’re coming,” he hissed, backing away. “We gotta go now. The building next door—it’s got a basement, it’s clear. We’ll be safe.”
We didn't wait for more. The lot of us burst out of the room, our destination set. From behind, the kid grunted, smacking onto the floor hard. That bookshelf had left him with a pretty awful limp which was unfortunately becoming a set back. “Go, I got him,” Daryl said to Carol, who’d lagged back to help the boy.
I paused, my ribs aching as I struggled to catch my breath and wait for them to catch up. Carol passed by me, but when I turned to follow, I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw her body fly across pavement, the crunch of impact stopping my heart.
_____________
Noah, the kid that knew Beth, was quick on his feet. As we wove our way through the maze of the city, he explained what he knew about the hospital and the people inside. “It’s run by this group of cops,” he said, his voice hurried, as if the very walls of the city could hear him. “There’s a doctor too—just one. He patches people up, but that’s about all he does. The cops are the ones in charge. They bring in people who need help, but it’s not what it looks like. They’ll patch you up, but then you’re stuck. You owe them for it.”
I frowned, glancing at Daryl, who was listening intently as he walked just ahead of me. “What do you mean, stuck?” I asked. I already didn’t like where this was going.
“They call it paying off your debt,” Noah explained, his expression darkening. “But it’s not like you get a choice. You work for them, do what they say. If you don’t, they make things… difficult. They keep saying they’re doing it to save people, to keep things running, but it’s not right. They just use people.”
“They hurt ‘em?” Daryl asked sharply, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.
Noah nodded grimly. “Yeah. If you try to leave or fight back, they’ll hurt you. There’s this one guy, Gorman. He’s one of the worst. He—he doesn’t care about the rules. Does whatever he wants.” He swallowed hard, his gaze darting toward me like he wasn’t sure he should say more.
I clenched my fists. “And Beth? She’s in there with them?”
“Yeah,” Noah said quickly. “She’s smart, though. She helped me get out. I wouldn’t have made it without her. She said she’d be okay if I just—” His voice cracked, and he took a breath to steady himself. “If I just got away. But now… now she’s in there alone. And your other friend…”
His words hung in the air as we turned another corner. The weight of what he’d said sat heavy in my chest. The hospital wasn’t a haven; it was a prison. And Beth and Carol were trapped inside it.
The streets were littered with overturned cars and debris. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, mixing with decay. Noah continued to direct us through alleyways and empty lots, helping us set up distractions—fires and overturned cans—buying us time until we managed to hijack a truck.
The drive back to the church was silent except for the low rumble of the engine. My mind churned, replaying everything that had happened. Carol was in the hospital. Beth was alive but still trapped. And now we had this kid, Noah, who seemed willing to put his life in our hands. I glanced at Daryl, who sat in the drivers seat, his jaw set. He was just as tense as I was, and that didn’t bring me any comfort.
When we arrived back at the church, we parked the truck along the roadside that we took the car from the night prior, and opted to trek through the woods. And as we emerged out of the trees, Rick was already at the church door, his expression tense as his eyes flicked from me to Daryl to Noah. “They got Carol,” Daryl said before Rick could get a word out. “Same place Beth is. We’re gonna need everyone if we’re gonna take that place.”
Rick nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s get inside first.”
But the moment we stepped into the church, I knew something was wrong. The air inside felt suffocating, the weight of grief and exhaustion hanging thick.
Our arrival back there marked my first heartbreak of the day. “What do you mean he left?” I demanded, planting myself in front of Rick as he tried to explain. My voice was sharp, but I couldn’t hold back any of the anger and confusion.
Rick raised his hands in a placating gesture, as if to calm me. “We needed people last night, Libby. Abraham was ready to go. Glenn wanted to buy us time.”
“So he’s—he’s just gone? He went to DC?” My voice cracked, the words catching in my throat.
Rick’s expression softened as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hey—hey,” he said, his voice steady. “We’re gonna catch up with them. I promise. But y’all found Beth, and we’re gonna go get her. We’ll get Carol back too, and then we’ll catch up with the rest of our people.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust Rick Grimes when he implied that everything would work out, but my heart ached at the thought of Glenn leaving.
And then there was Bob.
I swallowed hard, glancing toward the corner of the room where Sasha axed church pews, her face a mask of furious devastation. I hadn’t even been here when it happened, but I could still feel the echoes of loss in the room. Bob was gone. The Terminus people were gone too, but not without leaving a nasty, awful, scar on my family.
Daryl’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “We don’t got time to sit around,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “If we’re gonna do this, we gotta do it fast. Ain’t no tellin’ what they’re doin’ to the girls right now.”
Noah, who had been lingering near the door, nodded quickly. “There’s a basement entrance next to the loading dock,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s not guarded. We can use it to get inside.”
Rick glanced at Daryl, then at me, his expression resolute. “We’ll figure out a plan,” he said. “But first, we need to secure this place. Board up the doors and windows. If we’re leaving anyone behind, they need to be safe.”
The mention of staying behind twisted something in my chest, but I nodded. “We’ll make it work,” I said, though my voice felt hollow.
Daryl was already moving toward the supplies, his movements purposeful. Noah followed close behind, eager to help. I lingered for a moment, staring at the church floors, at the faint traces of bloodstains that hadn’t been scrubbed away. This place, this sanctuary, had become a battlefield.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Carol and Beth were waiting for us.
The work of fortifying the church began the moment Rick laid out the plan. The once-sacred building had to become a fortress. Axes were pulled from bags, and the pews, with their smooth, polished wood and decades of reverence, were hacked apart without hesitation. Each splintering crack of wood echoed in the stillness of the sanctuary, blending with the rhythmic thunk of hammers and the occasional grunt of effort.
The heat from the effort was stifling, the now humid Georgia air clinging to every inch of skin. I could feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck and pooling beneath my shirt. It wasn’t long before I peeled off Daryl’s jacket, tying it around my waist as I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. He shot me a glance, but didn’t say anything—just gave a faint grunt of acknowledgment before resuming his work.
Outside, we drove salvaged poles into the ground, turning them into spikes meant to slow down walkers. Inside, the windows were reinforced with nailed boards, each one layered over the next like an improvised quilt of protection.
I crouched beside Daryl, holding the box of nails steady as he reached for a handful. His fingers brushed against mine briefly, calloused and rough. I didn't dare look up; instead, I silently offered him another handful. “Back there, when you went after Noah,” Daryl's voice broke the silence, his hammer resting on the windowsill. He cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze as if he were wrestling with something inside him. “Ya looked,” his gaze wandered, refusing to meet mine. “Ya looked, good,” a faint blush crept up his cheeks, his words unsure.
A blush crept across my face, his words surprising me—was he really flirting with me all blatant and shit? I fought to suppress a smile. “Yeah?” I managed, a hint of teasing in my tone.
He hummed. “We’ll find Glenn once we get them back, Libs,” he said, hope grazing so brightly in his gruff voice. “We just gotta get them back first.”
I chanced a touch, a featherlight, cautious touch to his sleeveless upper arm. Warmth and sweat and dirt rubbed beneath the pads of my fingers. In another life I might have been disgusted. In another life, I could’ve handpicked the man I wanted (though, I likely would’ve stayed happily single). In another life, I doubted I would be foaming at the mouth for a flicker of affection from a man twice my age with greasy hair and a lack of decorum.
“We will,” I said, trying to mirror his positivity. “And when we go to DC, we’ll start fresh.”
Months ago, he would’ve moved from my touch once he realized Rick was approaching. We were affectionate in private, never in front of others. But right now, despite the nearing footsteps, he allowed me to hold onto his arm as he spoke to Rick about leaving. He didn’t shy away when the attention was directed to me, nor did he clam back up once Rick walked away. Instead, he met my gaze.
“You n’ me, girl,” he said, his palm resting gently on the curve of my neck, a simple yet electric gesture that sent shivers down my spine.
Inside of me, nestled deep in my heart and curling around my belly, a seed I’d planted eighteen months ago began to unfurl, nourished for the first time by the warmth of him.
_____________
We sped to Atlanta by midday. Daryl and Rick up front, Noah, Sasha, Ty, and me in the back. We had guns, and we had people—all we needed now was a plan—which Rick was already working on, using Noah for help.
I felt bad for attacking the kid earlier, he’d only been trying to survive and trying to get Beth out. We had the same goal, and all I did was sprain his ankle and give him shit about it. Still—it was better than almost leaving him to die like Daryl did I guess.
“Alright,” Rick said, whistling for us to gather around. “At sundown we fire a shot into the air. Get two of them out on patrol. Then once it's dark enough that the rooftop spotter won't see us, we go. We cut the locks on one of the stairways, take it to the fifth floor,” he drew x’s and squares in some industrial dirt, showing us where we’d be. “I open the door, Daryl takes the guard out.”
“How?” Tyreese asked, looking to Rick with innocent eyes.
The ever gentle giant. He took good care of Judith after the prison fell, and made sure Soup was always taken care of as well. Back when we first met, I’d been the slightest bit intimidated by him, most people would be considering his size, but I genuinely don’t think he could’ve hurt a fly. The only time I’d ever known him to break, was when he’d found out about Karen—he’d really lost it then.
“He slits his throat,” Rick replied flatly. Not a single ounce of care in his voice for the loss of life. After witnessing some of the things I’d witnessed—I was right there with him. “This is all about us doing this quiet, keeping the upper hand. They're not expecting us. From there, we fan out. Knives and silenced weapons. We need to be fast. Tyreese, Sasha, take them,” he drew his finger to the lobby. “Daryl, Libby, you take care of whoever is in the kitchen. I got Dawn. If they're smart, the rest of them will give up.”
“Then it'll be six on three,” I pointed out.
“Seven on three once we get a weapon to Beth,” Rick added.
“Thirteen on three,” Noah said. “The wards will help.”
Tyreese cleared his throat. “That's best case. What's worst case?” he asked, looking between the five of us. “All it takes is one of those cops going down the hall at the wrong time. Then it's not quiet. All hands on deck. We're talking about a lot of bullets flying around.”
“If that's what it takes,” his little sister mumbled.
“It's not. If we get a couple of her cops alive out here, we do an even trade. Theirs for ours,” Ty explained, narrowing his eyes on Rick. “Everybody goes home.”
“Yeah, I get it. And it might work,” Rick stands, and I could tell he was weighing his words. “This will work.”
“Nah, that'll work, too,” Daryl interjected, to my surprise. My eyes flickered to Rick, who was looking at his right hand man with a mask of confusion. “You say this Dawn, she's just trying to keep it together, right?” Daryl asked Noah.
“Trying and doing are two different things,” he responded warily.
“You take two of her cops away, what choices does she have? Everybody goes home,” he wagged a finger at Tyreese. “Like he says.”
Our plan was set in motion, just like Rick said. The rays of sun hit that perfect drop and Noah waited in an alley, firing a single shot in the air, and then we waited.
The abandoned buildings stretched long and tall along the pavement, the golden hues of sunset staining everything with an almost surreal glow. Every sound seemed amplified—the distant shuffle of walkers, the faint creak of rusty, metal cars in the wind, the echo of my own breathing. I crouched low behind a dumpster, a rifle balanced on my knees, and tried my damndest to focus on the task ahead.
When has that ever actually happened though?
I couldn’t stop replaying what Daryl had said earlier— You n’ me, girl. He wasn’t a man of many words, and even less with pretty, cursive, glittering words, but when he said that, it felt deliberate, permanent, like he’d carved the simple-worded sentiment into stone. I wasn’t sure what had shifted in him to be so…affectionate, but I knew I’d think of those words often. Maybe for the rest of my life.
You n’ me.
A flicker of movement caught my attention, and my pulse spiked, but it was just Noah pacing in the alley. He was nervous—I could see it in the way his hands twitched, in the tight line of his jaw. I couldn’t blame him. He’d escaped and carried so much guilt for leaving Beth behind, and now he was betting his life on us.
My gaze slid sideways to Daryl. He was crouched beside me, his own gun steady in his grip, his eyes fixed on the alley where Noah waited. The tension in his shoulders was evident, and I watched the way the fading light caught in his hair, the smudge of dirt along his jawline, and I wondered if he was thinking about Beth. Or Carol. Or maybe both.
I didn’t dare ask him, though. Words were scarce with Daryl, and I’d learned early on that more often times than not, the best way to understand him was to watch. The way his fingers tapped lightly against the stock of his rifle, the furrow in his brow—these told me more than most conversations ever could. He was ready to fight, but there was something else there too. Fear. Not for himself, but for the people he was trying to save.
The silence stretched on until—a gunshot. Noah was limping down the alley now. He’d spotted the car and was leading them right into the trap. I winced when the tires of the Atlanta PD car screeched and Noah’s body clunked against the hood of it lightly.
“Put it down, Noah!” the woman officer barked, her gun snapping up toward him. “Put the gun down!”
I shifted my grip on my rifle, staying low as the two officers approached him. “Hands up! Turn around!” the man ordered sharply, taking control of the situation.
From my angle, I lost clear sight of Noah as they pushed him forward, muttering something about cuffs being too tight. Daryl nudged me, motioning me forward.
A low whistle split the air. Both officers snapped their attention toward us. “Hands,” Rick ordered, his voice commanding.
“What do you want?” the woman asked, her breathing quick but controlled as she aimed at us.
“Whatever this is, we can help.” The man offered, his tone measured.
Rick’s tone didn’t waver. “You do what we say, we don’t hurt you.”
The man looked at each of us cautiously, before lowering his gun. “Okay,” he said, yielding and encouraging his colleague to do the same.
Smart.
“Good,” Rick said. “Now turn around, put your guns on the ground, and kneel.”
They complied, their movements slow and deliberate. Tyreese moved quickly to free Noah while Daryl and Sasha tied up the officers’ hands. I kept my rifle trained on them, pacing near Rick as he assessed the situation.
“We need to talk,” Rick said to them as he nodded at me. “There's water if you need some and food.”
“Mind if I ask you something?” The male officer asked as Daryl brougbt him to a standing position. “The way you talk... the way you carry yourself... were you a cop?” He smiled a bit when Rick dipped his chin down. “Believe it or not, I was, too.”
“That’s Lamson,” Noah interjected. “He’ll be down for this. He’s one of the good ones.”
Before Rick could respond, tires screeched in the distance, the sound growing louder as a second car sped into view. Gunfire erupted, sharp and sudden—chaos broke out. Lamson and Shepherd took the opportunity to scramble to their feet, taking off down the alley before we could stop them.
With careful precision, Sasha blew out one of the tires before we began sprinting after them. What we were led to was likely what would’ve been me had Dale not encouraged me to join the quarry. The alley had opened up into a grim FEMA setup—abandoned tents and trailers, overturned vehicles, and the skeletons or…melted remains of the bodies that had come here for refuge.
Lamson and the female officer veered toward the far side of the encampment. “Two, on me,” Rick ordered, bolting toward the escapees.
I don’t know why I was so surprised that something had gone wrong—something always went wrong. This had been a shitty plan to begin with and I felt like I was probably the only one that had actually liked the original plan. No matter how fucked up it might have been.
Out the corner of my eye, I spotted Lamson slipping behind a collapsed tent. My heart pounded as I broke off from the others, my breath coming fast as I flanked him.
I caught up to him quickly, the sound of my boots crunching against gravel giving me away. He froze for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. His head turned slightly, his eyes darting toward me. Even zip-tied and caught, I could see the fight in him—he was desperate. Then, in a burst of movement, he lunged.
The impact knocked me off balance, his shoulder driving into my side. I stumbled, the gravel shifting beneath me as I tried to regain my footing. Pain flared as I felt something sharp graze my arm. It wasn’t deep—a scrape at most—but it was enough to piss me off.
“Man, fuck you,” I growled, twisting as I shoved him off me. My rifle came up in an instant, the butt slamming into his side with enough force to knock the wind out of him. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. Grabbing the back of his shirt, I hauled him to his feet, pressing the barrel of my rifle into his back.
By the time the others caught up, Lamson was standing reluctantly, and I was happy to see that Sasha had secured the other officer. Around the corner of a FEMA trailer, Rick and a somehow filthier Daryl, walked up with yet another officer.
“You okay?” Rick asked, his eyes scanning my arm briefly before landing on Lamson.
I nodded, brushing the cut with a wince. “Peachy.”
Rick gave a tight nod, his attention already shifting to the woman, but Daryl wasn’t quite finished yet.
His eyes found me immediately, his gaze narrowing as he took in the scrape on my arm and the way I was holding Lamson. His own gun was slung over his shoulder, his hands free but clenched like he was ready to take someone down at a moment’s notice. He stalked over, his boots crunching against the gravel as his eyes flicked between me and the officer.
“Ya call that peachy?” Daryl asked, his tone sharp as he nodded toward my arm.
“It’s fine,” I replied, not loosening my grip on Lamson. “Barely a scratch.”
Daryl gave a low, humorless grunt, stepping closer until he was maybe a foot away. His hand moved toward my arm, brushing mine aside with a roughness that didn’t entirely mask the concern underneath. “A scratch don’t bleed like that,” he muttered, tilting my arm slightly to get a better look.
I pulled back, shooting him a glare. “I’m fine, Dixon. Handle your own business.”
“I’m already handlin’ it,” he shot back, jerking his chin toward Lamson, who flinched slightly under the rifle barrel still pressed against his back. Daryl’s gaze hardened as it landed on the officer. “You’re lucky you didn’t do worse. You try shit like that with her again, I’ll knock your damn teeth out.” Between the implication that I was his business and that comment made my cheeks flush a deep red.
Lamson didn’t respond, his breath still coming in uneven gasps. I tightened my grip on his shirt, ignoring the throbbing in my arm. “I had it under control,” I said firmly, trying to cut through whatever protective streak Daryl was riding.
Daryl’s eyes snapped back to mine, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t’ve had to. He comes at you again, he’s losin’ more than his breath.”
My smirk wavered just a little at the ice in his tone. “Relax, Dar.”
Daryl didn’t look convinced. He stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over Lamson, but his eyes were on mine. “You’re still bleedin’. Go let Tyreese or Sasha wrap it before it gets infected.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” I snapped, but the softness in his expression—buried under layers of tension of course—threw me off.
“Libs,” he said, quieter now but no less firm. “Go.”
I held his gaze for a beat, the intensity in his blue eyes making it impossible to argue. With a frustrated sigh, I shoved Lamson forward, letting Daryl take over.
_____________
It was Noah that patched me up. The cut really wasn’t that bad, just deep enough that it wouldn’t stop bleeding without some good old fashioned pressure. Rick had Lamson handled, apparently he was ‘the most cooperative’ of the three officers we’d taken captive, and he was shaping up to be our best bet for a peaceful exchange. Shepherd, the female officer, and Licari, the one who nearly took us out with a car, didn’t seem entirely convinced with Lamson’s idea, but they weren’t exactly up in arms about it either.
From where I stood, at the edge of the parking garage, about forty-feet above the city, I felt like I was in the middle of a video game. The shock never seemed to wear off. Atlanta—my city—was a ruinous wasteland. Corpses scattered around every corner, vehicles abandoned, windows and buildings unkept and abandoned. The once bustling city that I loved no longer existed in even the slightest.
Standing near the edge of the parking garage, I let my gaze wander over the ruined skyline of Atlanta. Forty feet up gave me a decent view, but it wasn’t just the practical side of it that kept me there. I wanted the reminder of what it looked like before I left for DC. This was my city—or at least it had been. The bustling streets, the constant hum of life, the music that once spilled from car radios—it was all gone now. What was left was haunting: corpses around every corner, abandoned vehicles rusting in the streets, shattered windows, and buildings succumbing to nature’s reclamation.
I felt like I was living in a video game, one of those post-apocalyptic ones where every turn brought some new nightmare chasing after you.
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts, my heart giving a little jump when I recognized the familiar gait. I turned my head just as Daryl came up beside me, his gun slung over one shoulder, a streak of dirt smudged across his cheek. He’d been seeking me out more often lately, and I couldn’t say that I minded it at all. “Y’alright?”
“Like I said earlier: Peachy.” I gave him a half-smile and reached out to swipe at a smudge of charred dirt on his arm. “Anyone ever tell you to wear sleeves in the middle of an apocalypse? You’re gonna ruin your million-dollar arms.”
It was lighthearted. A tease.
Daryl scoffed, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smile as he knocked my shoulder with his. “Stop,” he said, but there was no bite to it. “I let some girl borrow my jacket ‘cause she was cold, n’ now she’s just usin’ it as an accessory.”
There was another bout of teasing on my tongue, but Rick’s sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by the sound of his boots pounding against the concrete. He was moving fast, his face tense and urgent as he closed the distance between us.
“He knocked Sasha out,” Rick said, breathless and agitated. “Lamson. He made a run for it. You two keep watch on the others—”
“Yeah, no, fuck that. I’m coming with you,” I interrupted, already slinging my rifle over my shoulder and stepping forward.
Rick hesitated for a half-second, long enough for Daryl to chime in. “Libby,” Daryl said, his tone low, a warning.
I turned sharply to face him, my jaw set. “I’m going, Dar,” I said firmly, daring him to argue with me.
Daryl’s eyes flicked to Rick, then back to me. He looked like he wanted to push back, but he didn’t. Rick didn’t waste any more time, giving me a quick nod before we both turned and started running, the echo of our footsteps ringing out as we bolted down the parking garage.
With the streets of Atlanta sprawled ahead, Rick moved like a man possessed, his steps swift and deliberate, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. I stayed close on his heels, rifle bouncing against my back with each stride. The oppressive heat clung to me, the sour tang of rot and probably expired gasoline thick in the air.
We darted through narrow alleys between crumbling buildings, our boots crunching on broken glass and debris. The faint moans of the dead carried on the wind, a rogue walker or two becoming an obstacle as we ran. My breath came in short bursts, sweat dripping down my temples as I kept up. Rick was relentless, moving like a predator tracking its prey, his focus unshakable.
This was a different Rick than the one I knew before. I felt safer with this version of him. I felt better with this version of him. He didn’t hesitate or question me when I decided I was joining him.
At the mouth of a side street, Rick raised a hand to halt me. He crouched low, his gaze sweeping the area for any sign of Lamson. I dropped behind a rusted car, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Rick signaled again, and we were moving, his urgency pulling me along. My legs burned as we rounded a sharp corner, the uneven pavement threatening to trip me briefly. Just ahead, a police car came into view, its paint polished and windows clear of debris. It was the one Lamson and Shepherd pulled up in earlier. Rick sprinted toward it, his hand gripping the driver’s door. He turned back, checking to see if I was still there, but I was already sliding into the passenger seat.
“Ever been on a ride along?” He asked, a faint twitch in his lip.
I shook my head, my eyes locked on the figure darting ahead of us, weaving through the walker-strewn street. “Can’t say that I have,” I replied, my fingers tightening around the edge of my seat.
“Hold on.” Rick leaned over just enough to nudge my shoulder, before his foot slammed down on the gas. The tires squealed against the pavement, the sudden jolt pressing me back into the seat as we surged forward.
The world blurred past the windows. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a mix of adrenaline and anger. The bastard had tackled me and got me cut up, he knocked Sasha out cold, left her sprawled and vulnerable. He’d earned every ounce of fury.
Rick leaned into the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the black leather, the lines of his face hard and focused. He grabbed the radio, his voice crackling over the intercom. “Stop. Stop now.” Rick commanded, but there was no urgency in his voice.
Lamson didn’t even glance back. He just kept running, his silhouette small and pathetic against the vast city. My jaw clenched, and I bit back the urge to yell at him myself.
The car closed the distance quickly, the gap between us shrinking with every passing second. Rick tried again, his voice sharper this time, colder. “Stop. I won't ask again.”
Lamson didn’t.
Rick’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a tension in his shoulders that told me he was dead ass serious. The car lurched forward again, the engine growling as Rick’s foot pressed the pedal to the floor. My pulse spiked, the rush of adrenaline so sharp it made my vision swim for a moment.
And then it happened.
Rick swerved, his hands steady on the wheel, and clipped Lamson with the front bumper. The impact was quick and forceful, sending Lamson sprawling across the cracked pavement with a thud that made my stomach lurch. The car skidded to a stop, the air around us still except for the faint hiss of the engine and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I looked over at Rick, my chest heaving, and caught the flicker of something grim and resolute in his eyes before he reached for the door handle.
Bile rose in my throat as I followed him out the car, but not because of why you might think. Rick’s brutal actions didn’t bother me; in many senses they were justified. We couldn’t afford for this plan to go belly up. Beth and Carol were on the line and this prick had threatened that. What bothered me—what made me sick to my stomach was the fact that I enjoyed being part of it. Before the prison fell, when things were good, I never would’ve imagined myself in a position where I had no sympathy for another human being; Rick shooting him with ease did nothing. It made me sick that I was adapting to this world in such a cruel way, but there weren’t many choices anymore.
Adapt or die.
_____________
Daryl didn’t ask about Lamson when we got back to the parking garage. He didn’t need to. With a subtle tip of Rick’s head, the answer was clear. Daryl had a way of reading between the lines. He gave a small grunt, adjusting the gun on his shoulder, and that was the end of it.
We were on our way up to make the exchange now. To get Beth back. To get Carol back. That was all that mattered. Afterward, we’d regroup, find Glenn, and head to DC—maybe even save the world. It was all about getting our people back right now though. Crossing our fingers that Licari and Shepherd wouldn’t fuck up and blow our cover. The tension in the air was palpable, a taut wire stretched to its breaking point. My eyes flicked between the two officers and Rick, who walked with that commanding confidence that made me feel a little steadier.
We reached the door to the meeting hall, and through the narrow, grimy window, I caught a glimpse of the other officers waiting inside. My breath hitched when I saw them—Beth and Carol, just a few steps away.
Beth wore a pale yellow shirt that somehow softened the harsh lines of the sterile hospital hallway. A brace covered one hand, and cuts marked her face, but she was alive. She was whole. Carol was in a wheelchair, her body slumped a little, but her eyes sharp and calculating as they darted around the room.
The doors creaked open as we stepped into the hallway, our heads high and our weapons holstered. My gaze locked onto Beth, and an uncontrollable smile tugged at my lips.
“They haven’t been harmed,” Rick said, motioning to Shepherd and Licari. His voice was calm but carried the edge of authority that I’d become so familiar with.
Dawn stepped forward, her sharp gaze sweeping over the two officers. She was striking in a severe, cold way—dark hair pulled back tightly, uniform pressed, every movement calculated. She carried herself like she owned the space, a woman who needed control. There was something unnerving about her composure, the way she held her head high and scanned everyone like pieces on a chessboard.
“Where’s Lamson?” she asked, her tone clipped but faintly curious.
“Rotters got him,” Shepherd said quickly.
“We saw it go down,” Licari added.
Thank fuck.
Dawn’s face shifted, a flicker of what might have been disappointment crossing her sharp features. But I wasn’t buying it. There was something hollow in her expression, as if Lamson’s death was a minor inconvenience rather than a true loss. If she cared, she hid it well.
‘Where’s Lamson?’ translated to How does this affect me? in her world. She didn’t give a shit about Lamson, not really. That made two of us.
“One of yours for one of mine,” she said, her tone brisk and professional, as if this were just another transaction.
It was a simple exchange. Easy. Carol came first, wheeled forward by one of Dawn’s officers. Her eyes were tired, but she gave a faint nod as Daryl immediately moved to her side. Then Beth stepped forward.
She came to my side, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. I squeezed tight, half to reassure her and half to reassure myself that she was really there. She leaned into me, her small frame warm and solid, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Things were good. We had our people. Now we just needed to make it out of Atlanta and start heading north. Things were good.
“Glad we could work things out,” Dawn said, her voice cutting through the moment. We turned to leave, but her next words stopped us cold.
“Now I just need Noah. And then you can leave.”
The air seemed to freeze. Beth stiffened beside me, her head whipping around to glare at Dawn, and I could feel my own stomach drop. “That wasn't part of the deal,” Rick argued.
“Noah was my ward,” Dawn replied, her voice calm but unyielding. “Beth took his place and I'm losing her, so I need him back.”
Shepherd opened her mouth, clearly trying to de-escalate, but Dawn shut her down with a sharp look. “My officers put their lives on the line to find him. One of them died—”
“Nah,” Daryl interrupted, stepping forward. He pushed Noah back toward me and Beth before moving to Rick’s side. “He ain’t stayin’.”
Dawn’s hand twitched toward her gun. “He’s one of mine. You have no claim on him.”
Rick’s shoulders stiffened, his own hand hovering near his holster. “The boy wants to go home, so you have no claim on him.”
“Well, then we don't have a deal.” Dawn shrugged, but there was nothing casual about her words.
“The deal is done,” Rick said, stepping closer, his tone like a warning shot. Something about his posture told me that things were about to get sticky.
Noah moved forward, his voice quiet. “It’s okay.”
“No,” Rick said, placing a hand on Noah’s chest to stop him. “No.”
Beside me, Beth shrugged my hand off her shoulder, stepping forward with a sudden determination. I stayed close, just a step behind her. I couldn’t shake the fear that if I let her get too far, she’d slip away and disappear.
Noah gently pushed Rick’s hand away. “I got to do it,” he said, his voice resigned.
“It's not okay,” Beth whispered, her voice small, trembling with raw emotion.
“It's settled.” Dawn said, self-satisfied.
“Wait!” Beth cried, moving again, quicker this time, limping toward Noah. I followed, staying close enough to guide her back when we finally left. Her small frame was practically vibrating with frustration, her hands clenched at her sides. She reached Noah and pulled him into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around him with a desperation that made my throat tighten.
I hovered just behind her, my gaze darting between them and the officers around us. Beth had already lost so much—this was another goodbye. Even though she went through something awful here, something sweet came out of it and now she was having to leave it behind.
I turned to Rick, searching his face for any sign that he was going to stop this, to take control. But before I could read his expression, a sickening, wet sound filled the air.
Flesh squelching.
My head snapped back to Beth.
Then.
Then.
Then.
.i’m not afraid of God, i am afraid of man.
Notes:
okie~ so…what did we think??? i’m pretty sure this is my longest chapter ever and personally one that I’m very proud of. i tried my hardest to give Libby some much deserved bad-ass scenes, along with a touch of fluff to combat the angst that will be in full soon. plz lemme know whatcha think, cause this chapter was so fun for me to write.
Chapter 47: sad, lonely, girl
Summary:
We were on our third evening traveling to Virginia.
Virginia.
I missed Virginia sometimes—rarely—but sometimes.
Notes:
so, this chapter may possibly be a bit hard to follow, but….the italics is Libby’s ‘internal monologue’. it’s sort of the safety part of her mind that blocks things out and allows her to function at a very basic level. i, personally, disassociate, and this is just what it’s like for me, and it’s the only way i know how to write it, so i really hope that it’s not too confusing.
(this all happens over the course of a month)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.wanna feel alive, outside i can’t fight my fear.
Blood splattered across her face, droplets of it spraying into her mouth courtesy of the bullet hole in the blonde girl’s head. Libby—the external one—didn’t react. She watched Beth’s body fall to the ground, hitting it with a thud. Tinnitus rung loud in her ears again: another body hit the ground.
Libby looked down, but things were moving strangely, blurry and hazy. Her eyes caught on the beautiful, young, delicate blonde girl’s: vacant, blank, empty, unseeing, hollow. There was no life there anymore. No life. Dead.
Beth was dead.
Guns are drawn, words are exchanged, a truce is made. Beth was dead. Hands wrapped around Libby’s shoulder, they’re vaguely familiar, but they don’t belong to the archer. These hands handle her with a gentle precision, and when they spin her around, she sees a sea of bright blue—no, this wasn’t the archer’s shade—it was the sheriff.
His fingers moved slowly across her features, attempting to brush away the still wet blood from her face—from her lips. She can taste the metallic lingering of it on her tongue. Below, Daryl is picking the teenager’s body up off the floor, hot tears streaming down his face. She can’t comfort him or make him feel better or fix anything, because she doesn’t believe she’s gonna come back from this horrible time.
For her, Beth’s death marked a short and horrible beginning.
_____________
Glenn and Daryl worked on Beth’s grave until past nightfall. They wanted to put that sweet girl to rest. It was outside the city, close to Gabriel’s church. The setting was beautiful—or at least I think it was. I can remember the flowers. The beautiful, tiny purple flowers that Carl and I picked to decorate her final resting place. She deserved more—a real funeral, and Father Gabriel did a service that I remember Maggie saying her father would’ve enjoyed.
And Maggie.
Her soul had been crushed at the prison. Witnessing Hershel’s brutal, horrifying death had most definitely left its scar. But Beth…Maggie sobbed all night long—so hard at points that Glenn had to force her to take a walk to catch her breath.
I didn’t feel anything though. Not like that. I felt tired, sore, hungry, and frustrated; anything deeper, more guttural—that was reserved for the part of me I’d disconnected with.
It wasn’t healthy, I was aware of that much, but it was easier to allow myself to dissociate to a different level than to deal with the emotions following Beth’s death. And then, just to find out that Eugene had been bullshitting the entire time about a cure. There was no purpose anymore. I couldn’t find purpose anymore. Truthfully, I didn’t want to.
Hell. I didn’t want to exist anymore.
Something about it all I just couldn’t wrap my head around. How had I gone from being on top of the world; from having so much raw hope for a fresh start, to where I was now? Unattached.
I hated this.
I hated myself.
I was pathetic.
Maggie had lost her sister. She was being forced to drink water so she didn’t dehydrate from all the tears she was shedding. And I was busy belittling myself—acting like I had any real problems.
Pathetic.
Useless.
Stupid.
_____________
She rode in the van in relative silence. Daryl didn’t jump to sit next to her for the long road trip. No. He sat shotgun, silent in his own right. Instead, it was the bobcat who curled up in a perfect ball next to her, keeping her company. Every fifty miles or so he’d pop his head up and nudge her until she rubbed his fur for a few minutes, then he’d settle right back down.
Her mind was running a mile a minute, and all over the place. It was my job to absorb each frantic thought that crossed her mind—she coped horribly.
First, she wondered about her own sisters and where they were. Even though she’d already buried them in her mind, it didn’t refrain her from pondering about their deaths or where they might be. Whether they’d been killed by something as quick as a gunshot, or if they’d been bit and succumbed to a feverish nightmare, or maybe they’d been consumed by the dead, ripped apart piece by piece until there was nothing left.
Then, she was backtracking to the prison and second guessing the decision to leave Georgia. Everyone else had agreed, so it didn’t much matter what she thought, but there was a suspicion haunting her that maybe they weren’t the only people to survive the fall of the prison. What if they were leaving people behind? They hadn’t even checked for signs of other survivors. If others had made it out alive, would leaving the state be considered abandoning them? It was stupid to think that way—I knew that—but she was too wrapped up in her own pointless thoughts that she didn’t bother thinking practically.
She never did when she was like this. All she did was abuse me continuously; allowing me to rest was out of the question. And when she’d squeezed me of all that I was worth, she’d shut down just long enough to let me sleep. Then it was back to business. But that was okay, I’d take it all, as long as it allowed her to check out from what was going on outside.
Libby wouldn’t be able to take it. She was weak without a purpose. She needed to be like this.
She needed me to pull her mind out of it.
_____________
We were on our third evening traveling to Virginia.
Virginia.
I missed Virginia sometimes—rarely—but sometimes.
When I moved to my uncle and aunt’s house in Georgia, I always thought I’d never miss the little town of Abingdon,Virginia. My first winter though—I missed the blanket of snow outside our trailer. Sure, my immune system struggled heavily due to the rough winters, but for a leap of a moment it was nice to look out and daydream. Of course, winter wasn’t the only thing I longed for. It took me approximately two years of living in Georgia to figure out how lucky I’d been to have experienced Virginia weather my entire life.
Fall was the only season in Georgia that didn’t suck.
On the walkie, Rick radioed that we’d be stopping for the night, which didn’t affect me at all. I watched two nights ago with Sasha, Glenn, and Daryl; tonight I’d try to rest. Even if it was just an hour or two, it was a lot better than thinking myself to death constantly.
Nighttime seemed to be the only time Daryl actually spent time with me.
I knew it wasn’t personal, but nonetheless it was disappointing. Fuck. How gross was that of me to think? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
_____________
She was spiraling again. Again? Had she ever really stopped?
If she would pause long enough to start thinking logically she’d know that her feelings were valid. That desiring comfort wasn’t disgusting; it was a normal human emotion of which she was refusing to feel.
So she bundled herself against the door of the van, accepted his company beside her, and continued to let her thoughts be consumed by shrouds of depression and regret.
_____________
The overgrown sign welcoming them to Virginia was a tid bit of joy that blossomed in the next few days; the letters were faded, and it was slowly being swallowed by tangles of weeds and brambles. Part of her wished to be in the car with Noah, just to hear him talk about his home. It was likely drastically different than the place she grew up in, but she still wanted to indulge her mind to what life could’ve been like, down to the tiniest, most insignificant detail.
She wanted to small talk—something to bring her out of the haze she was living in—if only for a little while. Rosita and Abraham and Tara and Sasha and Eugene: they all conversed about the possibilities once we reached Richmond. But none of it piqued her enough to release her grip on me and join in; she was a unwilling observer at best. The only thing tethering her to the world outside at all was the little life that sat comfortably on her lap.
Even the miracle that was Judith made Libby’s stomach curl. It wasn’t fair that she had to live this harsh type of life. Where every single day was just another struggle—a difficult predicament that often times resulted in death and darkness. She deserved to be fed three meals a day, to have a proper education, to sleep warmly, tucked in a bed each night. Her biggest worry she should ever have to face is what type of dessert she was having after dinner.
Libby knew that Judith was loved and so valiantly protected by the makeshift family she was forged into, probably more than any other human in existence, but it didn’t ease the thoughts. At the end of the day, no matter how innocent Jude was, the reality of this world would catch up to her eventually. One day, this precious little girl would have to grow up way too quickly. She’d lose people she loved, and she’d lose them nasty. No matter how deep the entire group may try to bury the brutality of it all, it would be an injustice to not teach her how to survive in it.
_____________
It happened while we were stopping to stretch.
Rick's voice crackled through the static of the radio, delivering the news that the place we had hoped for was a lost cause. I hadn’t really let myself build any hope that it would be in any type of shape for us to move in to, so the revelation was merely disappointing—not surprising in the least bit. I couldn’t be angry that we’d traveled this entire way just to be let down though; Beth wanted Noah home, so in a sense, we were simply honoring her last wish.
It was getting late. Maggie made the suggestion that we go ahead and set up camp where we were. Once we were regrouped, we could rest and work on a course of action from there.
I liked that plan.
Plans never went the way they were supposed to go though, not anymore. The dead always ended up coming and throwing a wrench into things.
Twenty minutes later, urgent and tense, Rick notified us that Tyreese had been bit. They’d messily amputated and we needed to prepare for cauterization. It was Hershel all over again, but this time, there was no infirmary for Carl to sneak off to and bring back supplies. Instead, Abraham worked hastily on a fire while Daryl ventured off into the woods to find some water. All hands were on deck in some form or another. My job was watching for walkers—admittedly the easiest of the tasks.
None of it mattered though.
Ty bled out.
_____________
Nobody ever wanted to be at a funeral. Even before death was a frequenter, funerals were always coated in shades of grey—but at least back then there was some sort of satisfaction once it was over with. If you lived a long, happy and healthy, life and passed away due to a natural health condition, people still grieved, but loved ones had some peace of mind that you had a fulfilling existence. If you died young, there was some kind of closure with putting your body in the ground and being able to visit a gravestone.
Funerals these days (if that’s what you wanted to call them), were just another jab in the gut. A painful reminder that an otherwise healthy, kind, warm individual, could be taken away just by a simple misstep. A tiny negligence.
After they put Tyreese in the ground, life went on. It had to.
_____________
“Hey,” it was Glenn again. He’d asked me to come with him to search for water and food, but I wasn’t stupid.
I knew he wanted to talk about my state of mind. For the last three weeks, he’d been trying to get me alone under the guise of “hanging out.” The thing was, I couldn’t remember a lot from the past three weeks—not in their entirety. Everything felt hazy, like I was watching my life through a smudged window. I wasn’t even hurting anymore. I was just numb.
There was nothing left to grieve or hope to have. At that point Daryl had drifted back into his own solitude, and the closest he ever came to speaking to me was at night, when he’d still situate himself close, like some unspoken promise to guard me. Soup, had been my only real company. But even he had been leaving more often, disappearing for days at a time to hunt.
Glenn was the only one that made an effort to try pulling me back from the edge. Which, all things considered, I was lucky to even have him. Lucky—and yet I didn’t care.
“Hey, Libby,” he said again, his tone a touch sharper this time as he walked few steps ahead of me and glanced over his shoulder.
I squeezed my eyes shut. One, two, three times. When I opened them, the gray, lifeless trees blurred together, the path beneath my boots as uneven as it was unremarkable. “Hey, sorry,” I replied finally, my voice hoarse from disuse. “I was just--just thinking about a lot.”
Glenn nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, you’ve been doing that constantly. Are you good, Libby?” He asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he said my name.
That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Was I good? I didn’t even know the right way to answer that, so I simply shrugged. It was the only response that would negate my mental state from pooling in pudding.
“Libby,” Glenn said, stopping mid-walk and crossing his arms over his chest. “You haven’t carried on a conversation with anyone for nearly two weeks. You’ve been neglecting yourself—I mean, seriously. We haven’t had a ton of food or water lately, but anytime we do, you refuse it. You can’t survive like this, Libby. You’ll die.”
His words flowed through my ears like a distant echo—hollow and far away. I stared past him, my gaze fixed on nothing in particular. “Maybe I want to.”
“What?” His voice cracked again, this time in a whisper.
“It’s gonna happen eventually anyway.”
Glenn’s face twisted, a mixture of emotions tightening his softer features. “So you’re just gonna what? Starve yourself? Stop trying?”
“Glenn—”
“No, Libby.” His voice rose. “You don’t get to do that. We nearly died at the prison. Do you remember that? Me and you—we were on death’s door. Daryl sat with you all night when he got back. Then the prison was attacked, and Hershel died. Then Bob died, and we were attacked at the church. And—and Sasha—she was miserable when that happened.” He paused, his chest heaving as he tried to slow down. “I didn’t get to tell my best friend that I was leaving to go to DC. I didn’t even know if you were alive!”
He swallowed hard, his arms falling to his sides as he continued. “But you were with Daryl, and he wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. But what happened in Atlanta, with Beth—Libby, none of that was your fault. She died, and I’m still—” He clenched his jaw, his eyes glistening. “Maggie will never be the same. And then Tyreese… Libby, we can’t lose you too. I can’t. Between you and Carol, I don’t know, but losing one of you two might fully break Daryl.”
Shame rose rapidly into my chest like a consuming poison.
“You don’t get to lay down and give up,” he said, quieter. “Not while we’re still around. You don’t get to force us to grieve you too.”
“It all just seems…pointless,” I whispered defeated. I’d never meant to make Glenn so emotional, but that seemed to be an inevitable consequence of talking to people these days. “I’m sick of being hungry, and thirsty, and tired. I just—I don’t know. I don’t want to die. I just want to stop existing.”
Glenn let out a slow breath, his anger deflating as he studied me. For a long moment, he said nothing. Maybe he’d finally give up. But then he spoke. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I get it.”
And for the first time in weeks, things weren’t so hazy. The trees were still grey, and I didn’t suddenly crave to start fresh again, but I finally felt like the paper weight sitting on my chest had lifted.
It was a start.
_____________
Two days later, and I was doing a hell of a lot better. At least if you considered where I’d been for the last couple of weeks. Being able to carry on a conversation again felt good, even though, in a sense, it felt almost like taking steps for the first time. Like I had to re-learn how to function socially. It wasn’t astronomically difficult though.
One foot in front of the other. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Eyes shut, eyes open.
Those were all the basics.
I mean, I guess I left out the steps on how to drown out the sound of the herd of walkers gathering behind us, but sometimes it was nice to pretend that dodging corpses wasn’t a basic part of living now.
And by dodging, I meant that literally. We weren’t killing them anymore, we were just letting them parade about fifty feet back. ‘Conserving our energy’ and ‘waiting for higher ground’, is what Rick said; which, I couldn’t argue with him about. Our group was currently walking on such a delicately strung tight rope—no food, a few sips of water—we couldn’t afford to waste any efforts on fighting walkers.
That’s why we were tossing them from an overpass instead of slaughtering their brain stem right now. It took less work. Essentially we were kicking the can down the road for someone else to deal with because we couldn’t.
_____________
Dogs. We were cooking someone’s pets for the sake of surviving, and nobody was saying a word about it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to say, honestly. We’d yet to resort to killing each other, but this felt like a start. A justification? A joke to ease the tension? Maybe saying nothing was right. But the silence felt like its own kind of guilt. We hadn’t resorted to killing each other yet, but this—this felt like something that could push us closer to that line.
I stared at the skewered meat in Abraham’s hand, the grease dripping into the dirt, the charred edges curling like some grotesque parody of barbecue. My stomach churned—not with hunger. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t .
I had just clawed my way back from weeks of disassociating, weeks of being stuck in a fog so thick I could barely tell my thoughts apart from the static. Fuck, I could barely remember any of my thoughts. Eating that, it would send me spiraling. I could feel it daring me to fall back under.
“No,” I said, shaking my head and standing up before Abraham could insist. “I’m good.”
It’d been almost a week since I’d eaten anything, and I knew how bad that was. But right now, the smell of the cooked meat was making me nauseous. I had to get away from it before I broke, before I caved and let myself be pulled under again.
“Hey.” Glenn’s voice came from behind me. I heard his footsteps against the pavement as he got up to follow me. “Libby, wait.”
I kept walking, shaking my head. “I don’t need a lecture, Glenn. I’m fine.”
“You need to eat. Just a little.”
“Nope,” I said, quick and sharp, keeping my pace steady. “No, I’m good. I just need some space. That’s all. But I’m good, okay?”
I could hear the hesitation in his steps, the way he lingered for just a second longer before stopping. He didn’t come after me. He didn’t press me. I kept walking, letting the air wrap around me as I put more distance between myself and the group.
I knew Glenn though. He wasn’t the type to let something like this go. He wouldn’t chase me down or try to force me to eat—not now, not here. But later? Later he’d find me when things were quieter, when there weren’t other eyes or ears around, and he’d ask. He’d sit me down with that patient, steady look and try to pry something out of me.
The thought made my stomach tighten. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him—I did. I trusted him more than most of the group. But I couldn’t explain this. I couldn’t tell him what it felt like to teeter on the edge of yourself, to feel like one wrong step could make the whole thing shatter. How could I explain that the smell of the meat alone felt like a noose dragging me back into the fog?
I stopped walking and leaned against a rusted old guardrail, letting the rough, cold metal press into my palms. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to steady myself. The wind carried the faintest hint of smoke and meat with it, and my stomach twisted again.
This wasn’t just hunger. It wasn’t about the food. It was about what the food meant . About the lines we were crossing and the ones I wasn’t sure I could live with anymore.
I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to be like Glenn, like Maggie, like anyone who could just keep going no matter what they had to swallow. But I wasn’t them. I wasn’t sure I ever could be.
Behind me, the faint sounds of the group carried through the wind. It sounded so normal, so casual, and it made me feel even more detached. Like I was watching from the outside again, like I wasn’t really a part of them anymore.
I stayed there for a long time, waiting for the nausea to fade and insuring that the fog would stay away.
_____________
The night after the dogs, Soup came back. He padded up to me silently, his spotted coat nearly blending with the woods, and dropped a single, small squirrel at my feet before curling up beside me. I stared at the tiny, lifeless animal for a long moment, my chest tightening.
I didn’t cook it. I didn’t even skin it—Daryl did, without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And I cried.
No, I bawled.
This sweet, sweet, not-so-little bobcat, who’d decided to accompany a sad, lonely, girl on a sad, lonely, ride to escape a herd of walkers over a year ago, was now looking out for that same sad, lonely, girl. Despite struggling to find food for himself, he still managed to bring me back a bite to eat.
But now, both him and Daryl were both gone. Soup, was likely off looking for more food. And according to Abraham, Daryl had left to try and find some water.
Which made the pile of bottled water in the middle of the road a little fucking ironic.
We’d found it not long after Daryl had left. Just sitting there, neatly stacked, like some bizarre roadside miracle. There was no sign of who had left it, just a plain piece of paper that bore the words:
’From A Friend’
Rick stood closest to the pile, his hand resting on his revolver. Glenn knelt beside one of the bottles, turning it over in his hands like it might hold some clue. And Carol stood a little ways off, her arms crossed tightly, her eyes flitting nervously between the water and the woods.
“This could be a trap,” Rick said finally, his voice low and firm.
Carol nodded, her expression hardening. “Or a warning.”
Glenn looked up from the bottle he was holding. “Or it’s just water. People have done stranger things.”
I frowned, staring at the plastic containers glinting in the sunlight. It could be help, sure. But it could just as easily be literally anything else. “It’s too neat,” I murmured under my breath. “Too clean.”
Carol glanced at me. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated, then shrugged, wrapping my arms around myself, seeking comfort in the act. “I don’t know. I mean-- maybe it is legit. Maybe someone’s out there, leaving this because they’ve got more than they need, and they think we’ll use it. But…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “Why not stick around? Why not wait for us?”
“Because they don’t want to meet us,” Rick said bluntly.
“And they’ve been watching us.” Carol added.
Glenn let out a sigh, setting the bottle down. “It’s water, though. And we’re not gonna make it much longer without it.”
“Daryl could come back with some.” Maggie announced, hopeful.
My chest tightened a bit at the mention of Daryl. He’d been gone for a while. The woods were his safe place, but this new revelation worried me. I stared down the road, willing him to come back, willing something… I just wanted to know he was okay.
And then, as if summoned by my thoughts, I heard the crunch of leaves underfoot, the sound of someone moving through the trees.
Rick’s hand went to his gun, and Carol tensed, but I didn’t move. My heart jumped into my throat as a familiar silhouette emerged from the woods, crossbow slung over one shoulder, hair hanging loose and messy around his face.
Daryl.
He stopped just shy of the group, his eyes scanning the pile of water, then flicking to us. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his posture—something tight, restrained, as Rick walked forward and handed him the note that had been left.
"What else are we gonna do?" Tara asked, chewing on her lip.
"Not this, we don't know who left it." Rick replied.
I blew a big puff of air out, looking to Daryl. “We could try to track who left it. See if they’re any good at hiding.”
He opened his mouth to respond but Rick butted in. “That could just be y’all waking into a trap.”
"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it," Eugene pointed out, not taking his eyes off the pile. "But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend."
"What if they put something in it?" Carol mumbled.
A beat later, Eugene stepped forward, picking up the same bottle Glenn had set down a few minutes prior and began unscrewing the cap. I scoffed, casting a glance at Daryl, silently hoping, for some ridiculous reason, that he might be looking back at me.
He wasn’t.
So I redirected my gaze back to Eugene, who had just had the bottle slapped out of his hand by Abraham. His excuse for attempting a sip? Quality assurance. I wasn’t about to sit there blaming him though; we were severely lacking on staying hydrated and Eugene was exactly the kind of person who would take that risk.
"We can't.” Rick’s tone was stern, unwavering, and honestly…I was surprised he hadn’t been the one to knock the water from Eugene’s hand.
As Rick's gaze swept over the group, a low rumble of thunder rolled through the air. Grey clouds began to gather overhead, swallowing what little sunlight remained. And like a god damn miracle, the first fat drops of rain splattered against the dirt road. The shift was almost instant. Tara flopped onto her back in the middle of the road, letting the first few drops of rain kiss her face. Rosita followed, laughter bubbling up between them.
For a brief two or three minutes things were sweet. People were smiling and laughing and cherishing the storm brewing.
“Everybody,” Rick barked over the thunder. “Get the bags, anything you can find. Come on!”
The rain intensified rather quickly, going from a slow drizzle to a steady downpour. Thunder clapped louder now, making Judith cry as Carl placed his hat on her head to shield her from the shower. We scrambled, setting out bowls, water bottles, and even laying out some of our clothes to soak in the moisture.
I edged closer to Daryl, nudging him gently and nodding toward the canteen clipped to his hip. He glanced down at it, then back at me before granting me silent permission to unhook it.
The rain was cool, refreshing, and exactly what we needed at first, but as the storm grew fiercer, it became punishing. The wind whipped against us, stinging our faces, and the thunder roared. It became increasingly clear that this wasn’t going to be a thirty minute rain shower.
“Let’s keep movin’!” Rick hollered over the noise, his voice barely carrying through the storm.
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed under my breath, frustrated that are little break had ended so soon. I didn’t even mean for anyone to hear it, but I caught Daryl’s gaze before I could look away.
His expression shifted, subtle, but enough for me to notice. His brows knitted together, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t anger or annoyance—it was softer, like defeat, maybe some worry. We hadn’t spoke much. Not really at all since I’d come out of that haze. I knew though, that he watched me. That’s why he slept close every night, and he skinned the squirrel, and let me close enough to unclip his water bottle.
He was going through a lot too. But I knew.
“There’s a barn,” Daryl said, raising his voice to Rick. Rain dripped from his oily hair, streaking down his dirty face, but he didn’t look away from me until Rick called back.
“Where?”
Daryl jerked his head toward the trees on the left.
.isn’t it lovely? all alone.
Notes:
ah! i’m sorry it took me a little long to update. i’m watching ‘this is us’ for the first time, and i’m BINGING (S3E7 rn). i hope to have the next chapter out by tuesday!
would REALLY appreciate some comments about whether this chapter was easy to follow, or if it even went over well? i’m pretty nervous about how i wrote it.
Chapter 48: ain’t scared of an ass-whooping
Summary:
“He has a camp nearby," Sasha said, her gaze wandering over the rest of us hesitantly. “He wants us to audition for membership."
“Like a talent show?” I asked, moving to stand closer to Michonne.
Chapter Text
.i’m gonna paint you by numbers, and color you in.
The barn reeked, we were soaked to the bone, and the small fire on the other side of the stables wasn’t enough to keep us warm, but we were safe. This was our first temporary home since we’d abandoned a Super Saver outside of Greensboro, unless of course, you counted the many nights we spent crammed in various cars along the roads.
This was something, at least. And we were together. Well—actually we were all split up around the barn, but you get the gist.
Soup: the most loyal of the entire group, was spread out beside Carl and Judith near the fire, surrounded by the familiar faces of Carol, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne, who were deep in their conversation. I only knew it was deep because a few seconds later, Daryl slung open the semi-rotted, half opened stable door and slid down next to me with a huff.
I looked at him, not fully, but I flicked my eyes to his sitting figure—his knees pulled up to his chest, hands resting on them, and his crossbow at his side. But it was the fresh scar on his hand that really captured my attention—a crimson, swollen blister, perfectly circular and angry. I’d seen it on him before; he had a matching one on his other hand from where he’d burned himself after he came back with Merle.
That was one of the times when we’d chanced a glimpse at the possibility of something more between us—a sliver of hope that carried the idea of a relationship. But something always intervened. First was during the fall of the farm, then again when he left with his brother, and now—I didn’t really know where we were now. Daryl meant something to me on an astronomical level, which is crazy, because I’d never cared for someone like that before. I’d never seen someone’s injuries and felt them like I did with him.
That little cigarette burn made me want to cry.
He was suffering so much emotionally to the point he chose physical pain as his release—and that’s disregarding the fact he was likely hungry and thirsty at the time too.
I slid my hand up to rest on top of his, tracing the sore softly with my thumb. He didn’t pull away, just remained still, and allowed me to rest my head against his shoulder. “Dar, things are gonna get better.” I tilted my head just enough to press a gentle kiss on his bare shoulder. “We’re gonna keep surviving.”
Those words were mostly for him, but maybe a little self indulgent as well. Neither of us had been okay since Atlanta, and neither of us dealt with our emotions in some award winning way, but we would come back from it. I was undertaking it all right now, and once I was okay—once I could process better—I’d make sure he was right behind me. “Alright?” I said, driving home what I meant. Hoping he understood how deep those words ran for me.
In one fluid motion, Daryl twisted his hand, entwining ours together and squeezing it tightly. As much as I wanted to keep offering him platitudes, wanted to keep going on a monologue about searching for the positives; I decided to take our entangled fingers as a confirmation that he understood.
_____________
The storm whipped violently against the old barn, the wind howling like a creature of the night as it rattled the wooden walls causing the poorly chained door to bang against the frame with an incessant clatter that screwed severely with any shut-eye. And even disregarding all of that, Daryl had disrupted my semi-comfortable slumber against his shoulder to begin pacing.
My body stiffened when I heard him curse though, and before I could begin to describe anything, my body was already doing the motions. Piece by piece, the others followed, slamming themselves against the barn doors to keep the ever growing threat out. Our shoes skid in the dirt and hay mixture, but we stood as a united front.
We weren’t at our strongest—we were all hungry, exhausted, and sick of each other—but the one thing we really kicked ass at, was doing exactly what we were doing right in that very moment, surviving together.
Our spirits weren’t broken, and things would get better.
_____________
When I woke the next morning, the storm gone and the barn littered with other sleeping bodies, I spotted Daryl immediately; he was planted directly beside where my head was laying, his knees to his chest and fingers absently twisting around his scruff. For a minute I just laid there, silently admiring him.
I think that was something that got lost amid the end of the world—the sheer simplicity of physical admiration.
Things had changed drastically. There was no such thing as a morning routine anymore. No makeup, no clean-smelling shampoo or hot showers. Nice clothes? Haven’t heard of them in a long time. Anything remotely stylish had been traded for practicality—clothes that didn’t rip easily, shoes that could last a lifetime. It had been weeks since I’d last put on anything remotely fresh. The same pair of shorts I’d been wearing for two weeks now clung to my waist, worn thin and frayed at the hem, stiffened by layers of dirt and sweat. The shirt I’d slept in had a rip near the shoulder, and my sneakers were caked with mud—evidence from the night before.
None of that stuff felt important anymore though. Life had stripped us down to the bare bones, and somehow, that made moments like this—just quietly admiring someone—that much more precious (even with dirt smudged in every nook and cranny of a persons face).
“Ya gonna stare at me til everybody else wakes up?”
Suffice to say, I was not the most slick admirer, at least, not when it came to Daryl Dixon.
I glanced to my left, my cheek pressing against the straw on the ground more firmly now that there was no use in being subtle. My eyes drifted to his hair distracted by the way his bangs hung in his face. “You should let me trim your hair some,” I blurted, though, my tone was hushed.
Out of the millions of ways to tell someone goodmorning, that had to be one of the most awkward. I shifted, pushing up into a criss-cross position in front of him. To make things just a tad bit more awkward, I extended a hand out, tucking a piece of hair neatly behind his ear.
Daryl didn’t move away, didn’t even shudder. Just gazed right back at me, completely unbothered by our proximity or the fact that there were others around—albeit sleeping—but still. “Ain’t got no scissors, girl,” he replied.
“Give me your knife.” I held my hand out, waiting to see if he’d seriously give me a shot at cutting his hair so rawly. To my surprise, Daryl reached down, plundering in his jeans and retrieving a pocket knife. “You serious?”
He breathed out a silent laugh. “Are you?”
Uncrossing my legs and moving to my knees, I leaned forward, fiddling with his hair a bit more. The oiliness and dirt that started to stain my fingers didn’t bother me as much as the foreign feeling of closeness did. Daryl and I had been much more close than we were currently, but something had shifted between us, things like this were more intimate.
I snagged the knife from his hand, flipping it open and eyeing the blade. It wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the world, not after being used for everything from gutting fish to scraping bark. Still, it’d probably do.
“Hold still, Dixon,” I murmured, shifting closer on my knees. With one hand, I held his bangs tight between my fingers, trying to section them off as evenly as I could. It wasn’t easy. The strands were thick with grime, sticking together in clumps, and the knife’s blade wasn’t as precise as scissors would’ve been. The edge caught and tugged more than sliced, and I winced every time it snagged.
My work was careful, angling the blade just right to avoid nicking cheek. Small tufts of his bangs fell to the ground, mixing into the hay beneath us. I brushed at them with my fingers, trying to clear away the uneven edges.
“There,” I said softly after a few more passes, leaning back to admire my handiwork. His bangs were a touch shorter now, no longer hanging in his eyes. The cut was jagged, with a few stray pieces sticking out at odd angles, but it suited him. I wiped the blade off on my shorts by instinct, before handing it back.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he eyed me curiously, tipping his head just a bit. “Y’ain’t gonna do the rest of it?”
Another brush through of his hair with my fingers, I then shook my head. “I like it long. And you have really gorgeous eyes.” I cupped his cheek with my hand briefly, then attempted to hand him his knife back.
To which he still refused.
“Nah, ya gotta close it,” he insisted, a slow, shy smile unfurling on his lips. “It’s bad luck to open a pocket knife and have somebody else closin’ it.”
“Well show me how to close it then, Dixon. It doesn’t have the little push down thing on it.”
Daryl explained to me that this particular knife had push down lever, but it was on the back rather than near the front of the blade. Him needing to teach me only opened up a playing field for him to tease me about—but this was a beautiful start to the day.
_____________
The rest of the group began to rouse as the morning wore on. Rick sat against a wooden pillar, Judith babbling in between his legs. Glenn, restless somehow, was on his feet, stretching and pacing, asking where his wife was. Maggie, along with Sasha, had gone on a walk according to Daryl.
And Daryl had moved to the other side of the barn, leaning on a bench with his crossbow balanced on his lap. He worked methodically, checking the tension in the string and securing it into place. Each pull and twist seemed deliberate, practiced—a dancer perfecting his moves for an audience unseen. I enjoyed watching him fiddle. Fuck. I was down so bad.
I remained where I first woke, pulling my hair into sections as I started to braid it back. My hands moved automatically, the simple act grounding me as I glanced around the barn, taking note of everyone in the aftermath of the storm that blew through last night.
The creaking of wood drew my attention to the barn door. Maggie stepped inside, a sharp “Hey,” as she entered. Behind her stepped a stranger—a man with tousled hair and wide eyes. Sasha trailed closely behind, a gun poised at his back. “This is Aaron.”
Everyone was on their feet by the time she finished her sentence. Daryl strutted forward, shoving the guy, Aaron, inside as he scanned the tree line. Once he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he slammed the door shut and gave Aaron a firm pat down, while Tara and Rosita positioned themselves in front of the entrance as an extra precaution.
"Hi," Aaron finally said, eyeballing the array of firearms pointed directly at him. Somehow—he didn’t seem at all nervous. If anything, he only started to look uncomfortable whenever Judith began wailing. "It's nice to meet you.” His hands were held up in compliance, but when he moved toward Rick, no amount of friendliness would’ve prevented all the guns from cocking in unison—a warning.
"You said he had a weapon?" Rick asked, his hands propped on his hips. Maggie handed over a palm-sized revolver, which Rick only examined shortly before concealing it in his back pocket. “There somethin' you need?"
For a moment, when I made a skim of eye contact with Aaron, there was a flickering memory of morning talks on a backed up highway in Atlanta, and learning random facts about Billy Joel. He looked trustworthy, a harmless man who could’ve attacked Maggie or Sasha at any point -- no… I wouldn’t think of this stranger like that. Things weren’t how they used to be. People weren’t how they used to be. That’s why Dale was dead.
Oh.
That was awful of me to think.
“He has a camp nearby," Sasha said, her gaze wandering over the rest of us hesitantly. “He wants us to audition for membership."
“Like a talent show?” I asked, moving to stand closer to Michonne.
"I wish there was another word," Aaron’s face twisted in an awkward grimace. "Audition does make it sound like we're some sort of a dance troupe. That's only on Friday nights,” he joked, earning him a miserable reception, but oddly enough, not quite as bad as Gabriel’s attempts. “Um, and it's not, it's not a camp," Aaron proceeded, this time a bit more wary. "It’s a community. I think you all would make valuable additions. But it, it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home."
Home.
The word twisted something deep in my ribs, and for a moment, I was back in my aunt and uncle’s house. It wasn’t fancy, just a modest little place at the end of a dirt road, with a worn front porch and a kitchen that always smelled like coffee. Home was the sound of Uncle Clyde’s laugh echoing through the walls and the way Aunt Bea kept jars of pickled okra on the windowsill.
Then after everything fell apart, there was the quarry. It wasn’t much of a home, but for a time, it felt safe. The buzz of cicadas, Dale’s voice carrying over the crackling fire, and the shared hope that Atlanta might still save us—it felt like something worth holding onto. Until it wasn’t. Hershel’s farm had been the closest thing to a real home after that. It was peaceful, until it wasn’t. And then of course there was the prison. Sturdy, secure, with walls that made us feel invincible for a long little while. It was the first place we tried to build a real life again. Rick’s crops growing in the yard, decorated cells, a routine we could count on, and the illusion that maybe, despite the spilled blood in the early days, we’d made it. Until we didn’t.
The word home didn’t mean a damn thing anymore. I wanted to, but I couldn’t trust it, not after everything we’d lost.
I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze flicking to Daryl. He was standing near the door, crossbow in hand, his eyes fixed on Aaron with a sharp, mistrustful look he tended to always give to strangers. I could tell that he was struggling not to pace around like an angry bull. Hope wasn’t something we could afford anymore.
"I know," Aaron breathed a laugh. "If I were you, I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was getting into. Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack?" He hesitated at first, but turned to her, and slowly, she did as he asked. “Front pocket, there's an envelope. There’s no way I could convince you to come with me just by talking about our community—that’s why I brought those.”
Rick had already bent down and fished around in the bag, pulling out the envelope that was promised to be in there. My breath hitched as I looked over his shoulder and saw him pull out the poor quality photographs.
As if reading my mind about the state of them, Aaron added. “I apologize in advance for the picture quality. Uh, we just found an old camera store last--“
"Nobody gives a shit," Daryl spoke over him.
I watched as Aaron fiddled nervously with his fingers, and wandered how he’d react. Daryl had come a long way since the quarry—but he was still Daryl. Gruff, blunt, and to an outsider, every bit intimidating. He was the physical embodiment of life on the road.
But our guest simply turned, sparing Daryl a weak smiled and replied, “You're absolutely one hundred percent right.”
I blinked back down as Rick sorted through the pictures, giving me a clearer view. "That's the first picture I wanted to show you," Aaron explained, nodding at the one we were looking at now. "Because nothing I say about our community will matter unless you know you'll be safe."
The first picture, as Aaron began to describe, was a massive panel of sheet metal, reinforced with tall support beams of solid steel to make a fifteen foot wall around whatever community he was talking about. I could only assume the watchtowers that they must’ve had, and found myself wondering how they were able to build a place like this in the middle of an apocalypse. The amount of people they would have needed in the beginning.
"Like I said,” Aaron continued. “Security is obviously important, in fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival. The people. Together, we're strong. You can make us even stronger,” he said, sparing a nervous smile as Rick began approaching him. “The next picture you'll see is inside the gates. Our community was first construc--“
My brows scrunched and my eyes widened when Rick hurled a fist directly at Aaron’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.
_____________
The humid air stuck to my face as I leaned against the bark of the tree, peering out into the woods. Across from me, Daryl was tucked behind his own tree, scanning the area with his crossbow poised. We were on edge—had to be. If Aaron was lying, there could be others waiting to ambush at a moments notice.
“So,” I clicked my tongue, breaking the silence, “say that Aaron is telling the truth. What do you think?”
“’Bout what?” Daryl asked without looking at me.
“Dar, come on, you know what.”
I narrowed my eyes at his movement, only to catch him readjusting his crossbow strap. “Don’t know,” he murmured. I’d bet my last flying dollar that he was chewing on his thumb again. “Atlanta was supposed to be safe. Woodbury, Terminus—who’s to say this ain’t just another one of them?”
I shifted my weight, considering his words. He wasn’t wrong. I’d gone through that same process in my own mind.
But this felt different. At least, I wanted it to be different. I thought back to Aaron’s body language earlier: how he’d stood with his hands open, not defensive but not overly eager either. He hadn’t stuttered or averted his eyes when Rick pressed him for answers, and his explanations came fast, like he’d rehearsed them—not in a conniving way, but like he wanted to make sure we understood.
“He didn’t seem like he was lying,” I said finally. “His hands didn’t fidget, his breathing didn’t change. Every time Rick asked him something, he didn’t hesitate. It doesn’t mean he’s not hiding something, but…”
“But what?”
“But in my professional experience, I’ve seen people lie—I mean, really good lies too. He didn’t have the look or the mannerisms.”
Daryl finally twisted around the backside of his tree to look at me. His lips were pulled up—almost a smirk, but not quite. “Thought you went to school to be a shrink for kids.”
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I-- yeah, technically. That’s not how college works though. I still had to take basic psych courses—ya know, look…I don’t think he’s like them. If he was, we’d be dead already. Maybe, he really does have a place we could call home.”
Daryl grunted, shifting to peer down his crossbow sight again. “S’that what you want? A home?”
I leaned my head against the tree and sighed. “Maybe,” I muttered. “I just don’t want this to be how we have to live for the rest of our lives.”
Daryl didn’t respond. He didn’t even glance my way again. Just kept his eyes trained on the woods, crossbow ready in case there was movement. I couldn’t tell if his silence meant he didn’t agree, or if he just didn’t know what to say. Either way, it left me feeling unsettled. Like I’d said something wrong.
I knew this kind of life suited him more than it did me—more than it did most people actually. Daryl was good at surviving in ways the rest of our group wasn’t. He could go days—weeks, probably—without a proper meal or a roof over his head, and he wouldn’t let it break him. This, out here in the woods with a weapon in his hands and the constant threat of danger, was where he thrived. It’s how he’d lived before the world ended.
I could tough it out, and I’d proven that to myself a hundred times over. But this wasn’t the life I was built for. I wasn’t like Daryl or Michonne, or even Carol, who all seemed to adapt like it was second nature. I was decent at scavenging and decent at fighting. Every time I had to fight with a knife though, I worried that my grip would slip. Every time I slept outside, I couldn’t help but flinch at every little noise. I was surviving, but I wasn’t good at it—not like Daryl. No matter how much he taught me.
I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I was tired. Tired of fighting, of running, of waking up every day not knowing if this was the one where I finally took my last breath. In the beginning of all this, I’d been so determined to not be looked at as some dead girl, but now…I was ready for something more than just scraping by. I needed to believe that Aaron’s promise of a home wasn’t just another trap.
And maybe that’s what scared Daryl the most—because if we put our faith in this place and it turned out to be a lie, we might not all bounce back this time. But I couldn’t stop myself from wanting it anyway. For the first time in a really long time, I was ready to have hope again.
_____________
We were going.
All of us.
Rick, Glenn, Michonne, and Aaron were leading in the car, while the rest of us followed in the old RV, rattling and groaning like it might fall apart before we reached wherever this “community” was supposed to be.
We were going.
I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t want to get my hopes too high, but I couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, there was a chance—however slim—that this could be real. Maybe Aaron’s community really was as safe as he said. Maybe it wasn’t. But at least we were doing something. Exploring an option.
Even if I didn’t want to admit it, I was excited. Maybe cautiously optimistic, maybe a little desperate, but definitely excited.
Worst case? We’d fought our way out of worse situations. If this turned out to be another trap, we could handle it. At least, that’s what I told myself as I sat by the window at the booth, my shoulder pressed up against Maggie’s.
The hum of the RV engine brought back memories of Dale—his voice, his wisdom, his watchful gaze. Willing to drive us through whatever fresh hell we’d found ourselves in. I glanced around, half expecting to see his fishing gear or hear him clear his throat to make some observation none of us had thought of. But the RV wasn’t the same. Neither were we.
The calm didn’t last long, and we all jumped collectively when Abraham suddenly cursed.
“What?” Maggie sat up straighter, her voice sharper than I’d heard it in days.
“Car’s takin’ the herd,” Daryl growled from his spot near the door.
Abraham swung the RV hard, sending us all rocking to the side. I grabbed the edge of the table to keep from sliding into Maggie. Outside, I caught a glimpse of the herd—walkers stumbling, drawn to both the car and the RV. But we had a chance to outrun them.
The RV groaned as Abraham brought it around sharply, and Maggie grabbed my arm. “Get back!” she snapped, shoving me aside.
“Move!” Maggie snapped, her eyes locked on the window, but her hand around my upper arm. I stumbled out of the booth, confused for half a second until I saw her hands pressed flat against the glass and heard his name on her lips. She was watching the car. Watching Glenn.
My stomach twisted as I followed her gaze.
“Hey!” I stomped toward the front of the RV, my voice sharp. “Hey, we can’t leave them! We need to go back!”
Abraham’s head snapped toward me for half a second, his eyes blazing. “You wanna take that tone down about five notches, missy?” he shot back, his focus quickly reverting to the road ahead, his grip on the wheel tightening so hard I thought it might snap. “You need to sit down, shut up, and let me drive, or I swear--“
“Those are our people!” I interjected, moving forward, close enough that I was almost in between the passenger and driver’s seat.
Abraham’s head snapped toward me again, his face red with irritation. “And they’re on their own, alright?” he snarled. “Should’ve been payin’ attention instead of drivin’ straight into that shit storm. This ain’t a damn rescue mission, Libby. They made their bed.” He shifted in his seat, jerking the wheel as if he could fling my words right out the window. “Now sit down, or I’ll pull over and make you.”
Daryl’s voice cut in, sharper than I expected. “You need to watch how you’re talkin’ to her, man.”
Abraham didn’t miss a beat. His eyes flicked to Daryl, then back to the road. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm. “She’s got you eating out the palm of her hand. You want to be her knight in shining armor? Come get your girlfriend.”
Daryl stepped forward, tension coiling in his posture, hands flexing, but I had a feeling he wasn’t coming to get me. I didn’t flinch though. “He doesn’t need to. I ain’t scared of an ass-whooping, so pull this thing over—my best friend is out there, and I’ll be damned--“
Before anything else could be said, Carol’s voice interrupted, calm but firm. “Enough. Both of you,” she warned, tilting her head toward the window. “There’s a flare in the air. Could be Rick.”
_____________
It wasn’t. But, it did turn out to be Aaron’s incredibly friendly and apologetic roommate, Eric. He was damn lucky that we were fairly friendly too, because if it hadn’t been for us rolling up when we did, he would’ve become a delicious dessert for a sum of four walkers.
He seemed nice enough to immediately put some of us at ease, and Maggie’s willingness to focus on wrapping his injured foot meant she wasn’t upset about the much needed distraction. It was also comforting to know that Aaron had been telling the truth. He really was only traveling with one person. Seeing that truth in the flesh was a small boost to the hope that had started to fade after witnessing the herd overtake the car.
I sat in the RV, stationed at one of the windows alongside Gabriel, Judith, and Soup. Jude was tucked snugly on the back bed while Soup curled at her feet, purring like a content little furnace. It was a strangely domestic scene—Soup being a bobcat and all.
My thoughts drifted as I leaned on my elbow, impatiently waiting for some sign that Rick had made it here. This community—if it really was what Aaron claimed—could mean a lot for the kids. For Jude, it could be a chance to grow up without constantly looking over her shoulder, always having a full tummy. For Carl, maybe it would be a safe place to figure out who he wanted to be, outside of survival. He’d been tough for so long, but he was still just a kid—thirteen. Maybe fourteen by now. This place could be a reset.
And then Soup. My lips twitched up at the thought. Could a bobcat even live in a community like Aaron described? He did okay at the prison, but he also had a ton of space outside and he was free to come and go as he pleased. But would they let a wild animal like him in and out? I guess it didn’t really matter. If we stayed, he was staying too, even if he ended up being the world’s first house-trained bobcat.
Movement outside caught my eye, pulling me out of my head. Abraham was standing at the end of the alleyway opposite of where the RV was parked, his silhouette pacing back and forth.
I sat back and exhaled, thinking back to our argument earlier. Maybe I had overreacted—or at the very least acted on impulse to what I’d seen. After everything we’d been through since the quarry, Glenn, in a sense, was my brother. He was the closest thing I’d ever get to real family again.
Leaning my head back against the seat, I sighed before standing up. “Hey, I’ll be right back. Are you good for a few minutes?” I asked Gabriel.
The ex-priest nodded. “Of course,” he said, as I pushed open the door.
I stepped down from the RV, the door groaning as it closed behind me. The chill of the night bit at my skin, and the faint smell of rot drifted into my nose the closer to the end of the alleyway I got.
The sound must have caught Abraham’s attention because he stopped mid-pace, turning sharply in my direction. His stance was rigid, one hand on the strap of his rifle slung over his shoulder, his other hand curling into a loose fist. He didn’t say anything right away, just watched me with narrowed eyes as I approached.
There was a stiffness in his jaw making it clear he was still wound up from earlier. As I stopped a few feet away, his eyes flicked toward the RV for a moment before settling back on me, his expression not entirely readable, but definitely tense.
“Hey,” I said quietly, peering up at him. “I uh, just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for being kind of a bitch earlier. You were doing what was best for the group, and I shouldn’t have came at you like that.”
Abraham let out a short, sharp exhale through his nose, then loosened his grip on the strap of his rifle so it slid lower on his shoulder. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice low. “You got a hell of a way of makin’ a point, I’ll give you that, darlin’.”He paused, glancing toward the RV again before meeting my gaze, his tone changing into something softer now. “But next time you feel like unloadin’ on someone, maybe aim that shit where it counts. This ain’t about you or me, it’s about keepin’ us all alive. You feel me?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m just tired of losing people.”
“Ain’t we all,” he replied, the edge softening just a fraction. He tilted his head toward the alley, nodding for me to walk with him. “But we can’t stop for every pothole, little red. Gotta keep movin’, or the whole damn thing’ll fall apart.”
I scrunched my eyebrows, replaying his words a few times in my head before responding. “Is that your way of saying we have to keep going no matter what?”
That earned me a chuckle and a nod. “Something like that.”
_____________
Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Aaron had reached the water tower by following the same flare the rest of us did, cutting through the herd of walkers. Aaron led them to route sixteen—the initial choice he’d suggested to begin with. By the time they arrived to the area around the water tower, Eric was comfortable inside of the abandoned building with his foot propped up, and everyone else was impatiently waiting for them to show up.
The plan was to leave first thing in the morning. According to Aaron, the community of Alexandria was about a two hour drive from where we were, and we’d be there by lunchtime tomorrow.
By lunchtime tomorrow, we could have a home.
_____________
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in one of these things,” Glenn announced, leaning against the counter.
“It’s a lot bigger than the old Winnebago,” I added.
Glenn tipped his chin up, “I bet we ran the Billy Joel cassette dead back at the farm.”
The mention of the cassette tape brought a rush of memories, bittersweet and vivid. Dale had been so excited to talk about Billy Joel with me that evening—the topic had completely derailed his initial departure and he stayed til the sun had nearly set telling me about his lyrics—we were supposed to listen to the tapes together the following morning. At the time, I hadn’t fully appreciated his gesture. He said I reminded him of Vienna , and I still doubted sometimes that I actually compared to the gorgeous lyricism.
Slow down, you’re doing fine…
The song had struck me in ways that flowed with my soul. It felt like Dale had seen something in me I hadn’t yet figured out myself—that I was rushing through life, too eager to escape my past, to prove something, to anyone. Maybe to myself. I still wasn’t sure if he was right, but I continued to cling to the song like a lifeline.
It hurt—remembering he was gone.
I thought about the way the farm seemed to breathe its last breath right alongside him—the security we’d started building unraveling until there was nothing left but flames, smoke, and walkers.
I could still hear Dale’s voice, calm and certain, telling me I had all the time in the world.
Now it felt like time was the one thing I didn’t have.
“Wanna find out?” I asked, my lips curling into a small, wistful smile as I began digging into my bag for the single thing I’d kept up with.
Glenn blinked, his eyebrows shooting up as he leaned forward. “You still have it?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. His eyes darted to my bag, then back to my face, his lips parting slightly into a smile as if he couldn’t fully process the revelation. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re telling me that thing survived?”
I chuckled softly at his reaction, shaking my head. “I have priorities, okay? This little thing is a trooper.” I gestured toward the booth I was sitting in, scooting over to make space.
Glenn’s grin spread wide. He slid into the booth next to me, the creak of the old vinyl seat filling the space as he settled in. I pulled my bag onto the table, getting a better angle to dig through its contents until my fingers brushed the Walkman. Lifting it out, I held it up with a triumphant smile.
Glenn let out a low whistle, leaning closer to inspect it as if it were some kind of ancient relic. “I don’t even know how you found batteries for it.”
My smile faded. Batteries. Immediately, I flipped the little square box over in my hand, popping the back off. “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled at the sight of corroded batteries.
Glenn leaned in closer, squinting at the damage. “We can always clean it up when we get there,” he suggested.
Before I could respond, the RV sputtered to a stop, yet another aching reminder of the early days of the apocalypse.
_____________
“Hey,” I stirred awake, peeling my face from the window. “We’re here.” Maggie said, her voice low.
After the RV broke down, I had decided to try and get some rest. The exhaustion of endless travel had taken its toll, and the booth seat, uncomfortable as it was, seemed like heaven once sleep drew me in. At some point, I was faintly aware of the vehicle lurching back to life, its rumble fading into the background as sleep pulled me deeper. It was easier to let go, to let the motion soothe me, than to stay awake and wait impatiently for our arrival to Alexandria.
But we were here now.
Tara, and Eugene, and Glenn, were all filing out of the RV, until only Daryl and Soup remained. I spared both the cat and the man an encouraging (half-drowsy), smile, before following Maggie out.
The walls were high, the fence was secure, the place was everything that Aaron had described, and then some. I was in complete awe of what stood before me.
If the people inside were good, and I really hoped that they were, this could be home.
.if things go right we can frame it, and put you on a wall.
Notes:
the little part where Libby and Abraham get into it, i was so excited to write. (i love Abe, but he and Libby would absolutely butt heads. it be like that for red heads) and one thing ab Liberty? she’s ten toes in when it comes to Glenn Rhee. (fr don’t talk to me ab season 7…)
…ALSO…i’m so freaking hype ab Libby and Deanna meeting! ahhhh! i love them.i hope y’all liked this chapter! it was particularly difficult for me to get through. i’m already 2k words into the next chapter though!
Chapter 49: monologue about music
Summary:
“Libby, right?” he called out, a friendly smile on his face.
A warm rush of color flooded my cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time this week, but I quickly masked it with an easy smile as I nodded.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.can you play me a memory, i’m not really sure how it goes.
“Deanna Monroe,” a woman, maybe five-foot tall, with a pristine haircut said as I passed Glenn walking out of the home. She held her hand out, and hesitantly, I took it.
“Liberty, um, or just Libby is fine,” I replied, following her as she led me into a living room with wall to ceiling bookshelves, and fancy decor; like it came straight out of a movie.
I was told I could have a seat or look around while she got the video rolling—a documentation of our story up until now. I decided to skim the bookshelves, not only to see what books this woman was a fan of, but also to get some insight on the type of person that led this community. To my surprise, the first one my eyes landed on was an astrology book. Not to type-cast someone, but she didn’t exactly fit the mold of someone who was into astrological signs. As I kept looking though, I found three other books with similar titles.
“Do you read a lot?” she asked, and I turned around to find her sitting down on the fancy leather couch.
I nodded. “I’m more of a fiction kind of girl, but I’ve read my fair share of others—too many on psychology.”
“Is that what you did before?”
“Kind of,” I said, making my way to the plush chair across from Deanna. “I would’ve began working on my masters degree the fall that this all started. I was going to specialize in childhood psychiatry.”
A smile grew easily on her face. “We have another woman here who went for psychology. Her name’s Denise. She was a practicing psych though, but I’m sure you’d have some stuff in common.”
That was a misconception actually. I wouldn’t say it was rare, but folks that studied the way people tick, weren’t always the most compatible friends. They tended to accidentally judge each other harsher and looked a little too closely at intentions. It was a nice sentiment though.
“Maybe.” I tried to force myself to make eye contact with her, but I couldn’t. I’m sure she had other expectations than I did, but the process was reminiscent of how I would acclimate new comers into the prison. Ask them questions, figure out what they’re good at, make them feel comfortable. I just never realized the awkwardness from being on the other side. “I uh-- I actually used to be a dancer too. It’s how I paid for college.” I blurted, my cheeks flushing pink.
The woman’s eyebrows scrunched, but her smile didn’t fade. It looked like she was working through my admission, trying to piece together the information.
“Like a--“ It was a struggle to get the words out to this stranger. I half-regretted telling her about that part, but my nerves were getting the best of me. “Like a stripper.” I wanted so badly to press rewind.
Her furrowed brows eased, and her eyes lit up in understanding. The beat of my heart slowed when I detected not a hint of judgement. “I guess I can assume you’re a bit of a people person then,” she mused, crossing her legs and leaning forward, her hand firmly resting on the coffee table. “I am too.”
Our conversation flowed freely, as if I’d known the woman all my life. A fact she told me about herself when I went through my adoration for Dale Horvath: she loves Billy Joel. Her first dance at her wedding was to the song ’You’re my home’. I couldn’t quite place it, but she assured me she’d let me listen to it. It seemed that Billy Joel was destined to play a role in my journey whether I liked his music or not. Luckily I did.
If nothing else, I found that in a lot of ways, Deanna and I were very much alike. We both recognized the importance of resources and stability, understanding that a strong community was key to success nowadays. We were comfortable with taking initiative, didn’t mind confrontation, and liked to give people fair chances.
Of course, there were many differences, but that would be a given considering our different backgrounds and stages in life. But, as our conversation continued, I decided that I liked Deanna.
“And Rick, he’s been a successful leader?” she asked.
“He does what’s necessary. His calls aren’t always right, but he takes accountability. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”
Deanna breathed out a laugh, nodding her head a bit. “He’s received a glowing review from all thirteen of you now,” she remarked. “Do you want to know why I saved you for last?”
“Didn’t think that was intentional since you didn’t know me,” my smile faltered and I kicked my self internally for it.
“I didn’t,” she admitted, her expression playful. “But let me tell you, Libby, your reviews are quite glowing themselves.” She wagged her finger at me. “And I have to admit, when Carl told me which one of you managed to make a bobcat into a pet, my curiosity in you was piqued.”
Embarrassed, I scrunched up my face. “He started following me one day and never turned back.”
“Come on,” Deanna stood, turning around to flip the camera off. “Let’s get you to your house. I’m sure your people have been missing you.”
We chatted about the community and how it functioned on our way, which only left me more impressed with the place than I already was. She’d taken the blueprint of something and turned it into a thriving self-sustaining reality. For so long I believed that places like this were nothing more than shells of a life that once was, but it really just took a strong woman with the right resources to keep it present.
The scenery may have been the most shocking to me. The streets were pristine, almost unnervingly so, lined with neatly trimmed hedges and houses that looked like they were plucked straight out of a pre-apocalyptic catalog. It felt surreal. I’d grown so accustomed to the growls of walkers and sounds of nature, a quiet night like this felt so foreign.
My gaze slowly drifted to Deanna. Her steps were confident, her demeanor calm, as though this was her typical nightly stroll. Which, that entire sentence to me sounded almost bizarre. She carried herself like someone who knew the demands of leadership and wore it all so well. Her words about glowing reviews echoed in my mind, and I began to wonder what exactly people had said about me. She mentioned Soup, and the thought made me grimace inwardly. A bobcat wasn’t exactly a shining example of survival skills, nor would I consider it a ‘glowing review’.
As we neared the house, I tried to focus on her voice, nodding along as she explained more about the community’s setup. Everything here ran like clockwork—a routine that I couldn't wait to dive into. It was all so impressive.
When the house came into view, I hesitated, a knot tightening in my chest. “This is it,” Deanna said, gesturing toward the door. “But before we wrap up for the night, I wanted to ask you something.”
I turned to face her, planting a picture perfect smile on my face. “Yeah?”
“Around here, we all have jobs,” she started. “Construction, babysitting, teaching, and part of my job is to place people where they belong.” Her head turned to the front door quickly, then back to me. “You have experience in a lot of areas, Libby, but the one thing I’ve noticed is your potential and attitude toward being a great leader. You’re young, and you have so much to learn—to soak in. But I believe with the right guidance, you’d do well in a position like mine one day.”
She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder—her smile was something of a mother. “I’ve asked Maggie to be my assistant in handling things around here, but I’d like you to shadow me.”
My stomach fluttered with nerves. I had no idea what that would entail, but that didn't meant I wasn’t intrigued. I’d never considered myself ‘leadership material’ or anything, and the closest anyone had ever come to saying something like that to me was when Dale insisted that I had more say than I thought I did—that people listened to me.
For so long I’d struggled with where I belonged in the group. I was well-liked, and did my part, but I wasn’t anyones first choice for much of anything. Deanna was offering me a chance to be somebody.
_____________
I showered, put on clean clothes that Maggie picked out for me in the stockpile here, and slept surprisingly well pressed up against a wall. Rick wasn’t ready for us to move into separate houses, and wanted to keep us together until he was able to get a feel for the place, which seemed logical to me. That was exactly what the rest of us were supposed to be doing, but Daryl didn’t seem too interested in leaving the front porch.
“Dar,” I murmured, sliding down the porch railing to sit beside him. “You should come walk with me, stretch yours legs, get a better idea of the place. It’s got potential.”
His opinion about Alexandria mattered to me—maybe more than anyone else’s. I needed to know if he was on board or ready to jump ship before I got too attached to calling this place home. If he was out, I was -- well, I guess I was out too, but not before I pleaded my case and all but begged him to try harder.
This was an adjustment for all of us, I knew that, and Daryl more than most. I just wanted him to give it a fair chance before he moped around like a sad little puppy.
Leaning my head against his shoulder, I let my hand lay in the crevice between mine and his thigh. A quiet touch. “This could be our home.”
Easing his own hand down to ghost over mine, he huffed. “You think these people are gonna make it if shit hits the fan?”
“That’s why we’re here, Dar. To show them—to try and make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s a solid community, and there’s more concepts Deanna’s working on.” I explained. I ran my thumb furiously along the back part of his hand. “Please tell me that you’ll at least try to give it a chance.”
He responded with a dismissive scoff and nothing more. Irritation crept into my veins, but I shoved it down, determined to keep a level head so maybe he’d start to see reason.
“Daryl, please.” I pressed. “I’ve got a job, and it’s only a matter of time before you have one too,”
He readjusted his bow, setting it down beside him, and then brought that damn thumb to his mouth, biting away at the rough skin. I wasn’t necessarily surprised. The silver lining about this anxious habit of his, was that it always meant that he was thinking hard, it meant he was still here, still engaged.
Silence built between us, and I doubted that he’d give me a direct response about calling this place home at any point today. But there were few people that had a single-handed, heavy influence on Rick Grimes, but Daryl was his right hand man. With how Rick was reacting to Alexandria—I needed Daryl on my side.
I sighed in defeat, opening my mouth to let him know that I was going to walk around and get familiar with the place, but he cut me off before I got a word out. “Kinda job you got?”
The urge to ignore his question and walk away was unusually high. It wasn’t because I wanted to be a bitch though - I just felt a little embarrassed to tell him what Deanna had told me about my potential. “She wants me to shadow her,” my words came out shakier than I would’ve liked. “She said with some guidance, I could be a good leader here.” I wasn’t going to glance over to him, figuring that maybe if I didn’t make eye contact he wouldn’t see the scarlet tinge on my cheeks.
He stiffened beside me. My heart jumped into my throat, my nerves working overtime. Suddenly, I didn’t want him to comment on it. No response was better than him doubting my position before I even had a chance to get a feel for it. What if he thought I wasn’t good enough? Daryl was a great judge of character, and he’d never implied that anything about me was screaming ’leadership skills’. “That’s good, girl,” he said quietly. “You’re gon’ do good there.”
Lips parting slightly, and brows drawing together, I glanced beside me. “Yeah?” I don’t know why I sounded so small.
Swiftly, he scooped up the hand that his had been resting over and squeezed it.
That was the boost I needed - well - the one that I wanted. When Daryl told me something, I believed it wholeheartedly and with my entire chest. He wasn’t a liar. He didn’t give out fake niceties. There was a sometimes brutal honesty that came with him that I’d grown to love over our time as friends.
“You sure you don’t want to come explore?” I asked, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“M’good.”
_____________
This was the kind of neighborhood I used to loathe the idea of living in. When I envisioned my future (back before the world ended), I always saw myself in a place like my Aunt and Uncle’s house—spacious, with a cozy screened-in porch and a swing. I daydreamed of a little plot of land, set far enough from my neighbors to enjoy a bit of peace. The cookie-cutter clutches of a suburban HOA lifestyle, always gave me a twinge of anxiety, reminding me too much of the claustrophobic trailer park of my childhood, where I feared the walls weren't thick enough to cover the sounds of abuse coming from our place.
At this point though, I’d adapted to the idea of, if it has four walls and a roof, it could be a home. The nice additives weren’t something I’d complain about though.
A hot shower, modern plumbing, a functioning kitchen, and soon, my own bedroom once Rick decided to let us settle in—oh, and the genuine privacy was at the top of things I looked forward to; I’d take the cookie cutter subdivision for as long as it was available. Not to mention the haircuts that a woman in the community was offering us. I was about two years overdue for a solid trim.
Maybe some bangs.
Just the idea of having it clean, styled, and manageable again was enough to have me looking forward to my five o’clock, makeshift appointment. It was such an old-world thing to get giddy about when survival was still at the forefront, but wasn’t that part of what Deanna wanted us to embrace? A chance to live, not just survive.
Live. Not just survive.
It was easy to forget about the outside world here, at least for a little while. The air even smelled different—clean, like cut grass, not the dirt, sweat, and blood I’d grown used to.
As I passed Deanna’s house, I noticed someone in the driveway. A man was crouched down next to a wheelbarrow, tinkering with something I couldn’t quite make out. He straightened up when he saw me, wiping his hands on his slacks.
“Libby, right?” he called out, a friendly smile on his face.
A warm rush of color flooded my cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time this week, but I quickly masked it with an easy smile as I nodded.
The man strutted down the driveway toward me. He was tall, slim, and grey haired, wearing a pair of black framed glasses with a unique circular shape, and a sweater vest that looked expensive. “I’m Reg, Deanna’s husband,” he said, extending his hand.
Politely, I shook it, throwing on my best face for the type of person I assumed he was. “The man behind the architecture.”
Huffing out a laugh, he rubbed the back of his neck. It may have still be too early to tell, but my gut hadn’t led me astray yet—I think I really liked Reg. He exhibited a certain level of comfort that I sensed was a genuine quality of his personality. “Deanna mentioned you, but I haven't watched your tape yet. She said you were a fan of Billy Joel,” he continued, an amused glint in his eyes.
“Mmm,” I nodded, failing to repress a grin. “A man who looked out for me in the beginning of all this was a big fan. He kind of passed that on to me, but I haven’t listened to much beyond ’The Stranger’.”
Something childlike sparked in his eyes as they widened. “I have a ’Piano Man’ vinyl—oh, I believe ’Storm Front’ as well. I’ll have to check. Would you like to come inside?”
The offer caught me pleasantly off guard. I hadn’t expected such an easygoing gesture from a relative stranger, but it didn’t feel forced or calculated. There was something refreshingly normal about Reg—he exuded warmth. It reminded me of Dale, the way he’d been so eager to share little joys or a good story with me. The thought made my smile linger a little longer. Maybe this place wasn’t just walls and rules—it really could be something more.
The idea of hearing music again, real music on a record player, sparked something bright in my chest—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’d like that,” I said sincerely, the tension in my shoulders easing. For the first time in a long time, the weight of the world didn’t feel quite so heavy.
Reg gestured for me to follow him, and I found myself walking back toward the house where I’d been interviewed the day before. The idea of stepping inside again didn’t make me feel as out of place as it had yesterday.
When we stepped through the door, the somewhat familiarity of the space settled over me. The polished floors, the furniture, the faint smell of something like lavender—or maybe that was rose. Reg led me toward the living room, his excitement almost contagious as he started talking about the records he’d collected over the years and how he’d only recently started recollecting them since the fall.
As we passed through the wide entryway, I spotted Deanna sitting on the couch, a stack of papers spread out on the coffee table in front of her. She was focused, a pen in her hand, jotting something down as her brows knit together in concentration before she looked up at the noise we’d been making.
“Libby,” she said, a smile instantly gracing her face. “How are you settling in?”
“Perfect, actually,” I admitted, my own grin hadn’t yet faded. “Reg said you told him about my fascination with Billy Joel. Apparently I still have a lot to learn.”
“He’ll have you listening to his entire collection if you aren’t careful.”
I shrugged. Truthfully, it didn’t bother me. I felt comfortable, and happy, and more myself now than I had in a really, really, really, long time. Interacting with people, having normal conversations, learning little quirks that I’d surely adapt to my own self: that was me. Reg could talk my ear off about his small collection and by the time our day was done, I’d begin to weave pieces of vinyls and musicians into the quilt of my personality.
“Ah,” Reg sighed from the corner of the room he’d drifted to. “’Piano Man’, some of his best work is on this album.”
This was exactly where I wanted to be. Tomorrow I would start fresh. A job—a position of prospective leadership. I’d shower tonight, sleep in a house, and begin a new chapter when my eyes peeled open. But today, I’d listen to Reg Monroe monologue about music and enjoy the company of strangers that would soon become friends.
_____________
“Do you like them?”
A pause. Ocean eyes scanned my body from head to toe. Three times. The last time they settled on my face. “Ya look good, Libs.”
I wasn’t wearing anything extraordinary. The only things significantly different than my normal, was the blazer that matched my pants, my fresh bangs, and a smidge of makeup to brighten up my face. But I suppose it’d been so long since anyone looked this fresh, it was a bit of an adjustment.
Daryl, however, hadn’t changed since we arrived—not even a shower.
“Deanna asked me to get there early,” I said, slowly making my way down the porch steps, my gaze still trained on the archer sitting on the wood flooring. “If anyone asks, I’ll probably be there all day.”
He hummed, offering me that simple non-worded response to linger over for the rest of the day.
_____________
For a good two or three hours, it was just Deanna and me, mostly discussing what my job responsibilities would be, and hashing out the details of my daily tasks. It was strangely corporate-like—and I didn’t hate it.
Contrary to what she had implied the day before, I wasn’t going to be simply shadowing her; I was stepping into the position right out the fate—I was going to be involved, contributing. She laid out a schedule that included everything from attending town meetings to helping her assess resources, resolve disputes, and brainstorm long-term community projects.
What stuck out most to me was her insisting that no matter what, my voice would be heard.
She encouraged me to speak out and give my opinions whenever and wherever I felt they were needed. It was an empowering concept I wasn’t used to—being valued like that by someone in her kind of position. Alexandria was about rebuilding, creating a future, and that meant everyone had a part to play, I just hadn’t expected to be thrust into such a significant role.
Around ten a.m, Maggie showed up, a smile and business casual clothes brightening up her features. To my understanding, Maggie was going to be an assistant of sorts. Someone to ensure that things ran smoothly. And as she settled in, I couldn’t help but admire how easily she seemed to fit into this setting. She was confident, poised, and had such a glowing personality; it wasn’t hard to see why she’d been asked to help.
Deanna handed each of us a list, and we began going through it, discussing the details of housing requests and who would move into which newly built houses and why. It felt surreal to be talking about housing assignments as if it were a normal task—like assigning dorm rooms or seating arrangements—but Deanna explained so effortlessly how important filing through and considering people’s requests were for fostering community.
“People thrive when they feel like they belong,” I said, adding onto her explanation with a motto I’d adapted back at the prison.
She tapped her pen against the note pad, a thoughtful look sparking in her gaze. “A neighborhood isn’t just a collection of houses, not anymore. It’s relationships, trust, a sense of safety. We have to think about compatibility, skills, and how people can support each other.”
Outside these walls, survival was practically solitary, but here, the goal was to build something. I glanced over the list, noting details about each family or individual: a couple with a young child, a widower who’d been a carpenter, two sisters who worked as teachers.
By the time we’d worked through the housing list, it was past lunchtime. The three of us shared a meal of broccoli cheddar soup and freshly baked bread, before we continued on with our day.
Maggie and I followed Deanna to the storage house, where most of the supplies were kept. The building was organized with a meticulousness that was actually quite impressive—a little overwhelming—but impressive. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with canned goods, tools, medical supplies, clothes, knick-knacks, and in the back was a weaponry. Olivia, the woman who kept up with inventory, handed me a clipboard and walked me through the process of inventory management—checking off items, noting what had been used, and estimating what we might need in the coming weeks.
I almost thought I was being trained for the job that she currently possessed until she reassured me I probably wouldn’t need to know any of that, but just in case.
Deanna chimed in from a few feet away. “We emphasize accountability. Everyone contributes, and everyone has access, but they also understand the importance of respecting the system. It’s how we build trust.”
When we finished, my head was spinning with information, but I surprisingly didn’t feel too overwhelmed. Shouts rose from the gate as we were making our way back to Deanna’s, diverting our attention to see what the commotion was about.
A small crowd had begun to gather around Glenn and Deanna’s youngest son, Aiden, who was shoving Glenn backward with mounting aggression. When I’d met both him, and his older brother Spencer, they seemed like perfectly reasonable men. Even the type that once upon a time, I may have found attractive. Aiden had made me coffee, before kissing his mother’s cheek and racing out the door.
But now his hands were on my best friend. Fuck him and his well-made coffee.
Maggie’s footsteps picked up, racing ahead of Deanna and I, attempting to nip whatever was happening in the bud. Likeminded, we followed her urgency.
“Aiden!” Deanna’s voice rose as we approached. “What’s going on?”
“This guy’s got a problem with the way we do things,” Aiden shot back, briefly turning to his mom. “Why’d you let these people in?”
That stung a little.
“Because we actually know what we’re doing out there.” Glenn retorted snidely.
In a flash, Aiden spun around, his arm cocking back like a spring. Glenn ducked, narrowly avoiding the punch; then, with lightning speed, he retaliated, landing a solid hit right on Aiden’s nose, sending him crashing to the ground.
Strangely enough, I hadn’t seen Daryl wander over until he was spearing Nicholas, preventing him from jumping on top of Glenn. his hands were wrapped tightly around the guy’s throat, threatening to choke him out by the time I abandoned my spot beside Maggie and Deanna. “Dar,” I called, crouching close. “Come on. It’s over.”
He stiffened, tightening his grip even further. It took nothing short of Rick prying at Daryl’s fingers, and physically shoving him back, to end the fight that broke out.
A line had been drawn in the dirt, placing our people on one side, and the Alexandrian’s on the other.
I knew Glenn, and I knew he’d been trying. This wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t confrontational. But I wondered how hard it would be to convey that to the rest of the community now.
I didn’t even want to look at Deanna.
Daryl was pacing, growling under his breath like a caged animal, staring down the two men that threatened to harm one of our own. Reaching out, my hand brushed his bicep: an invitation of comfort if he sought it, but I wasn't surprised when he jerked away, continuing to stare down Nicholas and Aiden; daring them to make another move.
Behind me, Deanna’s scolding to her son drifted out to the rest of Alexandria; insisting that we were part of the community now, and demanding we be treated as such. It wasn't until Deanna ordered Aiden and Nicholas to meet her at her house, that I felt comfortable taking my focus off of Daryl.
When I did, Deanna was addressing Rick, much to my dismay. "I told you I had a job for you," she told him. "I'd like you to be our constable. That's what you were. That's what you are.”
I had half a mind to speak up right then and there. To impose and let Deanna know that this decision might not be the right one for make right now.
But I knew better than that.
Questioning Rick’s ability to take a position of authority in front of everyone—especially the majority of our people—would come off as questionable. The last thing I needed was to feel like an outsider on my own group.
There was a slight comfort that Michonne would be with him though. She was better suited for that type of job.
I didn't give a damn what Deanna said about that being his job in the past; Rick had changed since the world ended—maybe more than most of us. He wasn’t the same Rick that came to Atlanta in search of his family. This version of Rick wouldn’t have gone back for Merle in Atlanta, or try to persuade Hershel into taking care of walkers in a barn.
I wasn’t entirely convinced Rick was even fully on board with Alexandria.
I continued to bite back my argument, forcing myself to stay silent. There was no way to question Deanna’s judgement right now—not in front of Rick, and definitely not in front of our group.
I watched as the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Deanna subtly dismissing everyone to go about their business. She turned to Maggie and me with a small smile. “You’ve both done enough for today,” she said. “Why don’t you take the afternoon to relax and continue settling in? I know this is still an adjustment period.”
Maggie nodded graciously, the polite response I expected. But I couldn’t let it go. Deanna had urged me to speak up whenever I felt that I needed to.
And despite my adoration for Rick—I needed to.
“Actually, would you mind if I walked with you for a minute?” My voice was casual enough, but there was no hiding the edge of curiosity.
“Of course.”
I turned to Maggie, giving her a small shrug as she raised her eyebrows. “Go on,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
When Maggie was gone, I fell into step beside Deanna. “Look, you told me to give my opinion whenever I felt like I needed to,” I started, trying to keep my tone light. “And don’t get me wrong when I say this—I trust Rick with my life—but honestly, I don’t think he’s in the right mindset to be given a position like that. He’s remarkable, and an amazing leader. I just,” I paused, swallowing harshly. “I think you should’ve waited a little longer.”
As I followed Deanna up her porch steps, my thoughts swirled. I didn’t regret speaking up, but now that the words were out, they felt more ominous than I’d meant them to. What if I’d overstepped? What if she started questioning everyone’s intentions?
But I couldn’t ignore the nagging instinct in my gut. Rick wasn’t the man he’d been before all this. He wasn’t the sheriff in a world of laws and civility. He was something rawer now, more volatile. I trusted him with my life, yes. But with this thriving community? Right now?
Deanna stopped just inside the living room, glancing back at me with an unreadable smile. My chest tightened.
“I knew I made a good choice with you.”
My brows scrunched, I literally tilted my head in confusion. Completely cocked it to the side.
“I wasn't intending on offering him the position quite yet, but seeing how he jumped into action—handling things—I may have gotten ahead of myself,” she explained, walking through the living room and into the kitchen.
Yeah, I thought. He jumped into action because Daryl would've choked Nicholas out and gotten us exiled from this place before we even settled on.
“Is there a reason that you’d say Rick isn't ready? Other than the obvious trust issues.”
I needed to tread lightly. Calculate my words. I didn't want Rick to seem untrustworthy, but I still needed to get my point across. My stomach knotted up as I filtered through the best way to tell her he was a little unhinged.
She handed me a glass of water, then sat down at the barstool, looking at me expectantly. “It’s hard to explain. Rick’s a good guy, he really really is, but he’s had a lot on his shoulders for a really long time. His instincts are excellent to the point they are a fault, and he hasn't had enough time to hone those in since we’ve arrived. He’s still in survival mode.” I explained, hoping my point was coming across clearly. “He’s not able to see any other point of view yet, so his approach to things are going to be rash.”
Deanna didn’t respond right away. She just sat there, her fingers laced around the glass of water she’d poured for herself. Her expression was still, completely unreadable.
I could feel the seconds dragging, the weight of the silence pressing down on me. Did I say too much? Was she already regretting asking for my opinion? Was she going to tell Rick what I said? Guilt thrummed in my gut.
Finally, Deanna leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter. “You think he’s rash,” she said, her voice calm, almost curious. “And yet you trust him with your life.”
I nodded, my throat dry despite the glass of water in front of me. “I’m part of his family. This place—these people, aren't. Not yet.”
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she considered what I’d said. “You’re very protective of this group, aren’t you?”
I hesitated, unsure of where she was going with this. “Some of us have been together since the start. I have to be.”
She nodded, as if I’d just confirmed something she already suspected. “That’s not a bad thing, Libby. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I was glad you wanted to talk to me in the first place. Because I wanted to talk to you,” she said, pointing a finger at me.
I took a slow sip of water. How had this conversation gotten turned on me?
“Aaron came to me with a proposal,” she sai, straightening up. “I’m tempted to give him the go ahead, but seeing as you’re on edge with the position I’ve given Rick, and your priorities lie both with his and Alexandria’s safety, it’s confirmed my suspicions of your good judgement.”
“About what?” I asked, not following where she was taking this.
Deanna’s expression shifted slightly, something like approval flickering across her face. “You have their best interest at heart—you wouldn't put them in a position that would jeopardize their safety or others. Aaron’s looking for someone to help him recruit more outsiders.”
“Eric’s not interested anymore?” I wondered aloud.
She shook her head subtly. “Aaron wants him to stay back. He wants someone that's better at taking care of themselves, someone who can be,” she paused, searching for the right words. “A good judge of character.”
Nerves vibrating, I bit the bottom of my lip. “You want me to give a suggestion? To send someone from my group back out there?”
“He’s actually made a suggestion himself.”
“Who?”
Deanna smiled. It was starting to piss me off how smug she looked. Maybe that was just my nerves though. It had to be. I liked Deanna.
“Daryl would be his first choice.”
Of course.
Of course, of all people.
I took another slow drink of water, biding my time to think through my response.
Rick wasn’t exactly ‘settling in’, but Daryl—he wasn’t even trying. The first, and only time he left the front porch was to fight somebody. He refused to shower or to spend much time inside, he was retreating to the inner most part of himself. He didn’t want to be here. So how was he supposed to sell this place to someone else when he didn’t even believe in it himself?
But Aaron wanted Daryl, as one of Alexandria’s front liners. He wanted Daryl to be the first person someone looked at to determine whether or not they wanted to join our community.
Daryl, the same man who had left a bloodstain on our doorstep after gutting an opossum on our very first night here. The man who refused to interact with anyone—even most of the people from his own group. We’d been here two days and Aaron was already trying to send him back out there. What about his comfort? Just because he wasn’t settling in as well as the rest of us didn’t mean he deserved to be sent right back out into the woods.
And what about me? This felt like just another barrier threatening the budding relationship I wanted with him so badly. Just like the fall of the farm, and just like Merle. I loved him. He didn’t even know that yet. I didn’t want him to go. This was supposed to be our home - he couldn’t leave.
Could he even handle going out there again right now? He’d gone through so much since the prison fell, and this was a big responsibility. What if something happened while they were out there and he blamed himself? Would he even come back? He wasn’t ready.
Fuck, I needed to stop.
I was getting ahead of myself. Being selfish. Infantilizing a man who was more than capable, just because I didn’t want him to go. Fishing for excuses to tell Deanna that, Daryl, the man who could objectively track and handle himself better than anyone, wasn’t a good choice to send outside.
I frowned, staring down at the water in my hands. Daryl had always been about action, about doing. Sitting still wasn’t in his nature, and the longer he stayed on that porch, the more he’d wither. He wasn’t the type to “settle in.” Not here, not anywhere really. But out there? Out in the woods, in all that was left of the world—that’s where he thrived. And he had a way of seeing people for who they really were. Of knowing who was worth saving and who wasn’t. It wasn’t something you could teach; it was just something he had . That’s why he was an integral part of the prison community.
He brought back people to make us stronger.
He could do this. Hell, he was made for this. I’d told him as much when I’d convinced him to stop searching for the governor. Daryl was an amazing judge of character. I’d be setting him back by telling Deanna otherwise.
“When we were at the prison,” I began, keeping my tone steady as I launched into all the good he’d done. I recounted how he had brought back George, the handyman who rigged a prosthetic leg for Hershel; Rachel, the lunch lady with a solution for everything recipe wise; Bob, a medic who became o much more than that; and Melanie—a friend I never got the chance to lay to rest.
Deanna was quiet at first, but the shift in her expression told me she was listening. Then finally, she spoke. “The way you talk about him—you seem to be very fond of Mr. Dixon.”
“I’ve learned a lot from him. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye, you just have to-“ I bit my lip, glancing back at the glass of water as I collected my thoughts. “He’s worth the work it takes to figure him out.”
.but it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete, when i wore a younger mans clothes.
Notes:
at this point, let’s be SO fucking fr, Billy Joel is a paid side character lmaooo. i’m also so sorry that this lacks a lot of #Liryl. it’s mainly a chapter focused on Libby building relationships with others and learning where she belongs (which is super exciting for the rest of the story). next chapter though 👀
i would LOVE some feedback on how i wrote Deanna, and how we feel ab Libby taking the reigns a little bit (aka, her questioning Richard Grimes)
Chapter 50: he wasn’t meant for the suburbs
Summary:
My stomach twisted at the thought—in the best way.
I turned as we reached the bottom, glancing up at him. “I’m against the wall.”
Notes:
explicit content towards the end. will be marked with ***
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting.
For a week, Deanna put off giving Rick and Michonne uniforms at my request. Biding some more time for Rick to adjust to Alexandria a little more. (Spoiler alert: he didn’t.)
Deanna suggested throwing a welcoming party, something to give everyone the opportunity to mingle and get comfortable around each other. We were still outsiders to the majority of the community. She thought if she brought us all together, it would ease Rick’s nerves about this place as well as help the others accept us.
It wasn’t a horrible idea — I didn’t think it would do much — but it wasn’t horrible.
I’d gotten a lot more comfortable working with and around Deanna since we first came here. I mean, it’s only been a week, but I felt like I was finding my footing. That didn’t mean I was ready to tell her how dumb I thought her idea was though. If she wanted to host a little party, pass around drinks, and do small talk, then there wasn’t any real harm in that. It also gave Reg an opportunity to pull me away from my duties to go through a handful of vinyls for him to have on rotation, and you wouldn’t catch me complaining about that.
And I’d started to get along pretty well with both Aiden and Spencer — mostly Aiden since Spencer had a knack of making himself invisible. It took a little schmoozing for me to actually give Aiden the time of day after his interaction with Glenn, but two coffees and a can of boiled peanuts later, we were hanging out a lot both before and after my days with his mom.
While my relationship with the Monroe’s had begun to blossom, and I enjoyed being a guest in their home, my relationship with my own ‘family’ was iffy. Strictly speaking, it was really just Rick, Carol, and Daryl, who gave me any shit about all the time I’d been spending away. Glenn was—despite the initial run with Aiden and Nicholas—doing okay. He joined us for lunch three times, and the small interaction he had with Reg, confirmed to me that the older man was, in fact, a good person.
Overall, I was happy. I missed talking to Daryl—but I was happy. I felt valued and needed and important. And it was only a matter of time before Aaron finally talked to Daryl. At least, I hope it was.
I didn’t need to talk to him 24/7 to know that he was beginning to go stir crazy.
The more time he spent sitting on that damn porch, the more time for his thoughts to spin about this place. I wasn’t a fucking idiot, I knew that’s what he, Carol, and Rick were talking about when they went on their little excursions away from the rest of us: this place.
The one that surprised me the most with how well he was settling in was Soup. He’d somehow managed to charm the Miller’s about a block down from us, and visited the elderly couple every single morning at the exact same time. I appreciated, however rocky our relationship may be, that Daryl took him outside the walls every other day.
He may be house trained (kind of), but he wasn’t meant for the suburbs. Neither was Soup.
_____________
“You protect and serve,” Deanna said to Rick and Michonne, offering them both glasses of water. “You patrol, walk the wall, watch out for the kids. If there's a conflict, you solve it. And people will listen to you.”
Michonne raised an eyebrow, her skepticism palpable. “Because we’re wearing windbreakers?”
“Because they believe in this,” Deanna retorted. “Because I'm telling them to.”
Rick’s lip twitched, but he said nothing. His disbelief was written all over his face. Contrary to initial belief, he wasn’t a people person. To the untrained eye he may come off as one, but he actually sucked at interactions. He also sucked at hiding how badly he wanted out of these interactions.
His eyes never stopped darting to the door, waiting until Deanna gave him the go ahead to start patrolling the streets. It was comical in a sense.
Deanna gestured to the jackets, continuing with her pitch. “A police officer used to live here. So we had these jackets and I wanted to make it official. So it's official. There's gonna be a government here one day. That's why I want Libby and Maggie working with me,” she nodded to the two of us. “There's going to be a police force. That's why I want you two to start it. I see a vibrant community here with industry, commerce, civilization. Real lives. It might be horses and mills, but--“ she paused, looking to Rick, who was looking to Michonne.
He didn’t believe in any of that shit.
He was listening to Deanna go on like she was daydreaming about something far out of our reach. And yeah, she kind of was. I wasn’t afraid to tell her that much, but the concepts were beautiful. And not all of them were far fetched. He was writing her off as though she hadn’t successfully made this community what it was.
Deanna wasn’t having any of it. “What?” she snapped, her tone sharp now. “Does that sound like pie in the sky?”
A beat passed before Maggie laid a comforting hand on Deanna’s. “No,” she said softly, the sincerity in her voice cutting through the tension.
“No,” Michonne echoed as the eyes were on her now.
Then Rick. “No.”
Their gazes shifted to me. Time to put my money where my mouth was. “Honestly,” I said, hesitating, “it’s a lot to work toward.” I admitted.
“You don’t think we’ll get there?” Deanna challenged.
“I do. Just not anytime soon. Realistically, maybe not even in our lifetime—not running as smooth as it sounds.”
Deanna leaned back slightly, her expression softening. “Maybe not in my lifetime,” she said, her voice quieter now, more personal. She reached across the table, her hand resting on mine. “But you’re going to be leading this place when it comes to fruition.”
Deanna’s words reverberated in my mind, circling in my thoughts as the meeting continued on. You’re going to be leading this place.
It wasn’t just a compliment or a motivational line to boost morale. Deanna meant it. I could tell. There was an unwavering confidence behind every word Deanna had ever said to me. Deanna believed she was building something monumental, something that could withstand the cracks of the world outside. And somehow, she thought I would be part of its foundation.
I didn’t mind it — I knew that’s what Deanna’s initial conversation with me was about. Shadowing her, learning from her, taking over some of her responsibilities; anytime I heard her say the words so plainly like that though, it shook me to my core.
It was both flattering and suffocating.
My fingers brushed absently over the edge of my glass. I had spent so much of my adult life commanding attention, be it from men in the club, or from my mentors in college. I was of the few who enjoyed it—and sought it out. Even during the apocalypse, I had managed to seek out the adoration of the most stubborn individual in all of Georgia.
But leadership? That was something different entirely. Leading meant people would look to me, depend on me. It wasn’t just flaunting around and working hard. It was responsibility, trust, expectations.
And Deanna had said it so casually, as though it were an inevitability. As though there was no question about my potential to shape this community to be more than what it already was alongside Maggie.
The idea both inspired and terrified me. I wasn’t naive enough to dismiss it outright; I knew what I was capable of. But Deanna’s words being said in front of Rick and Michonne planted a seed of doubt—could I really live up to the vision Deanna saw?
My mind wandered to the others, to Rick’s skepticism and Michonne’s quiet, flickering eyes. To Maggie’s faith in the future and Glenn’s unwavering optimism. To Daryl and Carol, whose mistrust of this place fueled more issues. They were all part of this—part of the community Deanna was trying to build—and they would each play a role in its survival.
But they knew me.
A different version of me.
They knew my tendency of getting sick and being bedridden. They knew me when I was sneaking off with Daryl, before we found the prison. They knew my impulsive attitude toward leaping into action. They knew me when I manipulated Daryl. They knew me when I got overwhelmed and disassociated.
Why would they choose to listen to me?
My hand tightened around the glass as I stared down at it. Deanna’s words still clinging, impossible to shake.
You’re going to be leading this place.
_____________
We went over a handful more to ensure that Rick and Michonne—mostly Rick—understood very clearly what was expected of him. It seemed so…strange? Treating him so fragile.
But the looks - the side glances he wouldn’t stop making, the slight tick in his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to glaze over when Deanna didn’t immediately agree to his requests - Rick was about one inconvenience away from crashing out.
Thinking about it too long made a pebble form at the top of my throat, and I had to swallow hard to push it back. I knew why he was like this. He was traumatized. He carried so much weight — so many deaths. Rick was the type of guy who got emotionally invested, which wasn’t inherently a bad thing, but with each loss, each blow, each failure, a piece of him chipped off. More and more.
If Hershel were here, he’d have an entire speech that would somehow talk Rick back from the ledge. He’d see a breeze of reason through the mouth of Hershel Greene.
Besides Lori, I think Hershel had been Rick’s greatest loss.
The meeting had shifted outside at Rick’s insistence, his reasoning as practical as it was transparent. He needed to see things for himself, needed to feel like he was doing something. Deanna hadn’t argued, though she looked faintly bemused as we followed him out.
I stayed in step with Maggie, a few paces behind the other three. To an extent, Maggie was the only person who might’ve understood the awkwardness I was feeling. It wasn’t like she and I were invisible before we got to Alexandria - people heard us and sometimes listened - but it was strange being put on a pedestal of sorts, in front of people we once looked to for answers, seeing them watch us like we were something to be analyzed, something to be figured out—it made my skin itch. I felt like I needed to make them proud, or to gain their approval. I didn’t want Rick or Michonne to think I was making them look bad in front of someone they were still sussing out.
And they weren’t wrong to be skeptical, not entirely at least—Deanna’s optimism didn’t erase the dangers lurking beyond the walls. So when Rick started stressing the need for lookout patrols and security, I was completely on his side.
Stopping near the solar panels and support beams, he turned to speak. “We need constant patrols along the walls,” he said. “Not just looking for damage, but for signs that someone climbed in from the outside. Move right up the supports; that’s what I’d do. People are the real threat now.”
Deanna’s lips pressed together, her posture shifting. “Rick, I know you think we should all be armed within the walls, but… I can’t do that.”
“That’s fine. You make these changes, and we won’t need to.”
“Having more eyes around here could open up more jobs,” I said, silently urging Deanna to bite the bait just a little bit. “And I don’t think anyone would mind a little extra security.”
“Excuse me,” from underneath one of the solar panels, Sasha stepped forward. “I want to volunteer to be one of the lookouts in the clock tower.” She hasn’t been offered a job yet — driving home my insistence that it would open up the opportunity for more work driven people.
Almost casual in her tone, Deanna responded. “There are no lookouts in the clock tower.”
My heart stopped. Seriously. I think I had an actual arrhythmia.
Rick’s eyes flared, the voice of a father that was about to ground you came out. “What?”
“We saw someone up there earlier.” Michonne added.
“That was an empty rifle my son Spencer put up there. He mans it sometimes, but not often,” Deanna admitted, and I cringed internally as she did so. Fuck, I felt stupid. “Look, there hasn’t been the need.”
Rick turned his attention to me—not to Maggie—to me. “Did you know about this?” he demanded, fury flaming, I was a victim to his wildfire attitude now.
I froze, nerves fraying. “No, I—”
“Did you even ask?” he didn’t actually care. He wasn’t looking for excuses. “We need a lookout in that tower, right now. 24/7.”
Michonne picked up, her voice softer, but unyielding. “It’s the only way we’ll know if someone’s coming for us.”
Deanna’s eyes flitted between us, but unhesitatingly so, she replied. “Okay, okay. We’ll make shifts.”
“I’ll take those shifts. As many as possible.” Sasha volunteered.
I hadn’t been particularly close with Sasha, but I knew enough about her — been around her long enough — to know something was off. Not quite like Rick, but there was something boiling inside of her, that I thought was painstakingly obvious.
Deanna studied her, quiet for a beat, before asking, “Why?”
“Sasha’s one of our best shots,” Maggie answered, jumping in before Sasha could stumble over her response. “She can do it.”
Deanna held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, like she’d made a decision. “I’m gonna put Spencer up there today. I’ll consider you for the primary lookout. But I want something in return.”
Sasha looked unamused, but that didn’t seem to bother Deanna. If anything it made her face soften just a touch. Her eyes warming and a small smile breaking through. “Tonight I'm hosting a welcome for all of you at my home. I want you to be there.”
Sasha blinked, “Why?”
Deanna’s little smile didn’t falter. “Come tonight. Then we’ll talk about it.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
“We need to consider Libby’s involvement more carefully,” Rick said, hand on his hip, looking between me and Carol.
I knew Libby’s new position was gonna ruffle some feathers for Rick, and I didn’t like the way her name sounded coming from his mouth this time. “Why’s that?” I asked, fighting back the bite I wanted it to have.
“Michonne and I met with Deanna earlier to talk about security measures, come to find out, that perch we saw the rifle in this morning? Nobody was up there. It’s unloaded,” he said, a sour look in his face.
“S’that gotta do with Libby?”
Rick sighed, running a hand over his face before he responded. “Libby’s been there all week. Daybreak to sunset. And — today,” his eyes cut to Carol. “Deanna made her intentions for Libby crystal clear.”
“Yeah?” Carol replied.
“She wants Libby to take over.”
Her eyes widened in a disbelief I didn’t understand. “What? I thought it was just an assistant job, like Maggie.”
“Look, I don’t think Libby’s intentionally overlooking the issues with this place, but I don’t think she’s ready to be in that position,” Rick’s gaze shifted to me again. He was talking indirectly to me. “She either knew about the lack of security, or she was too naive to ask the right questions. Either way, she’s not cut out. We need to think about how we’re gonna ask her to step away from-“
“It’s only been a week,” I interrupted swiftly.
“Daryl-“
“Nah. You sayin’ we can’t trust her no more? That’s bullshit man,” I growled, just as a flash of ginger came strutting down the sidewalk. A certain fury in each step she took.
“Hey!” Libby hollered, stomping up the steps, confrontation etched onto every crevice of hr being, nearly chest to chest with Rick. “Yelling at me like that? Zeroing in on me like I knew about the empty crows nest?”
“Libby—“
“I’m not done,” she snapped. “I’m not incompetent or naive to the issues that this place has, but it’s been a week and all you’ve done is sus this place out rather than actually try to improve it.“
Carol stepped forward, her tone a touch softer than it had been previously. “Rick’s concerned, Libby. He’s not the only one.”
Libby’s head whipped to look at Carol, and I can’t remember the last time I saw her so angry. Maybe when she was upset with me after I left with Merle? Her face flushed, jaw tight, and her an unforgiving passion rolled from her tongue. “No, I know,” she said, this time looking to me. “I know the three of you are so skeptical of this place you won’t even give it a fair shot. And I know the three of you have been sneaking out to have secret meetings too,”
Carol got half of a word out before Libby waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I didn’t follow you.”
She didn’t leave any room or time for an argument. As quick as she came in, she left. Slinging the front door open and slamming it behind her as she went.
She wutn’t wrong — so I refused to look at either of the other two. None of us had given Alexandria the benefit of the doubt, but at least I wutn’t lying about it.
I hated this place.
Not for all the same reasons Rick and Carol did though. Shit. I don’t even think they hated it. They just wanted to control it. I actually hated it. Hated the judgmental looks I got from these people. Hated that I didn’t have a job. Hated the fact that they expected me to prove something.
Only reason I’s here is cause the rest of my group was. Most of’em even seemed to be settling in pretty good. Judith and Carl were taken care of — which was enough reason in itself to stick around. And I didn’t care what Rick and Carol said, Libby was finally finding her footing.
She wanted somewhere to call home, and the girl’s been tryna figure herself out since the minute I met her. And with the way she talks, I’s pretty sure she’d been tryna do both those things all her life.
“You need to talk to her.” Carol finally broke the silence that had settled over us. I had almost forgotten they were still there. She turned to Rick. “We need to get dressed and get there early enough to count heads as people trickle in.”
When they went inside to get ready for the dumb ass party, I started thinking about whether I actually wanted to go or not. Aaron told me I should at least consider it — and he was the only person besides Rick and Carol to have engaged in much conversation with me lately. I didn’t mind being alone. I preferred it. But I liked being completely alone. Not in some fancy two story house or on a porch for the neighborhood to speculate about.
I missed being around Libby.
She still made an effort to talk to me, but I couldn’t blame her for staying silent most of the time. I wutn’t giving her a lot of room for conversation. And now that she started goin’ to Deanna’s every god damn day, I didn’t have many opportunities to work in any small talk throughout the day.
Couldn’t even ask her if that lady had found me a job yet. It’d been a week. Everyone else seemed to have jobs now, but me. Apparently she still hadn’t seen anything useful in me.
Shocker.
A faint clip-clop sound came from inside the house, and I couldn’t hear any of the words that were being said, but about thirty seconds later the front door opened and Libby came walking out.
My mouth went dry.
I’d wanted to tell her that I was thinking about going to the party when she left, but that was before she emerged wearing a skin tight maroon dress with short-heeled sandals, before her lips were painted a deep scarlet color and the skin on her shoulders was bare. Her hair — pulled up and pinned and little pieces framing her face.
Libby nervously ran her hands down her sides, and I swore I saw her eyes flick to my mouth. It had been so long since our lips had brushed, I wondered if she was thinking the same thing as I was.
I missed her.
It was cold and windy the last time we’d been intimate in any form, and now the summer was starting to bloom, so maybe six months ago. I had plenty of time in that gap to reflect and regret not taking things further with her. Particularly when the prison fell. When she showed up at Terminus I made it a point to not fumble again.
After Atlanta it’d been hard, but I still tried. Still slept next to her every night. Still brought her food as much as possible. Still stuck by her side when I could.
“Does it look okay?” she asked, still fiddling with the sides of her dress.
“Ya look,” again, my eyes scanned every square inch of her body until they landed on her lips. “I ain’t ever seen you wear lipstick.”
“Mrs. Woodrow has a stash of Avon makeup and insisted Maggie and I take some. People say redheads shouldn’t wear red, so…I don’t know.”
I scoffed. “That’s bullshit, ya look nice.”
Her perfect lips flipped into a smile, but they faltered. Only slightly. But I saw.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “For yelling at you earlier. I shouldn’t have came after you and Carol — I just had a lot of time to let the situation boil. I was only mad at Rick though.”
“Libs, I’m gonna try,” I confessed, struggling to keep my hand away from my mouth.
Her eyes lit up, and she reached for me, grasping my wrist. “Yeah?” I used to call guys like me pussy-whipped — or a push over. But I didn’t really care, not when she was looking at me like she was when I nodded.
The door slammed in the house next to us, causing Libby to look past me. It was Maggie.
“Well, I know it’s not exactly your style, but you should come by the party tonight,” Libby said softly, dropping her hold on my wrist and heading down to the steps. “There’ll be beer.”
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I escaped to the back porch as soon as I’d fixed the record player, eager for a moment of quiet after greeting everyone who had trickled in. It was past dark, with no sign of Daryl making some kind of shocking appearance, and today had been both emotionally and physically stressful.
On the railing of the porch, where my elbow currently rested, I watched a little line of ants marching toward me. It was stupid - but for some reason, I felt like squishing them would be more work than just moving to the other stretch of railing. Plus…didn’t ants deserve to live too? They had their own space in the ecosystem that was important, right? Or maybe I was making that up.
Maybe I was just tired of destroying things.
Definitely tired of overthinking.
So I moved.
My gaze shifted to the flower bed that skirted the bottom of the porch, and my eyes quickly glazed over, lost in a mental trance.
Pale violet petals, thin and delicate, stretched outward in a perfect, starburst-like pattern. At the heart of the daisy, a golden-yellow disk sat like a miniature sun, burning in the center of the cool purple hues. A beautiful little addition to the already beautiful house. Was I delusional to want this for everyone in my group? These short-stemmed flowers weren’t much — just little happy’s that made the apocalyptic world a smidge less bleak.
I was well aware of the threat beyond these walls, both dead and alive. I’d experienced the losses, the hunger, the hopelessness, that the living and the dead had caused.
Same as Rick.
But it felt like my endurance and knowledge of the world outside was somehow lesser than his. I guess, in a sense, it was. I didn’t murder my best friend, lose my wife, and have two kids that depended on me; but if we were comparing things that way, it’d be as good as comparing apples to oranges. We’d all suffered greatly. If there was a low point, almost all of us had gone even lower. I disassociate; Rick hallucinates. They were both coping mechanisms, yes, but fundamentally not the same. Apples to oranges.
While I didn’t have the experience that Rick had as far as leading a group of people, that didn’t mean anything about my ability to do so. He himself had told me that people had a tendency of listening to me. Deanna was just the one going the extra mile to drive that point home.
I loved and cherished the people I’d traveled from Georgia with. They were my family - a perfectly trauma bonded family.
Under no circumstances would I intentionally put them in harms way. Especially without their knowledge. I’d grown, adapted, and changed so much since the beginning, even more so since the prison, and I found it insulting that Rick had the audacity to yell at me for something that I had no idea about. Spencer left the house every morning at the same time. ‘Going in the watch tower’ is what he told his mom he was doing the second morning I came in. It wasn’t too far fetched to assume that was where he escaped to every morning following.
I shouldn’t have to defend my logic. And it wasn’t Rick’s place to yell at me for it either.
For five days, he, Daryl, and Carol had been sneaking off, conspiring in private. I knew that’s what they were up to, but I hadn’t given him any shit about it. I hadn’t given him any shit about anything actually.
“I like the red.”
I spun around. Aiden stood at one end of the porch, a single eyebrow raised. I hadn’t seen him since this morning. Figured he dipped out on the party somehow. “You look nice,” he said, walking my way. “Didn’t peg you to wear heels though.”
Aiden was nice to talk to. I had to look past him putting his hands on Glenn. But he was nice to talk to. Easy. A kind of small talk that had gotten lost over the end of the world.
I scoffed at his comment, drawing my lips in a tight line. “Where have you been?”
“I don’t love these things,” he said, leaning his elbows against the railing as I had been doing a few moments prior. “Just the excuse to drink without my mom nagging me about it.”
“Your dad has three square drinks a day,” I pointed out, getting back into position beside him.
“And he got nagged for it until me and Spencer were teenagers. What are you doing out here?” he nudged my shoulder, punctuating his question.
Contemplating my life, I wanted to tell him. That would’ve led to something deeper than small talk though — even if it was just sarcasm.
“Honestly,” I sighed. “My social meter has dropped to an all time low. I’m waiting for your mom to walk into the other room so I can sneak down the steps.” Craning my neck, I looked into the glass doors at Deanna, who was laughing with Amelia Roundcliff about something.
There was a smile in his voice when he replied. “She likes you a lot. I think she secretly wanted Spencer to be a girl, and never stopped bugging us to bring home a nice girlfriend once we went to college, so you’re filling that hole.”
“Pfft,” I looked over to him. “I’d have been a much better daughter than that loser you call a brother.”
“Maybe,” he paused. His eyes flickered down to my mouth. “But then it would be weird of me to check you out.”
My breath hitched, and I felt like sinking into myself.
This was small talk. That’s it. That’s all it ever was. We had short conversations in the morning over coffee, nothing meaningful. Had I looked at it wrong? Naturally, I was a flirt. It was my job before this, and it’s ultimately what led me to my intimacy with Daryl.
But I’d kept that in check. I made a point to keep it in check ever since I began seeing Daryl. It slipped up sometimes, I was aware; both Rick and Tara had been victims of my harmless crime. But that’s what it had been: harmless. Completely unintentional. The kind of flirting that wouldn’t allow any room for Daryl to perceive things deeper if he caught on.
Not that he and I were exclusive though. Nothing had been made official. It was the same as the prison. It’d probably always be the same as the prison.
That hurt.
Aiden was leaning into me, and I was aptly aware of what it would lead to. I didn’t have any official ties to Daryl.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, averting my eyes while backing away. “I know, a lot of girls say that when they reject someone, but I really am. I’m seeing someone. I--“ swallowing the lump that began forming in my throat, I darted down the steps, turning to him one last time. “Tell your mom bye. I’m sorry.”
_____________
I pulled in a slow breath and let it out through my nose, trying to settle the unease curling low in my stomach as I made my way down the sidewalk to my house.
The streets of Alexandria were relatively empty, most porch lights were off, and I half expected to see my own off and the figure of an archer propped close to the door — but ours were on; no sign of Daryl anywhere.
Brows furrowed, I marched up the steps, looking for any sign that he was around. But there was nothing. His crossbow wasn’t there, neither was his bag, so wherever he’d gone, he planned to be away for a while. That realization frustrated me incredibly. I hoped that my recent interaction with Aiden would keep the fire in my heart burning long enough to talk about my feelings, but his absence seemed to ensure that flame would flicker down before I saw him again.
Briefly, I wondered if he’d decided to go to the party after all and I just missed him.
But when I opened up the front door, I was met with an unexpected sight. “Daryl Dixon,” I called, taking long strides to stand in front of him in the kitchen.
“What?”
“Hair washed, covered shoulders, clean clothes, and…” I leaned in closer, dramatically taking a sniff of his freshly washed skin. “You smell like cucumber melon. Were you planning to go to the party?”
He picked up a green apple from the countertop, inspecting it, then taking a large chunk of it in his mouth. “Was gonna,” he said, mouth full.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Not my thing. Aaron invited me over.” Another bite. I found it almost disturbing how large his bites were, but I tried not to get too distracted.
“And you went?” I hadn’t seen him interact with Aaron since we arrived in Alexandria, but that didn’t mean it never happened. It did take me by surprise that he accepted an invitation though.
Then again — he did say he’d start trying.
“Mhm,” Daryl hummed. “He gave me one’a them jobs.”
My eyebrows leapt in excitement. I could tell, in his own way, that Daryl was actually excited to tell me about it. And I was excited to hear. Even though I already knew all the little details and expectations, I was happy that it was all finally being set in motion.
With Aaron being anxious, and wanting some kind of guarantee that Daryl would join him, I jokingly threw out the idea of getting him a motorcycle. Which, to my surprise, Aaron already owned parts to. It still wasn’t technically a guarantee, but I knew it was something that would really be the cherry on top for Daryl.
“Did he tell you about the bike yet?” I blurted, unable to keep my own excitement for him down.
Mid-motion to take another bite, he paused, looking at me skeptically. “You knew?”
Part of me bristled. I had a horrible tendency of getting ahead of myself. “Kind of…” I trailed, blowing out a deep breath. “Deanna was concerned about sending one of us back out there so soon, so she asked me for an opinion.”
In simple terms, that was the truth. It wasn’t necessary for me to tell him that it all started out by me questioning Rick’s new job.
“And you told her to send me back out?”
There wasn’t anything angry about his question, but I didn’t like the force he used to toss the apple in the garbage. He seemed frustrated now — pacing between the sink and the island. Did he think I pulled strings to get him a job? Or was he questioning my judgement like Rick did?
I stepped forward, another inch closer to him. “I told her that if she was going to send anyone out it should be you. I know you Dar,” he stiffened when I brought my hand to his, but he let me cradle it anyways. “You thrived at the prison because you were able to come and go as you pleased, and you were contributing. There’s nothing you can contribute to some suburban neighborhood where people are constantly watching you. You’ll do more for this place out there, than behind the walls.”
Daryl grunted, the lines on his face relaxing a bit. If I looked at him too long, I was scared he’d tense up again — shy away from me like he’d been doing since we got here. So I squeezed his hand before dropping it.
“And you do get a pretty cool bike out of it,” I teased, nudging him a little.
He pivoted past me, heading toward the living room, but still craned to look as he spoke. “Didn’t think you’d be okay with me going back out there.”
“I don’t love it,” I admitted, trailing behind him, the click-clack of my heels echoing in the room. “But I know you’ll come back.”
Daryl didn’t respond to that—not with words, at least. His shoulders tensed as he reached the couch, then rolled as if he was shrugging off something only he could feel. He grabbed the folded sheet from the armrest and gave it a sharp flick, letting it billow out before draping it over the cushions. The fabric settled unevenly, one corner dipping toward the floor. With a huff, he bent to tuck it into the creases.
I lingered by the console table, watching the way he moved. The couch was lumpy, barely long enough for him to stretch out on, but he wasn’t complaining. He never did. Even now, settling in like he expected nothing better. Like he didn’t deserve better.
I shifted on my heels, my weight tilting forward as I opened my mouth— You could sleep with me. The words formed, hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitated.
The basement was completely mine. It gave me enough room to work, had a private bathroom, and three dressers equipped to house lots of clothes. Carol had the bedroom downstairs, Michonne opted for the office as it ‘had more lighting’, and Rick, Carl, and Judith were upstairs. There was still technically a bedroom left, but Daryl hadn’t shown any interest.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but when I chose the basement I secretly hoped he’d eventually join me anyway.
Daryl sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing a hand over his face, exhausted. My fingers curled into my palm as I watched him. “Hey, I uh -- I’m in the basement,” I said, drawing his attention to me. He scrunched his eyebrows slightly, confused.
“I mean, I know you knew that already, I just meant, if you needed -- or wanted to -- It’s a big room…” I fumbled over my words, my cheeks heating up rapidly. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I restarted. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, Dar. I have a king size bed, three dressers, and a bathroom. If you wanted to come down, I wouldn’t mind. I’d like it, actually.”
Daryl’s hand stilled against his face. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t look at me—just sat there, his fingers curled loosely against his jaw. I braced myself for the inevitable grunt of refusal, for him to shake his head and settle into whatever made him most uncomfortable, just because it was what he was used to.
But then, without a word, he stood.
I swallowed, watching as he grabbed his crossbow, slinging the strap over his shoulder before reaching for the sheet. He hesitated, then left it where it was, as if realizing he wouldn’t need it after all. My pulse jumped.
He still didn’t say anything as he followed me to the basement door. I descended first, feeling him behind me. My room wasn’t anything fancy, just a bed, a few dressers, a bathroom off to the side. But it was mine. My own little space. And now, ours?
My stomach twisted at the thought—in the best way.
I turned as we reached the bottom, glancing up at him. “I’m against the wall.”
Daryl huffed, biting back a smirk. “What?” I asked, immediately removing my heels once our feet hit carpet.
He shook his head, scanning the room as he inched in. I tried not to fidget as Daryl took in the space, his eyes flicking from the bed to the dressers to the door leading to the bathroom. It wasn’t like I had anything to be embarrassed about—this was my room, my little pocket of privacy. But now, with him standing there, his crossbow still slung over his shoulder, it felt different.
More intimate.
Not in a sexual way—though the thought flashed, unbidden, through my mind before I quickly pushed it aside—but in the way that letting someone in meant something. Daryl didn’t do this. He didn’t take up space, didn’t make himself comfortable. He crashed where he had to and left before anyone could miss him.
But he was here. And staying.
It was a far cry from the prison bunks we shared.
I hovered near the bed, unsure if I should climb in first or wait for him. Did I turn off the lamp? Pretend this was normal?
He exhaled, then sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching down to undo his boots.
Right, I thought to myself. I should probably get undressed first. This shouldn’t have felt as awkward as it did. I’d been in far more exposed situations with Daryl, but never had it been this domestic. I glanced toward the bathroom, debating whether I should just go in there to change. It would be the polite thing to do, right? Give him space, make it less weird. But that felt completely unnecessary.
Daryl had seen me naked before— felt me before. And it wasn’t like I was going to be standing here giving him a show. I was just changing into a T-shirt, nothing scandalous. Running off to hide in the bathroom almost made it seem like I was embarrassed, like there was something between us that hadn’t already been crossed.
So, I just… didn’t.
Instead, I reached for the zipper of my dress and pulled it down in one smooth motion, keeping my movements casual. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the way Daryl stilled, his fingers pausing at the laces of his boot, but he didn’t look up. He just kept working, tugging at the knot like it suddenly needed his full attention.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking.
Shimming out of my dress, the tights came off next, and I grabbed the sleep shirt I’d tossed on the dresser earlier, slipping it over my head before turning toward the bed.
Daryl was still fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. But now, he was peeling back the blanket, his movements slow. Like he was still figuring out whether he was really going to let himself do this. Which is why I almost felt bad for stopping him. “Uh-uh,” I shook my head. “Look, you can keep the shirt on, but you can’t sleep in those pants, they’re dirty.”
His lips pressed into a firm line, like he was fighting the urge to argue just on principle, but he didn’t. Instead, he huffed, dropping his gaze again as he reached for his belt.
Satisfied, I turned toward the bathroom, keeping my movements casual. This was fine. Normal.
Once inside, I let out a slow breath, bracing my hands against the sink for just a second before reaching for the facial cleanser I snagged from the Avon stockpile. I massaged it into my skin, splashing my face with water before dragging a rag across it, watching in the mirror as the smudges faded away, leaving me mostly bare.
When I finally stepped back into the room, Daryl was still by the bed, his shirt on, but pants now gone, leaving him in just his boxers. He was pulling back the blanket, still looking like he wasn’t entirely sure about this. My fingers toyed with the hem of my sleep shirt as I shifted my weight, debating. I should tell him.
About Aiden. About what almost happened.
Not because I felt guilty—I didn’t. Nothing had really happened, and even if it had, Daryl and I weren’t… anything. Not officially. Not in any way that mattered. But it still felt wrong to keep it from him.
And if I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t just about Aiden.
I wanted to tell him more than that. I wanted to tell him how much it killed me, seeing him pull away since we got here. How much I hated that we went from sharing bunks at the prison, finding comfort in each other when the nights got too long, to whatever this was now—this strange, uncertain distance between us.
I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me.
But the words stuck in my throat, heavy and uncertain, so instead, I crossed the room and sat down on the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. I glanced up at Daryl, patting the space beside me.
He hesitated, standing there for just a second longer before finally exhaling and lowering himself onto the bed beside me.
With a quiet sigh, I let my body fall back against the mattress, my hair fanning out over the blanket as I stared up at the ceiling. My fingers drummed against my stomach, lips pressing into a thin line. I didn’t know what I expected. For him to suddenly open up? For this whole weird tension between us to just disappear the second he agreed to come down?
That was stupid.
Nothing was ever that easy with Daryl.
I turned my head slightly, catching the way he was watching me from the corner of his eye, like he was waiting for me to say something. And maybe I should.
Maybe it was time.
I took a breath.
“Dar,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant for it to be. But I didn’t correct it. Didn’t give myself the chance to back out. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, looking at him. “I think…I think I almost made out with someone tonight.”
Daryl’s expression barely shifted, but I saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee. His shoulders went rigid, like he was bracing for impact. He didn’t look at me right away. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor. “What?”
I nodded, swallowing. “Aiden. Deanna’s son. We were talking and kind of had a moment or something. I don’t know — I stopped it before we actually kissed or anything.”
Silence stretched between us.
I could see the way he was working through the news, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he sucked his tongue against his teeth. His fingers tapped once against his knee before curling into a fist. He was holding something back— reining himself in.
Daryl had never been the jealous type. At least, not outwardly. But I knew him. I knew the way he withdrew when something got under his skin, the way he locked it down tight until it festered.
And for some reason, that made me even more nervous.
I shifted, sitting up fully now, tucking one leg beneath me. “I told him--“ I took a breath, careful not to stumble over my words. “I apologized, and I told him I was already seeing somebody.”
His gaze flickered up to mine, cautious, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Something passed through his expression—something quick, barely there, but I caught it. That quiet, hesitant relief. He looked away, rubbing a hand over his jaw, fingers trailing over the stubble there.
“Dar,” I whispered. “Am I? Seeing somebody — am I?”
His throat bobbed with a swallow. He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded once, slow and thoughtful. Like he was still letting himself process it. Daryl’s eyes met mine then, steady and searching, like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t quite get them out.
“You n’ me, girl,” he murmured, voice rough.
Something tightened in my chest.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The space between us felt smaller, charged with something unspoken. His gaze dipped, lingering on my mouth for just a second before flicking back up.
I swallowed, a smile fighting its way up. “You and me.”
Daryl exhaled softly, like a weight suddenly was lifted away. My pulse picked up as the newness of it all settled between us—heavy, electric. I bit my lip, letting the silence stretch just long enough for my heart to trip over itself before shifting closer, testing the space.
Daryl didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in.
The blanket lay rumpled underneath us, half-pulled back. I reached for it hesitantly, fingers skimming the fabric before pausing. Was I supposed to get in first? Should I wait for him? The air felt different than before, and I wasn’t sure how to navigate it.
Daryl, for his part, looked just as unsure. He was still perched on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, his hands resting on his thighs like he was holding himself back. He’d taken off his pants, agreed to this, but now he was just… sitting there. Like moving any further might break whatever unspoken understanding we’d just reached.
I inhaled slowly, then decided fuck it.
Shifting back, I slid beneath the covers, my body angling toward him, my movements careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped as I settled, my knee brushing against his back in the process. He tensed just a little but didn’t move away. My fingers skimmed the hem of the blanket, smoothing it out as I glanced up at him.
“Could you, um…” I licked my lips, feeling uncharacteristically unsure. “Turn off the light? Maybe just leave the lamp on?”
Daryl’s eyes flicked to mine. Then, without a word, he pushed himself up, crossing the small space toward the light switch. The room plunged into darkness, save for the yellowish glow of the lamp beside the bed. The shadows it cast danced along the walls, turning the small space into something warmer, softer.
I let out a slow breath, then patted the spot beside me. “Now get in, I’m getting cold,” I murmured, trying to bring a lightness to the situation that felt so awkward.
His lips twitched—just barely—but he still hesitated. His gaze flickered over my face, searching for something I wasn’t sure he’d find. Then, after a beat, he exhaled through his nose and shifted, finally moving underneath the blanket. He didn’t lie down right away, though. Instead, he sat there, half-leaning on one elbow, like he wasn’t sure how much space to take up. Like he was still figuring out how this worked.
I felt that uncertainty too.
For a second, I just… hovered. My body angled toward him, my fingers curled into the sheets, not sure if I should move closer or stay where I was. The room felt warmer now, the air heavier. The closeness was different here, in this space, this bed. It wasn’t like before—wasn’t like when we curled up together at the prison, exhausted and seeking warmth in each other’s bodies in the guard tower. This was something else.
We were together now.
I swallowed. Then, slowly, I shifted closer, reaching out. My palm met his chest, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched—just barely—but he didn’t stop me.
I applied the faintest pressure, urging him back.
Daryl let me, his body moving with mine as he sank against the mattress. His head hit the pillow, his gaze locked onto mine, steady but unreadable. My pulse thrummed beneath my skin.
And then, I moved.
Slow, deliberate.
One leg swung over his hips, my knees bracketing his sides as I settled, the blanket pooling around us. Daryl’s hands found my thighs, hesitant but firm, like he wasn’t sure if he should be touching me but couldn’t help himself.
I braced my palms on his chest, leaning in just enough for my breath to mingle with his.
“Comfortable?” I teased, voice barely above a whisper.
Daryl swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against my skin, grunting in response.
I smirked at that. He didn’t move away. Didn’t shove me off or mutter some excuse to put distance between us. His hands stayed right where they were, grounding me, anchoring me.
For months, we’d danced around this—around us. Even before, when it was just sex, just some unspoken thing we never put a name to, there had been a pull. But now? Now, we were something different. Something more. And I could feel it thrumming in the air between us, in the heat of his hands, in the way his breath came just a little sharper the closer I got.
I licked my lips, pulse hammering, and watched as his gaze dropped, tracking the movement.
Oh.
My stomach flipped, and before I could talk myself out of it, I dipped my head, brushing my lips over his—just a whisper of a touch, a question more than anything. Daryl stilled beneath me, his whole body going tense, and for half a second, I thought I’d screwed this up. Thought maybe it was too much, too soon.
Then he moved.
Not much—just the slightest tilt of his chin, just enough to press back, to meet me in the middle. His fingers dug into my thighs, his grip tightening as my lips parted against his.
The kiss was slow at first, uncertain. A careful thing, testing the waters. But the moment I sighed into him, the moment my fingers slid from his chest to the back of his neck, threading through his long, chocolate hair, something shifted.
Daryl exhaled sharply, and then he was the one chasing the kiss, deepening it, taking it. His hands slid up, gripping my hips, pulling me closer until there was nothing between us but heat and want and six months of tension that neither of us had known what to do with. I gasped as his teeth grazed my bottom lip, a barely-there touch, but it sent something shivering through me. I pressed closer, felt his heart hammering beneath my palm, and realized—mine was beating just as fast.
I wasn’t sure who sighed first. Who finally let the tension go, who melted just a little. Maybe we both did.
But everything seemed to suddenly not matter.
Not the guard tower incident. Not any of the venom spewed words from either of us during the months after. Not the fall of the prison. Not our time on the road. Not the weird tension that had grown between us since we arrived in Alexandria.
One of his hands left my hip, sneaking its way underneath the hem of my shirt, before resuming its previous spot — this time on my bare skin. The other followed, and I couldn’t contain the moan the was coaxed from my throat when his tongue slipped into my mouth.
Despite the heat in the kiss, there was still something so — hesitant. Like he was scared to take something without permission from me.
Which was weird considering he’d called me a slut for him on more than one occasion.
Swallowing another kiss from him, I pushed back, sitting upright with my thighs on either side of his waist. Beneath me, I could feel the heat and hardness pulsating through the thin material of his boxers. It was impossible for me to refrain from grinding down just a little bit, savoring the whine that he exhaled.
“Take it off.” I ordered, already working the buttons of his shirt open. Daryl wasn’t overly fond of being so exposed, but I had no doubt that he’d do it for me — and that felt greedy — but so good.
It made me feel ridiculously powerful to know that he’d do anything for me. And in the moment, I half-wished I could keep the realization at the forefront of my mind all the time. But it was only in the excerpts of heated exchanges was I remind of how desperate he could be for me.
When he leaned up to pull his arms from his shirt, I erupted in an involuntary fit of giggles as I was thrown back (mostly due to my own negligence of not holding onto him), and landed on the mattress, somehow nestled between his outstretched legs.
“Shit, girl,” he cursed, bracing himself on his hands to keep from fully collapsing onto me. His weight hovered just above mine, his chest bare from the abandoned shirt. The warmth of his skin radiated between us, and I bit my lip, trying to suppress another giggle, but the way his eyes narrowed told me I wasn’t successful.
“You laughin’ at me?”
I shook my head innocently. “Nope.”
Daryl huffed, settling more comfortably above me, his legs slipping between mine as he shifted, pressing me further into the mattress. The movement made me squirm, but before I could retaliate, he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand. My breath hitched. “That so?” he drawled, his lips finding the curve of my jaw. “’Cause it sure sounds like you’re laughin’.”
I shivered as his lips trailed lower, ghosting over the sensitive skin of my throat before he nipped at my collarbone. I gasped, arching instinctively into him. He chuckled against my skin, the rumble of it vibrating straight through me.
“Daryl,” I warned, though it lacked any real threat. Not that I wanted him to stop or anything.
“Libby,” he mimicked, smirking as he pressed another kiss just below my ear.
My heart fluttered at the way he said my name. It was almost always ‘Libs’ or ‘girl’. But fuck, I loved the way my name tasted coming from his mouth. His grip on my wrists loosened, and I took the chance to snake one arm free, curling my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. I tugged lightly, urging him back to my lips greedily.
***
And that was all the encouragement he needed. His free hand found the hem of my top, fingers ghosting over my skin, pausing just long enough for me to react.
I lifted my arms.
The fabric was gone in an instant, lost somewhere in the room. He pulled back just enough to take me in, his gaze dragging over me in a way that I’d never seen before. My skin burned under the intensity of it.
His fingers brushed my ribs, featherlight, as if memorizing every inch. My breath caught.
“Daryl,” I whispered, my fingers grazing his cheek.
Then, his lips were on me again—soft, unhurried. A kiss above my heart. Another along my shoulder.
I exhaled, threading my fingers back through his hair, tilting my head just enough to meet his lips again. The kiss was slower this time, deeper. His weight pressed down, grinding this time.
“Yeah,” he murmured against my skin. “Ain’t laughin’ now, are ya?”
My body shuddered at the rasp of his voice, but any attempt at a reply died in my throat the moment his hand began trailing downward, skimming over the curve of my waist, the dip of my stomach. His fingers caught at the band of my underwear, teasing the edge, making me squirm more than I already was. I wasn’t nervous—not with him—but the anticipation had my skin prickling, my chest rising and falling in time with his.
Daryl lifted his head, watching me, eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t ask for permission outright, but he didn’t need to. I knew him well enough to recognize the wordless question lingering in the way his hand hesitated.
I nodded, barely perceptible, but it was enough.
He hooked beneath the fabric, dragging it down with agonizing slowness, his knuckles brushing against my thighs as he peeled them away completely. The cool air against my core sent a shiver up my spine, but Daryl’s body was quick to replace the warmth, his weight shifting as he leaned in again, pressing another lingering kiss just above my wetness.
A slow, shaky exhale slipped past my lips as his hands skimmed up my sides again. He wasn’t rushing. Instead, he seemed to take his time, letting his lips and hands explore like he was committing every inch of me to memory. As if he’d forgotten what my body looked like and how it reacted to him.
I was already lost in the feeling of him when I felt his hand shift lower, tugging at the waistband of his own boxers. My heart pounded, anticipation thick in my veins. I reached for him, but he shooed my hand away.
I swallowed hard.
Months of no physical contact to this extent and I was ready to be an absolute, filthy little slut for him. Meanwhile, he was taking his precious time leaning himself back over me.
The heat between us magnified, skin against skin, every inch of him pressed flush against me. I had little time to react before his lips found mine again, deeper this time, more urgent, and when he shifted his hips just slightly, a quiet moan escaped me.
Daryl stilled for a moment, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breath came uneven, matching my own. “Missed you,” he mumbled.
He was so soft when he wanted to be.
I hummed, slowly, carefully, hooking one of my legs around his waist, biting back another moan as his cock brushed against my clit. “You don’t have to anymore, Dar,” I angled my hips upwards, seeking more friction. “Me and you.”
Maybe I was imagining it at the time. There was a high chance I was. Heat of the moment and what not. But I was sure that I saw his throat bob, and the faintest glimmer of tears in his eyes. I know for sure he bit his lip and drew his brows together though.
Slowly, he shifted, rolling his hips just enough for his length to slide against me, teasing, sending a fresh wave of heat curling low in my belly. I sucked in a breath, my nails biting into his shoulders.
He hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for our eyes to meet again— fuck, that was so damn mushy-gushy.
Daryl didn’t say anything though, he didn’t really need to. I could feel it in the way he held me, in the way his forehead stayed pressed to mine, in the way he exhaled like he was letting go of something heavy— he wanted this to be slower, more intimate.
This wasn’t a quick-fuck, or very passionate either. I doubted either one of us would be lasting long enough for anything to get too heated.
Then, finally, he pushed forward, slow.
A sharp gasp caught in my throat as he stretched me, the fullness stealing my breath. Daryl let out a low, shaky groan, his hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, his lips ghosting over my temple.
My fingers fisted in the sheets, legs tightening around his hips, pulling him in deeper.
My hands traced slow, reassuring paths along his back, ignoring the risen scars and paying close attention to every shift of his muscles as he continued to move, rocking into me with an aching need. Another moan slipped from my lips, swallowed quickly by his mouth.
Each slow thrust sent warmth pooling through my limbs. His hands slid up my sides, fingertips feathering over my chest before curling around my shoulders, pulling me closer, like even with our bodies pressed flush together, it still wasn’t close enough.
I tilted my head, pressing my lips to the hinge of his jaw, whispering his name against his skin. He shuddered, his breath catching, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like nothing else existed beyond this room—beyond us.
And for once, after six long months, neither of us had to be anywhere.
“Libs, I’m-“ he groaned, working his hand down, pressing the pad of his finger against my clit and massaging it messily.
His low grunts quickly warped into whines, the tighter I squeezed him, and I almost felt bad for having him hold out for as long as I did, but I felt indescribably full and wasn’t looking forward to this ending. Just as suspected though, the knot didn’t take much longer to snap, and I was as good as gone.
“Daryl, baby,” I gasped, forcefully moving his hand from overstimulating me. “Baby, you can cum.”
“Where?”
I don’t know why that question shocked me. All those times we had sex, and he’d always asked that same question — but for some reason, this time it took me a minute to respond.
“Want it in my mouth,” I replied, stealing another kiss from him. “Please. I want to taste you.”
That — must’ve struck something in him, because immediately he let out a full on whimper, loud enough that it made me clench around his cock, threatening to milk him. His thrusts became harder, but so much slower, as if he was punctuating a sentence each time he entered me, until his movements stopped completely.
Daryl ducked his face into my shoulder, short grunts leaving him as he exhaled.
****
Minutes passed and we laid there — just like that. My fingers found their way into his hair, idly twisting the strands between them. Every few moments, I felt him tuck himself closer, like he was trying to disappear into me. He exhaled shakily, shifting just the slightest bit, but still not pulling away. And I knew—we were both processing it.
He hadn’t pulled out.
Before this, we’d always been extremely, extremely, careful. In fact, we’d argued about it once or twice during previous moments of weakness where it nearly happened. But this…this had actually happened. If something came from this, it was already done.
A part of me was terrified. I couldn’t deny that. But another part—maybe the more fucked-up part—didn’t want to let that fear ruin the absolute gorgeous experience I just had.
I pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. “Dar.”
“M’sorry.”
“Mmm-mmm,” I shook my head, shifting so I could see his face. He looked absolutely spent in every way possible—his skin slick with sweat, lips swollen and red, hair sticking to his forehead—but it was his eyes that caught me. They were glassy, like he was barely holding back a pool of tears. “Daryl, it’s just one time. It’ll probably be fine. Don’t--don’t apologize.”
He finally lifted his head, and I bit back a whine at the sudden emptiness inside of me. His hand skimmed down my side, almost absentmindedly, before settling on my hip. His voice was quiet.
“Only takes the one time, girl.”
That pulled a soft, breathy laugh from me. “Yeah, I know how it works, Dixon. I’m just saying… don’t think too hard on it, okay? It’s done. It’ll be okay.”
Daryl didn’t say anything after that, just exhaled another deep, uneven breath before shifting, his weight easing off me by inches. I felt the loss of him immediately—the warmth, the pressure, the way he had been wrapped so completely around my body.
I let my hands fall away from his hair as he settled onto his side next to me. His fingers lingered against my waist for a second longer, almost like he was reluctant to break contact entirely, before he finally pulled back.
The space between us wasn’t much, but it felt wider than it should have.
I turned my head, looking at him, taking in the way his chest still rose and fell with the remnants of exertion. His arm was bent, resting above his head, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the ceiling. But his hand, the one closest to me, twitched slightly.
Without thinking, I closed the distance, pressing my body against his, tucking myself into his side. He let out a breath, this one softer, almost relieved, and instinctively draped an arm over my back, pulling me in.
This was different.
Not the sex itself—though it had been. This was different because of what came after.
Before, we had always been careful, both with our bodies and with whatever this thing between us was. It had always been good, always left me breathless and craving more, but this time had felt… more.
I had never been held like this after. Not just by him—by anyone .
I could still feel the heat of his hands, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin, the way he had looked at me like I was something just for him. Like this wasn’t just an indulgence or an escape, but something completely his .
I swallowed, closing my eyes briefly as I let my thoughts settle.
Then, I grimaced. “Jesus,” I muttered. The stickiness between my thighs was suddenly impossible to ignore. “I need a shower.”
Daryl huffed out a laugh, low and rough, and I felt the tension ease—just a little.
.my hands are shaking from holding back from you.
Notes:
soooo…..AH! #Liryl is back and in full swing. I really wanted to make the smut top-tier raunchy, but wanted to take into consideration their growth and the fact that they’re a CUTE LITTLE COUPLE NOW. so y’all got lots of sweet, fluffy, goodness. literally the next few chapters are just gonna be treats because the heavy shit isn’t very far away.
on a different note… this chapter was over 11,000 words! so i genuinely hope y’all liked it because i’ve been working on it nonstop.
Chapter 51: make casseroles and play bingo
Summary:
“Ya said I stunk,” he scoffed.
“You do!”
“Ain’t no worse than your mornin’ breath.”
Notes:
this takes course over about two weeks. (cause tf you mean from the time they arrived in Alexandria and the time Negan’s defeated is only three months?? i ain't killing my boy Glenn off THAT quick.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.there ain't two ways around it, there ain't no tryin’ ‘bout it.
I stirred from my sleep, likely around the same time I did every morning — right before dawn. I couldn’t be too sure, though, given the fact I was both in the basement and had just experienced some of the deepest sleep in my life. Everything outside of my room was quiet, distant, but in here, there was only the consistent rise and fall of Daryl’s chest beneath my palm.
My body felt heavy, tired, the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from running or fighting or surviving though. My legs were tangled with his, bare skin pressed together beneath the blanket covering us. One of his arms was slung low over my hip, fingers curled loosely against my side like he had fallen asleep still holding onto me.
Last night came back to me all at once, my cheeks flushing as it hit me.
The way he had touched me. The way he had looked at me.
We had showered together afterward—not for anything other than the need to be clean. Just warm water and sweet touches, fingers tracing over scars and old wounds, creating an unspoken bond in the comfortable silence that enveloped us. I had washed his hair, threading my fingers through the damp strands, and he had let me. He had stood still under my hands, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, letting me take care of him in a way I never had before.
In a way, I don’t think anyone had before.
After we dried off, we collapsed into bed, our bodies entwined, still bearing the remnants of warmth and water, clad in nothing but the soft brush of bare skin against skin.
And now… now, I was here, waking up with him.
It was different.
I had never slept like this before—with someone who held me so close, so intimately. I had been with him before, but never had it felt so fervent, as if we were bound by something, an invisible thread that drew us together that was utterly inescapable.
I swallowed, my fingers twitching against his skin.
Daryl made a quiet sound in his sleep, shifting just slightly, pulling me closer, his nose brushing against my shoulder. His breath was warm, slow, and steady. For a moment, I just let myself exist there, wrapped up in him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my skin.
I exhaled, resting my cheek on the crown of his head, savoring this blissful intimacy.
This was nothing like before.
Both figuratively and literally.
My last relationship had been something else entirely—something I had mistaken for affection until it had wrapped so tightly around my throat that I could barely breathe. Matthew had seemed sweet at first, always doting, always wanting to be close. But then the sweetness soured. It wasn’t enough for him to just have me—he wanted to own me. Wanted to shape me into something more palatable, something that made him feel better. I had been nothing more than an object in his grasp, a jewel to be admired as long as it reflected onto him.
And when I had finally walked away, when I had dared to tell him no, he had spat the word at me like venom. Whore.
I shifted again, feeling gross by just thinking about Matthew, careful not to wake the man sleeping beside me, but his arm tightened around me in response. I smiled, but the sweet moment was going to be short lived as I remembered why I had woken up in the first place. Deanna.
I had to meet with her this morning—some bullshit about jobs and responsibilities—but the thought of actually leaving this bed, leaving him , made me groan internally.
I knew I’d have to get up soon.
Just… not yet.
I let my eyes slip closed again, savoring the warmth, the solid weight of him pressed against me, fighting the urge to drift back into sleep again. Convincing myself that my job was worth staying awake for.
Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe more.
And then, slowly, Daryl’s breathing changed.
A quiet inhale, a shift of muscle. His hold on me tightened for a brief second before loosening, and then he let out a low, groggy sound—half a grunt, half a sigh. I felt his nose brush against my shoulder again before he turned his head, pressing it into the crook of my neck.
I smiled.
“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.
I hummed in response, tilting my head slightly to give him more space, my fingers still idly tracing over his back. “Barely,” I murmured. “Sun’s not even up yet.”
He grunted again, this time in disapproval, his arm tightening around my waist as he buried his face deeper against me.
I bit back a laugh.
For someone who hardly ever slept, Daryl sure as hell didn’t seem ready to get out of bed either. I wondered if it was for the same reasons as me. Or maybe because this was his first night in a bed since the prison.
I sighed in frustration and pushed myself up, one hand still placed on his chest. When I looked down at him, really looked, a wave of heat traveled to my core. It was the very first time I’d ever truly seen Daryl in a sleepy state. He was typically the first one awake—if he ever actually slept through an entire night. But his eyes were hooded, exhaustion evident, and he had a red mark on his cheek from where he’d been pressed against me.
Fuck, he was gorgeous.
“I have to get dressed,” I said, but it came out more like a pout. “Deanna wants me to do a round and see how our people are adjusting to their new jobs.”
Daryl hummed in response, but he didn’t move. His grip on my waist slackened slightly, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my hip before curling loosely around it again.
I exhaled sharply, my resolve wavering. One more minute. That was it. Then I’d get up.
I let my hand slide over his chest one last time before I finally mustered the willpower to move. Slowly , I peeled myself away from him and shifted to the edge of the bed, the cool air making me shiver the moment his body heat left me.
Daryl grunted in protest behind me. I could feel the mattress dip as he shifted, probably stretching out now that I wasn’t in his arms. I pushed myself up and padded over to the dresser.
“You working on that new bike Aaron gave you today?” I asked, unfolding a pair of green capri pants.
Behind me, I heard him crack his neck, sending a chill up my spine before he responded, sleep still heavy in his voice. “Rick wants to meet up, discuss some stuff first, but yeah.”
My stomach sank. “I thought you said you were gonna start trying.”
“I’ma tell ‘em that,” he defended. “Just gotta see ‘em first.”
I frowned, grabbing a clean top. “Do you think Rick’s ever actually gonna settle in?”
Daryl pushed himself up onto his elbows, rubbing a hand over his face. “He just wants this place more secure. More lookouts. More people who can defend themselves if shit gets shaky.”
“That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t at least consider, I don’t know, maybe getting people to trust him,” I threw my arms out, exaggerating my point. “If he tries to take this place…”
Daryl’s eyes flicked up to me, watching as I shoved my hands onto my hips. I could tell he had an opinion on that. I could also tell he wasn’t planning on saying it just yet.
“He can’t, Dar.” I said firmly. “These people aren’t going to back him like they do Deanna.”
He was loyal to Rick—had been for nearly two years. That wasn’t something I resented, not really. I understood it. Rick had been the first person to give Daryl a real place, a real purpose. He sought out Daryl’s help with Sophia, and despite things getting rocky for a little while, the rest was history for the two of them. They’d been through hell together, seen each other at their worst, and come out of it as brothers.
But brothers didn’t always see eye to eye. And right now, I wasn’t sure Rick could see past his own paranoia long enough to recognize what he had here. What we had here.
I sighed, forcing myself to measure my words. It wasn’t my place to insert myself with whatever unspoken understanding existed between them. But if Rick kept pushing like this—if he treated Alexandria like something to conquer instead of something to be a part of—I’d have to put myself in a really weird position.
And if anyone had a shot at making him see that, it wasn’t Deanna. It wasn’t Michonne. It wasn’t me.
It was Daryl.
I just hoped it wouldn’t make me look like a manipulative girlfriend on the very first day I was an official girlfriend.
“If he tries to take this place, I’ll fight him on it,” I said finally. “It’s a good place, with good people, and resources we can’t find anywhere else right now. I’m not gonna let him sabotage that.”
If silence could physically be put on a scale, then the silence that settled between us after I spoke would’ve maxed it out with how heavy it was. I could feel Daryl watching me, the intensity of his gaze pressing against my back as I stood at the dresser, trying to avoid looking at him through the mirror. I knew he was thinking— really thinking—about what I’d said, even if he wasn’t the type to blurt out his thoughts right away.
I swallowed, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
The truth was, I didn’t want to be at odds with Rick. I didn’t want to be put in a position where I had to fight against the people who had become my family. But I also knew that loyalty— blind loyalty—could be just as dangerous as outright betrayal. If Rick let his need for control override the reality of what Alexandria could be, he’d burn it all down before he ever got the chance to be a part of it. And I couldn’t let that happen.
I exhaled sharply, pressing my lips together as I tried to shake off the tension tightening in my chest. This wasn’t something I could solve right now—not before the sun was even up, and definitely not while I was standing here half-dressed, turning my thoughts into sailor’s knots.
Behind me, I heard the soft creak of the mattress as Daryl moved. My gaze rose to the mirror where I saw him swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. And then—
“Come here.”
Not a demand. Not a question. Just… an invitation.
I hesitated for only a second before I turned, my fingers still curled loosely around the shirt in my hands as I stepped forward.
Daryl spread his knees apart slightly, his forearms resting on his thighs as he tilted his head up to me. The moment I was close enough, his hands lifted, sliding around my waist with ease. I looked down at him, my pulse thrumming a little too fast as his grip settled—solid, steady, grounding. His thumbs traced slow circles over the dimples in my back, like he could feel the tension coiled up tight beneath my skin.
“You n’ me, lady,” his accent did something absolutely vile to me, especially when he said words I’d never heard him say before. Lady. My lips quirked up. “I’m with you, just,” he swallowed, “give ‘im some more time to adjust.”
I let his words sit with me for a few moments, then nodded. I could give him more time. If he didn’t start some kind of Rick-tatorship in the meantime at least. More time. For Daryl.
My fingers trailed over his shoulders, my nails grazing the exposed skin before I sighed. “I gotta go,” I murmured, though I didn’t make any move to step away.
Daryl’s grip lingered, like he wasn’t in any rush to let me go either. His hands rested firm against my lower back, and for a brief second, I considered crawling right back into bed and letting the rest of the world wait. But I had responsibilities now, and Deanna was expecting me. Reluctantly, I took a step back, slipping from his hold, and Daryl let me go without a word.
I smiled faintly. “I’ll see you later.”
His grunt of acknowledgment followed me out the door.
_____________
Morning passed in slow, business-like discussions, the kind Deanna Monroe seemed to favor—thoughtful, and always with a careful ear for the people around her. I’d been at Deanna’s house since just after sunrise, settled in with Maggie as part of an ongoing effort to integrate our group into Alexandria. Nearly six hours later, I could feel the ache of time spent sitting in deep conversation, but it hadn’t technically been wasted. The goal was simple: gradual changes to make everyone feel more secure without disrupting the fragile peace Deanna had cultivated for almost two years now.
I don’t think anyone in our group fully trusted this place, and to be fair, I understood why. The walls were high, the well-kept homes, and the people inside were living like the world hadn’t fallen apart. But it had, and the only reason we were still standing was because we knew how to survive outside the walls. Alexandria’s residents didn’t. That was the problem. It wasn’t about taking over or forcing anyone into something they weren’t ready for—it was about preparation. And personally; I had no interest in waking up one day to find that the people I’d finally started to settle in with were dead because they hadn’t been given the chance to defend themselves.
So, before I headed out to see how the rest of us were settling in with their jobs, I brought it up.
Formalized training—voluntary, not mandatory, but an option. A way to ensure that if something happened—and it would happen eventually—at least some of the residents would know how to react instead of freezing up and getting themselves killed. Deanna had listened, as she always did, measuring my words with the same keen insight as I came to expect from her.
I’d honestly grown to respect her more than I ever expected to. Deanna had a way of seeing people, not just for what they currently were, but for what they could be. She reminded me a little of Dale, and a little of Hershel—patient and optimistic but firm, sharp when necessary. More than once, I found myself looking to her for guidance. It was still such a strange feeling, having someone in a position of authority who didn’t just tolerate me but genuinely seemed to value my input.
And today, Deanna had taken my suggestion seriously. She raised valid concerns—some of the residents wouldn’t be interested, and many hadn’t stepped foot outside the walls since the beginning—but she didn’t dismiss the idea.
I continued to emphasize the importance of preparation, the need to somehow meet in the middle, and in the end, it came down to logistics—who would teach, who would be willing to participate, how to make it work without upending the life these people had built.
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees, fingers loosely clasped together. “Hand-to-hand, Rosita,” I said without hesitation. “She’s impressive, and a lot of the residents already like her.”
I’d grown used to the way she absorbed information before openly committing to decisions, so I tried not to let it bother me when all she did was nod and scribble something down on her clipboard.
I hesitated before continuing, knowing my next suggestion would likely get a little scrutiny. “Target practice… it’ll probably do good to have two trainers—Rick and Aiden,” I proposed carefully.
“Why Aiden?” she asked. I could tell Maggie was wondering the same thing by the way she shifted beside me.
“Aiden would give a little comfort to the people who might be hesitant about leaving the walls with Rick.”
I met her gaze. “Aiden would give a little comfort to the people who might be hesitant about leaving the walls with Rick.” I wasn’t blind to the way some of Alexandria’s people looked at Rick. He was intense. Aiden, on the other hand, was one of them . If his presence made people more willing to show up, then it was a compromise worth making.
Deanna studied me, considering. “You think Rick would be okay with that?”
“Rick will be happy that target practice is even being considered,” I shot back confidently. Still, I knew I’d need to touch base with both him and Aiden separately before pairing them up.
Deanna made another note before closing the clipboard, tapping her fingers against the back. “Plan a group meeting,” she said. “I want a laid-out approach before you go knocking on doors.”
I nodded. “Heard.”
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “But Libby— make sure you’re ready for push back. I can’t be too sure how some of our people will take the idea of militarization.”
With a nod, and one last look of approval, I stood.
I stepped out onto the porch, the midday sun warming my skin as I took a deep breath. The air in Alexandria always smelled clean —like fresh-cut grass and sun-baked pavement, a massive difference to the damp, earthy scent of the woods I’d grown used to over time. It was easy to forget, standing here, that the world outside was still rotting.
But that was exactly why this mattered.
I’d been here long enough to settle in, to start feeling the pull of stability that Alexandria offered, but I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that peace like this could last forever. It never did.
And now, without Rick going ape shit, I finally had a shot at doing something about it.
I adjusted the strap of my knife holster and set off toward my next stop, the energy buzzing beneath my skin making it hard to keep a steady pace. There was a time when I wouldn’t have cared enough to push for something like this—when I would’ve kept my head down, let the people in charge figure it out, and only offer my opinions when asked.
But this time, things were different.
I was different.
This place was my future.
_____________
I could feel the sun frying my shoulders as I moved through the neighborhood, crossing names off the list in my hand. Four days had passed since Deanna gave me the green light to go door to door, and so far, the responses had been… mixed, to say the least.
Some people were open to the idea of training, or at least understood the need for preparation. A few were even excited, Olivia being the most. Others, though, weren’t the most inclined—clinging to the belief that Alexandria’s walls were enough to keep them safe. As much as I wanted to press their refusal, I ultimately decided to just hold onto the hope that the others would influence them over time.
I was about to head toward my next stop when I spotted Carol a few houses down, a large plastic bin in her arms as she made her way up the steps of our house. She didn’t so much as stumble under the weight, but I still picked up my pace, closing the distance between us before she could reach the door. “Here, I got it,” I offered, reaching for the handle.
Carol shifted slightly to let me open the door, her voice quiet as she said, “Thanks.”
I followed her inside, letting the door swing shut behind us as she carried the bin toward the kitchen. The house was quiet—likely empty unless Carl was upstairs— and the cool air was a welcome relief from the heat baking my shoulders.
“Stock looked good this week?” I asked, glancing at the load of bread she pulled from the bin.
She gave a small nod, her fingers deftly moving through the items. “Pretty much the usual.”
I moved further into the kitchen, pulling cans from the bin and stacking them neatly in the pantry while Carol sorted through the groceries on the counter. It was easy enough to fall into the rhythm of it—unpacking, sorting, putting things away. Felt normal.
Sliding a box of pasta into the cabinet, I peeked over my shoulder. “We should do spaghetti one night,” I said, closing the door with my hip.
Carol didn’t say anything right away, but I tried not to think too much on it. Instead, I grabbed one of the apples from the pile on the island, turning it over in my hands before taking a bite. “And I’m sure we could conjure up some kind of apple dessert. We have an entire thing of cinnamon we haven’t used.”
She hummed in response, but the lack of enthusiasm in her voice was disheartening. A few more beats passed, the sound of rustling plastic filling the quiet as she sorted through the last of the groceries. Then, finally, she spoke, her tone tinged with an unexpected edge I hadn’t noticed before. “You seem to be fitting in well.”
And just like that, the easy rhythm shifted.
There was a bite to her tone that I was sure Daryl would’ve brushed off if I mentioned it to him, but I felt it creeping into the atmosphere around us.
_____________
I counted through the last of the rifles and handguns, fingers trailing over the cool metal as I made sure the numbers matched up. Olivia worked beside me, double-checking the list, but my focus was split—half on the task, half on the energy buzzing under my skin. This was the first step toward some kind of security here. If this practice went as well as the hand-to-hand training had, we’re be on a roll.
The past week had been spent hammering out the details, making sure everything ran smoothly. Deanna backed it. Rick was on board. Aiden, cautiously was too.
I bit back a smile as I thought about Daryl, who’d grumbled about the whole thing at first but agreed to come anyway. He acted like it was no big deal, but I knew better. It was his way of showing support, and I liked that more than I wanted to admit. No one actually knew about us yet—not officially, anyway. Once I told Glenn though…that was practically calling TMZ reporters on myself.
The door swung open before I could get too lost in my thoughts, and Aiden walked in, his usual air of confidence intact. “Hey,” I greeted, pulling him into a quick hug before stepping back.
He returned it easily enough, but before he could say anything, I added, “Please try not to be a dick. This is something good.”
Aiden grabbed one of the rifles off the rack, rolling his shoulders as he tested the weight in his hands. He turned it over, inspecting it like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, then finally glanced back at me. “Why’d you suggest me?”
For a moment, I just looked at him, considering. Aiden was a lot of things—cocky, reckless, stubborn as hell—but he wasn’t completely stupid. No. That was his brother’s job . He knew the risks out there just as well as I did. And for all his bravado, he was capable. That was part of the reason I’d suggested him in the first place. The other part? The people here actually liked him.
I let out a slow exhale, shifting my weight. “Because you’re one of the only people in this community that goes beyond the walls. You know how dangerous it is, and you’re able to defend yourself.” I reached out, resting a hand on his upper arm. “They might not take it seriously coming from Rick, but from you?” I gave him a small, knowing look. “They trust you.”
Aiden was quiet for a second, eyes flickering to where my hand rested before he nodded slightly. He didn’t argue, which I took as a win. Instead, he set the rifle back down and straightened, shifting gears. “About the other night,” he said after a beat. “I didn’t know.”
I shook my head, brushing him off before he could say anything else. “I know. It’s okay.” Aiden didn’t look entirely convinced, so I offered him a small, genuine smile. “We’re good.”
“You sure?” His voice carried a hint of amusement now. “Your little boyfriend’s been eyeing me ever since.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been through a lot, he worries,” I said, trying to downplay it, though, I had no doubt that Daryl really was freaking him out. “But seriously, we’re good.”
I caught the faintest flicker of something across Aiden’s face—relief, maybe? It was hard to tell with him sometimes, especially when he hid behind that pretentious smirk. “And Aiden,” I added after a beat, “Thanks for not being an ass about it.”
He blinked, clearly not expecting that.
As I stood there, I found myself thinking about how odd it was to even have this kind of conversation with Aiden. When we first arrived at Alexandria, he was last on the list of people I’d trust, especially after he and Glenn got into it. He came off as cocky, dismissive, and entirely too sure of himself-so much that it grated on my nerves. And yeah…I guess he kind of was all those things…but he really wasn't quite as bad as I initially believed. I was starting to see different pieces of him shine through—pieces that maybe cared a little more than he let on.
Still—I couldn't completely write off the nagging voice in my head that wondered if this was all just temporary with him. In a way he reminded me of Shane, but I also feel like we’d judged him a little too harshly like most people did with Daryl in the beginning.
Before I could think too much more about it, the sound of boots hitting the loose board (an honest to God makeshift door bell) on the front porch drew my attention. I glanced toward the door as Rick stepped in, still decked out in his patrol uniform. He gave a quick nod in our direction before his eyes shifted to the weapons spread across the table.
“Everything set for today?” he asked.
“Got one weapon for everyone signed up, which according to my list should be eight people, plus Carol, Daryl, and Rosita,” I replied, nodding to the clipboard at the end of the table.
Rick’s eyes scanned over the weapons on the table, fingers grazing the stock of a rifle before landing on Aiden. He didn’t say anything at first, but I could tell he was already sizing him up— picking him apart before Aiden even said a word. “How much experience you got?” Rick asked, his tone reminiscent of a cop that gave me a speeding ticket one time.
Aiden didn’t hesitate. “A little from ROTC, but mostly since all this started.” His voice was polished. There wasn’t a trace of his typical demeanor, and I was honestly a bit impressed.
But that didn't mean Rick was buying it. His eyes lingered on Aiden, like he was peeling back the layers. “You mind showing me once we get out there?” Rick asked, still watching him.
“No problem.”
Rick gave a small nod, saying nothing else before shifting his attention to the clipboard at the edge of the table. His eyes skimmed the list, double-checking it, making sure everything was accounted for. Satisfied, he exhaled loudly and pulled open the door, looking over the people gathered outside.
I turned slightly toward Aiden, catching his eye just enough before mouthing, “ Thank you.”
For a second—just a second—his smirk twitched, something in his face softening before he gave a small nod back.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Didn’t much care to be here.
Didn’t need it either.
I shifted on my feet, crossing my arms and leaned against the porch railing outside the armory. My focus drifted over the small crowd gathering outside, people milling around, talking in quiet voices. I wasn’t interested in any of it.
Only reason I showed up at all was ‘cause Libby had asked me to.
Her enthusiasm was infectious—she was practically glowing when she talked about how she and Deanna had set this up, how important it was for people to know how to handle themselves. ‘ It’ll be good for them, Daryl. And for us.’ I just didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t give a damn about Alexandria’s little training session. Didn’t have the heart to tell her no, neither.
It was good that she got it all organized, but I knew it didn’t much matter. Not like she thought it did. Rick didn’t give a shit about this damn target practice—he was still adamant about just taking the damn place.
But here I was, standing off to the side, waiting for this thing to start up anyways.
Carol was a few feet away, arms crossed mirroring me, her expression unreadable as she watched the others. She hadn’t said anything when I got here, just gave me a knowing look—like she already knew exactly why I even bothered to come.
Didn’t matter.
Cause I knew why she was here too— and it wutn’t for no damn gun training, or to support Libby.
Exhaling, I rolled my shoulders before glancing toward the armory door. Libby was still inside with Rick and Aiden, going over whatever last-minute details needed sorting. I could hear bits of their voices through the door, low but clear, but I wasn’t gonna try to make out the words. Just the sound of her talking, the way her voice lilted when she was trying to be polite.
I wondered if it was Aiden she was being so soft to.
My jaw tensed. I didn’t have no reason to be jealous. Hell, I didn’t think I even knew how to be jealous—never had to be.
But I didn’t like this.
Didn’t like knowing Aiden was in there with her, talking to her. Didn’t mean I didn’t wanna knock that smug look off his face every time I caught him throwing glances her way. Didn’t like the way my skin itched at the thought, like something was off even though I knew better.
Libby wutn’t interested in him. She told me that. Showed me that in a hundred different ways that weren’t just words.
But what if that changed?
What if one day she woke up and realized she could have somethin’ easier? Someone who wasn’t… me ?
I shifted on my feet again, arms tightening across my chest as I glanced toward the door again. Wasn’t a damn thing to be worried about, I knew that. Knew her. But the feeling was still there, creeping up my spine, making me restless.
Aiden’s voice carried through the door again, easy, confident, like he had nothin’ in the world to worry about. Probably still wearing that irritating little grin, still standing too damn close to my girl, like he had any right to.
My girl.
The title hit different, coulda probably knocked the breath right outta me. I hadn’t really put it to words before—not out loud, not even in my own damn head. We’d made us official. She was mine. Maybe we didn’t go around slapping a label on our foreheads, but—Libby was mine.
And I didn’t like the idea of Aiden thinking otherwise.
Fuckin’ hated the idea of him looking at her like she was something he could have.
I willed myself to let it go before I got too worked up about it. Libby would be out soon, and she’d come straight to me. She always did.
And yet, that nagging feeling—the one that told me I’d never been someone worth sticking around for—just wouldn’t shut the hell up.
The door creaked open, and I straightened instinctively, eyes snapping to the movement. Rick stepped out first, eerily expressionless as he took in the group. His gaze flicked to me for half a second before moving on, but I barely registered it. My focus was still on the open doorway, still on her.
Libby was a step or two behind him, pausing just inside the threshold. She was saying something, her lips moving as she spoke to Aiden. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t something I should be reading into. But, hell if it didn’t stick. Like a damn splinter buried just beneath the skin. Aiden didn’t react much—just gave her a nod, an easy kind of smirk that made my fingers twitch against my arms.
She stepped past him, and I forced my shoulders to relax, even though I could still feel the tension riding too high in my chest. Then, finally, she was outside, her eyes scanning the group before they landed on me.
And just like that—just like always —the weight in my chest eased.
She smiled.
Not the polite one she’d given Rick when he opened the door, not the casual, easygoing one she sent to a few others in passing.
This one was mine.
_____________
We left the walls, and walked about twenty minute to a spot that Libby and Aiden had convinced Deanna was safe enough for training. Somewhere we could pop off bullets that wouldn’t attract much of nothing—or at least that’s what they told Deanna. Lookin’ at it now, I noticed we were right on top of a hill. If any walkers were comin’ our way, they’d have a hell of a time getting to us.
Rick was running folks through the basics—stance, grip, how to handle the recoil—while Aiden had a handful of them off to the side, going over loading and unloading. I half-listened for a while, watching as people fumbled their way through, some catching on quicker than others.
I just didn’t much care to be part of it.
Someone had handed me a rifle at the start, but it barely made it five minutes in my hands before I set it aside. Felt like a waste of ammo, putting bullets into wood and paper when we’d probably need ‘em for real soon. My bow was enough. Always had been.
So I spent most of the time off to the side, loosing arrows into one of the makeshift targets while keeping an eye on the rest of ‘em.
Libby hadn’t come over to me once.
She was busy flitting through the group, checking in with different people, making sure things were running smooth. She looked at ease in a way I hadn’t seen in a while, like she was really settling into this place. She laughed a few times, real and light, and every damn time, it sent a strange warmth curling in my chest.
She was good at this. Real good. She fit in like this was where she belonged her whole god damn life.
And hell if it wutn’t somethin’ to watch.
Her confidence—the way she carried herself and spoke to these people. I ain’t never seen her taking charge like she was now, and I was really starting to understand why Deanna picked her.
But I wutn’t the only one watchin’ her.
Aiden kept himself just inside her orbit. Like he was waiting for an excuse to slip into her attention.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t even something I could put a real reason to. But it was just enough to keep that damn splinter buried under my skin.
I loosed another arrow, jaw tight, but before I could go for another, I caught movement in my periphery.
Libby.
Finally making her way over.
First time since we got out here.
“Didn’t know you were too good for a rifle,” she teased, nodding toward the gun I’d abandoned at the tree trunk.
“Didn’t know you were gonna be testin’ me too,” I shot back, suppressing a smirk.
Libby shook her head, eyeing the bolt twirling in my hand. “Let me try.”
“Where’s yours?”
“In the closet,” she said, taking my bow into her arms, weighing it. “It needs to be restrung before I use it again.”
This was the first time I’d actually seen her out in the woods without the thing. “I’ll do it when we get back,” I promised.
She knocked a bolt into the sight, cranking it back with ease. I always knew she took special notice to my arms whenever I did the same thing, and I wutn’t too proud to do the same for her. There wutn’t nothin’ about that girl that was weak, and I was damn happy about that.
“That was horrible,” she groaned, squinting into the trees, searching for the long-gone bolt that missed the target. “I genuinely don’t see how you aim it so well. This thing is so bulky.”
I was still looking off into the woods for the bolt too; Libby nudged me: “It ain’t sighted for you. And you’re treatin’ it like it’s a compound—you gotta follow through longer with this.”
Brown eyes, sweet, confused — “Teach me,” she whispered.
I nodded. “You’re used to shootin’ either a pistol or your bow. Think ‘a this like a rifle; you gotta stay in position for a few seconds longer or your aim is gonna get thrown off.”
“Yeah, but how do you have time to do that?” she asked, giving me a pointed look. “When you’re in the heat of the moment, you can’t always follow through. That’s why rifles kind of suck.”
“Ya gotta get good, girl.”
“Ya gotta get good, girl.” she mimicked me, a sickly southern accent.
I could’ve told her that I loved her right then. Right there. But I didn’t.
But fuck me—I’d wanted to tell her for a while now.
The words sat heavy in my throat, pressed against my teeth like they were fightin’ to get out. Like maybe if I just let my guard slip for half a second, they’d come right on out before I could stop ‘em.
But it wasn’t right—not like this. Not in the middle of some half-assed training session, not with people still lingerin’ around, not when my hands still stunk of sweat and dirt and definitely not when she deserved more than a shitty, offhand confession that came out just ‘cause I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut.
I ain’t never been the kinda guy to say such cheesy shit like that, and I ain’t never really had nobody to say it to before anyways. And maybe that was the thing that gave me cold feet. ‘Cause I knew I meant it. Knew I felt it in my bones, in the way I always found myself lookin’ for her first, in the way my world tilted just right when she was around.
I fell in love with this girl without even meaning to.
And that scared the absolute hell outta me.
What if she thought it was weird? Too soon or some shit like that? We ain’t really been together but for a week—two maybe. I didn’t wanna sound like I’ve been pining for her since summer of last year.
“Dar,” she was holding my bow back out to me, lookin’ all confused, and how some woman stood next to her. “This is Dana. She’s asking stuff about your crossbow,”
The lady looked nervous, fidgeting with her clothes. “I thought it was Libby’s,” she blurted, an awkward grin on her lips. “I have one -- well, my dad did. I have it now, and-“
“Hey, sorry,” Libby cut in, looking to Dana. “Rick’s motioning for me, I’m gonna go see what he wants. But seriously, he knows a lot more than me about pretty much everything,” I could’a melted by the way she batted her eyes up at me and placed a hand on my arm. “I promise, he only looks like he bites.”
And for the next thirty minutes I listened to this blonde woman ramble on about her life story, until she finally asked me if I’d teach her how to use her dad’s bow.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
The house smelled amazing. Like home.
I leaned over the counter, stirring the pot of red beans and rice, letting the smoky scent of spices fill the kitchen. I’d started it early, letting the flavors build, and now the cornbread was in the oven, golden and rising, and I had nothing else to do but wait. It was nice, having the afternoon to myself. Felt like it had been a while since I had the chance to just slow down.
And this week had been good. Alexandria still felt like something out of a dream, but I was starting to see more of my people settling in—Daryl specifically. The gun training had gone well, even if some people still had no business handling a weapon, and for once, there weren’t any fires to put out. It had been easy, smooth. And my relationship…may have now been out of the bag since I told Glenn.
I smiled to myself, absently wiping my hands on my dress. It was one of the few pieces of clothing I picked out that leaned more towards the whimsical than the practical—made of light cotton, it felt soft against my skin and the flowy skirt danced with every step I took. I knew I wouldn’t get the chance to wear it much, but today felt like a good day for it. No responsibilities, no leaving the house, and no reason to wear a fucking bra.
The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to was next week.
Daryl and Aaron were gearing up to head out, scouting for new people, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I knew he could take care of himself—I mean, I was the one that backed the job—but that didn’t prevent the knot of worry from bunching in my stomach every time I thought about it.
That was part of why I had convinced him to take it easy this weekend. To just stay in, to spend time together without anything else hanging over us. Daryl wasn’t one to indulge in that kind of thing often, but he hadn’t fought me on it. So I took that as my biggest win in our relationship thus far.
I gave the pot another stir, humming under my breath as I reached for the wooden spoon. Just then, the front door creaked open, and I scrunched my nose at the sight of my boyfriend. He stood a good ten feet away from me, and I could still smell the absolute rank of motor oil.
“Smells good,” he said, completely unbothered by my reaction.
I grimaced as he came closer. (Okay, maybe I was getting a little spoiled from the constant showering.) “You don’t.”
His expression shifted—gone was the typical cool demeanor, replaced by a hint of disbelief. Daryl stepped back, shuffling his grimy shoes across the floor, and if it weren’t for that cheeky smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, I would have thought he was genuinely offended.
“Daryl Dixon. Go take a shower and stop being a dick,” I scolded, attempting to hold my resolve. “I literally mopped an hour ago!”
“Ya said I stunk,” he scoffed.
“You do!”
“Ain’t no worse than your mornin’ breath.”
My jaw dropped in mock outrage. His lips tightened, fighting the smile that threatened to break through. “Go get a shower,” I insisted, unable to suppress my amusement.
“Mhm.”
Once Daryl retreated downstairs, I found myself opening the mop closet for the second time that day, the repetitive motion almost mindless as I began scrubbing the floor. My thoughts, however, were far from casual. They lingered on the man downstairs—stripping off his clothes, and bathing himself in cucumber-melon body wash.
I swept the mop closer to the door, pushing the thought of a steaming hot, freshly showered, Daryl out of my mind. But fuck. The house was so quiet, and there was nothing better to think about. For once, I could just sit and fantasize about the things I wanted to do to my boyfriend. The things I wanted him to do to me. It was nice, actually, the normalcy of it. I could get used to it.
And that, in the back of my mind, scared me.
Building this little routine —going to work, coming home, eating dinner, and snuggling up next to the man of my dreams, all while the world outside of these walls was rotting. I shouldn’t be getting used to it. That was dangerous. Anything could happen, and it could all be swept right from under my feet. Daryl was leaving in a few days, and that in itself should have me second guessing my comfort.
I paused, mop mid-air, my mind drifting to the boot prints trailing all the way to the sidewalk outside. If he didn’t learn to start knocking his shoes off as he walked, we’d need a damn doormat just to get the dirt off before he even came on the porch.
And without meaning to, the thought spiraled me back into the allure of normalcy and domestic life.
A doormat, then maybe a house—Deanna was already talking about having me set up with one in the coming months. And from there, the possibilities unfurled: a life with Daryl in that house. A home built with us in mind full of little that made it perfect for who we were, and even some add ons for Soup; a perfect little future for the three of us.
I could almost see it, just for a heartbeat. A vision not for now, definitely not now, but someday. Teeny tiny footsteps padding through the house, calling for Daryl, clinging to him like he was the safest place on the planet. A mix of him and me.
An ache in my chest formed when I forced myself to move on from the thought. I didn’t want to, but it was dangerous to linger about a future that had such a high probability to not happen.
I sighed, pressing the mop into the floor a little harder than necessary. It was dumb—getting caught up in thoughts like that. It wasn’t like I’d never imagined a future before, but this was different. It felt possible .
Shaking it off, I shoved the mop back into the closet and shut the door with a little more force than I meant to. I turned back to the stove, lifting the lid on the pot and giving the red beans and rice another slow stir. The smell was rich, warm, like something out of a memory I hadn’t let myself revisit in a long time. I tasted a spoonful, humming in approval.
The cornbread in the oven was just about finished, the golden top crisping up perfectly. I pulled the dish towel off my shoulder, ready to take it out in a minute, when the front door swung open. I glanced up just in time to see Carol step inside.
Her gaze swept over the kitchen, lingering on me for a moment longer than I felt necessary, taking in every detail—the dress, the bare feet, the way I was moving around the kitchen. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she almost looked… annoyed.
I pressed my lips together, inhaling deeply before I spoke. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she echoed, shutting the door behind her.
I refocused on the cornbread, pulling it out the oven and sitting it on the stove top. Before I’d left Deanna’s earlier this afternoon, Aiden had mentioned that training went well—his first time leading alone. He’d seemed proud. But still, I wanted to hear it from someone else.
Carol, maybe.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, shifting on my feet, leaning a little against the counter. “So,” I started, “Aiden said training went well today.”
Carol hummed noncommittally, stepping into the kitchen. She moved quiet, as always, like she was sizing up a situation before deciding how to handle it. Instead of answering, she reached for the pitcher of water on the counter, pouring herself a glass.
I waited.
She took a sip, set the glass down, and finally met my gaze. “You and him look to be pretty close.”
I blinked at the sudden shift, straightening just slightly. “Aiden?”
Carol didn’t nod, didn’t confirm outright, but she didn’t have to. The look on her face said enough.
I let out a slow breath, schooling my expression. “Just mornings and evenings whenever I’m coming and going from Deanna’s, we talk for a little bit.” I tried to keep my tone steady; there was nothing in that statement that should’ve warranted whatever this was.
Carol tilted her head, studying me in that way that always made me feel like I was about to be caught in some kind of trap. She leaned her hip against the counter, arms folding loosely over her chest. “How’s Daryl feel about that?”
I frowned. “Huh?”
Her tone was casual, almost light, but I could see past it. “Does he know about what happened at the party last week?”
I blinked, the question hitting like a slap to the face. My fingers tightened around the edge of the dish towel, knuckles going a little white.
“Nothing happened at the—” I stopped myself, shaking my head, trying to catch up. “Carol, are you serious?”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.
My jaw clenched. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, warmer, like the heat from the stove had settled in my chest instead. I tossed the towel onto the counter and crossed my arms, mirroring her stance. “This is about me talking to Aiden?” I asked, voice sharper now. “Because I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Carol sighed, but her expression didn’t shift. “I’m just saying,” she started, tone infuriatingly even, “that people talk.”
“ People talk ?” I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “And what are they saying?”
Carol gave me a pointed look.
I scoffed, rubbing at my forehead with the heel of my hand. “You know what? Forget it. If Daryl had a problem, he’d tell me.”
Carol didn’t move, didn’t so much as shift her weight, but I could see the tightness around her mouth, the way her fingers curled just slightly against her arms. “Would he?” she asked, her voice dipping to a whisper, heavy with implication.
I stilled. I wasn't a violent person, but my fingers itched with the urge to throw something, anything.
My teeth clenched so hard my jaw was liable to break. I knew what she was implying. That Daryl wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t speak up if something was bothering him, because he didn’t know how. And maybe there was some truth to that—he wasn’t exactly great at talking about feelings—but we weren’t like that. If he had something to say, he’d say it.
I forced a breath through my nose, leveling my gaze at her. “You’re getting too comfortable here, Liberty,” she said, her voice edged with something close to a warning. “These people don’t know what they’re doing—”
“And I’m working behind the scenes to get things put into place so they can learn,” I cut in, my voice rising just enough to push back against her calm.
Carol’s expression didn’t waver. She tilted her head, eyes sharp. “By making out with a guy you barely know?”
I blinked, thrown off for half a second before my blood started to boil.
Before I could fire back, she pressed on. “By yelling at Rick in front of me and Daryl? By offering these people an option?”
I threw my hands up before planting them on my hips. “I’m sorry—I don’t think I need to explain myself to someone disguising herself as Betty Homemaker, who’s doing a whole lot of not shi t.”
That got a reaction.
Carol’s eyes flashed, the controlled mask she wore cracking just a little. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but I could see the shift in her stance. The way she squared her shoulders, planting herself firm like she was waiting for a fight.
Good. Because I wasn’t backing down.
“You don’t get to decide how I handle things. You don’t like that I give these people a choice? That I let them learn instead of forcing them into things the way you and Rick want?” I scoffed. “Tough shit.”
Carol let out a short breath, something almost like a laugh, but there was noting funny about it. She shook her head slightly, glancing down at the glass in her hand before looking back at me. “These people aren’t like us, Liberty. You keep pretending they are, and you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“Hey.”
Daryl.
I turned toward the doorway just as he stepped up into the kitchen. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but the set of his jaw, the sharpness in his gaze, told me it was long enough. Carol didn’t so much as flinch at his presence, but she sure as hell wasn’t turning to look at him, either.
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair before refocusing on her. “The only one you’re helping is Rick, not anyone else,” I said, willing myself to stay calm. “You wanna make casseroles and play bingo? Be my guest. But don’t act like stealing a few guns for yourself is doing anything for the rest of us. How about you get some of your Desperate Housewives to come to gun training with you? Not that you need it or anything.”
Daryl moved then, pushing away from the basement doorway. “Libby, come on.”
But I wasn’t done.
I turned back to Carol, feeling the anger clawing at my ribs, sharp and relentless. “And for the record, I didn’t make out with Aiden!”
Daryl’s hand was suddenly on my arm—not rough, not forceful, just there. It actually made me a little mad. “Liberty, enough.”
I clenched my jaw, my breath coming too fast, too sharp. For a moment, I didn’t move, didn’t look at him. My body was still buzzing, every nerve on edge.Carol held my gaze a second longer before she turned away, reaching for her water glass like she hadn’t just set a match to the whole conversation.
I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my skin burned where Daryl was touching me. I jerked my arm free and turned on my heel, stalking past him before I could say anything else. He’d probably stay up here and kiss Carol’s ass and just that thought made me want to argue with him too.
_____________
Daryl POV
____________
I watched Libby go, wincing as her bare feet stomped down the stairs. She was pissed—really pissed. Her whole body was wound up like a live wire; shoulders stiff, hands clenched, face flushed. I knew that kind of anger, and it didn’t sit right with me knowing that she was feeling that way right now.
I exhaled deeply and turned back toward the kitchen. Carol was still standing there, same spot, like nothing had happened. She lifted her glass and took a slow sip of water, not looking at me, not looking at anything in particular really.
“The hell was that about?” I asked, stepping further inside.
Carol didn’t answer right away. She just set her glass down, fingers resting against the rim like she was thinking real hard on something. “I saw her the other night with Aiden.”
I stared at her, waiting for the rest of it. When it didn’t come, I shook my head, already annoyed. “She told me what happened. S’fine.”
It wutn’t. But it was. I didn’t like the guy, and liked him even less knowin’ he tried to put his lips on my girl. But Libby told me, and she didn’t have to. When that happened we weren’t really together. She could’a done whatever she wanted.
Carol made a noise in the back of her throat, and I saw her mouth twitch like she wanted to argue with me. Wouldn’t’a made no difference though. I knew where Libby and I stood, so arguing would’ve just been a moot point. “You can’t let her keep stringing you along like this,” Carol said, folding her arms. “It’s been what? Almost two years?“
“She ain’t,” I muttered, biting off each word. “S’ different between us now.”
“Because she’s your girlfriend now?” Her voice was raised, edged with something I couldn’t quite place. “Daryl—why does she want you going out there already? With one of them at that.”
There it was. That same damn attitude she’d had toward Libby since we got here. Hell, since the prison. Carol had been eyeing her like a problem waiting to happen, like she was something that needed fixing. It wasn’t just this fight. It’d been brewing for a while. She barely spoke to her.
Back at the prison, Libby hit a rough patch. It wasn’t nothin’ the rest of us hadn’t hit, but for some reason Carol held that against her. If it wasn’t one thing, it was something else. Libby was acting immature, or Libby was being too cocky, or Libby was too young, or Libby only wanted sex, or Libby didn’t take anything seriously. The complaints went on. There was always something wrong.
And she used to at least attempt hiding the fact that she had a problem with Libby. For my sake.
But now? Now it was like she couldn’t stand the sight of her. And I was starting to think it had nothing to do with Libby or Aiden or whatever the hell else Carol had convinced herself was wrong. Maybe killing Karen and David had really messed things up in her head. I just couldn’t understand why it had to be Libby of all people she could take it out on.
“Ya know,” I started, watching her close, “she ain’t the only one that told me I should start tryin’.” My voice was quieter now, but I knew she heard me. “Take your own advice.”
Carol’s jaw tightened. “It’s who I have to be for now.”
“S’ bullshit,” I shot back. “Y’ain’t gotta confront her like that. You said it yourself, she’s grown a lot. Ya gotta let that shit back at the prison go. Whatever it is, you just,” I put a hand on her shoulder, tightening my grip, hoping she’d really hear me. “Ya just gotta let it go.”
Carol’s expression didn’t change, not much anyway, but I saw something flicker across her face. Something I couldn’t pin down before she locked it away.
She looked away first.
The silence stretched between us.
Carol finally reached for her water again, fingers curling around the glass, but she didn’t drink. Didn’t say nothing else either.
I sighed and shook my head, dropping my hand from her. “She made dinner,” I muttered before turning and heading for the stairs.
Carol had been there for me through more shit than anyone else. More than Merle, more than Rick, more than anybody. She was the one I trusted when there wutn't nobody else to trust. The one who always saw me—really saw me—when other people just saw some dumb redneck with a bad attitude, she gave me the time of day. Always checked on me. Always made sure I was okay.
When she got lost in the prison with T-Dog, I really thought I lost her. And when I finally found her all dehydrated and beating on the cell door, I never been more relieved in my life.
But somewhere along the way, something changed.
Not just in her, but between us.
She got colder. Harder. Started talking like we was all just pieces in some damn game. And I knew it wasn’t bullshit—she meant it. I’d seen her do what had to be done before, but this was different. It was like she’d stopped letting herself feel anything at all except for survival.
And I didn’t know how to reach her anymore.
Didn’t mean I was gonna stop trying.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I made my way down the basement stairs. The whole thing sat wrong with me, the fight, the way she looked at Libby. It pissed me off.
Libby had been fine when I got home. Smiling, joking, and wearing a real cute dress I ain't never seen before. She was happy. I think, maybe, that was the first time she’d looked so happy the whole time I knew her.
And now she was down here alone, probably feeling like shit.
I hated that.
Hated it even more that Carol was the one that put her there.
And I sure as shit hated this feeling. Like I was stuck between the two of ‘em, forced to pick sides when I didn’t want to.
Carol—she was fine. I didn’t need to worry about her right now. She was up there, cooling off, probably ticked at me for walking away. I’d talk to her later, try and figure out where her head was at. But Libby…I don't know.
None of it was my fault, I don't think, and I wutn't sure how I was supposed to make her feel better without apologizing. I couldn’t just apologize for somethin’ I didn't do. And I knew Carol wutn't sorry for none of it—but what the hell was I supposed to do? This was the kind of shit that I wutn't ready for when it came to relationships. Which was kinda sad since I’s forty-three, or forty-four…
I paused outside the door to our room. And then I heard Libby’s breathing, the hitch in it, the quiet sniffles. She was crying.
My chest tightened. I closed my eyes for a second, just breathing in and out. I let the seconds stretch out, trying to figure out how to handle it. I couldn’t just leave her like that.
I reached for the door, but I didn’t open it right away, instead, I knocked lightly. Just enough for her to know I was there, before going in.
When I saw her—her face was buried in her pillow, shoulders shaking with every breath she took. Her dress had risen up, the fabric bunched up at her waist, and the curve of her upper thighs peeked out. Her red hair was sprawled out around her, falling across the pillow. And the way it framed her face, tangled and messy, just made it worse somehow.
She looked so vulnerable.
I took a slow step forward, trying to keep my presence quiet.
She didn’t move when I sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the warmth from her body. Her sobs were muffled into the pillow, but I could still see the tear tracks on her face through the curtains of curls. I’d never seen her like this before. She wasn’t the type to cry.
I reached out, hesitated for a moment, before brushing her hair back from her face. “Libs,”
“She hates me!” she half-sobbed, half-yelled, knocking my hand away from her face.
I swallowed, trying to figure out the best way to calm her down. “She don’t hate you-”
“She does!” Libby snapped, not allowing me to finished.
“Libby-”
“Ever since you left with Merle back in Woodbury, she’s had a problem with me,” she pushed off the pillow, looking at me with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. “I’m not allowed to be mad at you, I’m not allowed to have opinions, I’m not allowed to make decisions.” Each time she took a breath, her face got a little pinker. “I’m just this big fucking problem for her. For fucks sake, the only reason she gives two shits about me is because of you.”
“C’mere,” I tried, holding an arm out
“No!” she cried, pushing me away. “You pissed me off.”
I didn't mean to snap back with an attitude of my own, but I hadn't been expecting her to react like that. “Why? Cause I wouldn’t let you keep yellin’ at her?”
“Yeah, actually,” her voice cracked into an almost whine. “I’m allowed to be angry.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the frustration creeping up my spine. This wasn’t about me. All I was doin’ was making it worse by arguing back.
I ran a hand down my face before I tried again. “It ain’t worth it Libby. Her and Rick—” I muttered, letting the words settle. “They gotta figure shit out for themselves.”
I reached out again, resting my hand on her arm. She didn’t knock it away this time, didn’t push me off. Just sat there, chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths, but she wasn’t fightin’ me no more. I rubbed my thumb over the bare skin of her arm, feeling the heat of it under my palm. “Y’ain’t gotta nothin’ to prove to them,” I told her, voice low, careful. “You’re doin’ good stuff around here, girl.”
She sniffled, but didn’t say nothin’. Just let me hold onto her, her skin still damp from the tears she hadn’t wiped away.
“You still mad at me?” I asked, moving up higher on the bed, pulling her with me as I did.
With her face still pressed into my chest, she replied, “I wasn’t ever mad at you.”
“You said I pissed you off.”
“Cause you did,” brown eyes looked up to me, a small flick of amusement reflecting in them. “But I’m not mad at you, not like that.”
I huffed out a breath, shaking my head. I tightened my hold, letting her shift against me until she got comfortable. Her cheek rested against my chest, her breath warming the fabric of my shirt, and little by little, her breathing evened out. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sniffle from her. I let my hand run slow up and down her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my fingers, but she didn’t pull away. Just let me touch her, let me be there.
After a while, she moved, just a little. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, gripping onto me like she was scared I’d let go. But I wutn’t goin’ nowhere.
I sighed, letting my head drop back against the headboard. “I’ma talk to ‘er”
She made a noise, a quiet little huff against my chest, but she didn't respond.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Her body was warm against mine—softness that I still wutn’t used to, but I liked it. Liked the weight of her against me, the way she fit just right in my arms.
Libby adjusted again, tucking herself closer, and I felt her lashes brush against my skin when she closed her eyes. “M’tired,” she mumbled.
I pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it around her shoulders and tightened my hold on her just a little bit. “Get some sleep. Ain't goin’ no where.”
.i’m all your’n and you’re all mine.
Notes:
so… idk if anyone pays attention to the little lyrics, but if you do—#Liryl is basically a Tyler Childers song. and i KNOW, Carol and Libby need to work their shit out, but i PROMISE they will, and you’ll see why Carol’s being the way she is….
anyways~ hope y'all liked the chappy! feb is a big month for me, but i've got two chapters written ahead, so there shouldn't be a huge delay or anything!
(and who’s ready for some ULTRA spicy, subby, filthy daryl next chapter????)
Chapter 52: little gremlin of a son in check
Summary:
“Seriously,” I pulled away, letting one hand come to his face to brush away the strands of hair that began hiding his eyes. “I adore you, Daryl Dixon.”
It wasn’t the other three words. But it was close. It was nice. It was a tip-toe into the water of saying the ‘L’ word out loud. I needed to gauge his reaction to other sentiments similar, before I dove right in. It’d only been two weeks.
Notes:
explicit is marked with a * and ends with a *
alexa, play ‘bark like you want it’ by sir-mix-a-lot
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me, what you’d do to me tonight.
One thing about Daryl Dixon—he was gonna argue with me.
Didn’t matter what it was about: how I held my bow, how much sugar I put in my coffee, or even how I decided to wear my hair—he always had something to say. Especially when it came to sex.
Not that he complained—It was moreso, his insecurities took over. They seemed to be more prominent to him now that we were in a relationship, and it tugged at my gut whenever he purposely stalled things like taking his shirt off or brushing aside the compliments I threw at him. I think that inner part of him just couldn’t believe I wanted him like that, so he’d grumble about how I was “talkin’ too much” or “bein’ ridiculous” but I knew…It’s how I felt too.
Years of therapy and psychology helped me though. He was still working through the thick of it.
But don’t get it twisted—Daryl was a little insecure, but he was also a soft lover. Extremely , actually.
If I was face-down, he never slammed me back or pulled my hair; he’d grip my hips gently, letting me control the pace of things. And if I arched my back, he traced my spine with the pads of his thumbs, always lingering at the dimples above my ass. Instead of leaving any kind of marks with his mouth, he’d press soft kisses to my collarbone, up my throat, along my jaw…it was never about possession or proof for him. Daryl still talked me through it—but he never degraded me—just grunts of sweet encouragement, his accent always thickening the hornier he got. It was all:
That’s it, sweetheart. You take me so good.
Made for me, ain’t ya?
Always sweet. Always reverent. Always in awe.
But that didn’t eradicate my own stubborn attitude.
Daryl wasn’t afraid to treat me a little rougher —he knew I could take it, knew I liked it—but he never defaulted to it. If I wanted it, I had to ask. And when I did, he never denied me. Quickies had been our specialty for the majority of our time together, stolen moments pressed against trees or hidden behind buildings, hands desperate, breaths shallow. It wasn’t like that anymore though. Now we had time, privacy, a bed to sink into instead of the ground. And I was more than ready to take full advantage of it.
Daryl wasn’t scared to treat me like the slut I sometimes wanted to be—he just preferred to the intimacy instead. But he also wasn’t afraid to try almost anything once with me.
Including letting me make him beg.
That’s exactly how I ended up with his thighs bracketing my head, my tongue teasing his balls while my hand worked slow strokes along his cock. His breath hitched, and I hummed in satisfaction, letting my lips ghost along the underside of his sensitive skin, just to see him tense up. Two weeks into our official relationship, and we were already back to where we left off: me, teasing him about how submissive he really was.
It irritated him — but I was pretty sure he just hated the word more than the fact he liked being called a ‘good boy’.
Daryl could fight me on it all he wanted, but his body never lied. The way his breathing faltered, the way his fingers flexed against the sheets, the way his thighs tensed every time I so much as taunted him with the idea of saying it again—it was obvious. He loved it. He just didn’t want to admit it.
I let my tongue flick against the bottom of his cock one last time, savoring the way his muscles tightened, before pulling away completely. His head dropped back into the pillow, a deep, frustrated groan escaping his lips. But still—he wouldn’t beg. “Ya know,” I murmured against the sensitive skin of his thigh, pressing a long, drawn out kiss there, “this is only hurting you .”
He didn’t respond, just turned his head stubbornly, pressing his left cheek into the pillow like he could will himself into ignoring me.
I smirked, trailing my lips higher, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of his thigh, taking my time, savoring every inch of him. If I thought for even a second that he wasn’t enjoying this, I would’ve caved—I would’ve given in to both his pleasure and mine. But the way his body reacted told me everything I needed to know.
And when I flicked my tongue over his nipple, his head snapped up, a sharp inhale whispering through the room.
Oh.
I did it again, slower this time, watching his lips part as his breath shuddered. Fuck, he was so fucking beautiful like this—flushed, restless, struggling between pride and pleasure.
“You’re so fucking hot, Dar,” I whispered, dragging my lips across his chest before flicking my tongue over the other nipple, my lashes fluttering as I glanced up at him.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, his blue eyes locked onto mine. But again—no words. Just a jaw that clenched whenever I lifted myself away to straddle his hips.
His cock twitched relentlessly as I slid it between my folds, dragging it through my slick with torturous slowness. My own breath catching at the sensation, but I swallowed it down, determined to make him suffer just a little longer.
“See how wet you make me?” I whispered, rocking my hips just enough for him to feel it, for him to ache for more. “All from just watching you be so desperate for me.”
His chest rose and fell in heavy, uneven breaths, his fingers tightening into the sheets some more, like if he didn’t hold onto something, he’d snap.
I tilted my head, feigning innocence as I traced slow, teasing circles over his happy trail with my fingertips. “Maybe I’m not the only—what was it you called me in the shower?” My lips pouted, pretending to search for the word. “ Dirty little slut, right?” I leaned in, my breath fanning against his flushed skin. “Maybe you are too.”
His reaction was immediate.
His hips bucked up on instinct, knocking me slightly off balance. I caught myself with a hand on his chest, but I felt the way his body burned beneath me, the way his pulse pounded.
And I saw it—the deep shade of scarlet creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks, giving him away completely.
I bit back a smirk, tilting my head again. “You’re really just driving home my point.”
“Libby,” he warned, voice rough, low, but there was no real threat behind it. No real edge to the way he said my name.
Just pure, undeniable need.
“Actually— since I know you have to head out early in the morning, how about I make this easier for you.” I suggested, leaning down until my lips barely grazed the shell of his ear. My voice dropped to a whisper, slow and syrupy, just to see if he’d shiver. “You can either beg me to let you fuck me, or….” I let the word hang in the air, loving the way his breath fluttered. “Just admit that you like being called a good boy and a slut.”
His whole body tensed beneath me.
“Liberty.” Thickly accented. Firm. Like he was warning me off a ledge I had no intention of stepping back from.
But I just smiled. “I know that you do.”
To drive the point home, I lifted my hips, just enough to align him—just enough to let his tip slip inside of me. A gasp caught in my throat at the stretch, at the way his cock twitched like it wanted so badly to be buried deeper. But I didn’t give him that, not yet.
I let the moment linger, let the need coil tighter. “Or else you wouldn’t be hanging onto every single thing I say.” My nails dragged lightly down his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of it, the tremble beneath his skin. “But you’re such a good boy, aren’t you? You won’t move an inch, all because I said so.”
Was I tiptoeing the edge of his resolve?
Of course.
But I wasn’t wrong.
He didn’t even twitch.
I bit my lip, my nails tracing light, idle patterns along his stomach, flitting to his tattoos a few times. “You’re so much bigger than me, Dar,” I mused, rocking my hips just slightly before pulling back again, watching the way his brows knit together in frustration. “You could flip the script so fast.”
And then, just to be cruel, I repositioned myself, dragging his cock through my folds again instead of sinking down onto him like I knew we both wanted.
“If you really wanted to,” I continued, watching his jaw flex, “I wouldn’t resist. I’d let you fuck me however you wanted.”
His entire body burned beneath me, tension wound so tight I thought he might snap at any second. And his cheeks—God, his cheeks —flushed so red it was pitiful how hard he was trying to bury them in the pillow. I hummed, raking my fingers through his hair before giving a soft tug, just enough to make him look at me again.
“Are you my good boy?” As my fingers left his hair, I traced them firmly along his jawline, holding him there, making sure he saw me— felt me—knew exactly who was in control.
Two beats passed. His breath stalled.
Then—
“…Yeah.”
The word was barely above a breath, but I caught it, and fuck , was it satisfying.
My touch trailed downward, fingertips ghosting over his lips. I studied them for just a moment, and then, taking my chance, I pressed my thumb against the stubborn line of his mouth, testing his restraint. To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate—his lips parted, wrapping around my finger with no resistance.
My own breath hitched.
God, look at him.
I hadn’t even done much, and yet he was slipping, giving in to whatever game I wanted to play. The sight alone sent a sharp pulse between my legs, heat flooding through me so fast I nearly whimpered. He didn’t even know how perfect he was like this.
Slowly, I withdrew my thumb, and the sheer disappointment on his face made my stomach tighten. My thighs squeezed instinctively around his hips, but I wasn’t about to let myself sink down.
Drunk off the power, I dragged my thumb across his cheek, down the line of his jaw, before bringing it lower—lower—between my legs. My breath stuttered as I pressed against my clit, his spit slick on my skin as I rolled it in slow, deliberate circles.
And through it all, he never broke eye contact.
Holy shit .
My whole body burned from the inside out. The desperation in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell, the way he watched —it was enough to make me nearly cum.
I brought my thumb back to his lips. And, just as before, he took it.
I exhaled sharply, barely able to hold back the needy sound clawing up my throat. “And you’re a slut for me too, right?” I whispered, my voice half-laced with a moan.
This time, I didn’t even have to wait —he sucked my thumb between his lips like he had something to prove .
The second his chin dipped, lips wrapped around my finger, tongue lapping up every trace of my slick, I swore I almost came right then and there.
Holy fuck .
Daryl Dixon nodded .
His pretty blue eyes—glazed over, half-lidded, and overdosed in pure, unfiltered desire—locked onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine. He liked this. More than liked it. He was almost begging for it, drinking in every ounce of my demands.
Dragging my thumb from his lips, I traced it along his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath my touch, leaving a glistening trail of spit and me in its wake.
Rolling my hips—just once—I gave him the smallest, tiniest bit of relief, just enough to send a shudder rippling through his body. I played with the idea of dragging this out longer, of seeing how far I could take it. It wasn’t mine he was in misery or anything.
At the end of the day—he knew I’d fold for him
Daryl Dixon could have me on my back, taking every ounce of him with my legs wrapped tight around his waist, the second he decided he was done playing my game.
But he wasn’t done.
He liked this.
There was proof in the way his pupils had swallowed the color of his irises, in the way his lips parted on a shaky exhale, in the dribbles of pre-cum smearing between our bodies as he resisted the urge to thrust up into me.
In how little he fought against submitting to me.
“Dar,” I murmured, leaning down, my forehead pressing lightly against his. Our breaths mingled, heat thick between us. I let my lips brush against his but didn’t quite seal the kiss. “Are you gonna be good for me while I bounce on your cock?”
He whined .
Loud.
Desperate.
Oh, fuck , he needed to do that more often.
This— this —was the kind of feeling I could get drunk off of. Hearing him make those filthy, forbidden sounds that were meant for me and only me . Watching him unravel beneath me, stripped of all that rough, untouchable masculinity, reduced to something softer, needier, sweeter —his voice trembling, his body yielding.
My rough, rugged archer, undone by my touch.
“Words, Dar.” My voice was nothing short of commanding, but I couldn’t stop my lips from quirking up, my chest swelling at the sight of him.
His breath stuttered, hands fisting the sheets, and then—
“Please.”
Just one word. One syllable, broken and wrecked, and I would’ve risked everything to hear it again.
I pushed up from his chest, balancing myself as I reached down, taking my time aligning him with my entrance, letting him feel every second of it. Daryl’s neck craned forward, his entire body tensed as he watched, eyes locked onto where we connected, drinking in the sight of his cock stretching me open inch by inch, until I was completely full.
A sharp, broken moan ripped from his throat.
And fuck, he was red —cheeks burning, hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands, lips parting as he gasped through the pleasure. His chest heaved, stomach muscles tensing as I lifted , slow and teasing, only to drop back down, this time a little faster .
His fingers twitched, trailing up my hips—hesitant, barely grazing, like he knew he wasn’t supposed to touch, but couldn’t stop himself.
I should’ve told him no. Should’ve pushed him just a little more , teased him about how pretty he looked all obedient beneath me. But my own resolve was cracking , and I knew, deep down, it was only a matter of time before I was the one begging.
Because he filled me up so fucking good .
So perfectly.
It was impossible— completely fucking impossible—but in that moment, I could’ve been convinced he was actually rearranging my guts.
I pressed a hand to his chest, steadying myself, finding the perfect balance before coming to a complete stop.
Daryl sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight I swore I could hear his teeth grinding. One look at his face, and I knew— knew —he was a few seconds away from losing it.
And I had no intention of letting this end so soon.
His body twitched beneath me, hips bucking instinctively, like he was trying to chase the pleasure I had so cruelly ripped away. A frustrated sound rumbled from deep in his throat, and then his eyes snapped open—wild, desperate, pleading.
“Libby, please.”
Oh.
Oh.
So he did know how to beg.
And boy did his whimper draw nothing but confidence out of me. I leaned down, hovering just above his lips, taunting him. “I want you to eat me out.”
His response was immediate. “Whatever you want.”
He was perfect.
Smirking, I lifted off of him completely, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to savor the pitiful little whine he let out at the loss. But it didn’t last long—because in one swift motion, Daryl had my knees hooked over his shoulders, his grip firm, unyielding, practically dragging me to the edge of the bed.
I barely had time to process before his hands were spreading my thighs wide , fingers digging into my skin, holding me open for him—like he was starving .
And then, without an ounce of hesitation, he buried his face between my legs, licking a long , slow stripe up my pussy.
My body melted .
Because if Daryl Dixon was good at nothing else in this world, he was damn good at giving head.
A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his face pressing impossibly closer, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up my spine. “Dar,” I gasped, fingers threading through his messy hair.
His tongue was relentless , circling my clit, matching the slow, rolling rhythm of my hips like he had memorized every movement. It was already too much , but then— then —he slipped two fingers inside of me, curling them in just the right spot.
A sharp gasp ripped from my throat as the heat in my stomach burned hotter, tighter , spreading through my limbs like wildfire. My grip tightened at the back of his head, my thighs trembling around his face—not that it deterred him in the slightest .
I should’ve known better than to let him go down on me when I was supposed to be in control. Should’ve remembered that Daryl Dixon had a way of unraveling me with such ease. But my mind was mixing with ecstasy, my thoughts blurring.
And when the pressure finally broke, my body tensed , the pleasure snapping through me in waves so intense I couldn’t even care that I was squeezing his head between my thighs—or that the entire damn house probably heard my breathless cries of relief.
But it wasn’t enough.
And Daryl knew it .
Still catching my breath, I barely registered the press of his lips against my stomach, kissing his way up my body, murmuring between each one, “Please. Lemme fuck ya. I’s good, Libs. Please .”
Was he supposed to be begging, or me? Because I was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t already pounding into me until I remembered—it was him. He was, in fact, the one who was supposed to be begging.
“Dar,”
W asn’t I supposed to be the one in control? Hadn’t I just made him beg? So why the hell was I the one aching to give in?
I swallowed, forcing myself to stay in the game. “Dar—”
“Libby,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, desperate. His mouth found my breast, tongue circling my hardened nipple as he pressed his cock against my soaked core. “I’ll do whatever ya want. Just wanna feel ya. Please .”
Yup. That fucking did it.
“I want it hard,” I pouted, my hands snaking around his neck. “And I want it in my mouth when you’re done.” I reminded him, drawing his lips to mine.
“Yes m’am,” he mumbled against my mouth. His hands slid down my body until they hooked behind one of my knees. I couldn’t hold back the little yelp when he tossed my leg over his shoulder, and began positioning himself on his knees.
With practiced ease, he sank into me, stretching my pussy wide open, all over again. A moan left my mouth at the overwhelming intrusion. I dug my fingers into the sheets beneath me—thankfully so—because without warning, he pulled his hips back before thrusting them forward again.
Each time a little faster; a little harder than the last; a little deeper too.
“Fuck, Dar,” I moaned. But he didn’t respond. Only tightened his grip around my leg, pounding into me at an alarming rate, chasing the high I’d been denying him.
Every slam of his hips punched the breath from my lungs, but God , I never wanted him to stop. He was deep— so deep—splitting me open like he was trying to ruin me for anyone else. Like he knew I could make him beg all night, but this? This was his revenge.
Daryl growled low in his throat, a delicious, wrecked sound, and I swore I could feel it vibrate through me. His fingers dug into my thigh, holding me open like he was determined to keep me right where he wanted. “Wanted it hard, huh?” he panted, snapping his hips rougher, faster, just to hear me gasp. “Ain’t so smug now, are ya?”
I tried to glare at him—tried to bite back the whine building in my throat—but I was too far gone. My back arched off the bed, my nails scratching at the sheets as the pleasure built, winding tighter and tighter .
“Fuck— fuck , Dar, right there,” I cried, barely able to form words with how hard he was hitting it. Every thrust sent sparks shooting up my spine, and he was watching me—drinking me in like he lived for this.
“You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight,” he choked out, his grip on me faltering for just a second. He was close. I knew he was.
But he wasn’t done yet.
Daryl’s hands left my thighs, grabbing at my waist instead, and before I could even think, he flipped me—dragging me onto my knees, pressing my chest flush against the mattress.
“Oh, fuck —” My words broke as he slammed back inside, his weight pressing down on me, keeping me right where he wanted. “Daryl—”
He kissed the back of my neck, his breath ragged against my skin. “Told ya,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up my spine before gripping my shoulders. “I’ll do whatever ya want. Long as I get to feel you.”
And then—he fucked me.
No teasing. No mercy. Just raw, desperate need, his cock hitting so deep, my legs nearly gave out beneath me. I clawed at the sheets, letting out a broken moan, feeling that coil in my stomach snap violently —pleasure crashing over me in dizzying waves.
Daryl groaned at the feeling of me pulsing around him, his thrusts stuttering as he chased his own high. His fingers dug into my hips, his body tensing—before he pulled out, flipping me onto my back again, his cock in my hand in an instant.
I knew what he needed. And I wanted it.
Still panting, I leaned up, taking him into my mouth—my tongue circling the tip, my fingers stroking the base just how I knew drove him crazy.
“Fuck—” Daryl’s head tipped back, his hand tangling in my hair as his hips jerked . And then—he broke , his release hitting my tongue as he let out the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I swallowed it all, licking him clean with slow, teasing drags of my tongue, grinning when I heard him curse under his breath.
Daryl slumped back, boneless, his chest rising and falling hard.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, crawling up beside him, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his jaw. “See?” I teased, barely able to catch my breath. “Told you you’d be a good boy for me.”
His arm shot out, dragging me down into the mattress with him, his breath still warm against my skin.
“…Shut up, girl.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the realization that part of me didn’t want to leave Alexandria yet. I’d snuck out after Libby fell asleep, a weird feeling in my gut not letting me get any rest. I figured if I set my bike up now, I’d be able to sleep in a little longer when I finally was able to slip into dreamland. And while I strapped supplies down, my mind drifted to the redhead in the basement, and my stomach knotted knowing I wouldn’t be waking up next to her for the next week—or longer. It didn’t feel right. I wanted to stay.
I wutn’t gonna.
But I wanted to.
This job was important though. Or, at least I’d convinced myself it was.
The door to the garage opened, and Carol peeked in, shuffling quietly down the steps. She stopped in front of me, eyebrows furrowed. I tried ignoring her, waiting for her to say something to me first, and for a moment I thought she was gonna turn around and go back inside. But then she crouched across from me, resting her elbows on either thigh.
“You’re up late,” she commented, her gaze fixed on my hands as I fiddled with a ratchet strap.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied.
I glanced up for half a second, and that’s when I caught it—that look. The kind people get when they’re about to say somethin’ they ain’t sure they should. Lips pressed together, eyes carrying somethin’ too heavy to set down. Like whatever was sittin’ on her chest had been there a while, and she wasn’t sure if now was the time to let it loose.
I didn’t ask.
Just went back to tightening the strap, giving her the space to either spit it out or let it die.
But I knew better.
I knew Carol. It didn’t shock me when she started talking.
“Daryl, I need to tell you something. But you can’t tell Libby,” her tone was tight, leaving no room for argument. Just an ‘okay’ or a ‘no’.
My chest felt hot all of a sudden. Whatever it was she wanted to tell me didn’t bother me so much as the fact she didn’t want me to tell Libby about it. I’s leaving in about six hours for at least a week, and if Carol did somethin’ that would have repercussions—or if it affected Libby—I wouldn’t be here to help fix whatever it was.
She waited though. Staring at me. Giving me a silent option on whether I wanted to listen or walk away. And when I didn’t head to the door, Carol rocked back until she sat on the floor.
“You can’t tell her, Daryl,” she said, running a hand over her face. “She’ll kill me.”
The absentminded focus I had on my bike was lost. “What happened?”
I knew Carol was goin’ through some heavy shit, but there wutn’t nothin’ Libby’d been upset about recently. Not somethin’ that was in correlation to somethin’ else happening at least. The only explanation was that Carol had screwed with something while she was mad and it was gonna fall on Libby’s shoulders.
“I killed Melanie,” her voice trembled.
My face screwed up. “Hell’re you talkin’ about?”
“She wasn’t supposed to go on that run with y’all. I sent her as a test. I told her to get Libby. I--“ she stumbled over her words, pausing to take a breath. “I wanted to see if Libby would get distracted or-- Melanie didn’t want to go, Daryl. She asked if she could just do fence duty and I told her no. She’d be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
I sat there, still as I could manage, but my blood was runnin’ hot.
Carol sent Melanie out. On purpose. She tried to send Libby , too.
I knew she’d been holding back on me for a while now, not tellin’ me the full truth about a lot of things, but I ain’t even thought about Melanie in months. I tried not to think about anything at the prison.
My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into my palms, just at the thought of Libby being on that run with us. Ain’t no tellin’ how much worse that run could’ve gone if Libby would’ve been there. And if she had, if something did happen, if it would’ve been her instead of Melanie—it would’ve been on Carol’s hands. All cause she thought Libby and I were too wrapped up in each other.
Melanie was dead cause Carol thought Libby and I were too wrapped up in each other.
I ground my teeth, swallowing back the heat risin’ in my chest. “That why you been ridin’ her so hard?” My voice came out rough, low. “Tryin’ to make her hate you so it don’t hurt if she ever found out?”
Carol didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t have to.
My gut was tellin’ me to lash out, but I knew that wouldn’t do nothin’ but drive a bigger wedge between the two of us. She was finally opening up to me, and if anything else she did affected Libby, I wanted to know about it. I didn’t want to give her a reason to not tell me anything again.
I exhaled slow, shakin’ my head. “I ain’t tellin’ her.”
Her shoulders dropped like she’d been holdin’ her breath.
“Not for you,” I added. “Ain’t ‘cause I think you deserve to be let off the hook. It’s ‘cause she‘s gonna start blamin’ herself for it.” And I knew she would.
I exhaled hard as I pushed off my knees and stood. My hands twitched like they wanted to do something—lash out, grab something—but I just clenched my fists and shoved them into my pockets.
I didn’t look at her when I turned. Just walked inside and left her sitting there on the floor.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
“I regret telling Deanna that you’d be good for the job,” I groaned, splaying my open hand onto Daryl’s chest. “I don’t want you to go.”
It was past time for him to get up, and nearly time for him and Aaron to leave, but he’d barely moved an inch since he woke up. That wasn’t typical of Daryl at all. He was normally the first person up, dressed, and ready to go, if there was something going on. But not today. Today he kept a hand in my hair, twisting it around his finger tips as the dawn began fading into early morning.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “It won’t be long.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We ain’t goin’ on some wild goose chase, Libs,” he mumbled as he let his hand fall to the small of my back.
“Except, that’s exactly what you’re going on. You don’t know how long it’ll take to find someone,” I pushed off his chest. “If you’ll find anyone.”
They were technically just going to get a feel for it. Per Deanna, Aaron wanted to see how Daryl did on a scouting trip—make sure he was cut out for it before going on a longer haul. But I knew Daryl, and I was fairly acquainted with Aaron; they’d get out there and stay until they were low on supplies. Which, I guess was only enough for two weeks, but two was still seven days longer than one.
Daryl swallowed, thrumming his fingers quick, then shifted me off of him. “Gotcha somethin’,” he mumbled, rolling to his side and snatching his bag up from the bedside table.
My brow furrowed as I sat up, crossing my legs underneath the blanket and watching him dig through the bag. As far as I knew, he hadn’t really gone anywhere. Whenever he was outside the walls, he lingered close to Alexandria. Never too far. And as much as I wanted to play it nonchalant by waiting patiently, my curiosity was beginning to work against me.
Daryl didn’t say anything when he handed it to me—just pulled out something small and set it on my lap—my Walkman.
I blinked at it, barely registering the little tape player, before I picked it up. The last time I’d held it, I was sitting in the RV, turning it over in my hands, trying not to let my disappointment show when the damn thing wouldn’t work. The battery compartment had corroded, and I couldn’t fix it. New batteries weren’t gonna help—though, Glenn had suggested it.
I turned it over, flipping open the back, and sure enough, the corrosion was gone. Fresh batteries were already in place. My stomach flipped. “Dar, when did you?” My voice came out smaller than I meant for it to, like it caught somewhere in my throat.
Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. “When you told me to check your bag for a lighter,”
I stared down at it, pressing my lips together as warmth crawled up my neck. I wasn’t sure why it made my chest feel so tight, why my fingers shook just slightly when I closed the back and thumbed the play button. A small static pop came through the headphones, and then—Billy Joel.
Daryl fiddled with his wrist. “Ain’t nothin’ special, just figured—”
I cut him off, pressing my lips to his before he could finish. He tensed for half a second, then relaxed, his hand finding my waist. “Thank you,” I murmured against his mouth, twisting my fingers into the back of his shirt.
He just grunted, but I could feel the way his fingers curled into my side.
“Seriously,” I pulled away, letting one hand come to his face to brush away the strands of hair that began hiding his eyes. “I adore you, Daryl Dixon.”
It wasn’t the other three words. But it was close. It was nice. It was a tip-toe into the water of saying the ‘L’ word out loud. I needed to gauge his reaction to other sentiments similar, before I dove right in. It’d only been two weeks.
Technically.
In reality, we’d basically been together for almost two years it seemed. And maybe forever in another life. I wasn’t going to let myself get caught up in that timeline again though, because the truth was, it didn’t matter how long we’d officially been together—I was terrified to even say the ‘L’ word.
Daryl’s thumb brushed my cheek, bringing me back from my thoughts, and that was when the mourning process began. I’d been so wrapped up thinking about our relationship, I didn’t even cherish the look on his face after I said some particularly lovey-dovey words. But the softness in his touch and the rosiness of his cheeks gave me a glimpse of what I missed. “Gotta go, girl,” he said, his voice hushed. I wasn’t ready for the pads of his finger to leave my face yet.
“Be careful, and come back.” Those were simple orders. The simplest. At the same time though, they were probably the most difficult to maintain. Safety wasn’t guaranteed, so neither was his return.
Nevertheless, he responded with, “I got somethin’ to come back to now. Won’t be gone that long.”
I hoped that was the truth.
_____________
It’d been exactly eight days since Daryl left, and ten days since my fight with Carol. She hadn’t spoken to me since.
And not in the way people don’t speak after a fight—where things are stilted, awkward, waiting for someone to break first. It was like she’d taken a blade and carved herself out of my life entirely. Like she thought if she avoided me long enough, I’d forget she was ever there to begin with. But, I mean, I saw her, of course. Alexandria wasn’t that big. She was always busy with something—talking with the neighbors, helping Olivia, handing Judith off to whoever had baby duty—but the second I was in the vicinity, she was gone. Didn’t matter if I was just passing through or if we were the only two people in the damn room.
At first, I’d chalked it up to pride. She was mad, still stewing over the argument, unwilling to let it go. But the more I thought about it, the less that made sense.
Carol didn’t sulk.
She fought.
If she was still pissed, she’d have made it known. Especially with Daryl gone. This was the perfect opportunity for her to tear into me until we were actually at each other’s throats.
But, nope. She was going out of her way to avoid me. And in a weird, maybe toxic kind of way, that pissed me off. I wanted to know why she was tucking tail and running whenever I came around. After last time though—I’d been fighting mad—I couldn’t get like that again. So, I let it happen.
Sometimes, before she snuck away when she caught sight of me in the house, it looked like she wanted to talk. And a part of me would’ve welcomed the conversation. My mornings and nights were entirely too quiet now.
I used to like the silence. I needed it. The fewer people around, the better—especially back at the quarry when Shane was being a sexist asshole. But at some point, I’d gotten used to being part of a group.
Now, we were all separated most of the time. Not entirely—but mostly. It was almost like we’d reverted back to the type of life where you actually got to have your own life.
But the only one who really didn’t seem to like being apart from the others was Soup.
Apparently, he’d been making himself comfortable all over Alexandria as a result. Looking for attention wherever he could find it these days.
According to Mrs. Foster, he had a morning routine now—trotting his little ass from porch to porch, taking turns sitting in the laps of whatever elderly person happened to be outside (as if he were a typical house cat). It’d gotten to the point where people started leaving their doors open in the mornings for him, letting him come in to visit. Mr. Adler claimed that Soup waited on him to come outside for thirty minutes one morning. Mr. Adler also claimed that he ‘didn’t like that damn cat’, but judging by the amount of time they spent together, I highly doubted that was true.
So now, officially, Alexandria had a mascot.
And unofficially, I had to track him down every evening, dragging him back inside like a kid who refused to come home before dark.
I couldn’t even be mad about it. It meant he was keeping himself entertained.
Me, on the other hand? I was struggling without Daryl to talk to.
The first couple of days weren’t so bad. I had things to do, and Glenn had roped me into an early morning run. But after the third night alone in bed, I started feeling the absence.
I missed him.
It wasn’t just the bed feeling colder or the lack of early morning snuggles—it was the fact that I didn’t know where he was. If he was okay. If he’d gotten hurt. I knew he could handle himself, but that didn’t stop the anxious knot that tightened in my stomach every time I let myself think too hard about it.
Daryl said he wouldn’t be gone long. But it’d been over a week now.
There wasn’t anything I could do about it—not really. Daryl was going to come back when he came back, and worrying myself sick wasn’t going to bring him home any faster.
And besides, it wasn’t like there wasn’t plenty of other shit to do. Alexandria was still getting itself sorted, and despite how cushy the place was compared to everywhere else we’d been, it wasn’t invincible. The food situation was good, but there had been various power outages in the neighborhood recently. Which, all things considered, was a pretty luxurious thing to worry about. But due to many complaints from residents, Deanna gave in and Reg started working on a supply list early last week.
Aiden and a few others were heading out tomorrow morning to get the essentials.
I’d touched base with him and Reg about it earlier in the day, just to get a clearer view. It was set to be about fifteen miles out—one of the farther runs since we’d arrived, but not entirely unfamiliar territory. Aiden had mentioned the area before, a little wearhouse on the outskirts of a smaller town. It had been picked over, but they were hoping to dig through what had been left behind.
It wasn’t exactly my area anymore, but I was thinking about skipping out on the meetings tomorrow and joining in. Most of the others were part of our group, and I hadn’t been outside the walls much since we got here. A few short trips, but nothing that felt like before . Not like when it was just the group—when survival was a full-time job, not a thing we did in between community meetings and dinner parties.
The run wasn’t a bad idea. It’d keep me occupied, give me something to focus on that wasn’t the fact that I hadn’t heard Daryl’s voice in a week. But at the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave Alexandria.
It was stupid—I knew that. It wasn’t like going on a run meant I was abandoning the place. I’d be back by nightfall. Maybe there was a tiny piece of me that had gotten too comfortable here.
All the more reason to go really.
I didn’t need there to be an example for Rick and Carol to point too when they talked about ‘being too comfortable’.
_____________
Deanna stood near the open garage door, arms crossed as the final preparations were made. Aiden was double-checking his pack, making a show of his usual confidence, while I adjusted the straps on my own gear. Reg and Maggie lingered a few steps away, ready to bid us goodbye. “Are you sure you want to go?” Deanna asked.
“It’s necessary,” I said, tightening the strap of my bow. “I haven’t really been out there in a while, and I want to keep myself prepared. And honestly, Deanna, who else is gonna keep your little gremlin of a son in check?”
Aiden scoffed. “I wasn’t a gremlin earlier when I made you a coffee, princess. ”
I arched a brow. “No, you were still a gremlin. Just a gremlin that happens to have a knack for making coffee.”
“Aiden,” he whined dramatically, throwing on an exaggerated, prissy voice. ” I slept super bad last night because my super hot boyfriend is on a super special mission. Please make me coffee. ”
“Well, for starters,” I said, placing a hand on my hip. “I’m glad we can both agree that Daryl is super hot .”
Aiden made a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
“And I do not sound like that, asshole.”
“Language,” Deanna said, her tone exasperated but amused.
I held up my hands. “Sorry, Mom. ”
Reg chuckled, stepping beside Deanna. “You got everything?” he asked.
Aiden nodded, a confident grin plastered on his face. “First aid kits, yellow pages,” Aiden started, a faux annoyed tone. “Glenn made a checklist. We're good, I swear.”
“I know.” Reg’s lip twitched. “I'm just a worrier. That's how that wall wound up around us,”
With a quick side hug to his mom, Aiden waved his dad off. “Take care, Dad,” he said, before turning around and heading to the truck, bumping my shoulder as he went.
“I'm supposed to be saying that to you!” Reg called out.
“We’ll be good,” I assured, squeezing Deanna’s shoulder before she could try and convince me not to go again. “I’ve got his back.”
I slid into the back of the van, adjusting my bow beside me as I settled in. It had been a while since I’d gone on a real run—longer than I wanted to admit—and an unfamiliar twist of nerves tightened in my stomach. It wasn’t fear. I’d been out in worse situations before, but something about leaving the walls made my skin prickle. I didn't want something to go wrong and never see the rest of my people again.
Aiden climbed into the driver’s seat, immediately twisting the key in the ignition. Noah and Tara were talking about…someone… but before I could get even a little bit invested in the gossip, a blast of deafening dubstep filled the space. The bass vibrated through my ribs nearly making me jump in surprise.
“Great, another mix,” Tara muttered, elbowing Noah.
“It draws them away!” Aiden shouted over the music.
_____________
The ride to the warehouse was uneventful, aside from the headache-inducing music still echoing in my skull. It took a little over forty-five minutes, the roads mostly clear, though we’d passed a few burned-out cars and shuffling corpses along the way.
Nothing we had to stop for.
As Aiden pulled the van into the back lot, I studied the warehouse ahead, exhaling as I reached for my bow. The building was a hulking thing—brick and metal, streaked with grime and overgrown weeds. We rolled to a stop, and I mentally prepared myself for my first run in weeks while the others shuffled out the back of the vehicle.
The second my boots hit the pavement, I adjusted the strap across my chest, making sure everything sat right before Glenn handed me a handgun. I took it without a word, the cold metal pressing against the small of my back as I tucked it into the waistband of my jeans.
Aiden nodded toward one of the large, steel doors. “Looks like that door is our fastest way in and out.”
Glenn shook his head. “We should know all the exits first. If things go south, we need a plan.”
“Already got one. It’s called going out the front.” Nicholas scoffed
I side-eyed him, scoffing right back. “That sounds like a great idea if you like gambling lives, but that’s not what we’re here to do,” I said, horribly masking my sarcasm with a sickly sweet voice. I wondered if he even thought before opening his mouth, or if he just enjoyed hearing himself talk.
Before he could retort, a walker staggered too close, its groan rattling in its ruined throat. Noah moved without hesitation, raising his silenced pistol and sending a clean shot straight between its eyes. The body crumpled to the pavement, the wet smack of flesh on concrete echoing in the quiet lot. The rest of the dead seemed oblivious—for now.
Aiden adjusted the strap of his rifle, shifting beside Nicholas before nudging him. “They’re right,” he admitted. “We should do a perimeter check. Know our exits just in case.”
Nicholas wasn’t happy about it—shocker—but it was a damn good thing we did a quick sweep. Because the second we rounded the first corner into the main parking lot, we came face to face with at least fifty walkers.
A slow-moving, rotting mass of bodies, all clustered near the front entrance, their movements sluggish and aimless. If we’d gone with Nicholas’ half-assed plan, we’d have been ripped apart before we even made it out the door. Escaping that way was far from an option.
So, back around to the van we went, moving along the exterior of the warehouse. The building was pretty standard—brick walls, high-set windows, plain—but we kept our eyes peeled for any side entrances or maintenance doors that could give us another way in (or out if shit got shaky). Nothing promising turned up, so we circled back to the rear of the building, right to the door Aiden had originally pointed out.
Glenn stepped forward, pressing the barrel of his gun to the metal door before giving it a sharp tap. The dull clang echoed through the space, a test to see if anything inside would respond. We held still, waiting, listening.
Nothing.
But that didn’t mean it was empty.
Aiden, apparently satisfied with the silence, reached for the handle.
“Give it a second,” I said, grabbing his shoulder before he could push through. “It’s a big place. There could still be some inside.”
Aiden hesitated, glancing back at me before looking at Glenn. A flicker of impatience crossed his face, but to his credit, he didn’t argue. “So let’s say they are,” he said, shifting his grip on his rifle. “Let’s move. Let’s be safe.”
“All right,” Glenn agreed, moving in a few steps behind me.
The warehouse was a goddamn goldmine.
Light from our flashlights cut through the dim space, illuminating rows of industrial shelves, each one stacked high with untouched supplies. It had been a long drive out here, but if we played this right, it’d be worth every mile. This place had enough to keep Alexandria going for months.
I split off, trailing Aiden down an aisle, and despite the occasional growl and cagey clanging from whatever the walkers were stuck behind (as pointed out by Glenn), everything seemed to be clear. It wasn’t overrun, at least this part wasn’t, and if we made another trip with a few more people, we could completely clear the front with little issues.
“I got it,” Aiden mumbled, annoyed by the slow moving walker that just cruised in our wake.
I hurried my stride to save myself from potential ricocheting bullets, and when I turned to glance at said walker, I saw the armor. “Aiden,” I whispered. “It’s got armor, you gotta go under the mask with a knife.”
From an aisle over, Tara called out softly. “We found ‘em!”
“All right, Eugene!” Glenn’s hushed excitement came from behind a stack of boxes as he shuffled toward them.
I kept my focus on Aiden and the walker, my stomach twisting as he fired again —the bullet bouncing clean off the bulletproof mask. I liked Aiden well enough, but holy fucking shit, the guy didn’t know when to listen.
“It’s got armor,” Glenn called out, taking notice of the scene. “Let it come closer.”
“I got it,” Aiden snapped, irritation lacing his voice. He adjusted his aim, shifting lower, and fired a shot into the walker’s leg.
Another gunshot rang out. I barely had a second to process it—just the sharp pop of the bullet leaving the chamber and then—
BOOM.
The force hit me before the sound even registered. A deafening, gut-punching explosion ripped through the air, a white-hot pressure wave slamming into my side like a freight train. My feet left the ground. The world tilted. I felt weightless for half a second before I was airborne.
Then—impact.
My body crashed into something hard, my shoulder taking the brunt before I flipped, skidding across the cold cement floor. My ears rang so loud it was like my skull had been hollowed out. My vision blurred, blinking in and out between flashes of orange flame and shifting shadows.
I tried to breathe. Fuck— I couldn’t. My chest felt crushed, like something heavy was sitting on it, pressing down, down, down until I thought my ribs would snap.
Somewhere nearby, someone was screaming.
It wasn’t me. Not yet.
Because I hadn’t looked down.
A wet, searing pain bloomed in my upper arm, but it wasn’t just pain—it was wrong. My brain hadn’t caught up yet, but my nerves had, sending signals of something missing.
I sucked in a desperate breath, my fingers twitching against the ground as I tried to move. Tried to sit up.
And that’s when I saw it.
My right arm— fuck, my arm—
Blood. Muscle. Torn flesh hanging in ragged strips. My sleeve was gone, burned away, and my skin—what was left—was raw and shredded. Deep, gaping wounds ran from my shoulder down past my elbow, the edges blackened and still smoldering from the heat.
I gasped, the sound sharp and choked. Then, as if my body was just now realizing it, the pain came.
White-hot agony surged through me, a pulsing, throbbing fire that swallowed every other thought. My stomach flipped. I couldn’t— I couldn’t even process it.
I tried to press my other hand to the wound, but it was slippery, wet.
So much blood.
A ragged, broken sob tore from my throat, but I clenched my teeth, forcing it back.
“Libby—Libby!” Glenn. His voice was distant, frantic, but I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see much of anything through the swimming haze in my vision.
I blinked hard, trying to focus, trying to shove down the firestorm tearing through my body.
I had to move.
I had to get up.
A shadow glinted in my periphery, movement cutting through the ringing in my ears. Then hands, gripping my face, my shoulders. The touch sent a fresh wave of agony ripping through me, and I might’ve screamed. I wasn’t sure.
“Libby—hey! Look at me!” It was Glenn again. His voice wavered, caught between panic and command, but it was enough to drag my swimming focus to him.
I tried. I tried to lift my head, to ground myself, but everything tilted, the world slamming sideways.
“Damn, okay—no, no, don’t move—don’t—” Glenn’s hands trembled as they hovered over me, trying to find a place to help without making it worse. His face blurred in and out, his wide eyes darting over me before stopping—somewhere near my arm.
Or— what was left of it.
It was nothing but a thick, gnarled mess of flesh and fabric, blood pouring in sickening pulses from where my upper arm used to be. Bone gleamed white beneath it all, jagged and exposed , and fuck—fuck—
Glenn paled.
A strangled sound clawed up my throat. “’S pretty bad, huh?”
He made a sound—half a laugh, half a panicked, breathless noise that wasn’t right . “You—you’re gonna be okay, but we need to move. We need to move .”
He scrambled, twisting toward the wreckage. “Noah! I need you—she’s—” Glenn shot another look at my arm, swallowing hard. “She’s bad, man. We have to go — now .”
I barely registered Noah dropping beside me, his hands pressing firm against my mangled arm. A deep pressure, an attempt to slow the bleeding. I screamed .
Then—blackness, swallowing me whole.
.that’s the kinda love i’ve been dreaming of.
Notes:
👀👀 sooo, how we feel ab the smut??? love? hate? cause idc what anyone says, you can’t look at Daryl Dixon’s little kitten eyes and tell me he doesn’t like being called a ‘good boy’ sometimes. he’s a little mew mew.
and Aiden’s dead, which is fr a bummer bc i liked him. he had potential and didn’t deserve all the hate.
…and Carol is fucking nuts, but at least we know now why she’s so mean to Libby.
also! if you want to follow along with my writing and mood boards, feel free to follow me on Tumblr @ Lucy4242564 i’m gonna start trying to post more bc i fr have so many feelings ab this story
Chapter 53: yadda yadda my near-death experience
Summary:
Deanna had no reason to give Rick that same grace though. None other than the fact that she was a leader.
Her expression didn’t waver, but I saw the tension in her jaw. Then, finally—she let out a slow, frustrated breath. “You’re asking me to trust a man who doesn’t respect the way we do things here,” she said.
Notes:
y’all! my daughter’s birthday party is this weekend and i’m SO stressed. like this is all stress writing for the next two chapters lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.i get on they ass, yeah, somebody gotta do it.
Aiden was dead.
Noah was dead.
Tara was in a coma.
My upper arm was mangled.
The run had gone, in every possible way, terrible.
And to make matters worse—I was alone.
My arm tattered and in a strange place, alone.
The overhead light flickered, buzzing in the silence, but I barely registered it. The weight of the blankets pressed against me, suffocating, clinging to my fevered skin, but I couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. Every breath hurt, my body ached in ways I’d never known before, and my mind—it was stuck. Looping.
Aiden’s scream. The flash of fire and shrapnel. The moment I realized I wasn’t dead, but that I should have been.
I swallowed, my throat raw. Had I been screaming? Crying? My fingers twitched against the stiff sheets, the only part of me I could bring myself to move. My right arm was dead weight, a dull, throbbing reminder of how close I’d come to dying.
How close I’d been to joining Aiden.
A sound caught in my chest, something broken, something desperate, but I crushed it back, biting into my lip until I tasted copper.
I wasn’t dead.
A memory surfaced, hazy and fragmented—Eugene’s arms under mine, half-carrying, half-dragging me out of the warehouse, muttering reassurances in a voice thick with terror and analytical knowledge that fell on a dying girls ears. He’d been shaking. Glenn’s voice had come next, sharp and urgent, telling me to hold on, telling me to breathe , and I had, I think. But it hadn’t felt like breathing. It had felt like drowning.
The door creaked, a quiet knock rapping against the frame before Glenn stepped inside. His face was drawn, dark circles heavy under his eyes, his mouth tight.
“You’re awake again,” he said, relieved but cautious, like he wasn’t sure if I wanted him here.
I didn’t know either. So I didn’t respond, just shifted my gaze to the ceiling, because if I looked at him too long, I’d see it. The guilt. The result of what happened. The fact that we went in with seven and came out with five.
“I—” Glenn sighed, running a hand over his face as he pulled up a chair beside me. “I don’t know if you remember or anything, but Pete patched you up, got your arm stable. He said you’ll be okay, you just gotta take it easy.”
I flexed my fingers again, testing the pain, pushing against the reality of my injuries. My arm was a mess—wrapped tight in thick bandages, but I could still feel the damage beneath. Torn flesh. Shredded muscle. Gone.
“You’re lucky,” Glenn continued, though his voice was hollow. “It could’ve been worse.”
I almost laughed at that. Worse?
I closed my eyes. “Aiden’s dead.”
Glenn sucked in a breath. “Yeah.”
“Noah’s dead.”
“…Yeah.”
They were gone.
And I was still here.
I turned my head slightly, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “Tara?”
“She’s stable,” Glenn said, his voice softer now. “But she hasn’t woken up yet,” he looked behind him at Tara, lying in the other bed, knocked out like a light.
A small mercy, I guessed. At least she wasn’t dead, but that didn’t make any of this easier.
Glenn hesitated before reaching out, his fingers ghosting over my good hand. “Rick and Carol came by earlier. They wanted to see you, but you were still out. Carol’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s worried about you. Rick, too.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure how to feel.
Aiden was gone.
Noah was gone.
And I was still here.
It was a redundant thought at that point, but I still couldn’t shake off the fact that I had made it out with my life. And that realization was like a slow, twisting blade in my chest.
Aiden was gone. His cocky smirk, his stupid jokes, the way he always thought he had something to prove. The way he did have something to prove with Deanna as his mother. And now? Now, there was nothing left of him. No second chances. No do-overs. Just fire and blood and a scream that wouldn’t stop ringing in my head.
The two of us had just been joking about coffee earlier that morning. It wasn’t fair.
I tried to picture his parents—the moment they found out. The moment someone walked through the door and had to tell them .
I imagined Deanna’s face, the way it must’ve crumpled, the way she must’ve refused to believe it at first. How Reg probably pulled her close, whispering that it was okay, that they’d get through it, even though they both knew that wasn’t true.
They’d lost their son.
The same way I had lost my sisters.
The same way I had lost Dale.
The same way I had lost Melanie.
The same way I had lost too many people.
The breath stuttered in my chest, my throat tightening.
I had always told myself I could handle loss. That I was used to it. That it didn’t get to me the same way anymore. But the thing was—losing Aiden felt personal.
Because I should have seen it.
I should have been faster.
If I had just noticed the grenade—if I had just stopped him. He was my first friend in Alexandria, and he should’ve been around longer.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to work. “Deanna and Reg—how are they?”
Glenn’s face tightened, his fingers curling into a fist against his knee. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Not good.”
I turned my gaze back to the ceiling. I wanted to be surprised, but I wasn’t. Deanna had fought so hard to build this place, to make it something worth living in. She’d talked about Aiden and Spencer like they were still her little boys, like she could protect them from this world if she just tried hard enough.
But the world didn’t care.
It never did.
“They, uh… they wanted to see you. I think they’re waiting until you’re feeling a little better.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel better.
“I should’ve done something.”
Glenn’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”
I flinched at the sharpness in his voice.
His face was tight, his jaw clenched. “I know what you’re thinking. That you could’ve changed something. That if you’d just—” He broke off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “We all did what we could, Libby. Aiden made his choice. Noah—” His voice hitched, just for a second. “Noah didn’t deserve what happened. Neither of them did. But this wasn’t on you.”
I wanted to believe that.
I needed to believe that.
Glenn must have seen it on my face because his expression softened. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, you need to rest. Your body’s been through hell, and if you keep going in circles like this, it’s just gonna make things worse.”
I didn’t argue. Didn’t tell him that rest wasn’t going to fix anything. That no amount of sleep was going to erase the sounds of Aiden’s screams ringing in my ears.
But I let my eyes slip shut anyway.
Because I was too tired to do anything else.
_____________
I stirred to the faint pressure on my arm, a dull sting that pulled me from the depths of a sleep too heavy to be even a little restful. The world was slow to piece itself back together—first the muted glow of light slipping through the blinds, then the sound of breathing, mine and someone else’s. And then, the lightest tug of bandages being adjusted. I blinked sluggishly, the ceiling above me unfocused, but I forced my head to turn. Pete was hunched over my injured arm, fingers deftly working over the fresh wrappings. I frowned, my voice coming out rough and unused. “The hell are you doing?”
Pete barely glanced up. “Changing your dressing. You were out for a while. It’s past noon.”
His voice was calm, neutral, but I caught the way his fingers twitched, just slightly, as he worked. My arm throbbed as he smoothed the bandage in place. The skin beneath it felt too tight, raw and wrong, but the sharpness of the pain from yesterday had dulled to something almost bearable.
“You gave me a scare when you first got here with your pulse bottoming out,” Pete said after a beat, finally straightening up. He pressed his palms together, studying my face in a way that made my skin prickle. “You’re lucky. The laceration wasn’t as bad as it looked, but it still tore into some muscle. It’s going to take time to heal.”
I swallowed. “Scarring?”
“Definitely.”
It wouldn’t be fair for me to cry about that. It would actually be so so so far from appropriate, but I wanted to. I wanted to curl up and sob until I was red in the face. I was vain, and it was sickening.
I let out a slow breath, watching as Pete gathered whatever supplies he had brought in with him. “Well,” Pete said, clearing his throat. “You should get some more rest.” And just like that, he was gone, vanishing through the infirmary doors without another word.
I closed my eyes for a second, willing myself to relax, to let the deep ache in my body settle. But before I could even begin to drift again, I heard soft footsteps approaching. I opened my eyes just in time to see Deanna step inside.
She looked different than usual. The composed façade she always maintained was fractured, her eyes rimmed with red, and exhaustion written into every line of her face. She wasn’t just the leader of Alexandria right now. She was a grieving mother.
I swallowed against the thickness in my throat and forced myself upright, ignoring the sharp pull of pain in my arm. “Deanna—”
She lifted a hand, a tight, weary smile forming on her lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Libby.”
But I did.
I should have.
Because Aiden was dead.
And I had made it out.
“It was such a stupid fucking accident,” I whimpered, unable to contain my emotions. How fucking selfish of me? “Neither of us saw the grenade, and he—“
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, sitting in the chair Pete had previously occupied.
My breath hitched, a sharp pang of grief catching in my throat as my chest caved. “It should’ve been me,” I whispered, the words tasting like rust and regret. My fingers curled into the blankets, gripping tight like they could hold me together, keep me from unraveling completely. “If I had just— If I had seen it first, if I had — ”
Deanna shook her head, reaching out without hesitation, her warm, steady hand settling over mine. “Libby.” Her voice was soft, but firm. “No.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to block out the world, but it did nothing to stem the tears that slipped free, hot against my skin. “I was right there beside him,” I choked out, each word scraping painfully against my raw throat. “I should’ve—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Deanna repeated, her grip tightening reassuringly around my trembling hand, as if my pain was tangible and she could physically absorb it for me.
I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to pull myself back, but my body wouldn’t stop trembling, and my throat was so goddamn tight it hurt.
Deanna’s grip never wavered. She just sat with me in the oppressive silence, letting the silence settle, letting me cry, until finally, she spoke again. “Reg came by early this morning,” she said quietly. “He sat with you for a little while. He—” Her voice caught, just slightly, before she steadied herself. “He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I pressed my good hand against my eyes, trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “I don’t know how to—” I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Deanna murmured.
But I wanted to.
I wanted to tell her how sorry I was, how much it hurt, how much I missed Aiden. I wanted to tell her that he had fought, that he had tried —God, he had tried so hard to stay alive. And Nicholas ran away. Glenn couldn’t get him off. I couldn’t help him.
But all that escaped my lips was another broken sob, jagged and full of anguish.
Deanna moved then, closer, and before I could even think to stop her, she was wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight.
I froze for half a second, caught off guard, before I just—collapsed.
I buried my face against her shoulder, my body heaving with silent, shuddering cries. She held me as a mother would, steady and strong, her quiet strength enveloping me like a protective shield despite her own heart breaking silently.
After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still firm on my shoulders. Her expression was raw and achingly kind; it made my chest ache even more. “Aiden thought you were a good person,” she murmured, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from my cheek. “He really liked you, Libby.”
A fresh wave of emotion hit me hard, and I swallowed against it, my lip trembling.
“You made it back,” she continued, her voice thick. “And I’m glad you did. He would’ve been glad you did.”
I let out a soft, shaky breath, searching her face for something—anger, resentment, blame. But there was none. Just warmth. Just understanding.
Just forgiveness.
I closed my eyes, nodding once, even though I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
Deanna squeezed my hand again. “Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
She stayed a few minutes longer, her hand lingering over mine before she finally pulled away. The warmth of her touch faded too quickly, like everything else did these days, slipping through my fingers before I could hold on to it.
The room felt impossibly quiet in her absence. The light still buzzing overhead as it had last night.
Everyone had told me I needed to rest. Glenn. Pete. Deanna. They all said the same damn thing, like sleep was some magic fix, like closing my eyes would somehow make it all hurt less. But how was I supposed to sleep when every time I blinked, I saw Aiden’s smirk right before the final shot? When I heard the panic in his scream, felt the heat of the explosion rattling my bones, the force of it tearing through the air like the whole world was coming apart?
I sucked in a sharp breath—my whole body ached, every single muscle, but I barely felt it past the crushing weight in my chest.
I should’ve done more.
I should’ve.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the thought away, trying to shove it deep down where I hoped it might wither and die. But instead, it left a bitter taste in my mouth, clawing its way to the surface—something just as unbearable alongside it.
Daryl.
My pulse jumped, an unsteady, painful stutter beneath my ribs.
He didn’t even know what happened yet.
He was still out there—scouting miles and miles beyond Alexandria’s walls, oblivious to the fact that I had come perilously close to death. That I’d nearly become an Icarus with my ambition.
I turned my head slightly, staring blankly at the old wooden cabinet beside me, its surface marred with scratches and chipped paint, the familiar sight of an old world object doing nothing to settle the tightness in my throat.
Would he even care?
Of course, he would, I reasoned, a flicker of hope rising momentarily. But the thought scraped against something raw in my chest, like fingernails against scans, a reminder of vulnerability I wasn't ready to sit with.
But what if he didn’t?
What if he saw me, saw the scar, and his eyes did that thing—that quiet flicker of pity, the one that meant I feel bad for you, but I don’t know what to say ? What if he came back, heard what happened, and never looked at me the same?
What if he stopped looking at me at all ?
Pete had said it wasn’t as deep as it looked, but he’d also said it tore muscle. That it would inevitably scar. I swallowed hard, the thought chilling my blood as I stared at my hands, which suddenly felt like ice. I had scars, but none prominent. Nothing anyone would ever pay close attention to. I knew where they were, knew how to hide them, knew how to tuck them away so they wouldn’t be noticed.
But this one…
This one wasn’t small.
This one wasn’t something I could conceal. It stretched from my shoulder to my elbow. I remember how it looked like ground meat.
Would it make me ugly?
The thought came quick, brutal, searing into me like a blade that was held against a fire. I knew it was shallow. Knew it was stupid. Knew it didn’t matter, not really—not when people were dead, when Aiden was gone, when Noah had been torn apart .
But it mattered to me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw tight. Daryl wouldn’t care. I knew that.
But what if he did?
It was ridiculous.
Stupid.
Shallow and vain and pointless.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Because if I wasn’t pretty anymore—if I didn’t have that—then what did I have?
What was left of me after everything?
It was…my identity. I was pretty. Before the end of the world, that’s how I got by—how I made money. It was the one thing about myself I really liked. It was the single insecurity I didn’t have.
I flirted. I smiled. I laughed. I distracted people.
I bit the inside of my cheek, pushing the thought down, burying it deep where it couldn’t claw its way back up. I mean—that would definitely bite me in the ass later on. But later on, I’d be in the comfort of my own room and wouldn't have to worry about someone coming in while I was in the middle of a mental breakdown and whatnot.
I was tired.
So fucking tired.
But even as exhaustion pressed against me, even as my body begged for rest, my mind wouldn’t stop.
Wouldn’t stop replaying the explosion.
Wouldn’t stop hearing Aiden’s voice.
Wouldn’t stop wondering if Daryl would still want me.
_____________
The walk back to my house was slow. Painfully fucking slow. Glenn stayed close, glancing at me every few seconds like he thought I was going to drop at any moment.
And honestly? He wasn’t wrong.
Every inch of me ached. My arm burned with every movement, the muscles stiff and sore, the stitches pulling every time I bent my elbow. But I wasn’t going to complain. I was going home. It didn’t matter that I was moving at a snail’s pace, that every step made me want to collapse, that I was pretty sure Pete had sent me off with enough painkillers to knock out a horse— I was going home.
The thought should’ve been comforting.
It wasn’t.
It felt wrong. Like I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve died out there. I should’ve bled out in some abandoned warehouse, but instead, I was here.
Alive.
Breathing.
And Aiden wasn’t.
Noah wasn’t.
My fingers ached to pull my jacket tighter around me, but I didn’t—I couldn’t —not when my arm still felt foreign, stiff and clumsy and not really mine anymore.
Glenn said something, his voice distant, muffled against the static in my skull.
I nodded. Didn’t matter what he said. Just nodded.
He sighed. “I’m staying until you get settled, just so you know.”
I almost told him no. Almost told him I was fine. But the words wouldn’t come. Because I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t anything—no—I was something. I was thoroughly shocked that I hadn’t started disassociating yet. I just wanted to get inside before I fell apart.
The moment my hand touched the doorknob, something slammed against the other side, a sharp thump followed by frantic meow.
Soupy Dupey,
My chest clenched, I pushed the door open, barely stepping inside before a small blur of fur launched itself at my legs, winding around me in desperate, excited circles. I let out a breath—one I hadn’t realized I was holding—and slowly lowered myself onto the couch, biting back a grimace as pain flared through my side. Soup climbed into my lap immediately, purring loud enough to wake a sleeping giant, his little paws pressing insistently against my stomach as if he were checking me for injuries himself.
Glenn sat on the arm of the couch, watching me carefully. He wasn’t talking, wasn’t asking if I was okay, wasn’t doing anything—just waiting, and I was grateful for that.
I wasn’t ready to talk.
Three days, and I still had no idea what all had transpired after our return to Alexandria, and it killed me. I wanted to know all of the details. I wanted to know how our group reacted to the loss of Noah, if everyone was doing okay. I wanted to go to Deanna’s and lift any weight off her shoulders that I could. But—mentally I just wasn’t ready to talk about any of it.
I hated waiting; hated not knowing. I hated that I couldn’t just bounce back immediately and handle all of the burdens in the entire community.
Glenn shifted beside me. “You know Daryl’s gonna be back soon, right?”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because I didn’t know that.
It’d been almost two weeks now, and as much faith that I had in him, my worry about where he was, how he was, grew exponentially each day he wasn’t here. I’d hoped that somehow he’d know I’d been injured and come running back to Alexandria before I woke that first day—but there’d been no word from him in the slightest.
So I just kept my head down, my fingers tangled in Soup’s fur.
Glenn sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright, look. I was gonna be cool about this, let you process on your own time, but this sad, brooding shit?” He gestured at me. “It’s pathetic.”
I blinked, caught somewhere between offense and begrudging amusement. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He folded his arms, one brow arching as he pushed off the couch. “You’re sitting here, petting Soup like you’re some tragic Victorian widow waiting for your husband to return from war. It’s depressing.”
My jaw dropped. “ I just got discharged from the infirmary, Glenn.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, you almost died, it was traumatic, yadda yadda—we’ve all been there.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Did you just yadda yadda my near-death experience?”
He shrugged. “I yadda yadda it because I care. Otherwise, it gets exhausting. And you—” He pointed a finger at me, eyes narrowing. “—are exhausting me.”
A snort—small, involuntary—escaped before I could stop it.
Glenn caught it immediately. “You know I’m right! Libby, you said you wanted to die last time you got like this. I’m not gonna sit back and let you slip into that state again. You’re injured and traumatized, but you’re gonna pull through it. I’m gonna make you.”
I rolled my eyes, slouching further into the couch. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Soup, traitorous little bastard, stretched luxuriously across my lap, purring louder, completely unbothered. Glenn nudged my foot with his. “Look, I get it. You’re spiraling.”
I stiffened, but he didn’t stop.
“You’re overthinking. Disassociating. But that isn’t you. It’s not what works for you either. You’ve got to force yourself out of the ‘woe is me’ mindset, because…” He hesitated, his voice softer. “I need you to. And Daryl’s gonna come back and you know how he’s gonna get.”
There was something sharp twisting in my chest. I hated that he saw me that clearly. That he was reading me to absolute filth.
I swallowed. “…It’s stupid.”
Glenn’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at me for a long moment, like he was debating something, then finally sighed. “He cares about you, it’s not stupid. It’s stupid of you to mull around and let yourself spiral making him and me worry more.”
I didn’t say anything.
Because if I did, I might actually cry before any words came out. Glenn wasn’t being malicious. He’d grown. So had I. We’d both gone through hell since we met back at the quarry, and we weren’t those people anymore. We were survivors. Together.
My chest tightened. I forced myself to look away, blinking hard, because I didn’t know what to do with that realization. With the way it made my heart clench.
We were survivors. Daryl: he saw me in some of the worst states of my life, and I adored him for sticking through them with me. But Glenn got me through them. He was my ear to talk to when I had a stupid crush on Daryl. He was my temporary bunk-mate back at the prison; saving me from an intrusion by Daryl while I was still mad at him. He was the only one who checked on me after I was almost taken off the prison council. He was my reason to live when the prison fell. He pulled me out of my multi-week long disassociation spell after Beth.
It was always Glenn Rhee. Daryl would weather anything with me, but not the way that Glenn would.
Glenn nudged me again, a little firmer this time. “You almost died , Libby.”
I flinched.
He never said it like that. Nobody ever said it like that. It was always sugar-coated, danced around, softened with a “you’re lucky” or a “you’re strong” —but never that. Never just the fact of it.
Glenn wasn’t dancing around shit.
He sat back down, arms resting on his knees. His voice, when it came again, was quieter. Smaller. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”
The air in my lungs thinned—Glenn wasn’t looking at me, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers laced together a little too tightly. I thought back to the prison, to the bus, to the days we spent pushing through in silence because we didn’t really know if Maggie was still out there. If anyone was still out there.
I remember that fear in myself…I remember how that fear looked on him.
I hated that I put it in him again.
My throat felt tight. “Glenn…”
He shook his head. “No, I—I get it, okay? I get that you need time, I get that you’re dealing with a lot, but you don’t get to shut down on me again. Not after what we’ve been through. Not after I—I had to drive back here while you were in the backseat bleeding out, covered in—“ He cut himself off, jaw clenched. He took a breath. Then another.
When he spoke again, his voice was lighter. Brighter. Like he was forcing it there. “So. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna stop sulking, you’re gonna do your PT, and you’re gonna heal. Fast. Because I’m not dealing with a half-assed Libby who can’t even shoot a bow properly. That’s embarrassing for me, and I don’t even know how to shoot a bow.”
I let out a startled laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry my near-death experience is inconveniencing you.”
Glenn nodded sagely. “You should be. I’m dealing with a lot right now.”
“ Oh, is that it ?”
“Yes. And right now, you’re making my life even harder.”
I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
Glenn just grinned, standing up and stretching. “Alright, I’ll let you rest, but you have to promise me you’re gonna take this seriously. I don’t want Daryl coming back to an injured and depressed, girlfriend. I have enough problems.”
I sighed, shifting Soup off my lap. “And you’re gonna fill me in on everything tomorrow when you do some PT with me right?”
“Say that you’re gonna take this all seriously. You’re gonna put in the work.”
I gave him a look.
He gave me one right back.
I huffed. “I’ll do the work.”
His grin widened. “Good girl.”
I threw a pillow at his head.
He dodged it easily, cackling as he made his way to the door. “Keep that arm strength up! I’ll fill you in tomorrow!”
I groaned, letting my head flop back against the couch.
____________
I hadn’t slept great. I mean…only a chunk of my arm was missing, not big deal or anything. Not like I was in some seriously uncomfortable pain. Still, as the hours crept by, fatigue began to take its toll, pulling me into a restless slumber that offered little genuine rest.
When I finally cracked my eyes open, the first thing I actually registered was the dull, pounding ache radiating from my shoulder down to my fingers—I could only assume the nerve damage was working overtime on me. The second was Soup sprawled across my stomach, his warm weight pressing me into the mattress like some sort of living weighted blanket.
I groaned, moving slightly, only to immediately regret it when pain flared hot and sharp through my arm. “ Shit— ”
Soup lifted his head, blinking at me like I had personally offended him by existing. “Sorry, dude,” I muttered, reaching up with my good hand to scratch behind his ear. He made a satisfied little chirp before settling back down, which, of course, meant I was stuck. And for a while, I just laid there. Staring at the ceiling, listening carefully for any movement or noise upstairs. There was no telling how long I slept, and I secretly hoped it was long enough for the house to be empty.
My thoughts felt sluggish, thick, like they were wading through maple syrup, and I knew it was the pain meds. They dulled the worst of the agony, but they left me feeling slow, disconnected. I never understood the draw to taking pain killers that my parents and all their friends did. It didn’t make any sense to me that someone would go out of their way to feel like this.
With a deep breath, I braced myself and sat up completely, biting back a curse as my arm protested. Soup gave me an unimpressed flick of his tail and hopped off the bed, probably in search of breakfast or lunch—whatever time it was. Traitor.
Sighing, I rolled my bad shoulder carefully, testing my limits. The pain was manageable, for now. I needed to keep it that way. No more wallowing. No more spiraling. Time to get to work.
I forced myself up, wincing as my arm throbbed, and—albeit awkwardly—shuffled toward the door. My body felt heavy, sluggish from the meds, but I ignored it. Step by step, I made my way up the stairs, one hand braced against the wall for support. I couldn’t hear anyone in the living room, but on the off chance Carol or Michonne were waiting for me to wake up, I turned toward the kitchen instead, figuring I’d at least get some food in me before dealing with anyone.
I just didn’t expect to find a plate of food already waiting.
Eggs and hash browns, cold, grease soaked into the paper towel that covered them. My name was scrawled on a piece of paper beside it, the handwriting neat, careful.
I stared at it for a long moment, my brain struggling to catch up.
Carol.
My stomach twisted, and not from hunger. Carol and I hadn’t been good in a long time. She barely spoke to me unless it was necessary, and when she did, it was clipped, distant. And now, out of nowhere, she was leaving me breakfast like we were back at the farm, like nothing had happened?
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
I should ignore it. Should turn around and walk away. Shouldn’t even care .
But I did.
And that pissed me off.
With a sharp breath, I stepped forward, snatching the plate off the counter and propping onto a bar stool. My stomach was too twisted up to eat, but I needed to do something . Staring at the food, my mind raced, replaying every interaction I’d had with Carol in the past few months, trying to piece together what the hell she was doing.
Was this guilt?
An olive branch?
A manipulation tactic?
I didn’t know. But I didn’t like it. It was too suspicious considering the very last time we interacted we were in a screaming match with each other.
I tapped my fingers against the counter, eyes fixed on the plate like it was gonna give me answers. My stomach twisted again, this time from something more than wrongful suspicion. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was trying to make up for being a bitch to me. Maybe she felt bad because I nearly died.
The food smelled good, but my appetite just hadn’t caught up. I poked at the hash browns with my fork, debating. If I didn’t eat it, someone would ask why. If I did eat it, I’d spend the rest of the day wondering if there was some kind of catch.
“Jesus, you overthinking your breakfast?”
I startled, nearly knocking the plate over as Glenn slid into the seat beside me, looking far too awake for me. He smirked, snatching a piece of hash brown off my plate before I could stop him. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”
I scowled, tugging the plate closer. “It’s mine.”
“Uh-huh.” He chewed, leaning in slightly. “So what’s the problem?”
I hesitated, glancing around. The kitchen was empty, the voices I’d heard earlier still around the corner. I sighed, lowering my voice. “Carol left it.”
Glenn’s brows lifted, clearly surprised. He glanced at the plate, then back at me. “Huh.”
Talking about Carol to Daryl was out of the question, it felt wrong, and I’d honestly be a little irritated if the roles were reversed and he did nothing but talk shit about Glenn to me. And I couldn’t go around to the rest of our group and start circulating gossip without that getting both: out of hand and back to Daryl. Glenn was my only confidant when it came to my issues with Carol.
He usually tried to come up with reasonable explanations, or remind me about whatever tragedy just struck and how it affects everyone’s temperament. But the longer Carol singled me out, the less he excused.
It was to the point now that I ranted and he not only listened, he’d go out of his way sometimes to make sure we weren’t alone together.
Which I was highly suspicious of now considering he didn’t even live in this house.
“Yeah…wait, when did you even get here?”
Glenn shrugged. “I told you. We’re doing PT together. There’s no telling when your boyfriend’ll be back, and unless you want him babying you, we gotta get you in better shape.”
I shot him a flat look. “And you’re gonna fill me in on everything that’s happened?”
He grinned. “Just eat. I’ll get you up to speed.”
I exhaled, rolling my eyes, but finally took a bite and listened to Glenn go on about what all had taken place in my absence from society…or Alexandria’s society at least.
He told me about Deanna pulling him aside, questioning him on camera about what happened on the run. He’d kept it simple: Aiden accidentally hit a grenade, and Nicholas ran when things got bad. But Deanna hadn’t looked convinced.
“She was polite,” Glenn said, shifting slightly. “But I could tell she didn’t believe me. Or she believed Nicholas more.”
That was the problem, wasn’t it? Deanna wanted to think the best of her people. Wanted to believe they had been doing fine before we showed up. But the truth was, Aiden and Nicholas were reckless. Their methods got people left behind and killed. Aiden was making a turn for the better—he started actually putting effort into listening to what we—the people who’d survived out there for months—had to say.
And now Nicholas had been spreading his own version of the story to more than just Deanna. Painting himself as the victim, twisting things to make it seem like Glenn and Noah had been the ones who screwed up. That Glenn got Noah killed. Glenn was pissed, but not necessarily surprised.
Nicholas was a coward.
I clenched my jaw, pushing a piece of egg around my plate.
Glenn sighed. “Rick’s pissed, too. Not just about what happened to you, Tara, and Noah—he’s got his own shit going on.”
I looked up at that.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He thinks Pete’s hurting Jessie.”
Apparently Rick had suspected something for a while. He’d been watching them, keeping an eye on the way Pete acted, the way Jessie carried herself. For some reason, he was sure of it now.
“He told Deanna?” I guessed.
Glenn nodded. “She brushed it off. Said Pete was a surgeon, that they needed him. Basically told Rick to leave it alone.”
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. Between Nicholas’ lies and Rick’s growing issues with Deanna, things in Alexandria were starting to crack. The illusion of safety, of order—it was slipping.
Glenn shook his head. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but—“
“I’ve gotta get back out there,” I cut him off, letting my fork drop onto my plate.
“Libby,” he said, glancing back toward the wall that separated us from the living room. “You have a long way to go. You need to focus on healing.”
“I will. I’m just gonna go to Deanna’s and talk to her. I need to see where I can still get leverage, because if shit hits the fan, someone has to do damage control.” I explained as I stood from the bar stool, walking around the island to drop the plate in the sink.
“And that’s your definition of PT?” he asked, already standing when I turned back around.
I popped half a pain pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry. “Walking.” I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Walking.”
“Walking.” I gestured vaguely toward the front door. “It counts, right? Gets the blood moving.” I patted his shoulder as I moved past him. “You coming?”
Glenn muttered something under his breath but followed me out the door, sticking close like he thought I was gonna keel over any second. To be fair… that was a possibility. The pain meds took the edge off, but my body still felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Every step made my arm throb, and my energy drain just a little faster.
I ignored it.
Instead, I focused on getting my head back in the game after four days of being off. Maybe I wasn’t exactly ‘up to par’ for a full work day, or even to be out and about like this—it was likely pure adrenaline from the idea of losing our home—but I was at least gonna try to make a point with Deanna. She’d gone on many a lectures about my place in this community—unprompted mind you—and it was really her fault for instilling that leadership principle.
“She’s not gonna listen to you.” Glenn said in a sing-song voice as our feet left the porch.
“She might.”
He shot me a look. “No. She won’t.”
I shrugged, wincing at the pull in my shoulder. “Well, we won’t know unless I try.”
“You think you showing up, looking half-dead, is gonna change the fact that her son died and Rick wants to kill the only doctor here?” Glenn argued, exasperation creeping into his voice.
There was a certain pang that hit my chest when he mentioned Aiden, but I tried to ignore it. It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident. All that mattered was that Deanna knew that. “Maybe not. But if Rick’s right about Pete, if things keep going like this between our group and Alexandria, someone’s g otta start laying the groundwork for when it all falls apart.”
Glenn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And that person has to be you? The girl who was nearly blown up a few days ago?”
I shot him a smile that had little to no joy behind it. “Me, the girl who was blown up a few days ago, and the person that Deanna handpicked to follow in her footsteps,” I pointed out. “I’m not trying to say that she’s gonna listen to me, but I’ve got to try.”
He muttered something about how I was pushing my body too much , but he didn’t argue again. And as we neared Deanna’s house, I straightened my shoulders, shoving down the pain, the exhaustion, the doubt creeping at the edges of my mind.
I rapped my knuckles against the door, stepping back as we waited. Footsteps sounded from inside, then, the door cracked open, and Deanna stood there, her face unreadable, eyes duller than the last time I’d seen them. I swallowed hard.
“Libby,” she said.
“Hey, I wanted to come and help out—however I can,”
She looked at Glenn next, her gaze flickering between us. “With Glenn?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He just wanted to make sure I made it here is all.”
Glenn huffed beside me, clearly still not on board with this…or maybe he was salty about me not wanting to do any PT with him. I turned to look at him—it was definitely the fact that he didn’t think me talking to Deanna would be worth a shit.
I gave him a look. “Go home, Glenn.”
He didn’t seem thrilled about it, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Libby.”
I waited until he was out of earshot before looking back at Deanna, but she was already watching me, like she was trying to figure out what the hell I was doing here. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed,” she said finally, voice clipped.
I shrugged. “Didn’t really seem like a great time to be resting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not your decision to make, Libby.”
“Neither is how long you keep that door open, but here we are,” I shot back, folding my arms over my chest. My body ached from the movement, but I wasn’t about to show it.
Deanna’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t shut the door. Instead, she stepped back just enough to make it clear I could come in if I wanted to. I took the invitation, stepping past her and into the house.
I didn’t sit. Didn’t make myself comfortable. I just turned to face her, leveling my gaze. “Glenn doesn’t think you’ll listen to me,” I said, cutting right to it. “He thinks you’ve already made up your mind about Rick, about all of us. That nothing I say is gonna matter.”
Deanna didn’t react right away. She just clasped her hands together and let the silence stretch for more than just a few seconds.
“And what do you think?” she asked.
“I think he might be right. But I also think that if I don’t try, this place is screwed in more ways than one.”
Deanna sighed, her expression still neutral, but after so much time spent with her, I could tell she was turning my words over in her head. I took that as permission to keep going.
“You were the one who told me I had a future here,” I reminded her, keeping my voice steady but not rude. “You said I had what it took to lead, to help keep this place standing. That was before everything happened with Aiden, before Rick found out about Pete, before the love of my life left these walls with one of your people,” I pointed a finger at her. “And after all that, maybe -- maybe that changed for you. Maybe that changed your opinion about me, and where I belong. But it hasn’t changed for me. I still want this place to be home.”
Her jaw tightened, grief flickering behind her eyes for just a second. I softened my stance, dropping my arms to my sides. “But I can’t stay if Rick can’t,” I said, quieter now. “None of us can. And—I know he’s been unhinged. I know. He just needs more time, Deanna.”
“It’s been over a month.”
“It’s been two years since the world ended. You’ve spent your time behind these walls building something, we’ve spent our time on the road suffering tragedy after tragedy.” I replied, any ounce of birthday cake sweetness had left my voice.
I cared for her. I did. I do. But my patience was wearing thin, because I knew there was nothing I could say to make her believe me. To trust what I was saying.
Rick needed time.
A few weeks ago, I had felt that Rick needed to adjust quicker too. And sometimes, when he had a certain kind of attitude, I still do. But he was getting used to the place. He saw us trying—he wanted this for us—for Carl and Judith. But he also saw the flaws in this place, and he was genuinely trying to hold himself back from forcing Deanna’s hand.
Every day, he criticized little things at the kitchen table. And every day, I tried making adjustments to those things with Deanna.
I was giving Rick grace because Daryl asked me to have more patience. (Of which, I don’t have a lot of.)
Deanna had no reason to give Rick that same grace though. None other than the fact that she was a leader.
Her expression didn’t waver, but I saw the tension in her jaw. Then, finally—she let out a slow, frustrated breath. “You’re asking me to trust a man who doesn’t respect the way we do things here,” she said.
“The way you do things around here is going to get more people killed,” I waved my hands around, unable to contain neither my rising anger, or the grimace from the pain in my arm. “We’re trying to go at the right pace. I’m putting in the work to undo all the kinks, but—“ biting my lip, I paused, making eye contact with Reg who was coming down the stairwell. “We don’t do domestic or child abuse, Deanna.”
“You’d be dead if it weren’t for Pete, you know.”
“And by the time I’m done with him, he’s gonna wish I was.”
Deanna’s eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected me to say that. And could I really blame her? I mean, I’d been smoothing things over between Rick and the community since we got here.
Reg, who had been silent up until now, stepped in with a cautious look between us. “Let’s all take a breath,” he said. “This isn’t a decision to rush into.”
“I’m not rushing,” I shot back, shifting my gaze between them. “Pete’s dangerous. I understand the fear of not having healthcare, but that’s one of the shitty reality’s of the world y’all don’t get. You’re enabling a child abuser. Why is getting rid of him even a fucking discussion?”
Reg blew out a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t disagreeing with me.
Deanna, though—her hands curled into fists at her sides, like she was holding back everything she really wanted to say. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run this community, Libby,” she said, voice quieter but sharp.
“Then run it, Deanna.”
Before she could fire back, a shout rang out from somewhere outside. A familiar shout.
All three of us turned toward the window just as the voices outside escalated—loud, frantic. Angry.
I didn’t think. I just moved, ignoring the sharp pain in my still-healing arm as I wrenched open the door.
Down the street, in the middle of the road, Rick had Pete on the ground—one knee pressed into his chest, fists flying, voice hoarse with rage as he shouted something I couldn’t make out.
Reg muttered something under his breath. Deanna stiffened beside me.
And all I could do was groan as I hurried down the street as fast as I could without getting winded. “Well,” I muttered, only to myself, “this is really not gonna help my case.”
.i’ll make them people mad, yeah, somebody gotta do it.
Notes:
Glenn really said ‘quit being sad, we’re doing hot girl shit’ and Libby delivered. (see see, notice the character growth. we didn’t disassociate this time. we just decided to push our body more than we probably should have)
lover boy will be back in the next episode, Reg ☠️ next episode, Libby has a full on mental break down next episode.
thanks for all the reviews, they fr have me kicking my feet and getting all excited to write.
Chapter 54: something about him felt funky
Summary:
Survival didn’t care about white picket fences or solar panels though. Survival consumed everything in its path until there was nothing left but people like me—bloodstained and too tired to cry anymore.
Chapter Text
.and i hope i never lose you, hope it never ends, i’d never walk Cornelia Street again.
This was the weather I was used to growing up. It was spring, no doubt—but spring in Virginia and spring in Georgia were two very different things. Spring in Georgia meant shorts, tank tops, humidity, and sno-cone stands opening up; spring in Virginia…well it fluctuated, but leaned on the cooler side. Today was one of those days.
I didn’t like it. It meant my arm had to be covered up, and the constant brushing of a sleeve over my bandages made the mauled up area stung a little bit more. But I could tolerate it for a few minutes—for Aiden.
Michonne said that they’d made a grave for him, despite there not being a body, and for some weird reason, I felt the need to pay my respects. It was stupid. It made me feel stupid.
I’d only known the guy for the better half of two months, and for the first two weeks I thought he was going to be public enemy number one. There were no deep down, hidden feelings for him. Hell, we only hung out in the early mornings and late evenings. So I really couldn’t explain the pull I had to him—but I knew that there was something. And the fact that he wasn’t here…that I never got to say goodbye, it made my throat sour.
The least I could do was visit his little wooden cross that symbolized he didn’t make it home.
…and I tried not to think about how overdue Daryl and Aaron were to come back home too.
Footsteps falling softly in the background, crunching grass, made my mind flicker to Daryl one more time—because thanks to his lessons in tracking and hunting, I already knew it was Reg before he said anything. He had a certain way of moving, I’d come to notice. Slow, unhurried, like he was always taking in the world around him. It was also the only logical explanation for who would be coming to Aiden’s marker.
He came to a stop beside me. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there, looking down at the cross, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “You know,” he finally said, his voice reflective. It always reminded me of the thoughtful cadence of Dale‘s voice. “Aiden talked about you.”
That made me glance at him. “Yeah?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Reg's lips, his attention still anchored on the grave. “He said you were smart. He even told his mom that he liked you,” he paused, hesitating a little before continuing. “He wasn’t a morning person before you came around, but he made a point to get up, dressed, and have coffee going before you got to our house everyday.”
I huffed, shaking my head and biting back a smile. “He told me he was gonna find a French press one day and teach me how to use it.”
“He also said you were good with a gun,” Reg added. “That you knew what you were doing out there, so he didn’t mind taking you out on that run.”
A lump formed in my throat as I turned back to the grave, a stinging ache settling in my chest. “I should’ve done more.”
He sighed. “No, that wasn’t on you.” As usual, his tone was calm, cool, collected. Through all that he was dealing with, he somehow managed to remain poised in his ways. “Maggie stopped by earlier.”
Of course, I already knew that. And I had a feeling that Reg knew that I knew too. It was part of the plan we’d set in place. I’d already blown my chances on talking to Deanna, but Maggie was a little more level headed—she was going to try—while the rest of us staged an intervention on Rick.
“What’d she want?”
“She’s concerned about what Deanna’s planning,” he replied, looking to the dimming sky above. “She doesn’t think removing Rick is the right call. And to an extent? Neither do I.”
I blinked, not expecting that. “Yeah?”
Reg nodded, his expression calm but firm. “Rick’s not perfect, and I don’t agree with how he handled things. But I also know he’s made good improvements around here. You all have.” He looked back down at the cross, his lips turning into a thin line. “Change is an important part of a society. It’s also a scary part of society. Acclimation to the change can cause more harm than the change itself.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I opened my mouth, but Reg continued. “I don’t want Deanna to make a decision she’ll regret.”
“You gonna talk to her?”
“I already have.” He offered a small, knowing smile. “But you and I both know that Deanna listens best when more than one person makes a case.”
I frowned. “She’s not exactly my biggest fan right now.”
Reg chuckled. “No, but that doesn’t mean she’s stopped valuing your input.” He looked at me then, really looked at me. “You still have a voice here, Libby. Use it.”
’You have more say than you think you do, Liberty. People listen to you,’ Dale had once said.
’People listen to you a lot more than you think,’ Rick had told me when I asked why he recommended me for the council.
’I knew I made a good choice with you,’ Deanna reiterated when I pushed back against some of her decisions.
Each person highlighted how they were impressed with pieces of me that I never thought mattered—Dale, who was much older than the other two—seemed to be the only one that never went back on what he said…I mean…he did die the next day, so I didn't give him any opportunity to question me. But that was an easy write off.
But the way Deanna had tightened her fists at her sides yesterday, holding back sharp words that would have inevitably left a sting had Rick’s fight not interrupted us—it made it hard to imagine she’d reconsider anything I had to say.
Reg seemed to take the nonresponse for what it was, glancing down at his watch with a quiet hum. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you in about an hour.”
I huffed. “Looking forward to it?”
His lips quirked with the barest hint of amusement. “I think you already know the answer to that. But discussions like these are necessary. That’s how communities grow—how people grow. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
There was something about the way he said it that made my chest tighten. Maybe because he was right. Maybe because that was the exact reason I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. It was uncomfortable.
Oh, fuck me.
When did I start shying away from uncomfortable?
Reg held my gaze for a moment longer before offering a small, knowing smile. “Take care, Libby.”
I lingered there a while longer before finally turning my back to the empty grave. The fiery sting in my arm was a constant, nagging throb, sharp whenever I moved, dull when I held it still—but never fully gone. The bandages helped, but the fabric of my sleeve rubbing against said bandages made every step just a little more miserable. Somehow, that wasn’t what bothered me the most. My head felt heavy with too many thoughts. Reg’s words. Aiden’s absence. Daryl’s absence. The growing uncertainty about where my people stood in this place.
My steps slowed when I caught Gabriel moving erratically out of the corner of my eye. He was just outside his church, shoulders tense as he fought with the lock on the door. Even from a distance, something about him felt funky . Like he was coming apart at the seams.
I stopped, watching him for a long moment. Considering whether I wanted him to become my problem right now, or put it off to deal with later. Gabriel had always been strange—detached in a way—but this was different. His hands fumbled with the door, almost like he was trying to keep something out rather than just securing the door before the meeting.
But the sky was already shifting to a deeper shade of blue. The meeting was happening sooner than I’d like, and I’d already spent half the day tangled up in my own mess, fighting battles I wasn’t sure I’d won. There wasn’t room for one more.
Besides, Gabriel had made it clear where he stood with us—he hadn’t so much as interacted with any of our group since he’d moved into the church. Whatever was gnawing at him, I doubted he’d tell me. And I wasn’t about to waste the little energy I had left trying to pry it out of him.
_____________
Words.
That’s all it was supposed to be—just words. A conversation. A meeting where everyone got to sit in a nice little circle and talk things out like the world hadn’t already gone to hell.
I flipped my pocket knife open with a quiet snick , the blade catching the last bit of daylight as it slid into place. A second later, I snapped it shut again, the familiar motion giving my restless fingers something to do.
I knew what I wanted to say at the meeting.
I wanted to remind Deanna that Rick wasn’t the one harboring a drunk who beat his wife and kids. I wanted to point out how an entire work crew would’ve been walker chow if one of our people hadn’t stepped on. And I really, really wanted to ask if she honestly believed this place could hold itself together with the world getting even worse without us.
But I also knew better.
Calling her out like that wouldn’t fix anything. It sure as hell wouldn’t make the rest of Alexandria trust us more—not after everything that had already happened. If I opened my mouth and let the wrong words fly, I’d be giving Deanna one more reason to cut us loose.
I blew out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders against the ache crawling through my arm. What was I even supposed to say? That Rick wasn’t dangerous? That he was just having a rough patch?
No one was gonna buy that. Not when he’d nearly murdered Pete in broad daylight.
The knife clicked open again.
Maybe I didn’t need to convince Deanna that Rick was harmless. Maybe all I needed to do was make her understand why we couldn’t survive without someone like him.
I snapped the knife shut, tapping the flat side against my thigh as the breeze stirred the edges of my sleeve. Carol had left about twenty minutes ago. Maggie’d been gone for well over an hour now. The sky wasn’t orange-y anymore. Dusk had settled.
I flipped the knife open again. Let it snap shut again.
I wasn’t in a rush.
The meeting was already starting, and I was still sitting here, my arm throbbing like hell, my head spinning in circles. I knew I needed to go, but the longer I sat, the heavier my legs felt. Because it didn’t matter how many ways I turned the words over in my head — there was no version of this where Deanna just forgave and forgot. No version where Rick walked in, made his case, and the Alexandrians suddenly realized we weren’t the villains of this story.
I dragged my fingers over the knife handle, tracing the grooves worn into the metal.
I wanted to believe Reg was right — that Deanna still valued what I had to say. That I still had some kind of influence. But what if I didn’t? What if all I did was make things worse?
What if we were already past the point of fixing any of this?
I sighed, rubbing my good hand down my face. I couldn’t sit here all night. I just had to get up, walk to the meeting, and try.
Try — it’s what I encouraged everyone else to do.
I shoved the knife into my pocket and stood, grimacing at the sharp pull in my arm. I swore under my breath, blinking through the sting, and started toward the moonlight covered street, not making it far before I heard the grunts and groans of both walkers and humans.
My heart kicked up, adrenaline spiking as I reached for my knife and veered off behind Mr. Adler’s house. I kept low as I moved, the distant sounds becoming clearer with every step. A scuffle, the strained noises of effort, the wet snap of something giving way. Rounding the corner, I barely had time to register the scene before my instincts took over.
Rick was already tangled in it, boots kicking up mounds of dirt as he shoved back against a walker, it’s rotting, bony fingers clawing at his jacket. Another one lurched toward him from behind, mouth gaping, too close—
I surged forward, the world narrowing to a single point. A sharp jolt ran up my wrist as steel met skull, slicing through soft, rotten tissue. The walker spasmed, a wet gurgle escaping before it crumpled to the dirt. The pain in my arm searing with the effort it took.
Rick grunted, twisting out of the other walker’s grip. He had it by the throat now, fingers digging into soft, decayed flesh as he yanked it forward and slammed it hard into the wall of Adler’s house. Its skull cracked against the siding, but it kept snapping at him, hands still reaching out. I moved again, this time grabbing its arm, just enough to throw off its balance. That was all Rick needed. He wrenched free and drove his own knife up under its chin, twisting the blade before shoving the body aside.
Rick exhaled sharply, stepping back from the corpse at his feet. His jaw line was covered in blood, eyes flicking to me, then to the dead walker I’d taken down. A slow nod. “You alright?”
I huffed out something between a breath and a laugh, shifting my grip on the knife. “I got guts all over my new jacket, but I’m good.”
His mouth twitched, just barely, before his gaze flickered to my sleeve, eyes tracking the ruined fabric of my sleeve, the dark smear of blood soaking through. His brows drew together. “That from just now?”
I followed his gaze, lips pressing into a thin line. The ache in my arm pulsed in time with my heartbeat, an ever-present reminder that I’d just jumped right into action, that I wasn’t at full strength. Still, I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, like the movement didn’t send a burning, dragging pain up to my collar.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice clipped. “But like I said, I’m fine.”
Rick didn’t seem convinced. He stared at me for a second longer, then dropped his gaze to the walker I’d just taken down, and his frustration broke through.
“Dammit.” He kicked the thing. “Somebody left the gate open, Libby. These people don’t have anyone on watch, and—we can’t let this happen again. We have to take it before someone loses their life.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the motion frustrated. “I know you wanted this place to go at a steady pace, but—we can’t let them turn a blind eye to this.”
I didn’t know how to respond. It almost sounded like he was asking for permission—the go ahead to execute an unthought out plan. So I just stood there; watched him pace back and forth until he stopped, eyes narrowing behind me. Another walker shuffled in our direction.
“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice a low growl of annoyance as he strutted forward, driving his knife into the creatures forehead. “We gotta make them see.”
_____________
My knees were weak, and warm blood soaked through my clothes, down to my skin, well past the time Reg took his last breath. It always came down to a grown man crashing out that somehow led to things ending in either death or the dead. Nothing ever went over well with a simple discussion or a god damn meeting.
This wasn’t fucking fair --
It wasn’t fair that Rick and I were right.
It wasn’t fair that my body became blood soaked.
It wasn’t fair that an innocent man was sliced open thoughtlessly.
It wasn’t fair that Deanna was now a widow, atop of a grieving mother.
It wasn’t fair that nobody cared about Jessie and her children’s abuse until it directly became an issue for them and their own delusional ideas of comfort. Abuse that spiraled into murder of a gentle man.
There were tears, and Oh, my love, spilling from Deanna. She was in the thick of agony, never having experienced something on this level of heartbreak before now. She’d been lucky for so long now—but luck ran out. It always did if you weren’t prepared. And nobody in Alexandria was.
“Libs,” it was the voice of home. Daryl. He was back and standing above me, picking apart my exterior with his eyes.
The first time he’d seen me in what? Fifteen? Sixteen, days? And I was covered in blood, sitting on the ground between a dead walker and a dead man. I’d been looking forward to him being back since…well since he’d left. But now that he was right in front of me, I couldn’t even bring myself to respond to him. Instead, I looked over to a weeping Deanna.
“Abraham’s gonna get him settled,” I said, reaching a hand out to her. “I’ll be by in the morning to take care of everything else. You just…” I trailed, not knowing the right words to tell someone suffering like this. “Just survive for the night, okay?”
Deanna crumpled further, grief folding her into herself as she took my hand. Her fingers trembled against mine—warm, fragile, and so human in a world that kept stripping us down to something less. I squeezed back, grounding her. Just earlier I’d been so angry. So ready to tear into her for assuming this place was above all the death on the planet, and a part of me still wished I could. Because in that case, it meant Reg was still alive and tragedy hadn’t tightened its chokehold on her.
Survival didn’t care about white picket fences or solar panels though. Survival consumed everything in its path until there was nothing left but people like me—bloodstained and too tired to cry anymore.
I sat there longer than I should have, the blood drying sticky against my skin. Part of me wanted to peel it off, claw at my clothes until I was raw underneath, just to feel clean .
“Libs.”
Daryl again—closer this time. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes—those stormy blues flickering with questions he wouldn’t ask, at least not here, not now. His face was dirty, tired, and still somehow the best goddamn thing I’d seen in days.
But I couldn’t let myself fall into the warmth of him. Not when my bones felt like they might crack under everything I’d gone through in the last week. “You’re back,” I said, voice hoarse. I wanted it to sound like a statement, solid and sure. It didn’t. It sounded like relief . Like maybe I’d been holding my breath.
He gave a half-shrug, eyes darting toward the walker corpse strewn across the ground before coming back to me. “Guess shit went sideways.”
“Yeah,” I huffed, dry and humorless. “Sideways, upside down, and six feet under.”
Silence stretched between us, thick with things unsaid. I should’ve asked about his run, about Aaron and that new guy with the staff— Morgan , was it? I should’ve asked a lot of things. Instead, I just sat there until the world stopped spinning long enough for me to push myself to my feet. My legs protested, blood-soaked jeans stiff, and Daryl’s hand hovered like he wanted to catch me but wasn’t sure if he should.
“I’m fine,” I said. A lie, but one we both let slide.
Reg was dead. Alexandria was teetering on the edge of something no council meeting or canned speech could fix. And Rick—God love him—was too wrapped up in his own damn head after what happened, to see that people weren’t just scared of the outside world anymore. They were still scared of him.
“C’mon,” he finally muttered. “Ain’t gotta stand out here all night.”
I wanted to argue, to stay planted in the blood and dirt, but my body moved before my mind caught up, legs heavy as I fell into step beside him.
We passed by flickering porch lights until we reached ours—and I glanced back as the stragglers from the meeting filled their houses, shutting their doors, and locking them tightly; hiding behind walls that wouldn’t hold forever. T hey needed someone. Someone who understood that survival wasn’t just about killing walkers. It was about making the hard calls nobody else wanted to make. About being the person they’d hate if it meant keeping them alive.
Looking at Deanna—shattered—and Rick—well—Rick—I knew I didn’t have a choice.
Daryl glanced sideways at me as we walked inside, reading me like a book he’d dog-eared too many times. He didn’t say a word.
The door clicked shut behind us. I peeled off my jacket, the fabric stiff with dried blood, and tossed it over the back of a chair. My fingers twitched with leftover adrenaline, nerves frayed and stretched thin.
Daryl stood by the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure how to say what was on his mind. His eyes flicked toward the basement door, then back to me, then down to my arm. Fingers closed around my wrist—rough, calloused, warm—and my body stiffened, instinct pulling me back before I caught myself. It’s just him. Not someone out for blood. Not someone looking to hurt me. But that didn’t stop my heart from thudding hard against my ribs.
His gaze focused on the bandages, stained dark with fresh and dried blood. The fabric clung to my skin, tacky and soaked through in spots where I should’ve changed it hours ago. “The hell happened?” His voice was low, edged with something between worry and frustration, like maybe this was somehow my fault—and deep down—I still felt like it was.
“It’s fine,” I muttered, trying to pull back. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to tell me I wasn’t weaseling out of this conversation.
“Yeah?” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Don’t look fine.”
I swallowed, throat dry. “Caught some shrapnel. No big deal.” Except it was a big deal—the kind that tore flesh down to the bone, left nerves screaming and muscles shredded.
Daryl’s jaw tightened. “What happened, Libby?”
I glanced off to the side, shame burning hot under my skin. “Went on a run.”
“Jesus, Libs.” He let out a breath, half a growl, half exasperation. “Darlin’, ya gotta be careful. I didn’t know I’d need’a worry ‘bout you gettin’ all beat up while I’s gone.”
Darlin’.
He didn’t use pet names, or sweet sugary words of intimacy. Or, he never had before at least. And hearing the loveliest, cherry-picked word leave his lips, I wanted to crumple up and tell him everything that had happened.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to.
Because I didn’t need another goddamn thing to make me feel like damaged goods. Because I was already covered in enough blood—some of it mine, most of it not—and if I stopped moving long enough to deal with it, everything else would catch up and swallow me whole. Because for once in my life I wasn’t facing my problems differently instead of disassociating for days at a time.
But I stayed silent. Just shrugged like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t standing there silently panicking over how the wound must look—how I must look. Torn up and ugly under those bandages. A mess of ruined skin and nerves that’d never work the same. Ugly.
Stupid. So stupid.
Daryl sighed, rough and tired, then jerked his head toward the couch. “Sit.”
“I’m fine—”
“Didn’t ask.”
I clenched my jaw but sat anyway, hissing when the motion pulled at the damaged flesh. Daryl crouched beside me, pulling out his knife to cut away the bandages. My stomach twisted, heart thudding in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with him looking. Seeing me torn up .
The fabric peeled away sticky, pulling at clotted blood until the wound was exposed—raw, angry, a mess of red and torn flesh from shoulder to elbow. It looked worse than I remembered. Worse than I wanted it to.
Daryl’s face didn’t change—not much—but his eyes darkened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Shit, Libby…” His voice softened, and that almost made it worse. I could handle anger. Not that goddamn tenderness that I didn’t deserve.
“Saw worse,” I mumbled, looking away.
“Yeah? Cause I don’t remember that scar on your thigh tearing down to your bone.” He reached for the med kit on the bottom of the coffee table, hands steady while mine balled into fists. I hated this. Hated sitting still. Hated feeling small. Hated the voice in my head whispering that maybe he wouldn’t look at me the same after seeing me like this—torn up and broken.
The antiseptic burned like hellfire, pulling a sharp breath from me, and Daryl glanced up—concern flashing across his face—but I shook my head. “Don’t.” I didn’t need the you okay? or almost done. Just needed it over with.
He worked in silence after that. Fingers careful. Methodical. Like fixing me up was just another thing to do before the world collapsed again. But every now and then, I caught him glancing up—eyes softer than I deserved—and that was worse than the burn of the wound. Worse than the blood. Worse than all of it.
Because part of me wanted to lean into it and forget that everything else had happened. That nobody was dead and this was a simple fix.
“Don’t need to go out there if you ain’t gotta,” he muttered, voice low. Not angry. Not really. Just that same quiet frustration that settled in when people didn’t take care of themselves.
I opened my mouth— to what? Apologize? —but the words caught somewhere in my throat, thick and useless. Did he even know Aiden was dead yet? Or Noah? Had he and Aaron immediately gone to Deanna’s? Or did they stop and try to figure out why most of Alexandria wasn’t in their homes?
Daryl reached up, calloused fingers brushing damp hair away from my face with a tenderness that didn’t belong in this world— our world. His thumb barely grazed my cheek, warm and grounding, and my chest squeezed so tight I thought I might splinter apart. “My reckless girl,” he murmured, not like an accusation—more like a goddamn prayer. Or maybe a curse. Couldn’t blame him either way.
When he pulled back, his fingers dragged away slow like he didn’t want to let go but had to. His eyes flicked toward the basement door, and the moment cracked apart. “Wait for me down there,” he said, standing up. “Gotta talk to Rick a minute.”
I nodded, teeth sinking into my bottom lip to keep from asking what about? or why now ? Didn’t matter. Not really. I just—
I hated the waiting. It gave me too much time to get lost in my thoughts.
I made my way downstairs, footsteps echoing hollow against wood. The basement was cool— cold, really—cement walls swallowing sound. I sat on our bed, and that’s when the spiraling started.
What if this was it? What if he decided I wasn’t worth the worrying anymore?
Or ugly.
Ruined. Torn up. Scarred. Gross.
My stomach twisted. I’d survived other horrible things with him. Hadn’t I?
The ravine when we were looking for Sophia; that had been absolutely horrible on both of us both physically and mentally. And we hadn’t even been screwing around then—not really. And when I was stripped down by the governor, hit with a stray bullet. Those were horrible times too, and Daryl never looked at me like I was a liability.
But that didn’t stop the bile creeping up my throat, or the way my fingers clenched into fists tight enough my nails dug crescent moons into my palms. Because back then, I hadn’t looked so ruined. Not like this. Not with skin peeled open and muscle shredded, nerves screaming every time I so much as breathed wrong. Even when I was a crying mess needing a sponge bath, I didn’t look as fucked up as I did now. And God , the way he’d looked at me upstairs—soft eyes and that gentle touch—like I was something breakable. Like I needed to be handled with care. Like he wasn’t sure I’d hold together if he touched too hard.
I dragged my hands down my face now, nails biting into my cheeks just to feel something else. To shove away the panic clawing at my ribs. I could still smell the blood—mine, Reg’s—like it was soaked into my skin. Hell, it probably was. Splattered across my clothes, crusted beneath my fingernails.
My chest clenched, sharp and suffocating. I’d watched Reg die. Hadn’t done a goddamn thing to stop it. Just stood there, frozen, while blood sprayed like something out of a horror movie. Warm and wet across my face, dripping into my mouth, salty and metallic. I could taste it again if I thought too hard. Could see the way Deanna’s face crumpled .
I was a direct witness to another death in the Monroe family.
I swallowed thickly, blinking hard against the sting behind my eyes, trying to withhold the tears that wanted to pour at the thought of being a bad omen for them—for everyone.
I didn’t want to be something anyone had to worry about. Another burden. But what if Daryl looked at me tomorrow and saw nothing but scars? Nothing but damage? The air began to feel thick, swampy, pressing in from all sides. Like I was drowning in above water.
Upstairs, Daryl was talking to Rick about something. About me?
Didn’t know if he was up there deciding this was too much. That I was too much. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. I didn’t even want me right now. Couldn’t stand the sight of myself. Skin stretched and torn, bruises blooming across my body like ugly little reminders of Aiden’s death.
I rubbed at my face again, palms rough against clammy skin. Too hot. Too cold. Too everything. Pain flared down my arm, sharp and bright, and I welcomed it. Better than the thoughts. Better than the fear that my little glimpse of happiness was about to come unglued.
Finally, I let it go. I curled in on myself, elbows digging into my knees, forehead pressing against the fabric of my jeans. My breath hitched—shallow, sharp gasps clawing out of my chest. Tears burned hot, spilling over, streaking down my face like molten glass. My whole body shook, tremors rolling through me like an earthquake tearing me apart from the inside.
Couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think. Just flashes of bloodbloodblood and Reg’s face—open-mouthed shock, red gushing from his throat like a goddamn faucet someone forgot to shut off. I squeezed my eyes shut. Like that’d help. Like I wasn’t still tasting it—salty, coppery him —in the back of my throat. My stomach twisted, bile coming up as I doubled over, chest hollowing with another ragged sob that tore through me raw.
In an unexplainable moment, I stripped. Tearing off my clothes in an attempt at cleaning myself. Fuck. Couldn’t get the blood off. No matter how much I tried. Couldn’t get him off me.
Didn’t do anything. Just stood there while Reg’s life poured out and painted me red.
Then my fingers clawed at my hair, tugging until my scalp burned, tears spilling faster. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. My pulse pounded in my ears, too loud, too much, like my whole body was trying to vibrate out of itself.
Why didn’t I move?
Why didn’t I do something?
And Daryl saw me like this . Ruined. Ugly. All that blood, the scars that’d never heal right, stretched skin pulled taut over shredded muscle. He was going to leave me. I was too much trouble. Too broken.
My chest squeezed tighter, throat closing like someone had wrapped their fingers around my windpipe and squeezed. Vision blurred and tunneled, spiraling inward until it was just me and that echoing thought: You’re a mess. You’re disgusting. You’re a burden. Look at you.
I tried to swallow it down, but another sob tore free—louder, messier. I buried my face in my arms, curling tighter, as if I could just shrink away. Disappear into the floor, into the dark. Wouldn’t that be easier? Just fade out and let everyone else move on. No more dead weight dragging them down. No more Libby needing to spiral out of control.
But God—my arm hurt. Throbbing like my bones were grinding together, nerves screaming in white-hot pulses.
Somewhere above me, footsteps creaked. I sucked in a breath, held it, wiped at my face with shaking hands that came away wet and sticky with tears and smeared blood. Get it together. Breathe.
Couldn’t. Couldn’t stop crying.
Then the door creaked open, floorboards groaning, and for half a second, I thought about pretending I was fine. Swallowing it down and shoving on a smile that wouldn’t reach my eyes.
But I just sat there, breaking.
Could hear him breathing. Felt his stare. I hunched my shoulders, tried to fold smaller, tears choking out of me in ragged, ugly gasps that wouldn’t stop.
His feet carried against the floor, fast. “Libs…”Soft. Careful, like I was some wild animal about to bolt.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. Didn’t want him to see me like this. He shouldn’t have to. My chest caved, another sob clawing up my throat, spilling out before I could clamp it down. Fucking stop—
He crouched between my knees, trying to look at me behind all my hair. “Hey—hey, what’s—” His voice faltered, like he didn’t know what to say.
I shook my head, curls sticking to my damp cheeks. “I—” Words tangled up, caught in my throat. Breathe, come on— But it all just spilled out, messy and raw. “Aiden’s dead,” I choked, voice cracking. “He—he died , and it should’ve been me, and it was a grenade—it—“ My breath hitched, panic clawing up again. “It went off, Daryl—it killed him—“
“Libby—”
“And Noah—” My voice broke. “He—he Nicholas just left him—” I just wanted to stop crying. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything. I was bleeding out in the back of a van—“ My stomach churned, vomit creeping up, but I swallowed it down. “And Tara—fuck, Tara got hurt and—”
My hands trembled, clawing at my arms, fingernails ripping the skin up. Hurt’s better than guilt. Hurt’s better than this.
“And Deanna—fuck, Daryl—” My head shook so fast it felt like I might shatter apart. “She—she hates me—Aiden’s dead, and Reg is dead and there’s blood everywhere, and I can’t— I can’t get it off— ” My voice broke on a sob so violent it curled me in tighter, ribs aching. “It’s seeped in me, stuck in my fucking skin— ”
“Hey—hey, stop. ” His voice came rough, alarmed. “Quit that—don’t—don’t do that,” he muttered, prying at my hands when I didn’t even realize I’d been constantly scratching, dragging raw lines over my arms.
His fingers were rough but careful, warmth seeping through calluses as he tugged my hands away. “Libby,” softer now . “You gotta breathe, alright? You’re—you’re makin’ yourself worse—”
But I couldn’t. Breath wouldn’t catch right—like my lungs were collapsing in on themselves. Tears blurred everything, hot and endless, and shattering. “It’s too much,” I gasped, voice nothing more than a shaking whisper. “I— I can’t— ” Couldn’t even finish it. Words just dissolved into another guttural sob that hurt. Everything hurt.
And then—his arms, warm and awkward, wrapped around me. Not perfect, not gentle—just there, solid and grounding. Like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing but wanted to do something.
I lost it. Fell forward into him like my body had just given up, face burying into his shoulder as the sobs continued to rip out . His shirt smelled like sweat and leather and smoke— Daryl —and I clung to him. He shifted, arms tightening just enough, one hand rubbing slow circles against my shoulder blade. “It ain’t your fault,” he muttered. “None’a that’s on you, y’hear me?”
But I shook my head, breath hitching. Didn’t believe him. Couldn’t. So many people dead. People I liked. People who trusted me. And here I was— still breathing. Still here.
“It’s just— fuck, Daryl,” I gasped, voice cracking apart. “Why can’t I ever just fucking breathe. Why do I keep fucking everything up.”
“You didn’t,” he shot back, too fast. Too sure. Like he needed me to believe it. His hand paused, grip tightening a second before going back to those slow, grounding circles. “You didn’t, Libby. World’s shit—ain’t ‘cause’a you.”
Another sob hitched out— smaller now, but no less raw. His arms were the only thing holding me upright.
“Just—jus’ breathe with me, alright? C’mon. In ‘n out. You can do that.”
I tried. In through my nose—shaky, wet—out through my mouth, chest hiccupping like I was drowning. Tears wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t get my lungs to listen. Couldn’t quiet it down. Felt like the whole world was caving in on me, pressing me into something small and useless.
“It’s—” I gasped, voice breaking. “I can’t. ” My head shook, curls sticking to his shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore.” Words spilled out, messy and panicked. “Everyone keeps dying, Daryl—I can’t keep up— ” Breath hitched, chest crushing. “I’m—I’m so tired, and I just—” My voice cracked, high and wrecked. “I’m trying, but it’s never enough— I’m never enough— ”
His arms tightened . “Y ’are, Libby,” he said.
But I laughed, sharp and broken, dissolving into more sobs. “ Bullshit! ” It came out harsher than I meant—raw and hurting. “You don’t—God, you don’t get it— ” Hands twisted in his shirt, knuckles white. “I’m just— reckless, and stupid, and you’re gonna leave— ” The words blurred out, spilling faster . “You are, I know you are—‘cause I fuck everything up, and now I’m—” Voice cracked on a sob, heat flushing up my face. “I’m ugly, and I—”
His body jerked like I’d slapped him. “ What? ”
I pulled back just enough to look at him—blurred vision catching the shock on his face. “Look at me! I’m—I’m a fucking mess, and you—God—” Tears burned, throat closing. “Why would you stay? I’m just— broken. ” My words shrank to a whisper. “ Ugly. ”
For a second— silence. His brows furrowed, mouth parting like he didn’t know what to say. Like he couldn’t even process what just came out of me. “Libby—” His voice was soft . “Where the hell you gettin’ that from?”
I scoffed, wiping at my face uselessly. “Because I’m ugly, and I’m always so fucking emotional—” Words choked off, new tears spilling fresh. “And I make things harder for everyone, and Deanna hates me, and Aiden’s dead, and Noah’s gone, and I can’t stop it, and—and I want you to just— leave, ‘cause I’m—” Chest caved. “I’m too much. ”
His jaw worked, conflicted, like he wanted to argue but didn’t know how. “I ain’t leavin’,” he said finally—low, firm. Like a promise. Like it was that simple.
I shook my head. “Why?”
“ No. ” His hands came up, rough palms cupping my face—calloused thumbs swiping at tears like he could actually wipe them away. “Listen’a me—none’a that’s true. Not one damn bit.” His gaze held mine, and for a minute I felt like it would be a dream to drown in his eyes . “Y’ain’t broken—you’re tryin’ to keep people alive, and shit don’t always work out. That ain’t on you.” A beat. “And—Libby, I don’t—” He shook his head, baffled. “That scar don’t make you ugly. Ain’t nothin’ about you’s ugly.”
His forehead pressed against mine, the sensation both intimate and grotesquely romantic; the warmth of the blood that smeared from my face to his. “I’m just—” My voice wobbled, barely more than a whisper. “I’m scared, Daryl.”
“I know,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “I know.” Arms pulled me back in, tucking me close like he could shield me from it all. “But I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You hear me? Don’t you go askin’ me to leave you again, girl.”
Nodding, I sunk into him, letting the silence stretch, and focusing on the slow, even breaths that left him. That gnawing panic still twisted inside of me, but I was slowly beginning to synchronize my breathing with his. Tears were tacky like gum on my cheeks as they dried against his vest, leaving little trails of salt behind.
It was weird. I had missed him so much, but at the same time it was like I hadn’t quite realized just how much until now. Knowing he was alive, and holding me in the confines of our own little private space where nothing could touch us. My chest clenched, relief and exhaustion tangling up so tight I couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and the other began.
I didn’t feel like I deserved this warmth or this man. But—selfishly—I didn’t pull away.
The room stayed quiet, a soft cocoon of safety, and absentmindedly, my eyes slipped shut, my lashes sticky with tears. Just for a minute, I let myself breathe him in: sweat and worn leather with a lingering smell of cigarette smoke. Then his voice broke through. “We gotta get cleaned up.”
I mumbled something incoherent into his shoulder, not ready to move. His fingers brushed my hair back, tugging gently. “C’mon,” he coaxed, softer now. “Gotta get all that off ya. You don’t like dirty sheets.”
It was a lame call back to my genuine disdain for nasty bedding, and I knew he wanted me to crack a little smile, but I didn’t want to. Just like I didn’t want to move.
But Daryl’s hand slid down my arm, calloused fingers curling around mine with a gentle insistence that I found hard to resist, tugging me up with him. “I’ll wash your hair. Then we’ll get in bed,” he said. It was a non-negotiable.
.that’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend, i’d never walk Cornelia Street again.
Notes:
woof… i’m actually not sure how i feel ab this chapter… i kind of think it sucks, but also happy with Libby’s breakdown and can’t wait for her in the next season! lots of #Liryl during season six, bc boy…season seven is a DOOZY.
what all would y’all like to see? any guesses for where Libby will be during all the wolves and pre-Negan episodes? I’d love to know yalls thoughts about the story thus far!
Chapter 55: i wanted to spear him
Summary:
I pressed a small kiss between his shoulder blades—warm skin beneath the thin, nearly see-through shirt. Another kiss, just to the left. Felt him breathe in, chest expanding under my cheek. “You okay with this?” I asked quietly, words muffled against him. “With what Rick said earlier?” Another kiss, slow, like maybe I could pour all my worry into the spaces between freckles and scars. “Really okay?”
Notes:
filler chapter between seasons! lots of Liryl fluff
(there’s a Toy Story reference in this and if you can catch it, i’ll let you name the next oc i introduce from Hilltop. if nobody gets it, then his names just gonna be Buzz lmao)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.well i’ve never had a place that i could call my very own.
“Sorry,” I whispered sleepily, pushing up from Daryl’s chest.
I knew he was awake. His fingers gripping the skin of my hip as I maneuvered over him. Not too tightly, but firm enough to pull me down until I collapsed back onto him. “Where ya goin’?” he croaked, eyes still closed.
“Deanna’s.”
“Why?” Daryl took a better hold of me, tugging me closer like I was going to suddenly fight against him to get out of bed.
The beat of his heart echoed loud in my ear, and I easily could’ve fallen asleep to it all over again. Lulled away to the steadiness - forgot all about my breakdown, the brown and copper water that washed down the drain, how I’d determined that today would start the beginning of new things. A part of me, admittedly the bigger part, wanted to allow myself that luxury. My boyfriend was back, and he’d taken care of me so beautifully.
Washed my body, my hair, my face, my arm…then curled into bed with me, our bodies still damp from the shower, and let me catch my breath.
“She needs someone,” I finally replied, pressing my cheek closer, hoping that somehow I could meld into him. “I need to be there, Dar. It’s important that I am.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then— “Yeah. I’m comin’ with you.”
I pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were open now, glossed with sleep. “You don’t have to—”
“Ain’t ‘cause I gotta.” His thumb dragged slow, lazy circles over my hip. “Just… wanna be with you.” His gaze softened, a flicker of vulnerability. “Ain’t leavin’, remember?”
My chest tugged. Warmth bloomed, thick and complicated but good. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I know.”
“Good.” He shifted, groaning as he stretched out beneath me. “Gonna grab some coffee first, ” he grumbled. “Ain’t facin’ politics ‘fore I wake up proper.”
I huffed a quiet laugh.
_____________
The air outside bit colder than expected for late April, and the streets of Alexandria stretched quiet, still holding an early morning hush. Daryl walked beside me, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other gripping his crossbow strap that was slung over his shoulder.
Neither of us said much. And the silence was unusually comfortable, practically weightless after everything that’d come out last night. Felt good to just exist with him - elbows brushing, synchronized steps, and the occasional glances we both stole of one another on our short walk around the block.
Deanna’s house ahead, I saw that the front porch was uncharacteristically empty - lacking Reg. The curtains were drawn tight, and it somehow seemed like the whole place was holding its breath. My stomach twisted when I paused at the steps, heart thumping a little too fast. A trail of dirt and blood trailed from the walkway all the way to the front door.
Daryl’s hand brushed my lower back—barely there. “Y’okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. Swallowed thick. “Just…I need to clean this.”
He grunted. “Ain’t your job.”
Before I could argue, the door creaked open, revealing a pale, red rimmed eyed, Deanna. She didn’t even say a word. Just stepped aside, silently inviting us in. I hesitated, glancing at Daryl for a second. He didn’t look any happier about this than when we left, but he stepped forward. And when he did, I was right behind him. The door clicking shut behind us.
Deanna didn’t sit at the table like usual. Didn’t offer me water or a conversation. She just—looked at me. Her eyes were softer than I expected, but there was something new in them. Something… not quite resigned, but close.
“Deanna,” I started, unsure of how to even form the words.
She sighed, breaking the silence. “Libby. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice rough. “For snapping at you about Pete. I—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “It wasn’t right. And you were right. I… I couldn’t handle it.”
I stood a little straighter, the apology unexpected but not unwelcome. It was rare for anyone to admit when they were wrong—Deanna, even more so.
Then she let out a breath, looking between me and Daryl. “I’m… not sure I’m fit to lead right now. I know this is my responsibility, but until I’m… better, I think it’s time someone else stepped up.” Her gaze fixed on me. “I’m giving you the reins, Libby. For now.”
I blinked, trying to process. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” Deanna said, giving me a steady look. “You’re a part of this community. You’ve earned the right to lead. I’ll be here, but I’m not the one who can make decisions right now. Not without Reg, and Aiden - I need time to adjust.”
For a second, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Time to adjust. That’s what Rick needed before last night. That’s what Deanna needed now.
I shook my head, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat. “Are you sure? I mean… I don’t know if I can—”
“You can ,” Deanna cut me off, firmer now. “I trust you. Don’t doubt that again. I was right about you initially. So was my husband.”
It wasn’t what I had expected from the woman who’d led Alexandria for so long. Deanna had always kept a steady head on her shoulders, I’d never seen her waver until yesterday. Every decision she made was sure and seemed to be thought out perfectly. And now she wanted me to step in well before I’d anticipated.
Deanna’s eyes didn’t leave mine, and there was something almost heavy in them—like she was looking at me, but seeing through me. “I’ve been watching you, Libby. Ever since I brought you to shadow me, I’ve seen you hold things together and push through. You don’t run from responsibility.”
I felt my stomach tighten, that uneasy feeling twisting again.
“People here like you,” she continued, stepping closer. “They respect you. And it’s not just because you’re a pretty face. You want better for them. You want what’s best for your people.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Daryl. He stayed silent, arms folded across his chest, but I couldn’t wait to get out of here and hear what was going through his mind.
“You’ve got something more than just out-there skills. You’ve got a presence. People trust you, Libby. Even those who don’t always agree with you.” Deanna paused, her eyes shifting for a moment like she was thinking carefully. “And those people—you’ve got good ones backing you.”
I had always thought of myself as just someone who got by , never someone who was cut out to lead until Deanna sat me down over a month ago and put her faith in me. Hell, I still didn’t know if I was even the right person for it. But as I looked around the room, Deanna’s words buzzed in my head.
People here did trust me. I’d built a bond with the people in this community - one that was reminiscent of the prison. I would break if something happened to Olivia. She was always at hand-to-hand practice, and had a book club she’d been begging me to join. And Eric; when Aaron and Daryl left, he invited me over for dinner a handful of times just to pretend like our significant others weren’t actually miles away in the woods somewhere and that they’d be home from work soon. Mr. Adler…Ms. Nesbit…
“And Daryl,” she added quietly, but with enough significance to make my gaze snap back to him. He surprisingly didn’t show a single sign of discomfort at his name being mentioned. “He’s good for you - good to you. You have a support system that I don’t have anymore.”
Daryl’s head tilted slightly, and he met Deanna’s eyes for a brief moment before looking back at me, but he didn’t speak. I knew he wasn’t the type to say much about that stuff. He wasn’t about the praise, never had been. But hearing it come from someone else felt… different to me.
Maybe I should’ve acknowledged it then, but her words - the way she said them - they felt like a passing of a torch. Sometimes…sometimes I wish I would’ve said something worth a damn back then.
“Thanks,” I managed. “I— I’ll do my best.”
Deanna smiled faintly, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I know you will. Don’t let this place change you, Libby. You’re a lot more than you think you are.” Her gaze flicked again to Daryl, and something unspoken passed between them—quiet but clear.
We stayed in the room for a beat longer, the silence heavy, until Deanna broke it with a soft nod. “Go. I think it’s time for you two to head out. Give me the day to grieve - I’ll see you in the morning Libby.”
I gave her a final glance, before stepping toward the door.
Outside, the cool air had shifted into a dry heat. I turned back for a second, feeling like I should say something more, but instead, I just nodded at the door like I was promising Deanna something I wasn’t sure I could keep.
The street was quiet, the usual hustle of Alexandria subdued for the morning, likely due to last nights…show. Daryl cleared his throat. “You sure you’re okay with all that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, like he wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk about it.
I turned to look at him, half-expecting to see that familiar wariness in his eyes, but there wasn’t a shred of doubt. “I don’t know, Dar.” My words were quieter than I meant them to be, almost a reflection of how lost I felt internally. “But it’s not like I have a choice now, it’s like ‘no takesies-backsies’? I mean… you heard her. She believes in me.”
His lips twitched like he was holding back a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I heard her. She ain’t the only one.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard. That warmth crept up my neck like a goddamn ambush. I shot him a look, trying to play it off. “Aw, look at you,” I drawled, bumping my shoulder into his. “Going all soft on me, Dixon. What’s next? Gonna knit me a scarf? Write me a sonnet?”
He snorted but didn’t pull away from the bump. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched again—closer to a real grin this time.
“Nah, you opened this door,” I teased, grinning wide now. “Bet you got a whole collection of Hallmark cards stashed somewhere, don’t ya? ‘Dear Libby, you’re the light of my life. Here’s a kitten sticker, you beautiful gorgeous girl.’” I made my voice high-pitched and overly southern, barely dodging the swat he aimed at my good arm.
“Stop.” he said, but his words cracked. He wasn’t really mad.
“Hey, you started it,” I shot back. “‘Ain’t the only one,’” I mimicked, dropping my voice low to mock him. “Jesus, Dar, why don’t you just confess your undying love while you’re at it?”
His gaze slid over to me. “You done?”
“Not even close,” I grinned, feeling lighter for the first time since last night. Maybe even before that. “It’s just—damn. You out right believing in me? Giving me a compliment unprompted? That’s like… I don’t know—Bigfoot givin’ you a thumbs-up or something. Might need to frame this moment.”
“Could leave ya on the side of the road next time we’re out,” he offered, deadpan.
“You could ,” I nodded, “but then you’d miss me too much. Be out here making sad mixtapes and everything—‘Songs to Mourn Libby By.’ Track one: All By Myself. ”
He actually laughed at that . It hit me in the chest like a sucker punch, how damn good it felt to hear it. I loved him.
“Y’ain’t nothin’ but annoyin’” he muttered, but his hand brushed against mine, tangling our fingers together.
“Yeah,” I said, “but you like me a lot.”
_____________
Leadership. What a goddamn joke.
Two days in, and it already felt like I was dragging myself through molasses, every decision another bomb strapped to my chest. And Deanna… she just handed it over like it was a goddamn grocery list. Here you go, Libby—take care of everyone’s lives. Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.
Most of it was just… meetings. Endless questions. Complaints about the new patrol schedules (complaints about patrol), supply checks, the garden, the wall maintenance.
I’d walked the perimeter more times than I could count, boots scuffing over dirt and gravel, counting nails and listening to Tobin ramble about weak spots. Sat through construction discussions where voices got too loud and too damn skeptical. Deanna didn’t show her face much—grief was a heavy bastard—but I felt her shadow hanging over every decision I made, like she was still there, watching. Judging.
And then there was Rick.…that sharp look like he was sizing me up for something I wouldn’t like. And— spoiler alert —I didn’t.
First day, barely an hour into this mess, he pulled me aside. Didn’t waste time with small talk, just straight to the point. There was a quarry not far out, a goddamn trap of walkers—thousands of them, packed in like a can of sardines with nothing but a few eighteen wheelers and some dirt holding them back. And those barriers against that many walkers? It didn’t stand a chance. Any day now, the whole lot of them could spill out and steamroll Alexandria.
We’d been so focused on what was inside the walls—fixing patrols, plugging holes, dealing with the fallout from Pete—that no one thought to check what was brewing just beyond them until that horrid man needed to be buried. And Rick… he looked at me like he expected me to get it , like I was supposed to swallow this nightmare and help him find a solution.
Except he already had one. And that’s when my heart really dropped.
He wanted to lead them out.
Thousands of walkers. Herd them like cattle. On purpose.
My head spun as he explained the plan—using sound and distractions, carving a route to pull them miles away. Daryl out front on his bike, revving it like a dinner bell for the hoard to follow. The rest of us setting up blockades to keep the herd from breaking off. Like it was some neat, tidy operation—not a clusterfuck waiting to happen.
And yeah… I got it. I did. Better to control the disaster than wait for it to blow our walls down. Rick’s whole thing was about staying ahead of the danger, not letting it make the first move. Problem was? One wrong step, one mistake… and that herd would swallow us whole.
One wrong step…Daryl Dixon was goner.
Rick didn’t sugarcoat the risks, either. Just laid them out flat—people could die. We could die. But standing still wasn’t an option. And somewhere in the middle of all that, between the logistics and the looming threat, Rick paused—looked at me like this wasn’t just a strategy meeting but some kind of test.
Could I handle this? Could I back him up when it counted?
Meeting’s tomorrow. Full community. They’ll hear the plan, the risks. Some’ll panic, some’ll argue. But like Rick said— waiting gets people killed.
And yet… standing there in the bathroom, towel draped around my bare shoulders, hair dripping past it and down my back, it wasn’t the plan twisting my stomach into knots—it was him.
I sat on the edge of the counter, the tile cold beneath my thighs, fingers working through the tangles in my hair. Wet strands clung to my skin, damp and heavy. I grabbed the brush, yanked it through my curls (despite knowing better) with a hissed curse, and reached for the hair tie looped around my wrist. Braid it back—tight, neat, something to do. Anything to drown out the thoughts clawing at me.
Daryl. Out front. Bike roaring. Thousands of dead things clawing after him like a buffet on wheels.
That stuck with me. Lodged itself in my chest like splinters I couldn’t dig out. Rick’s plan made sense —hell, if it wasn’t for that goddamn quarry, we’d be knee-deep in walkers already—but hearing Daryl’s name tied to the riskiest piece of it? Like he was just some cog in the machine? Didn’t sit right. Not one damn bit.
He’d never say no— that wasn’t who he was. Daryl’d throw himself into danger like it was a damn hobby, like the world hadn’t already tried to chew him up enough. But me? Sitting here, braiding back wet hair, feeling that knot of dread tighten with every twist— I wasn’t built to watch people I cared about walk straight into the fire. Especially not him. He was my one good thing—he was who I wanted for the rest of my life; however long that would be.
I tugged the braid tighter—too tight—fingers working fast. Pull it together. Worrying doesn’t stop shit. Doesn’t change the plan. Doesn’t keep him safe. But knowing that didn’t stop the ache that crept up, burning behind my ribs like a slow, smoldering fire.
The last loop of the braid snapped into place, hair damp and tight against my scalp. Didn’t make me feel any better. Just made me look like I had my shit together when inside, I was bubbling over with worry. I wiped at a stray drop of water sliding down my temple, stared at my reflection a beat longer than I meant to—eyes too tired, face drawn—and pushed off the counter.
Steam still clung to the air as I opened the door, stepping into the cooler room beyond. Standing across the room with his back to me, pulling a shirt over his head, was Daryl. Pajamas, or what passed for them: an old tee stretched thin over broad shoulders, sweatpants slung low on his hips. Normal.
My gaze lingered—shoulders I knew the feel of beneath my hands, scars I’d traced without thinking. The dread twisted tighter; coiling deep. How the hell was I supposed to sleep tonight, knowing tomorrow Rick would spell it out to everyone. And Daryl would just nod, maintaining that nonchalant, unbothered persona while being put in such a precarious position.
I crossed the room quietly, bare feet padding against cement and rugs. He didn’t hear me at first, busy tugging at the hem of his shirt—or at least he didn’t acknowledge that he heard me. I slipped my arms around his waist from behind, fitting my body against him—warm skin meeting worn cotton—and rested my cheek between his shoulder blades. His heart beat steady beneath me, thudding slow and sure, like nothing in the world could shake him.
He froze a second—just a second—then his hand found mine where it lay splayed over his stomach. Rough fingers brushed my knuckles, soft in a way most people never saw. “Hey,” he mumbled, voice low. Not surprised. Not pushing me away. Just there. Like always.
I pressed a small kiss between his shoulder blades—warm skin beneath the thin, nearly see-through shirt. Another kiss, just to the left. Felt him breathe in, chest expanding under my cheek. “You okay with this?” I asked quietly, words muffled against him. “With what Rick said earlier?” Another kiss, slow, like maybe I could pour all my worry into the spaces between freckles and scars. “Really okay?”
He shrugged, that familiar half-gesture. “Ain’t nothing. Just gotta do it. S’what makes sense.”
That answer—God—it made me want to shake him. Or maybe curl tighter around him and never let go. Ain’t nothing. Like leading a damn walker parade was just another Tuesday. Like he wasn’t the one out front, bait on a hook.
I kissed higher up, right where his neck met his shoulder. “You’re not just some tool, you know,” I said against his skin. “You’re not expendable.”
His fingers tightened slightly around mine. Didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, breathing. I felt the weight of what he wouldn’t say. All the ways he didn’t know how to take that. How no one probably ever said it to him before me.
“It’s just somethin’ that’s gotta get done,” he muttered eventually. Not meeting me in the argument. Straight lines and no bullshit.
But I wasn’t having it. Not tonight. I hugged him tighter, lips still brushing over skin gone warm beneath my mouth. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I gotta like how you’re being used. Doesn’t mean I’m okay sitting back while you throw yourself in front of a thousand corpses.”
His head tilted slightly—like he wanted to look at me but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
Finally, soft: “I ain’t got much else, Libs. This’s… what I’m good at.”
God. God. That pummeled something deep inside me—fierce and aching. I kissed the spot just below his ear, hand splayed wide over his stomach. “Yeah? Well, you’re good at other things too,” I murmured, a smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “Like lettin’ me wrap myself around you. Bein’ soft for me. Even if you don’t wanna admit it.”
That got me a huffed breath, almost a laugh. Almost. “Ain’t soft,” he grumbled—but his hand covered mine tighter, holding me there like he didn’t want me to let go.
And I didn’t. Not for a long while.
Minutes stretched, slow and heavy, and something in the air shifted—like a tide turning, a pull I didn’t fight. My lips found his shoulder again, then lower, trailing a line of kisses over scars and rough-hewn muscle I knew like my own skin. His breath hitched—quiet, but I felt it. Felt him. How he leaned back into me, body relaxing even as tension simmered beneath the surface. There was always tension with Daryl—a man wired too tight for this world—but I’d learned how to ease it, how to coax him out of that shell when he let me.
And tonight? He let me.
Fingers tangled in mine, he turned just enough for me to catch the shadow of his face—the softness that was just for me. I smiled against his skin. “Told you,” I whispered. “Soft.”
He mumbled something that might’ve been a protest, but then his lips caught mine—rough, familiar—and I melted into it. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic; it never was. Daryl Dixon, for all his edges, loved with a tenderness that broke me open. His calloused hands skated over my hips, slow, reverent. Clothes slipped away in half-hearted attempts—his fresh shirt rucked up, sweatpants tugged down. Skin met skin, and the world outside faded until there was just this. Just the quiet breaths, the soft rasp of his voice when he murmured my name like it was his own personal religion.
I lost myself in him—in the way he touched me like I was the most precious, delicate being. Like I wasn’t just a mess of nerves and worry. His lips dragged over my throat, my collarbone, every press burning through the anxiety that’d wrapped tight around my chest earlier. Here, with him, there was nothing but heat and softness.
And when he looked at me—eyes dark, mouth parted, completion covering my lower belly—I sunk deeper in love.
_____________
Heat still clung to my skin, seeped into bones, and tangled in the sheets along with soft breaths. My body pressed against his, legs a lazy tangle beneath the covers, his chest rising and falling steady beneath my cheek. Fingers drifted over his ribs, slow, tracing freckles and tattoos by memory. My braid had come loose somewhere along the way, damp hair curling around my face as I tucked closer, breathing him in. Sweat, soap, a trace of leather that never really faded. Home.
His arm was heavy across my back, fingers splayed wide, thumb brushing slow circles that lulled me into that hazy space between awake and asleep. If the world outside could just stop for a while—let me keep this moment—I would’ve bartered with God, the devil, anyone. But tomorrow was coming whether I liked it or not, dragging that fucking plan with it.
I shifted just enough to look up at him. The faint glow from the bedside lamp caught the edge of his jaw, the curve of his nose, those lashes too long for someone like him. His eyes were open—figures—and staring at the ceiling. Lines creased his brow, worry stitched in deep even when his mouth was relaxed. I smoothed a hand over his stomach, gentle. “You don’t gotta act like it doesn’t bother you,” I murmured, exhausted.
He huffed—a low, dismissive sound. “Ain’t a big deal.”
“Daryl,” I said, softer, a plea wrapped in his name.
His gaze flicked down, met mine for a beat too short before skimming away again. “It’s just somethin’ needs doin’. Rick asked, I said yeah. Don’t got time to sit around worryin’ ‘bout it.”
There he went again—making himself a piece of equipment, like he was just a set of hands and a bike and nothing more. Like he wasn’t… a person. “You’re not a damn tool,” I whispered, heat bubbling up behind my ribs. “You don’t just get to throw yourself at shit ‘cause it needs doing. You’re—” My throat clenched, words snagging on the sheer weight of what I wanted to say. You’re everything. Too much. Too soon. But Jesus, I wanted to make a fool of myself and tell him that losing him would ruin me.
He sighed, “Libby—”
“No,” I cut in, sliding up to press my forehead against his jaw, lips brushing the scratch of stubble there. “You matter. More than what you can do for people. More than… this job, or Rick’s plan, or anything else. You’re not just expendable— you’re not. And I hate that you keep acting like you are. Like you don’t care if you—” My breath caught, burning. “If you don’t come back.”
His hand tightened on my back, fingers curling in the sheet. “Ain’t about that,” he muttered. “‘S about keepin’ people safe. You included.”
“Yeah, and what about you?” My voice cracked, raw with it. “You keep trying to protect everybody else, but who the hell’s supposed to protect you, huh? ‘Cause I’m trying, Daryl. I am. But you won’t let me. You just… brush it off, like none of this touches you, and I—” My chest ached, fierce and sharp. “I need you to come back. Not just for me to hear you say you will. I need to believe it. So tell me. Tell me you’ll come back. ”
Silence stretched out. His gaze dropped back to mine, something dark and tender flickering in those eyes—something he didn’t know how to put into words. Finally, rough and quiet: “I’ll try. Best I can do.”
It wasn’t enough. It had to be enough.
I pressed my face against his neck, breathing him in like I could memorize the scent. “I’d die without you, Daryl. I’d - I’d crawl in the grave with you, so you need to really try. Harder than you’ve ever tried before.” I said, and felt him stiffen just a fraction before his arm tightened, pulling me in closer, like he was afraid I might drift away.
We lay there like that for a long time—hearts beating in sync, the world outside forgotten for just a little longer.
_____________
The living room of Deanna’s house felt too full—people packed shoulder to shoulder, voices bouncing off cream-colored walls, tensions high and continuing to rise. The curtains were drawn back, letting in a thin wash of gray morning light, but it did nothing to soften the mood. Heat buzzed under the collar of my shirt while eyes darted between Rick and me.
People shifted from foot to foot, arms folded tight across chests like they could shield themselves from what was being asked of them. A storm of panic and doubt brewed in our little community.
Rick and I had gone over it all the day before, hashing out details. The herd was massive. Containment was a pipe dream. Moving them was our best shot.
But when Sasha spoke up, offering to drive alongside Daryl with one of the cars, that knot in my stomach loosened just a little. Abraham threw in his name right after, dead-set. I found myself breathing easier than I had all morning. Daryl wouldn’t be out there alone, not like Rick first suggested. Sasha was a good shot and stealthy. Abraham? Guy was like a human tank. He’d be safer with them than all alone.
Didn’t mean I liked it—but it wasn’t about liking it. It was about the little additive that eased my worry a little bit.
The room filled with murmurs and anxious glances—families clinging to each other, worried eyes darting around. Deanna stood looking out the window, face pale, grief still hanging over her like a noose. I was off to the side of Rick, arms crossed, letting the people that did trust me, look at my facade of bravery. They all looked for reassurance—for answers—and maybe I didn’t have them all, but I knew I could do a pretty good job at pretending I did.
Rick had pulled me aside before the meeting—quiet conversation near the staircase, suggesting something we had discussed the day before. “You need to be out there,” he’d said. “Leader’s gotta be hands-on. They need to see you standin’ with ‘em, not just callin’ shots from behind a door.” And he wasn’t wrong. I’d always believed people followed action, not words.
So, when the time came, I’d be there. With Glenn, Michonne, Heath—whoever was on the team with me. Helping keep the herd on track, plugging holes in the plan before they turned into graveyards. I wasn’t about to sit back and watch this unfold from a window. That wasn’t me. Never had been. Daryl was definitely going to chew me out about not mentioning it to him before I agreed though.
But as the meeting dragged on—questions flying, tempers flaring, voices overlapping—I kept glancing toward Daryl. His expression stayed steady, unreadable, even when Rick revealed I’d apparently be leading a team. Like none of this rattled him. Like this was just another day.
“There’s got to be another play,” Carter blurted out, voice high-pitched, a vein throbbing in his temple. His eyes—too wide, too frantic—scanned the room for backup, like if enough people agreed with him, this nightmare might just vanish. “We can’t just control that many.” His face twisted, lips pulling tight like the words tasted sour even as he said them.
Rick’s expression didn’t shift. No softening, no compromise. “I said it before,” he ground out, gaze locking on Carter. “Walkers herd up. They’ll follow a path if something’s drawing them. That’s how we can get ’em all at once.”
Carter’s shoulders lifted in a harsh breath, fingers curling into fists. “So, what? We’re supposed to just take your word for it? We’re all supposed to just fall in line behind you after…” His voice rose, biting. Around him, people exchanged awkward glances—uneasy movements like the floor might give out beneath them.
Rick’s head tilted, slow and deliberate. “After what ?” His tone was a blade—low, dangerous. Every muscle in the room seemed to coil tight, bracing.
Carter swallowed, but anger drove him forward. “After you wave a gun around, screaming—pointing it at people. After you shoot a man in the face . After you—”
“ Enough! ” Deanna’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. She turned from where she stood near the window, eyes fierce despite the weariness that clung to her edges. Silence dropped hard. Even Carter’s mouth clamped shut, chest heaving.
For a beat, no one moved. No one breathed.
Then, from the back, Heath stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” he said.
Annie followed. “Me, too,”
Heath nodded. “Whatever you need, I’m in.”
Deanna’s gaze swept the crowd. “Now who else?”
That’s when Nicholas spoke up. “I’ll go.” His voice carried just enough volume to be heard, but not enough to drown out the angry pulse pounding in my ears. “ We have to do this. I need to help.”
The room blurred at the edges—heat flushing up my neck. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. My gaze cut to Glenn, catching the tight clench of his jaw, the way his eyes shuttered like he was barely holding it together. I hated Nicholas—hated him in that bone-deep way that curdled your stomach. After what he did to Aiden—after he tried to kill Glenn —the fact that he stood there now, acting like some reformed hero? It made my blood boil. People like him didn’t get redemption arcs. They got consequences. And yet… here he was. Volunteering. Pretending.
I wanted to spear him.
But Rick didn’t blink. “You sure you can handle it?” There was a challenge there—subtle, but unmistakable.
Nicholas nodded. “You need people.” Like that was enough. Like we were just supposed to forget.
Rick’s gaze lingered a beat longer before shifting back to the room. “We’ll make this work,” he said, voice carrying an undeniable, ironclad weight. “We’ll keep this place safe. Keep our families safe. We will.”
I cleared my throat, stepping forward. Felt every eye flick my way—felt Daryl’s gaze like a weight on my back, steady and quiet. “We’ll start building teams once we have a route mapped out,” I said, trying to keep my tone even . “Right now, we’re arranging a meeting with just the construction crew in the next day. Everyone else—”
Carter cut me off. The taste it left in my mouth was bitter. “The plan,” he snapped. “Go through it again.”
Something dark curled in my chest. Patience, Libby. Don’t rise to it. But fuck, we’d already laid it out as best as we could. And his voice was just…grating my nerves.
“Man, they just said it,” Daryl drawled from where he curled up in the window sill, voice rough with just enough bite to make Carter’s face flush. His arms were crossed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Protective without even meaning to be. Or maybe he did. Either way—it settled something in me. Just a little.
Carter wasn’t fazed.“Every part again,” he insisted, voice edging toward a whine. “The exact plan.”
_____________
The meeting stretched on a lot longer than it should’ve—people talking in circles, asking the same damn questions we’d already answered twice over. Carter especially kept circling back, voice pitching higher each time like volume would make the plan change. People were scared. Couldn’t blame them, not really. Herding thousands of walkers like it was some rodeo wasn’t exactly the kind of problem most folks dreamed of solving when the world ended.
By the end of it, nerves frayed raw. Conversations dwindled into murmurs—half of the folks exchanging uneasy glances, the other half just exhausted. Carter was the last to give up, jaw tight as he muttered something under his breath and shuffled out the door. Didn’t stop him from shooting one last look over his shoulder, gaze flicking between Rick and me like he couldn’t decide who pissed him off more.
Rick just exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ll regroup tomorrow. No point beatin’ it to death tonight.”
People filed out slow, like leaving a funeral. Sasha was already talking with Abraham near the doorway—she nodded at me as she passed, expression unreadable but solid. Glenn lingered long enough to shoot me a look that said ‘ we’ll talk later’ before ushering Nicholas out, his hand clenched tight on the back of the guy’s neck.
Good.
Someone needed to keep him on a short leash.
I stayed behind, collecting stray papers and empty mugs left scattered across the house. Felt weird, cleaning up after a conversation that might decide whether we lived or died. Deanna moved around quietly, gathering her notes with a weight to her movements that hadn’t been there weeks ago. This place—this plan—was wearing on her.
Daryl stuck around too, quiet as ever. He didn’t say anything, just started picking up chairs and shoving them back under the table with soft thuds.
The room emptied out till it was just the three of us. Deanna glanced at me, offering a small, tired smile. “Thanks,” she said, voice thin but genuine. She collected the last of her papers and stepped away, murmuring, “I need to check on Reg’s garden,” before slipping out onto the porch.
Silence settled like a blanket. I sighed, wiping a hand down my face, then started stacking leftover papers into a neat pile on the table. Across from me, Daryl straightened up, stretching his shoulders with a quiet crack. I caught his gaze—blue eyes steady, reading me without asking out loud.
“Hell of a meeting,” I muttered, dropping the papers with a soft thump. Daryl didn’t reply—just grunted, grabbed an empty mug, and brought it over to the counter before he began working on the dishes. No request, no prompting—just him , always filling the gaps without needing to be asked.
I lingered near the record player. Fingers hovered above the dusty stack of vinyl, half-thinking I should walk away and let Deanna eventually rifle through the old things. But… my hand moved before I could talk myself out of it, slipping Reg’s Billy Joel record from its sleeve. The cardboard cover felt worn—colors faded. Familiar.
Dale would’ve loved this. I could see him for a second—sun-creased face, that fugly bucket hat, a smile that tugged up easy when he started in on some story no one asked for. He’d been the key the unlocked my obsession with Billy Joel—said the man could “spin a tune that sticks to your ribs.” Reg, apparently, thought the same. Both of gone now. Both taken ugly , not by walker bites. And no matter how many times you tell yourself it’s just the way things are now, it never sits right. Never stops burning.
The needle touched down with a soft scratch, You’re My Home floated through the air—gentle, easy… Deanna and Reg’s first dance some odd years ago, before the world had gone to hell.
Daryl glanced up, curious on what I was doing, hands still wet from the sink. His eyes caught mine—a flicker of amusement. The song played on, gentle piano notes filling the room. He stayed at the sink, head bowed, brows knit as he scrubbed at a plate like it’d personally offended him. Water gurgled, silverware clinking faintly. It was domestic—the kind of scene I’d never imagined for myself—but here we were.
A soft smile tugged at my lips as I turned away from the wooden radio, toes padding across the floor. “C’mon,” I murmured, voice barely above the music. He didn’t look over. Not until I slipped behind him, nudging his arm with mine. “Dance with me.”
He shook his head, grumbling something about how he didn’t dance. Like that was gonna stop me. I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a damn prom, Dixon. Just…” I reached for his hands, prying them away from the sink. He let me, resistant but not really—water still clinging to his calloused fingers. I tugged him gently, backing into the open space between kitchen and living room. “Humor me.”
He exhaled, more sigh than protest, and I grinned, guiding his rough palms to my hips. His fingers flexed, hesitant. Warmth pooled low in my belly at the contact—familiar and still brand new all at once. “There,” I said, looking up at him. “Not so hard, huh?”
His gaze flicked away, a flush creeping along his neck. “Ain’t what I do,” he muttered.
“It is tonight.” I swayed us gently, the melody wrapping around us like a blanket. His body was tense at first, but he moved with me—awkward, stiff. Didn’t matter. It was him.
Billy Joel’s voice crooned through the speakers, soft and full of something that ached. My lips curved, words slipping out on a breathy whisper: “When you touch my weary head, and you tell me everything will be alright…” I felt his fingers tighten slightly on my hips, as I rested my forehead against his chest.
His hand slid up my back, settling between my shoulder blades. Protective. Tender.
“You say, ‘Use my body for your bed, and my love will keep you warm throughout the night…” I breathed, glancing up at him with a crooked smile. His lips quirked—almost a smirk, but softer. Always softer with me. “Well I’ll never be a stranger, and I’ll never be alone…”
His thumb brushed a slow, lazy circle against my shoulder. I closed my eyes, swaying us gently. ”Wherever we’re together, that’s my home.”
We moved in that slow circle—me leading, him letting me—while the world outside stayed dangerous and uncertain.
.but that’s alright, my love, ‘cause you’re my home.
Notes:
obsessed with this chapter! OBSESSED. (also, staying in orange beach right now, and writing this on my balcony with the waves crashing next to me was TOP TIER)
next chapter will have some *cough cough* breeding kink *cough cough*
(idc that the sex might not be SUPER REALISTIC on Daryl’s end. this is the ONE part of this story i’m indulging in 😭)
Chapter 56: and I was nothing if not a slut
Summary:
His head jerked toward me, full-body stiffening. “…The hell we are.”
I beamed. “Oh, we absolutely are.”
Notes:
some plot. lots of not plot. next chapter will be the beginning of season six.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.libby,libby, don’t you know, wonderland was just a hoax.
Steam curled from the pot, fogging up the air above the stove as I stood there, one hand braced on the counter, the other loosely stirring some sugar into the tea. It’d been five days since the hard labor began, and for once, I was happy to have a still healing injury that gave me brief excuses to venture back to Alexandria and do more domestic work.
Rick’s strategy had unfolded fast: the goddamn powder keg of a quarry was waiting to blow - well - really at any point now. If that semi blocking the exit shifted—and it was already tilting, creaking under the weight of the dead—they’d be swarming Alexandria within an hour, maybe less.
The first day, we scoped the area. Foot patrols, maps spread out on makeshift tables, marking every twist of the road, every bottleneck where things could go sideways. Glenn, Michonne, and I took point on mapping; Daryl rode out ahead to get a better look at terrain. Sasha and Rosita drove perimeter checks. Abraham and Tobin laid out plans for building walls to direct the walkers in the right directions.
I flipped the stove top off and reached for the tea jug, fingers fiddling with the unusually jammed up cabinet. Daryl liked sweet tea. Not my favorite, but it was a little happy that I could actually indulge him in. Especially after he’d spent hours dragging supplies out to the route—metal panels salvaged from construction sites, cars positioned like mile markers. Everyone pulled their weight. Even Carter—though he still shot nervous glances at Rick every chance he got. Deanna, quieter than she used to be, stuck close, watching it all unfold with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. My hands were currently blistered from hauling steel, arms sore from hammering stakes into hard-packed dirt. A leader had to bleed with her people—or at least that’s what I told myself—but between Daryl, Rick, and Deanna, I was forced to take a much needed break. (I’d never admit that to them though.)
The door creaked open behind me—heavy boots thunking against wood—and before I even turned, I knew who it was. That gait was impossible to miss. I glanced over my shoulder, and fuck, there he was: sweat-soaked shirt clinging to every sculpted line of his chest and stomach, dirt streaked along the curves of his neck. His arms—his arms . Bulging, corded muscle flexed with each step he took, veins running down them like some goddamn roadmap I wouldn’t mind getting lost in. I’d fantasized about those arms, more times than I should admit—how they felt pinning me down, and pulling me close. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp, messy, a few strands curling over his jawline. Filthy. Rugged. Hotter than any man had the right to be.
And I was staring.
“Y’look like you’re burnin’ holes through me,” Daryl drawled, voice gravel and heat. His lips tugged at the corner, a hint of amusement lighting up those blue eyes as he shrugged off his crossbow, setting it by the door. “Somethin’ on my face?”
Heat bloomed across my cheeks . I turned back to the tea, trying to play it cool—even if my pulse was tap-dancing against my ribs. “Just admiring the view,” I mumbled, grabbing a glass from the counter.
Behind me, he chuckled. Low. Rough.
I poured the sweet tea, ice clinking against glass, condensation already beading along the outside. I held it out to him, fingers brushing his as he took it—calloused skin against mine, sending a zing straight up my arm. “Figured you earned something cold,” I said, trying like hell not to sound breathless.
Daryl took a long pull from the glass, throat working as he swallowed. Jesus. Focus.
When he lowered it, there was a little smirk playing on his lips, eyes glinting with warmth that melted me right down to my toes. Daryl wandered over to the couch, dropping onto the cushions with a sigh. The fabric groaned under his weight, his body sinking back as he stretched his legs out, boots still slightly muddy from the day’s work. He set the glass of tea down on the side table, and a smear of dirt streaked across the armrest where his forearm brushed it, and I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?” I shot him a look, hands on my hips. “You’re getting the damn couch filthy.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “’S just a couch.”
I rolled my eyes and stalked toward him, fully intending to swat at his shoulder or make him throw a towel down. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta clean it, and guess who that—”
Fingers closed around my wrist. I barely had time to register the tug before I was yanked off balance, landing with a startled gasp right on top of him. His chest, still damp with sweat beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, was solid as a rock against mine. My hands instinctively planted on his shoulders, heat rolling off him in waves.
“Daryl,” I half-scolded, half-laughed, but it died somewhere between my lips and the sharp glint in his eyes. He smirked up at me, infuriatingly smug.
“Reckon you were starin’ for a reason,” he murmured, voice rough—gravel and smoke. His gaze flicked down to my mouth, lingered, and something hot and dangerous unfurled low in my stomach.
“I—I wasn’t—” My face burned. Lying. We both knew it.
He shifted, the movement dragging me closer, hips brushing mine. “Uh-huh,” he drawled. His hands slid from my wrist to my waist, fingers splaying out like he owned me.
And I sure as hell wasn’t about to pull away.
“You’re a menace,” I breathed, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.
His thumbs swept circles against my sides, lazy and teasing. Every brush sent sparks darting under my skin, sexual tension curling tight between us. His eyes—blue, burning, intense —searched mine for something. Or maybe he’d already found it, the cocky bastard.
“You always talk this much,” he muttered, voice dipping lower, rougher, “or you gonna do somethin’ about it?”
Heat shot straight through me. My pulse hammered. “We can’t have sex on the couch,” I whispered, my face likely sweating from how warm it felt. “Carl could come in…or Carol, or Rick, or…”
He breathed out a laugh, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair. “I’s talkin’ about a kiss,”
Oh.
Hoping to hide my still reddening cheeks, I didn’t hesitate to lean in; pressing my mouth to his, tasting the faint trace of sweet tea lingering on his lips, his scruff rough against my skin. His fingers tightened, pulling me flush to him until there wasn’t a scrap of space left. Kissing Daryl Dixon was like drinking whiskey straight—burning, addictive, leaving me heady and breathless.
His lips moved with mine, slow but demanding, coaxing me into a rhythm that had my head spinning. I sighed against him, and that seemed to do something because he deepened it, mouth slanting over mine with more heat, more want. His hand slid up my back, fingers splaying between my shoulder blades, the pressure sending a shiver right down my spine. I melted into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers brushing through the damp ends of his oily hair. Every point of contact sizzled—his chest beneath mine, the way his thigh pressed between my legs, his heartbeat thudding hard and fast under my palms.
He tilted his head, breaking the kiss just enough to pepper light ones along my jaw. Little brushes of lips, soft and warm, sending goosebumps rippling across my skin. I let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed as he found that spot just below my ear, lips lingering there. “Tickles,” I mumbled, not sure if I meant for him to hear it.
He did. I felt the curve of his smirk against my skin. His hand came up to gently cradle my cheek, thumb swiping along my cheekbone, feather-light. That blue gaze of his found mine again, softer now, searching. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. I hummed, still lost in the warmth of him, the safety, the heat thrumming between us. His gaze flicked away for a second, like he was working something out. Then back to me. “Been meanin’ to talk to you about somethin’.”
The shift in his tone tugged at my attention, pulling me out of the haze. I blinked at him, heart still doing somersaults, pulse racing. “Yeah?” I asked, voice softer than I meant it to be. His thumb traced another slow, absentminded stroke along my cheek, like he wasn’t sure where to start.
I shifted, settling more comfortably in his lap as he paused— thumb brushed over my cheek again, he glanced away, jaw ticking, then back at me.
“Rick…” Daryl started. “He don’t think it’s smart bringin’ new people back to Alexandria anymore. Said we got enough mouths to feed… enough to worry about.” His gaze searched mine. “Wanted to know what you think.”
I sighed, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes fully . It wasn’t like I hadn’t expected it—Rick had been edging toward that decision ever since things with Pete blew up, and after everything at Terminus… well, it wasn’t surprising to say the least. We’d been burned so much. But had it not been for Aaron finding us, new people, we might not even be alive. Same with Morgan. And it gave Daryl a purpose that wasn’t equivalent with just being Rick’s right hand man.
“Honestly?” I said, dragging my fingers lightly along his shoulder. “Feels wrong to just shut people out. If we start turning folks away… we’re not any better than—” than the monsters out there. I stopped short, letting the thought hang unsaid.
Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver, like he was absorbing every word, every hesitation.
“But,” I added, sighing again, “we’ve got a lot on our plate right now. That quarry’s ready to give way, and diverting that herd? It’s already pushing everyone to their limits. Might not be the best time to go play savior to any strangers.” I paused, letting my thumb skim the collar of his shirt. “But once it’s handled—once we can actually breathe —I think you should look again. Not everyone out there is bad. And… I dunno. Feels like we lose something if we stop trying.”
Daryl’s mouth tugged into something between a frown and a smile. “Ain’t about bein’ saviors,” he muttered. “Just… survivin’.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, “but there’s more to life than just surviving .”
His gaze softened. “Maybe,” he allowed, fingers tightening just a fraction on my waist. “Just don’t wanna sit around while everyone else has shit to do.”
I rested my forehead against his, closing my eyes for a beat. His breath was warm between us, grounding. “I’ll get Rick on board, Dar,” I murmured.
_____________
A golden glow bathed Alexandria as I approached Deanna’s place. The familiar house stood quiet, its windows catching the sunlight just right, reflecting glints of amber and rose gold. Reg’s wind chimes stirred in the faint breeze, soft metallic clinks echoing in the stillness, a sound that somehow felt both soothing and hollow all at once.
I slipped inside without knocking—it wasn’t like Deanna was around today. She’d taken to spending more time by the construction zones or pacing the streets, always watching, always thinking. I understood that. It was easier to stay in motion. Standing still gave the grief too much room to stretch its legs.
The living room smelled faintly of old books and the lavender candle Deanna always forgot to blow out—it’d be a shame if we saved Alexandria from the walkers and it burnt to a crisp from a simple candle. Papers littered the coffee table in layered heaps—maps, scribbled notes, lists of supplies—and I moved through the mess, snagging up a folded blueprint before I found what I was looking for: a clean, empty space on the dining table. The wood was cool beneath my palms as I dragged a chair out and settled in, exhaling slowly.
Pulling a fresh sheet of grid paper from the folder, I smoothed it flat, the edges curling stubbornly until I pinned them down with my elbow. A pencil rolled off to the side, clattering softly against the surface. I picked it up, spinning it between my fingers before pressing the tip to the page, the first careful lines sketching out Alexandria’s borders. It wasn’t perfect—my hand wasn’t the steadiest—but it didn’t need to be pretty. Just accurate.
Names came next—team leaders, people we trusted enough to hold the line. Rick, obviously. He wanted to keep an eye on Morgan, and Michonne kept him in line pretty well; they’d be a good team. Glenn, to keep Nicholas in check. Heath had been stepping up, and he and Glenn worked well together. Daryl—my gaze lingered on his name as I penciled it in—would be on the lead diversion team. It made sense, even if every part of me bristled at the thought of him riding headfirst into that goddamn herd. But he would handle himself.
He had backup if he needed it.
I drew arrows to mark routes, branching paths designed to pull the walkers away in controlled streams. Controlled. That was the word Rick kept repeating, like if we said it enough times it’d hold true. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t. There were so many ways this could go sideways—loose soil on the edge of the quarry, a car not starting, someone panicking at the wrong second. All of it spun through my head as I worked, lines intersecting, names branching out into sub-teams. Sasha, Abraham. Carol would be on back support, just in case things blew up in our faces. When things blew up in our faces, more like.
Sweat beaded at my temple, the afternoon heat creeping through the windows despite the occasional breeze slipping past the curtains. I pushed my hair back, pencil smudges darkening my fingertips. There was something oddly calming about the repetition—drawing, erasing, redrawing—like if I kept moving my hands, I wouldn’t think too hard about what these lines really represented. People standing between the walls and thousands of rotting bodies, flesh peeling from bone, mouths hungry for anything that moved.
My chest tightened. I set the pencil down for a second, flexing my fingers to ease the ache that had crept in unnoticed. The house creaked around me—old wood settling, wind brushing against the siding.
I leaned back in the chair, the legs creaking beneath me as I scanned the page. It was coming together. Teams divided, routes mapped, contingencies scrawled in the margins. My handwriting slanted messily by the end, a mix of rushed notes and careful calculations. I traced a finger along the main route—Rick’s team would draw the herd out of the quarry, guiding them along the marked roads until they ricochetted off the steel wall, while Daryl and the others kept them on track.
The walls they’d started putting up along the bend of the road weren’t completely finished yet, but progress was being made.
Outside, kids’ laughter drifted faintly from somewhere down the street—a sound that twisted in my chest. Hopeful, naive, like the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of disaster. I wished I could bottle that kind of ignorance. Maybe drink it down like whiskey and let it burn away the worry lodged in my ribs.
I exhaled, leaning forward to make a final note. Supplies needed restocking—water, extra nails, anything we could scavenge before the big push. I wrote it down, the graphite breaking slightly under the pressure of my hand.
Pages lay spread across the table like a shuffled deck of cards, each one carrying its own weight. Routes twisted along the edges, intersecting paths marked with red X’s—spots too risky, too narrow. The walls being built along the outer roads were marked in bold lines, incomplete sections circled and notated with half-legible reminders to double-check materials before the supply run. Nails. Wood planks. Anything that could hold back the tide.
I dragged the pencil back to the page, adding a side note along the margin—fuel runs needed doubling up. Last thing we needed was an empty tank in the middle of this mess.
The door creaked open behind me, hinges groaning against wood worn from constant in-and-out. I didn’t turn right away. Just kept tracing lines with my eyes, connecting points, rechecking routes I’d already gone over twice. Footsteps padded in—but I stayed hunched over my work, the room stretching into a long, quiet pause.
I kept my gaze fixed on the maps, pulse thrumming slow but steady as eyes—hers—read over every detail I’d poured into the paper.
A few minutes passed, the faint scrape of her shoe shifting on breaking the stillness. “I wanted to show you something,” Deanna said at last, voice soft. She moved toward the window, glancing out like she could already see what she was about to mention. Her gaze lingered on the street beyond, eyes distant. “There’s a house at the end of the block,” she added. “Nearly finished. Three bedrooms, two stories. Wraparound porch.”
My brows furrowed as I sat back in the chair, the pencil tapping absently against the table. A house? My mind, so wired into plans and logistics, stumbled over the thought. She glanced back at me, reading the confusion plain on my face.
“It’s green,” she went on, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but tried anyway. “Reg was working on getting more homes built for the community… for new people.” Her voice caught just a little on his name, that shadow of grief threading through her words like a pull too deep to ignore. She let the moment breathe, shoulders straight even as that loss settled heavier in the space between us.
Then she turned fully, folding her arms loosely. “I want you and Daryl to move in once it’s complete.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. I blinked at her, mouth opening—but nothing came out. Her gaze held steady, unwavering. Like she’d already worked this out long before she decided to bring it up. “Make it a home,” she added, quieter now. Not a suggestion. A gift. A responsibility. A place to… what? Put down something resembling roots?
A home. Not just a house. Not just another set of walls. And not just for me. For us.
Deanna just stood there, patient. Waiting.
A beat stretched between us, the weight of her words sinking in like stones settling at the bottom of a pond. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, mind scrambling for something to say—anything that wouldn’t feel like stepping into shoes too big, too soon.
“I—” I started, then stopped, exhaling a slow breath through my nose. I dragged a hand back through my hair, fingers catching on a tangle I didn’t bother to smooth out. “Rick… deserves a place first,” I said finally, voice quieter than I intended. “Him and his kids. They need something like that more than…” My gaze drifted toward the window, to where the afternoon light stretched long and golden across the pavement. More than me. More than us.
But Deanna didn’t budge. Her expression didn’t soften or harden—it just held.
“And there’s plenty of people,” I went on, grasping at any angle. “Families that’ve been here longer. Maggie and Glenn—they could use the space. Carol—” The names spilled out, justifications stacked one on top of the other like bricks in a wall I hoped would stand. I didn’t know why this was so hard to wrap my head around—why the idea of a house, of permanence, made something twist tight in my chest.
Deanna let me speak. Let me fumble through every excuse, every deflection. And then—just as easily—brushed them aside. “The green house,” she said, firm but not unkind, “is for you and Daryl.”
That should’ve been the end of it. Should’ve made something click into place. But instead, it just made the air feel thicker. Like the walls of the room had crept closer. I stared at the plans on the table—the carefully drawn lines, the names scrawled in the margins, routes marked and re-marked until the paper softened from wear. This was what I understood. Maps. Strategies. Forward motion. Always running. Not… planting roots. Not rooms waiting to be filled with something other than just survival.
“It’s not about what you think you deserve,” Deanna added, her voice gentler now, like she could hear the internal tug-of-war playing out in my head. “It’s about what you need. You and Daryl need this.”
_____________
“Shut the fuck up.”
The words shot out of me before I could stop them, sharp and disbelieving. I stared at Glenn, waiting for the punchline, the gotcha, anything that made this less insane—but he just stood there, arms crossed, mouth twitching like he was bracing for exactly this reaction.
“I’m serious,” he said, cautious.
I blinked. Shook my head. “No. You’re fucking with me.”
He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face, fingers pressing briefly over his eyes before dropping to his side again. “I’m not. And you can’t say anything, alright?” His gaze locked onto mine, insistent. “Not yet.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. My brain scrambled, trying to process the fact that Maggie—Maggie—was pregnant. That in the middle of everything, with the herd, the walls, the endless threats, they were about to bring a baby into it. They were going to take the leap and make a family and…and honestly I was a little excited.
“You’re serious,” I muttered, mostly to myself, like maybe saying it again would make it settle in better.
He gave a tight nod.
My stomach did this weird flip, like my body couldn’t decide if I was thrilled or horrified. Probably both. Definitely both. I let out a breath, raking my fingers through my hair. “A little baby,”
His expression softened just a fraction, like he understood exactly what was going through my head because he’d already been through it himself. “Yeah,” he admitted.
I hesitated, still trying to catch up. “Does anyone else know?”
He shook his head. “Just you. And we wanna keep it that way until after we handle the quarry.”
I nodded slowly. I got it. It was already a goddamn mess trying to keep this place standing, trying to make sure no one else died. The last thing they needed was extra worry, extra questions, extra everything.
Still.
I met his eyes. “Maggie okay?”
His lips pressed together for a second, then he nodded. “Yeah. She is.” And I believed him. But there was something else in the way he said it, something quieter.
I swallowed. “You?”
A beat. Then he huffed a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No idea.”
Excitement bubbled up in my chest, breaking through everything else that had been going on. I grabbed his arm, squeezing just enough to make him glance up at me again. “Glenn. That’s huge. You’re gonna be a dad.”
He let out another small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,”
The grin stretching across my face felt strange, like my cheeks weren’t used to it anymore, but I couldn’t help it. A baby. A real, actual baby. In this world. In our world.
His eyes softened a little, the tension around his mouth easing. “Maggie’s excited. The timing is never gonna be right, and we want to build a life here.”
“Son of a bitch, Glenn. A baby. A little version of you guys running around!”
“Yeah,”
I nudged his shoulder. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”
He glanced down, a little sheepish, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched up. “You’re gonna be a great god-mother.”
My mouth gaped, and for a minute, I just stared at him, eyes wide, brain stalling like an engine that refused to turn over. “What?” The word came out somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
Glenn smirked, his head tilting slightly. “Maggie and I talked about it. We want you to be the godmother.”
I felt something crack wide open in my chest, something raw and overwhelming. My hands flew to my face before I dragged them back through my hair, letting out a sharp, breathy laugh. “You—holy shit. Really?”
He just nodded, watching me. My heart hammered, adrenaline rushing through me, but not the kind I was used to—the fight-or-flight kind, the kind that came from staring down something awful. This was different. This was warmth bleeding into my ribs, an ache so deep it made my throat tighten. “You guys really want me ?” My voice dipped, a little uncertain, a little overwhelmed.
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, Libby. And if something ever happened to us—” He exhaled, steadying himself before meeting my gaze again. “Between you and Daryl, we’d never have to worry if we made the right choice.”
I felt my stomach flip, like the ground had just shifted under me. I didn’t have words for a second, just this ridiculous, stupid grin stretching my face until my cheeks hurt. “Glenn,” I breathed, shaking my head. “I don’t know what the hell to say.”
“Just say yes.”
I let out a breath, a laugh still tangled up in it. “I mean, yes! Of course! Yes!”
His smirk softened into something warmer. “Good.”
I exhaled again, still reeling. A godmother. A baby. Something new in a world that had only been taking and taking. I thought about Maggie, about the way she must’ve been holding onto this little sliver of hope, and it made my chest ache in the best way.
Then a thought hit me like a brick.
“Oh my God,” I blurted, eyes widening again. “Daryl’s gonna lose his shit .” A pause. My grin dropped momentarily. “I can tell him, can’t I?”
A small, expected nod.
I didn’t waste another second. I shoved the paintbrush into Glenn’s hands, ignoring his startled huff as I all but bolted down the stairs. My shoes thudded against the half-finished flooring as I ducked out onto the porch, rain slanting in from the storm rolling through. The sky was swollen and dark, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and sawdust. The wind caught my hair, whipping it into my face as I jogged across the street toward our soon to be old house.
That thought still felt surreal. Eight or…something like that, days ago, Deanna had laid it in my lap, and I’d fumbled over every excuse in the book before she shut me down completely. The conversation with Daryl had been even shorter—just a gruff, “Whatever you want, girl,” before he’d set his sights on finishing it up.
And that’s what he was doing now —er, had been— before a slab of sheet rock busted and got into his eyes. Now he was back at our current place, fumbling with eyedrops that Rick assured him were in the top drawer of the side table.
I skidded to a stop at the doorframe, catching my breath as I spotted him looking up at the ceiling, dripping solution into his eyes. Sleeveless, dusty, and every bit of gorgeous I could think of. He looked up at the sound of my shoes hitting the threshold, brows furrowing slightly.
“Daryl.” My chest was still heaving, words tumbling out fast. “Come on!” I jolted forward, grabbing his hand like grade school kid and began eagerly leading him down to the basement.
He didn’t pull away, but his steps lagged behind me warily. “What?”
I grinned back at him, practically buzzing out of my skin. “Just—come on.” I didn’t give him another chance to argue, tugging him down the steps, through the hallway, and into the bedroom.
The second we were inside, I let go of his hand, spun around, and threw myself onto the bed with a slightly overdramatic flop. My breath punched out in a rush as I buried my face into the pillow and screamed —not in fear, not in anger, but in pure, giddy, unfiltered excitement. My whole body vibrated with it, like I’d been plugged into an electric current, like if I didn’t get it out, I might just explode .
Daryl stood near the door, arms folding tight over his chest. “The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”
I whipped onto my back, grinning up at him before reaching out, fingers grasping at the air. “Come here.”
His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his expression, but he stepped closer anyway. Close enough for me to latch onto his wrist and yank him down beside me. He grunted at the sudden movement, landing half-on, half-off the mattress, one arm bracing against the bedframe.
“Jesus, girl—”
“Maggie’s pregnant.”
The words burst out of me before I could even build them up. The storm outside rattled the house, but I barely noticed. Daryl blinked at me, head tilting slightly like he hadn’t heard me right.
I grabbed his arm again, shaking him. “Daryl. Maggie’s pregnant.”
Something flickered across his face, something quick and unreadable before settling into a deep, furrowed look. He stared at me, then exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shit.”
I laughed, still gripping his wrist. “ I know! ”
He let his hand drop, gaze shifting slightly, like he was turning the thought over in his head. “That’s…” He trailed off, exhaling again, slower this time. “That’s somethin’.”
I sat up on my elbows, grinning. “It’s insane. A baby, Daryl. A little itty bitty baby Glenn! They’re gonna have a real family!”
His mouth pressed into a line, but there was no edge to it. Just something thoughtful. “S’good for them.”
I softened, nodding. “Yeah.”
Then I smacked his arm. “And we’re gonna be the godparents.”
His head jerked toward me, full-body stiffening. “…The hell we are.”
I beamed. “Oh, we absolutely are.”
Daryl stared at me, his whole body tense like I’d just told him we had to deliver the baby ourselves. “No, we ain’t.”
I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Daryl, yes, we are. Glenn and Maggie want us to. They picked us .”
His jaw worked, something hard settling into his features as he pushed himself up, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. “They don’t know what the hell they’re askin’.”
I sat up properly, brows knitting. “What are you talking about?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling roughly. “Ain’t exactly godparent material, Libs. Ain’t even parent-parent material.”
I blinked at him, my excitement dimming just slightly at the way his voice dropped. I shifted closer, reaching out, fingers brushing his shoulder. “Daryl.”
His shoulders bunched, like the weight of it was pressing down hard. “Ain’t like I know what the fuck to do with a kid. What happens if somethin’ happens to them? We ain’t exactly got a great track record of keepin’ people around.”
Something tight pulled at my chest. “That’s why they picked us, dumbass. Because we do whatever it takes to protect the people we love. They know we’d never let anything happen to that kid.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t about just protectin’ ‘em. S’about raising ‘em. Teaching ‘em shit. You really think I know how to do any of that?”
I frowned, watching the tension in his face, the way his hands curled into his lap like he was trying to hold something in. It hit me all at once—the reason why this was getting under his skin, why he was looking at me like I’d put the world’s heaviest burden on his back.
“Dar,” I whispered, tugging him back, forcing him to lay again. “You’re telling me that you’ve never thought about it before?”
“Bout what?”
My cheeks flushed, unprepared to say the words out loud. The tips of my fingers danced up his chest in a slow motion before I set my eyes on the ceiling - blocking out the tension.
“Babies,” I muttered, forcing the word out of my mouth. “Domestic life.”
Daryl didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between us, only broken by the steady drum of rain outside. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat pressing against my ribs, because I knew this wasn’t just about Glenn and Maggie’s baby anymore.
I felt the warmth of his skin under my fingers, the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when I wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling away, about giving him space to wrestle with whatever was going on in his head. But not now. Not with this.
Because I knew what this was.
Daryl didn’t see himself as the kind of man who could raise a kid, who could do anything other than survive and protect—expendable. He saw himself as the kind of man who walked the edges of other people’s families, close enough to help, but never close enough to be a part of it. And now, Glenn and Maggie had thrown him right into the middle of something that included the possibility of long-term commitment.
And I just talked about babies and domestic life.
I swallowed hard, my voice quieter when I finally spoke. “Because I have.”
I felt him go still beneath me, just for a second. Then his hand came up, fingers brushing against my forearm, almost hesitant. “Yeah?”
I nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah.”
I let the weight of the word settle between us before tilting my head to look at him again. His eyes were shadowed, unreadable in the dim light, but I knew him well enough now to recognize the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers twitched against my skin like he wasn’t sure whether to hold on or let go.
So I reached for him first.
My fingers slid down his arm, over the rough lines of his knuckles, and curled tight around his hand, though my eyes stayed fixed absently on the ceiling. “Not much before—not to a point where anything felt real, I guess. But, I -- I always pictured finding a guy who fit a certain mold. Someone so different from me—someone who never struggled a day in his life, or the word ‘abuse’ was so foreign he’d never even think of using that and ‘child’ in the same sentence,”
I exhaled softly, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Then, I went a period of time where I didn’t want kids, and then the world ended…and I guess, kids have been the farthest thing from my mind. But,”
A breath of silence passed.
A lump formed in my throat when I thought about saying it. It was so fucking cheesy.
“But there’s you now,” I whispered, squeezing his arm a little tighter. “And we’re gonna have a home soon, and… and I don’t mind thinking about it. It’s actually kind of nice.”
Daryl’s voice came rough, quiet. “What about?”
I turned my head toward him, something aching in my chest. “Us,” I murmured, mouth twitching into a small smile. “A little house for ourselves. And Soup, of course. Then - maybe a baby.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “With me?”
I squeezed his hand. “A little boy,” I replied.
The rain beat harder against the house, wind rattling the old windows. I let my eyes drift back to the ceiling, my voice softer now. “First, a little boy. He’d look just like you. And he’d be your little sidekick. You’d teach him absolutely everything you know, and I just…I can see you and him tracking in dirt but him being super excited about catching his first fish or something.”
Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh.
I glanced at him again, catching the way his eyes had glazed over into a faint softness. I licked my lips. “Then, another boy. A couple years later— after our first one is able to defend himself…not such a liability. But this one would be a momma’s boy. He’d definitely have red hair,” I snickered.
His fingers twitched in mine. A long, weighted pause. Then, rough and quiet:
“Two boys?”
“Mhm,” I nuzzled closer. “And after a few more years—definitely a bigger gap than the first two—we’d have a little girl. There wouldn’t be a single more loved kid than her in the world. She’d be a perfect mix of us, and her brothers would adore her.”
Daryl let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. He was quiet, but he hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t shut down. That was enough to make my heart squeeze a little tighter. “Sounds nice,” he muttered, almost like he was afraid to admit it out loud.
I smiled, fingers tracing lazy circles on his skin. “Mmm.”
He huffed, shifting a little like he was uncomfortable. “Ain’t like I had much to go off. My old man—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Just never figured I’d be any good at it.”
I frowned. “Daryl…”
“Ain’t got no idea how to be a dad. Don’t know what the hell I’d do with a kid.”
I squeezed his hand, my voice gentle. “You’d love them.”
He swallowed hard.
“You’d keep them safe,” I continued. “You’d teach them everything you know. You’d be patient with them, even when they frustrate you. You’d tell them you’re proud of them.” I lifted my head a little, searching his face. “And you’d never make them feel like they weren’t enough.”
Daryl’s lips pressed into a thin line, his throat working like he was trying to swallow down something thick and heavy.
I reached up, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “And it’d probably make you angry sometimes when you realize just how easy it is to love a little version of you. You deserved *so* much better, and you’ll be so much better.”
His breath hitched, just slightly, then his fingers found my hair. “You deserved better too.”
I smiled softly, brushing my fingers over the lines of his face. “You and me?”
“You ‘n me, lady.”
But I could feel the tension still humming under his skin, that quiet war in his head between wanting to believe me and his history telling him he shouldn’t. I let the silence breathe, while tracing light patterns along his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him underneath me. “You’re already good to me, you know,” I murmured.
His fingers twitched just barely.
I lifted my head, brushing my lips just beneath his jaw—warm, slightly chapped, the scent of smoke lingering there. “You take care of me.” Another kiss, firmer this time, against the scratch of his stubble. “You keep me safe.”
His exhale was sharp, nostrils flaring, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite get the words past his throat.
I tilted my face, pressing a slower kiss just under his ear, letting my breath fan warm against his skin before I smiled against him. I shifted, sliding half over him now, my thigh brushing the outside of his hip, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to trace the firm ridges of muscle underneath. The way he tensed made something flicker hot and electric through me, like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. “And you’d be the best dad.”
I kissed his throat, dragging my lips lightly over the dip of his collarbone, feeling his pulse tick hard under my mouth. My fingers trailed lower, ghosting along the ridges of his stomach, feeling the way it tightened beneath my touch. “And you wanna know what else?”
“Hmm?”
I propped myself up, looking down at him, letting my fingers skate lightly across his ribs, my lips curving at the barely-there shudder it pulled from him. “You’d like it.”
Daryl’s brows pulled slightly together, his tongue swiping over his lower lip, but I saw that flicker in his eyes. Curiosity. Interest.
I dragged my fingers lower, just barely teasing along the waistband of his pants. The words I wanted to say danced in my mind. We weren’t the kinkiest couple in the world…but he never complained about the times that we were a little more intense than normal — when things got a little less ‘typical’.
“You’d like knowing I was carrying your baby.”
His breath came out sharp through his nose at my admission. The grip on my waist tightened, fingers digging in, like he was grounding himself—like he wasn’t sure whether to pull me closer or hold himself back before he lost whatever restraint he had left. His body wasn’t still anymore, shifting beneath me, his thighs tensing, his chest rising heavier.
I tilted my head, watching him carefully. “You already look for any excuse in the book to keep me all safe and protected,” I teased. “And you’re such a softie for taking care of me…”I dragged my lips to his ear, voice dropping. “Pregnant sex is supposed to be really good too.”
Daryl made a sound deep in his throat, a low, rough thing, only spurring me on. His hips pressed up, and I took a mental note at how hard he was getting against my thigh.
I licked my lips, letting my fingers dip just a little lower.
“You’d like all of that, wouldn’t you?” I whispered.
And the sound he made in response— deep, guttural, possessive —sent a shiver down my spine.
Daryl’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. With a swift, fluid motion, he rolled us over, pinning me beneath him. The sudden change sent a thrill coursing through me, my heart pounding in response to the intensity. Breath hot against my ear, he leaned in, voice rough and edged with something just short of primal. “You want that now?” he rasped. “Want me to put a baby in you?”
A shiver ran down my spine at his words, desire pooling low in my belly. I wanted to nod — to give him full reign over my body — let him do as he pleased with me. But I knew that after the tension died down and we came back to our current reality, it wouldn’t be a feasible or welcome change.
My hands slid up his back, pulling his shirt, and felt the taut muscles coiled up along the top of his shoulders. “Condoms,” I blurted (admittedly, there was no sexy way I could say it.) “I--“
Daryl’s hand slipped beneath my shirt, calloused fingers grazing over sensitive skin, coaxing a moan out of my mouth. He watched me intently, his own breathing growing heavier, matching the rapid beat of my heart.
“Where?” he demanded softly, his thumb brushing just beneath my breast, teasing.
“My bag,” I breathed, arching into his touch, craving more. “Grabbed them from the infirmary, just in case we--“
A low growl emanated from his chest, and he captured my lips in a searing kiss, before pushing away, off the bed. “Don’t care,” he grumbled, stalking to the side of the closet where my bag had been discarded for a few days now. He moved with a raw urgency. I could see the way his muscles tightened with every movement, the desperate restraint mixing with desire.
I shifted atop the covers, unable to keep still. My fingers fumbling as I pulled down my shorts, hooking my underwear along with them, then letting them fall to the floor. I watched intently as he cleanly slid on the condom, his face full of frustration, but fuck he was ridiculously hard.
Neither my hand, nor mouth did a single ounce of work, and I’d bargain that he still wouldn’t last long. It was red, and pre-cum was bunched inside the tip of the plastic wrap that he was currently stroking like his life depended on it. “Take it off,” Daryl growled, his voice hoarse as he finally glanced back up at me, motioning to my top. There was something darker in his eyes, like he wanted to consume me whole, like he needed to burn this out of him.
I couldn’t help but obey, feeling that pull deep inside. Free of my clothes, I leaned up to meet him as he returned to the bed, only to be pushed back into a lying position. In a swift, almost surprising, movement, his hands gripped my calves, pulling me to the edge of the mattress as he spread my legs.
Every inch of me shuddered when his gaze fell to my soaked core. It was like he was trying to take a mental image of how I looked completely bare and spread open, just for him. The way his lips parted as he slid a thick finger between my folds was enough to confirm my suspicions: Daryl had a breeding kink.
He peered down at me, lost in a haze of sorts, studying every little bit of my body — not even glancing up at my face. And maybe I had a little bit of one too, because something about this man, who loved so…tenderly…turning into something primal; it really had me ready to risk it all.
I barely had time to catch my breath before his hands were on me again—rough, calloused fingers skating up the soft skin of my thighs, pressing bruises into the flesh as he spread me open wider. His breath hitched, a sharp inhale as he took me in, his pupils blown so wide his irises were nearly gone. He looked starved.
“Fuck,” Daryl muttered, voice strained like he was barely holding himself back. His fingers ghosted over my slick heat, parting me just enough to drag his thumb through the mess I’d already made. He swallowed hard, nostrils flaring, before dipping his fingers lower, teasing at my entrance with a deliberate slowness that made my stomach clench.
I sucked in a breath, hips shifting involuntarily, but he tightened his grip, keeping me right where he wanted me. Pinned. Open. Helpless.
“Daryl,” I exhaled, my voice thinner than I intended.
His jaw ticked, eyes flicking up just briefly, before they dropped again—fully, utterly consumed. His fingers pushed in, just the tip, just enough to feel the heat of me, and fuck, the way his mouth parted, how his throat bobbed when he swallowed—it sent something sharp and hot down my spine.
“So fuckin’ wet,” he rasped, almost like it surprised him. His fingers pressed deeper, knuckles brushing against me now, and a sound choked out from the back of my throat.
He twitched, his whole body tensing, his cock practically pulsing against his stomach. He was barely touching me and already so fucking hard.
“Gonna fill me up?”
His breath stuttered, fingers flexing against me, and for the first time since he spread me open, his eyes flicked up— blazing.
His free hand shot out, fingers gripping the side of my throat, not to choke, just to hold. To claim.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, and fuck, I hoped that fucking condom wasn’t expired.
One. Two. Three fingers filled my soaking cunt, stretching me wide as his mouth latched onto my nipple with an almost desperate fluidity. I’d half-expected him to drop his head lower, to bury his face between my legs after how intently he’d been watching—but instead, his tongue flicked softly over my hardened peak, teeth grazing just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure down my spine.
A breathy moan escaped before I could stop it.
He hummed in response, the sound vibrating through me, sending sparks shooting straight to my core. Then he was on the other nipple, mouth latching with the same greedy need, sucking just enough to make my back arch. Low, throaty whines slipped from him, like he needed this just as much as I did, like he wanted to consume every inch of me.
His fingers never stopped moving.
Scissoring me open, curling, pressing into that spot that had my thighs trembling. It was a perfect contradiction—the soft, teasing flicks of his tongue and the relentless, knuckle-deep thrusts of his fingers, coaxing moans from my lips like he was playing me. Surely, he was leaving bruises, love bites scattered across the supple skin of my chest, but all I could focus on was the deep, unbearable heat coiling in my gut.
Daryl pressed his lips to my throat, his breath warm, his voice a husky rasp. “Ya make pretty sounds when I gotcha like this, girl.” Another kiss, trailing higher, teeth grazing my jaw. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”
A shudder wracked through me. My eyes squeezed shut as I arched into him, needing more, needing closer , but Daryl wasn’t moving slow, wasn’t taking his time. This was sensory overload —his breath, his mouth, his fingers still working me open, the low groans rumbling from his chest like he was already losing himself.
Then he pulled back—just enough to draw my attention. My eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused, as his hand slid from between my legs, dragging slick along my stomach before pausing at my lips.
A silent demand.
And I was nothing if not a slut.
I parted my lips, letting him press all three thick fingers inside, and fuck , I twirled my tongue around them, tasting myself, sucking him down like he was something sweet.
A sharp breath left him. His jaw clenched, his hips shifting forward, and I barely had time to register the way he nudged my legs further apart before I felt it—thick and heavy, teasing my entrance.
My breath hitched.
Daryl pressed his forehead against mine, sweat clinging to his temple, his breath ragged as the tip of his cock pushed just inside. We both gasped, hands grasping at each other, legs tangled as he stilled for a brief, shuddering moment.
“Talkin’ ‘bout makin’ babies get’cha this wet?” The words were a low rumble, a smirk edging at the corner of his lips.
I could only moan in response.
His hips surged forward, burying himself to the hilt , splitting me open in one deep thrust, stuffing me full. A strangled groan left him as he stilled again, adjusting, his grip tightening as he hiked one leg over his shoulder.
“Christ,” he gritted out, breath hitching. “So fuckin’ tight. Y’take me so good.”
I could barely think. Could barely breathe.
Then he moved.
A slow, teasing pull, just to press back in, making me feel all eight or nine or however many inches of him.
“Daryl,” I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my whole body arching up toward him. My eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a perfect, torturous rhythm that had me trembling.
“Baby,” I panted, voice nearly breaking, “please… please just fuck me.”
His grip on my hips tightened, and instead of pushing back into me, this time he yanked me down the bed and onto his cock. The sheer force of it knocked the breath from my lungs, made my thighs quake as he bottomed out, so deep I felt the pressure in my stomach. “What else you want?” he asked, pounding into me with a force that bordered on desperate.
I shook my head rapidly, barely able to form a sentence through the heat curling tight in my belly. “You, Dar. Just want you, baby. Please.”
He leaned closer, nearly folding me in half, my leg pressing up against his shoulder as he sucked a long, bruising mark onto my collarbone—a claim , deep and unapologetic. “Thought you wanted babies,” he murmured, and my whole body shattered .
Half-dazed, drunk on him, I forced my heavy lids open, only to meet his darkened, hungry gaze as he angled higher, his cock rubbing up against that devastatingly perfect spot inside me. My hands flew to his shoulders, my nails raking down his back in some desperate bid to keep me grounded.
“I do,” I whined, my voice breaking around the words, turning into something half-scream, half-sob. I did want his babies, I wanted all of him, but I also wanted to feed whatever this was, whatever dark, primal thing that had taken hold of him. He was fucking me like he needed this, like he had to rut it all out of his system or it would consume him whole. “Fuck me,” I begged, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, holding him to me like he might disappear if I let go.
“Gonna let me get you pregnant one day?” His voice was so rough, so fucking feral , and I swore it sent a fresh flood of arousal pooling between my thighs.
I nodded wildly, a garbled, incoherent mix of “yes, yes, please” spilling from my lips, but his pace slowed .
The sound that left me was downright embarrassing.
“Libs,” he said, just above a whisper, gravel in his voice. “You gonna let me put a baby in ya one day?”
“Yeah,” I breathed, but it wasn’t enough for him. I felt the way his muscles coiled beneath my hands, the tension in him, the restraint like a thin thread about to snap .
“You can do better’n that, darlin’,” he rasped, punctuating the words with a brutal, sharp thrust that knocked a choked-out sob from my lips.
“Dar, please,” I whined, my entire body burning from how much I needed him. Beneath me, the sheets were undoubtedly soaked, my thighs sticky from how much I was dripping for him.
He pulled out. Entirely.
“ No —” My protest was immediate, desperate, but he didn’t shove back in, didn’t give me what I needed. Instead, I felt his hand slip between my legs, his fingers brushing over my clit in slow, lazy circles that had my hips jerking involuntarily.
“Please,” I tried again, my voice breaking. “Please get me pregnant, Dar.” I was breathless, feverish, delirious with how badly I wanted him. I pushed up onto my elbows, my hair a tangled mess around me as I looked at him, my lips parted and swollen from his kisses. “I want you to fuck a baby into me.”
I swear he’s a lot kinkier than he ever lets on, because I without a doubt saw his eyes glaze over in sync with the words that left my lips.
“S’what I thought,” he growled, then he slammed back inside me, stretching me open all over again. The groan he let out was long and wrecked, his head tilting back as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, so fuckin’ tight f’me, pretty girl.”
He started moving , deep and brutal , his hips slamming into mine, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside me. The room was filled with the slick, filthy sounds of skin against skin, of his ragged breaths and my high, broken moans.
“Could fuck ya all day,” he groaned, voice tight, wrecked, obsessed .
“I’d let you,” I gasped, my body climbing , burning up with pleasure. I could already feel the heat curling deep inside me, threatening to snap.
I sounded pathetic.
Dropping back to the mattress, my mouth hung open, moaning wantonly as my pussy was jackhammered, balls slapping loud and obscene against my ass. Daryl straightened, and pulled me back to the edge of the bed, finally dropping my leg from his shoulder. Instead he pushed it to the side, spreading me open as far as I was convinced I could go. And on instinct I pointed my toes, then allowed my gaze to venture up again, hoping to catch sight of him in full-blown ecstasy.
What I saw was worlds more than mere ecstasy.
His pretty blues were watching intently as his thumb traced soft, little circles over my stomach. In the moment, I was tempted to tell him to take the condom off — but I wasn’t quite that fucked-out yet. He was though.
He definitely would’ve got me pregnant, no questions asked.
Presumably feeling watched, his eyes flicked up to mine. Stretched and stuffed full of his cock, my eyes glazed with pure desire at his words:
“Gonna fill ya up. Gonna make you a momma. You want tha’?”
Accent thick. Beads of sweat dripping down. Hair misplaced and messy. Daryl Dixon was truly tempting me in the worst, most dangerous way possible. “I wanna cum,” I managed out.
His jaw slackened a little bit when I began meeting his thrusts in perfect timing. “Yeah, y’wanna cum all over my cock?” he spurred, slamming into me, over and over and — fuck.
“I’m cumming!” It was high pitched, nothing short of a scream, likely traveling upstairs. My brain was so melted, hole so stuffed with his fat cock, that I didn’t give a shit about *anyone* hearing me getting my back blown out. “Dar, I’m -- fuck!”
A hand clamped over my mouth.
“Shut up, girl,” being scolded like this during sex wasn’t expected, but I wasn’t complaining either. “Shut the fuck up.” he hissed, sharp into my ear, leaning over me now.
Thoroughly used and about as useful as a pile of mush, I relaxed entirely, a small smile crossing my lips as I nodded. Swooping low, he caught my mouth with his in a hot, sloppy, kiss; his hips didn’t stop moving though.
They grew sharper, his pace relentless as he pushed deeper. His grip tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh as he pulled me to him, forcing me to meet every brutal, urgent thrust. His body was pressed against mine so hard I could feel every muscle, every desperate pull as he chased his release.
His breath came in heavy bursts, and I could hear the strain in his voice when he spoke, thick with need. “Fuck, wanna fill ya up so bad,” He barely gave me time to process his words before he was pounding into me again, and again, his rhythm frenzied.
I was hanging onto every last filthy word he said.
My body was beyond trembling when he spoke again, this time muffled against my neck. “Darlin’, m’gonna cum,” he whined, driving into me with a final, forceful push, like he was trying to bury himself even deeper. “Gonna fuckin’,”
With one last, sharp thrust, he groaned, deep and guttural, his body going rigid as he finally let go, the tension in his muscles snapping. I felt him cum , his cock pulsing.
For a long moment, we were both still, breaths coming in ragged bursts as he hovered above me, feeling the aftershocks of what had just happened. Daryl’s face stayed pressed into my collarbone as he continued to breathe heavily, his body still flush with mine.
“Fuck,” he muttered softly, his lips brushing against my ear as he slowly pulled back.
I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
“That was so fucking hot.”
.made it up so she could cope.
Notes:
soooo….come to find out i was in fact ovulating when i first started the chapter..and by the end i wasn’t… so i struggled a little to finish up the smut 🙈
on the FLIP SIDE~ MAGGIE IS PREGNANT! ahhh!! I just can’t get over Libby daydreaming sometimes to escape the reality of what’s going on (i mean, it’s really not far from dissociation) and next chapter will be HEAVILY Libby based. like, i’m not super sure if i’ll incorporate Daryl at all. (if i do though, it’ll be in his POV)
hope y’all liked this chapter, bc it’s a pretty solid work if i do say so myself 💅
Chapter 57: ass fucked with fifty dildos
Summary:
His screams tore through the streets, guttural and raw, primal agony turned to bait. More walkers turned. More of them came. The scent of blood, the sound—fuck, they were coming faster now.
We weren’t going to make it.
Notes:
MASSIVE trigger warning for SA (no 🍇 though). it’s toward the end.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.leave me to the beasts and bears, i’d rather that the feast was theirs, they can’t reserve neighboring plots, or request to be buried on top.
“Don’t, I’ve got it handled,” I replied over the radio, pushing through an overgrown brush of trees.
“Gotta keep the herd moving,” Rick added, crackling through.
I could picture the grimace on his face when Daryl responded, “Not if it’s going down, we don’t.”
“The rest of that herd turns around, the bad back there gets worse,” Rick shot back.
The silence over the walkie stretched as we sprinted uphill , breath hot and ragged in the humidity of early summer air. Twigs snapped beneath my boots, the damp ground shifting under our weight, and I felt my pulse hammer in my throat—not from exertion, but from the panic.
This was supposed to be a dry run. No one was supposed to die. No one was supposed to be out of position. And yet, we were already bleeding for this—bodies unaccounted for, Alexandria under siege, and three people depending on me to get them home.
It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself leading something that wasn’t mine to lead.
Tori was keeping pace beside me, her breath coming in sharp huffs. Twenty-eight, dark hair in a frayed ponytail, fast but not fast enough. She used to waitress at the Green Diner before the world ended—said she’d broken up bar fights more than once, but a brawl and a walker weren’t the same thing.
Samson was behind her. Tall, built like a linebacker, ex-contractor, but too jumpy for my liking. He’d been a wall builder , not a fighter. A man who swore he could take on a walker if it came to it, but I’d seen fear turn men like him into liabilities.
Elliot, the last of us, was already falling behind. Mid-thirties, former EMT, but soft around the edges. He had the build of a man who sat in a coffee shop too often before the world changed, but his hands were steady. That counted for something.
Three people. Three lives. And I was the one dragging them toward a fight they didn’t ask for.
Rick was right—we had to keep the herd moving. But Alexandria was my home too, and if I wasn’t going back to fight, what the hell was I running for?
I didn’t have time to worry about Daryl throwing off the one thing that was still going mostly as planned. Bringing the worn radio to my lips, I clicked the button. “Daryl?” I called, my tone more irritated than probably necessary.
“Yeah, I heard ya,” he echoed almost immediately.
I swallowed hard, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve, and kept running.
But Elliot was slowing down.
I could hear it before I saw it—his breaths were coming in these ragged, uneven bursts, feet shuffling instead of pushing off the ground. I didn’t stop, didn’t even turn my head, just called over my shoulder, “Elliot, you good?”
A pause. Then, “Yeah. Yeah, I just—” He coughed hard, the sound ripping from his chest. “I just need a second.”
We didn’t have a second.
I skidded to a stop, nearly slamming into Tori’s back. Samson did crash into her, mumbling a curse under his breath. I spun, hands gripping my thighs as I scanned the trees behind us. The ridge we’d climbed wasn’t high enough to get a full view of what was below, but I could hear them— the distant groans of walkers, the shuffle of feet through fallen leaves. Alexandria wasn’t that far. Just another stretch of road, a cut through the woods, and we’d be on the final straight. But if Elliot was already spent, what the hell was going to happen when we actually had to fight our way inside?
I took a breath and tried to level my voice. “Elliot, you gotta push through. We’re not stopping.”
“I know,” he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I know, I just—”
Snap.
The sound was sharp, close. Instinct kicked in, and I had my bow drawn before I even registered the movement.
Tori swiveled, raising the knife she’d been carrying, but Samson didn’t even reach for his weapon—he just froze, wide-eyed, staring past us.
I took a step forward, straining to see through the thick brush, my heartbeat loud in my ears. The woods were too quiet now, save for that growing groan below.
Elliot cursed softly. “Guys—”
Then one lunged from the trees. Its face half-torn off, jaw hanging loose, fingers blackened and raw. It moved fast, faster than it should have , and I barely had time to loose an arrow before it was nearly on top of me.
The arrow pierced its skull , sending it collapsing into the dirt, but then another one came barreling through the brush. And another.
“Shit, move!” I barked, grabbing Elliot’s arm and yanking him forward.
The forest erupted around us —five, maybe six walkers stumbling out from behind the trees. Not a full herd, but enough to slow us down. Enough to get one of us killed.
Samson finally snapped out of it, swinging a hammer from his belt, crushing the skull of the nearest one. Tori ducked under another’s grasp, slamming her knife up through its chin.
Elliot — hesitated.
I saw it in real-time—the way he froze just a second too long, eyes wide, hands shaking. The walker nearest him— an old man, ribs visible through his torn shirt— lunged, and he stumbled back, barely keeping it at arm’s length.
“Elliot!” I shouted, already moving.
But Tori was faster.
She drove her knife into its temple, pushing it off him, shoving him back toward me.
“Thanks,” he gasped, blinking fast. “Shit, thanks.”
No one answered. We didn’t have time.
I slung my bow back over my shoulder, grabbing Elliot by the sleeve. “Come on, you’re not dying in the dirt. ”
We broke into a sprint again , leaving the bodies behind, breath burning in my chest. The road was up ahead. Alexandria was up ahead. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake it.
Elliot had frozen.
He had frozen.
And that was all it took to get him killed. Me killed. Tori killed. Samson killed.
Fuck.
I forced down the frustration like a cheap tequila shot without a chaser as the sheer panic clawed up my throat, and focused. The next stretch was dense. The trees clustered too close, low-hanging limbs cutting through what little visibility we had. That was good—it meant cover. It meant we could hide. But it also meant we’d have no warning if more of them were lurking ahead.
I slowed my pace.
Tori, caught the change and mirrored it. Samson took a second longer but adjusted, his hammer hanging loose in his grip. Elliot was still breathing too hard.
I turned, pressing a finger to my lips.
He nodded, swallowing hard, but didn’t speak.
I lifted my bow again, arrow already nocked, and cautiously took a slow step forward. Another step.
And then I saw them.
Through the dense foliage, past the tangled roots and twisted undergrowth—moving.
It wasn’t just a few.
It wasn’t just six.
This was a herd.
Dozens.
Nothing my little group was prepared to face anytime soon.
I went still.
Not a sound. Not a breath. Not a single fucking movement. We were too close to risk running. Too close to risk anything. If even one of them turned their head the wrong way, if even one of them caught a sound—
We’d be overrun before we had a chance to fight back.
I turned my head slightly, barely a breath, and met Tori’s eyes. Fingers crossed that she understood.
Wait.
Wait for the herd to pass. Let them gain distance.
Then draw them away.
Tori, following my unspoken instruction, moved first, inching behind a thick trunk, her breathing controlled. Behind her, Samson followed, his shoulders hunched to make his silhouette smaller against the tree.
Elliot…
His hands were shaking. His breath was too fast, too sharp.
I shot out a hand, gripping his wrist tight.
He turned to me, eyes wide as saucers, reflecting a mix of fear and uncertainty. He wasn’t ready to be out here. This was too much for him, and a lump threatened to form in my throat when I realized he might not make it back home with us.
“Breathe.”
I didn’t dare say the words aloud, silence a sacred pact between us. But I willed the command into him, pouring every ounce of resolve I had into that single glance.
For a second, I thought he wouldn’t get it.
Then, he swallowed hard, his chest expanding as he fought to steady his breath, the frantic rhythm beginning to calm.
I let go.
And we waited.
The grunts and groans of the herd grew louder, closer—but not toward us. They wandered aimlessly through the thicket, completely unaware of our presence, oblivious to the tension between the four of us, just a few feet away.
They shuffled past, slow, aimless.
I counted.
One. Two. Three.
Ten. Fifteen. More.
It took everything in me to stay still. To keep from turning my head too fast, from stepping wrong, from doing anything that could change the balance.
But the herd kept moving.
And after what felt like a fucking lifetime, they began to fade into the distance.
Not gone.
But far enough.
I shifted my grip on the bow. “We can’t let them make it back to Alexandria.” I kept my voice low , barely more than a breath. Careful not to call the lot over before we had a plan.
Tori’s eyes flicked toward the thinning line of walkers, then back to me. “We’re close,” she murmured. “If we push, we can make it back and grab more people. More weapons.”
Elliot exhaled hard, rubbing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah, Spencer probably got sight of them. They might already have people out taking care of them.”
Samson barely looked convinced, but he nodded. “We should just get home. We were supposed to go check on them anyways.”
I clenched my jaw. I was getting stronger as a leader — more effective — but I still struggled with people pleasing. Standing up to one person, especially someone belittling me, never phased me. A group of folks who were respectful, scared, and trusted me with their lives? Yikes.
Through the trees, in line with a break of dirt road, the herd of walkers crossed a little bit further toward Alexandria. We still had no idea what all was happening there; whether or not the horn blaring was accidental or on purpose. Or a cry for help even. I couldn’t risk that pile of freaks adding to whatever was happening.
I stepped closer. “And what happens when we run home and find the rest of them already at the gates?”
Tori swallowed. Samson exhaled sharply.
Elliot still looked uneasy. “We don’t know that—”
“We do,” I cut in. “ You heard that horn. That was what? An hour or two ago. You really think this is the only herd that turned toward it?”
His face paled.
I pushed forward. “If we take these ones back with us, we’re just adding to the goddamn problem. We can handle this now. Keep it from getting worse.”
Tori nodded slow, processing. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
I looked through the trees again, watching the herd move further. The stragglers at the back were starting to lag, a few already separating slightly. “If we cut across the ridge and circle them, we can start leading them off the road.” I pointed toward the far treeline. “There’s a town about two miles out. Small. Pretty cleared out last time I checked, but it’s got tight streets, enough cover to break them apart.”
Tori nodded again, getting it now.
Samson still didn’t look thrilled. “Two miles is a long way to keep ‘em on a leash.”
“Not if we don’t rush,” I said. “We don’t make too much noise, we don’t panic, we just keep ahead of them— pull a few at a time. ”
“And then what?” Elliot asked, wary. “You think we just take ‘em out one by one?”
I met his gaze. Unflinching. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence.
Then Tori muttered, “Shit.”
_____________
By the time we reached the outskirts of the town, the sun had started its slow descent, and the walkie was as good as dead. The air was thick, humid, clinging to my skin with sweat and dirt, but none of that mattered—we’d made it, all in one piece, and the herd had followed. We’d kept ahead of them, drawing them off in clusters , cutting down the ones that strayed too far, making sure they didn’t scatter in the wrong direction. It hadn’t been clean. Some of them moved too fast , too eager, nearly catching up before we had time to react. Samson had almost gone down when one grabbed the strap of his pack, and Elliot had frozen again, watching it happen instead of moving. I’d put an arrow through its skull before it could sink its teeth into his shoulder, but I didn’t say a word about it. The guilt was already carved into his face.
The town was barely more than a stretch of road, a few buildings caked in dust and rot, cars rusted over in the streets. The kind of place people had fled from early, before the world even had time to turn to shit. That worked in our favor—there weren’t many bodies, barely any movement aside from the ones we’d brought with us. Tight corridors, abandoned storefronts, alleys that could force them into bottlenecks. A graveyard waiting to be filled.
Tori crouched beside me behind an overturned truck, catching her breath, eyes locked on the approaching herd. “We gotta start now,” she murmured. “Before they get too deep in.”
She was right. The more space they had to spread, the harder it would be to control. We had to corral them, take them out in pieces.
I adjusted my grip, scanning the street. “We take the ones in the open first. Keep moving, don’t let them bunch up. If we get overwhelmed, we pull back into the buildings, separate them even more.”
The first few fell easy. A clean shot through the temple, a hammer crushing bone, a blade sliding up through the soft space beneath the jaw. Controlled. Precise. We stayed low, kept moving, carving through them before they could clump together, before the slow turned to fast and the manageable turned to overwhelming.
But no plan lasts forever. Specifically when you’re working with people who had no business being out there to begin with.
Samson had drawn too many down his way. Some had wandered too far ahead, blocking off exits before he even realized, and before long, exits the rest of us needed. And then there were the ones that hadn’t been ours —strays already tucked between cars and alleys, waiting for something to follow. Now, they had it.
I loosed another arrow, the walker dropping like a puppet with its strings cut, but more kept coming. More than we could take on before they’d be on us. “ Back! ” I barked, grabbing Elliot’s sleeve and yanking him toward the nearest building. Samson was already moving, his hammer slick with blackened gore. Tori wasn’t far behind, her knife raised, scanning for an opening.
The laundromat was closest. Steel-barred windows, a door that could hold. We had to make it inside.
We pushed forward, cutting down anything between us and the entrance, but Elliot stumbled—his boot catching on a broken curb. One second. That’s all it took.
I turned in time to see a walker closing in on him, its mouth peeling open, arms snapping out—
Tori tackled him sideways, her blade flashing as she plunged it into the side of its skull. Elliot scrambled to his feet, breath heaving, but there wasn’t time for gratitude.
The street was filling with the dead.
We ran.
Samson reached the laundromat first, grabbing the handle and throwing himself against the door. It didn’t budge.
Locked.
“Shit,” he hissed, rattling it again.
“Move,” I ordered, shoving him aside. My knife slipped between the latch and the frame, jamming hard until I felt the click of the lock breaking loose. I threw the door open, waving them inside.
“ Go! ”
Tori shoved Elliot in first, Samson hot on his heels, and I slammed the door behind us just as the first walker crashed against it. The entire frame shuddered, groaning under the weight of them. My hands were already moving, locking the bolt, bracing against the impact.
The laundromat was dark, the only light filtering through the dirt-streaked windows, casting everything in dull, murky yellow. Rows of old washers and dryers lined the walls, their doors hanging open, coins still scattered on the floor from whatever panic had hit before the world fully collapsed. The place smelled like mildew and rust, thick and choking, but we weren’t dead.
Yet.
Elliot doubled over, hands on his knees, breath heaving. Tori wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead, her face streaked with blood that wasn’t hers. Samson pressed against the door, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held it steady.
Outside, the horde gathered. Fists against glass. Teeth against steel. Groaning, writhing, hungry.
We were trapped.
For the first time since the day started, no one spoke. Just the sound of breathing, the pounding against the door, the rattling of the metal bars over the windows. The unmistakable reality of our situation settling over us like a weight too heavy to hold.
Elliot was the first to break the silence. “Fuck.”
Tori let out a short, humorless breath, rolling her shoulders back. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
Samson shifted, his grip tightening against the door. “We can’t stay here.”
“No shit.” I turned, scanning the room. There had to be another way out. A back exit, a service door, something.
Tori ran a hand through her hair, exhaling through her nose. “Even if there is, they’ll be around it too.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get there.” My voice was sharp, my pulse still hammering. We didn’t have a choice. We either found a way out, or we died in here.
Simple as that.
I moved, stepping past old laundry carts, my eyes adjusting to the dimness as I searched. The back. That’s where it would be.
Footsteps behind me—Tori, staying close. Elliot still hadn’t fully caught his breath, but he was moving, hands shaking slightly at his sides. Samson kept his weight against the door a second longer before stepping away, listening. The dead knew we were here, but they weren’t pushing yet.
That would change.
I reached the far side of the laundromat, stopping at a half-open employees only door. My fingers wrapped around the edge, pulling it wider.
A hallway. Narrow, dark, but at the end— a door.
Exit.
I turned to the others, nodding once. “We’re not dead yet.”
Bolting to the end of the hallway, I pressed my face against the metal door, listening for any indications of walkers on the other side. Nothing. With a quick shoulder shove, I cracked open the exit just barely, scanning to find our best escape route. And unfortunately for us, laundromats weren’t exactly huge. The lot of freaks that had trapped us in the front, were slowly overflowing to the back as the noise attracted more undead freaks.
“Okay,” I said, closing the door before any of them had a chance to spot me. “New plan—“
“This is fucking stupid.” Samson interrupted. “We could’ve made it home by now.”
I scrunched my brows, shooting him a look. “No, we couldn’t have.”
“Bullshit.”
Exhaling, I could already feel the headache creeping in. “You really think bringing dozens of those things back to Alexandria would’ve been a good move? You think letting them pile against the walls and threaten the safety of everyone else would’ve worked out flawlessly?”
“Yeah, actually. Because that’s where the real fighters are. You know, the ones that should be handling this? Not everyday citizens who just wanted to help out a little. I know it would’ve been better than being stuck here. I know it—“
“Ya don’t know shit,” I spat, the tinges of a southern accent breaking through. “We don’t know what’s goin’ on in Alexandria right now, and bringing that herd back would’ve been a death warrant. You wanna be the one responsible for people dying?”
Samson scoffed, running a hand over his face. “People are dying. This shit started when your people showed up.”
Tori stiffened. Elliot sent me a wary glance, already anticipating the explosion. He wasn’t wrong.
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” I stepped closer. “Say that again.”
Samson folded his arms, doubling down. “I said, the second you and your crew rolled into town, everything went to shit. We had problems before, sure, but not like this. We never had this many walkers lining up outside. Never felt like we were gonna die at the drop of a hat. And now, you and your people always seem to be right in the middle of everything.”
I felt the heat rise in my chest, the anger clawing its way up, but I pushed it down. Controlled it. Focused it.
“You could die at the drop of a hat, dumbass,” my voice still wasn’t concealing any of the anger I wanted it to — my patience wasn’t what it once was. “And you will if you keep living inside your little bubble. There’s thirty something walkers outside and you’re shaking in your boots; it could’ve been thousands had it not been for my people. But keep whining about how horrible we are. As a matter of fact, why don’t you head out that door right now,” I motioned to the exit infront of me. “See how far you make it.”
His jaw tensed. But he didn’t have a response to that.
“No?” My eyes narrowed. “Then let’s make one thing clear: if you want to break off because you think you know better, be my guest; but when I hear you screaming for help because you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, I’m not turning around.”
Elliot, ever the peacekeeper, lifted his hands. “Alright, let’s all take a breath. We’re stuck in here together, so maybe we focus on that instead of turning on each other?”
I clenched my teeth, dragging my gaze away from Samson. “We need to move soon. The longer we stay, the worse this gets.”
Samson let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And what’s the grand plan, fearless leader? You gonna run out there and take on the whole damn town by yourself?”
“I was actually thinking we could just push you out as a distraction,” I shot back without hesitation. “But I’d rather not. So if you’re done with the temper tantrum, we can figure out how to actually get out of here.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
The plan. The plan. Fuck, the plan.
My whole life was back there, and ain’t no tellin’ what was goin’ down.
I hauled forward a little, just outside of the passenger window, my fingers gripping the throttle tight enough that the strain burned up my forearm. “Hey, we gone five miles out yet?” Between my engine and the monotone groans of the herd behind me, I had to holler just to hear myself speak.
“Give or take some yardage,” Abraham replied. “You got a reason for asking?”
“Next intersection, I’m’a spin around and go back.”
Sasha’s head snapped toward me, leanin’ forward to look past Abraham. “The plan is to go fifteen more.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna change that,” I said. “Five’s gonna have to work.”
“The magic number’s twenty. That’s the mission.” Abraham countered, but I’d already made my mind up about the mission. “That’s making sure they’re off munching on infirm raccoons the rest of their undead lives instead of any of us.”
“You want to go, we can’t stop you,” Sasha said. “But without you, they could stop us.”
A new start, the sign ahead read, Alexandria.
S’where Jude was s’pose to grow up; s’where Carol was at right now, holdin’ down the fort; s’where…Libby was headin’ to.
Home.
She volunteered to go back—said over the walkie she’d check the place out, make sure everything was secure, and radio back once she knew what they were dealin’ with. That was an hour ago.
A fuckin’ hour.
Ain’t heard shit from her, Rick, or Glenn since. No updates. No check-ins. Just dead air.
That tail end of the herd broke off, and I knew— knew —it sent no less than a hundred walkers straight for ‘em. Maybe more. Probably a hell of a lot more. Could’ve been three, four hundred, maybe even more than that, all draggin’ their feet through the dirt, packin’ in tight, floodin’ the streets, pourin’ into Alexandria like a goddamn tidal wave.
And my girl was right in the middle of it.
That tight, twisting knot in my gut pulled harder, and I had to force myself to breathe around it, to push back the image crawlin’ into my head—Libby, backed into some alley, outta arrows, outta bullets, hands shakin’ as she tried to reload before they swarmed her. Or trapped somewhere, all alone, screamin’ my name, waitin’ for me to get to her, and I wasn’t there.
I gritted my teeth, my hands flexin’ on the handlebars.
She was waitin’ for me back at that pea-green house. The one with the hardwood floors she wanted to try n’ refinish ‘cause she said they could look real nice with a little work. The one with that chandelier hangin’ in the kitchen, missin’ one too many crystals to be called anything more than a glorified hangin’ lamp, but she liked it anyway—picked it out herself.
The house we were gonna make ours.
Where we were gonna move our bed into that upstairs corner room, the one she said got just the right amount of sun in the mornin’. Where she told me— told me—she wanted to raise kids. With me.
“Nah,” I said, revving the bike, not sparing them another glance. “I got faith in ya.”
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
The air was reeking of rot. Even breathing through my mouth didn’t help—just made it worse, let the stink settle on my tongue, sickly and suffocating. The back exit of the laundromat creaked when I pushed it open, the sound echoing in the somewhat quiet streets, save for the monotone groans. I froze; breath caught in my throat, ears straining. No movement. No snarls. Not yet.
I eased the door open just enough to peek through the crack. The alley straight ahead, narrow and cluttered—dumpsters lined the walls, overflowing with bags of trash long since ripped open, their contents rotted down to sludge. Broken pallets, shattered glass, a busted laundry cart missing two wheels. No walkers— mostly. A lone corpse slumped against the far wall, motionless. Not fresh, but not skeletal either.
I turned back to the others, keeping my voice low. “Alright. We go fast, stay close, and keep quiet. We make it to that row of buildings, we find a way up. We stay out of the open.”
Tori nodded, sweat sliding down her temple, eyes darting to the alley behind me. The two guys looked hesitant, Samson more than Elliot. They were scared. Good . Fear kept people alive.
I pushed the door open fully and slipped out first, bow drawn. The others followed in quick succession, feet barely making a sound against the sun-beat pavement. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat a countdown.
We moved fast, hugging the walls, ducking behind the dumpsters, slipping past piles of filth and debris. The street beyond was swarming—figures shifting, moaning, dragging their feet in slow, aimless patterns, drawn from the earlier noise. But they hadn’t noticed us yet . It wouldn’t take much though. One wrong step, one misplaced breath, one—
CRASH.
Glass shattered to the left. A cascade of brown beer bottles hit the pavement, rolling, clinking, echoing.
Every walker in the street froze. Heads snapped toward the noise, bodies tensing like animals catching the scent of blood. Then, one by one, they moved .
The first lurched forward, rasping, arms jerking toward the sound. Then another. Then another.
And then the herd outside the laundromat turned.
“Move!” I hissed, shoving Elliot forward as I loosed an arrow into the first one’s skull.
Tori was already moving, slashing the second clean across the throat, severing its spine. Samson swung his hammer, bone crunching under the force of it. The noise—too loud, too much —sent a ripple through the street, through the dead. More of them turned. More of them came.
Shit.
“Go! Go!” I barked, yanking my arrow free from the corpse, already running.
The next row of buildings wasn’t far. We just had to make it—just had to—
A walker lurched from the alley, a blur of rotted flesh and snapping teeth, lunging for Elliot. He barely had time to yelp before I grabbed the fucker by the collar and drove my knife up into its jaw. Blood, thick and hot , sprayed across my arm, splattering down my wrist as the body went limp. I barely felt it. Barely registered it. No time. No time. Move.
The others were right behind me. I could hear their breath, hear their feet pounding against the pavement. We were almost there— so close —
And then the herd caught up.
They came from the side streets, from the alleyways, pouring in like floodwaters. Hands grasped at my jacket as I shoved forward, arrows flying. Tori slashed a path ahead, Samson bellowed as he swung his hammer, and Elliot—
Screamed.
I whirled just in time to see it. A walker’s teeth, sinking deep into his shoulder, tearing muscle, ripping flesh, pulling —
Blood gushed, thick and black, soaking his shirt, dripping from its mouth .
“Elliot!” Tori shrieked, driving her knife into the walker’s skull, ripping it away from him.
Elliot staggered. His knees buckled, his hand clutching his shoulder, breath ragged, eyes wide.
But he didn’t fall.
Didn’t go down.
He was still standing .
Still moving .
Still following us.
“ Keep running! ” I grabbed his wrist, hauled him forward. Not gonna leave him. Not yet. Not yet.
His screams tore through the streets, guttural and raw , primal agony turned to bait. More walkers turned. More of them came. The scent of blood, the sound—fuck, they were coming faster now .
We weren’t going to make it.
A fire escape—half-rusted, barely holding on—jutted out from the side of a building just ahead. It was high, but not impossible.
“There! Get up!” I shouted, shoving Tori ahead of me.
Samson scrambled up next. I followed, hauling up like my life depended on it—because it did.
Elliot reached for the ladder, his breath ragged, arm trembling.
I grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him up. He was slick with blood, his body wracked with pain, eyes wild. “Come on, Elliot!”
The walkers surged forward, clawing at his legs. He kicked weakly, trying to climb, trying to fight, but the bite had taken its toll. He was slowing down.
Too slow.
Hands latched onto his ankles, yanking him back.
“No!” Tori screamed, reaching down.
His grip broke.
His body lurched downward .
Legs—gone.
Torso—gone.
Gone.
His screams turned from pain to terror .
Then—
To nothing.
The ladder groaned under our weight, rusted bolts grinding against corroded metal, threatening to send us plummeting into the writhing horde below. Survival shoved grief aside, demanding movement. No time to mourn Elliot.
Tori climbed fast, her boots knocking rust loose, sending it skittering down to Samson and me. My grip burned, fingers aching as I clung to the metal rungs. The rooftop was close—so close—but every second on this death trap was a second too long.
Tori scrambled up first, pulling herself over the ledge. Samson followed, his broad frame making the ladder shake violently as he hauled himself up. “Fuck,” I hissed as I reached the top, nails scraping against the cement edge as I swung a leg over and forced myself onto solid ground.
The moment I cleared the ledge, the ladder snapped.
A bone-rattling clang echoed through the alley as metal sheared away from the wall, twisting and crumpling as it crashed down in a heap. The walkers groaned, clawing at the space where we had been seconds before, their rotting fingers dragging against the brick. One tried climbing the wreckage, only to collapse under its own wasted weight.
I turned away, scanning the roof. We had made it. But—
Shit.
We were on top of a fucking building. A twelve, maybe fourteen-foot gap separated us from the next one over.
“We can’t jump that,” Tori muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“No shit,” Samson snapped.
I ignored him, scanning for another way down. The herd was still growing. We couldn’t stay here. If we got stuck, we were as good as dead.
I scanned the edge, mind racing. “We can make the jump.”
Tori shot me a look, breath still coming fast. “Libby—”
“It’s twelve - fifteen feet, at most.” I squared my shoulders, gauging the distance. “We get a running start, we clear it. It’s not that far.”
Samson let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, yeah? You suddenly got superhuman legs?”
I tested my footing. Not great. But not impossible. “This is our shot,” I pushed. “If we—”
“ No. ” Samson’s voice cut sharp. “That’s suicide. ”
I spun on him. “So is standing here waiting to die.”
“We don’t have to stand here. ” He jabbed a finger toward the alley below. “There’s a dumpster right there. We drop onto that, hop the fence, and we’re out. ”
I followed his line of sight. There was a dumpster—an old, rusted one, sitting against the alley wall beneath us. It was a solid fifteen or twenty feet down. A nasty drop.
Too far.
“You wanna drop onto that?” I gestured sharply, heat rising in my chest. “That’s a straight shot to a broken leg.”
“And you wanna try and jump a goddamn rooftop like you’re in the Olympics?” His eyes flashed. “Look at it, Libby. It’s too far. ”
“We can make it.”
“No. You think you can make it. You don’t give a shit if anyone else can.”
I took a step toward him. “That what you think?”
“It’s what I know. ” Samson scoffed, throwing his hands up. “This is what you do. You don’t think. You don’t stop. You just keep pushing —and look where it’s gotten us.”
My pulse spiked. “Where it’s gotten us ?”
“Yeah. Us. ” His jaw clenched, voice going tight. “Elliot’s dead. We’re stuck on a roof. And for what ? Because you had to be in charge. Because you couldn’t just listen —”
Tori took off.
No hesitation, no warning—just a burst of motion and the sound of her boots pounding against the rooftop before she launched herself into the air.
I sucked in a breath as she soared over the gap, arms out, legs kicking. For half a second, it felt like she wasn’t going to make it, that she’d hit the edge and go tumbling back into the alley below.
But she landed. Hard. Stumbling forward with a grunt, catching herself with her hands before pushing up onto her feet.
“It’s doable!” she called, voice tight with adrenaline. “You just have to haul ass.”
I flicked my gaze back to Samson. He stared at the space where Tori had been, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t process what had just happened.
I gave him a sharp look. “Guess that settles it.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
Backing up a few paces, I set my sights on the rooftop ahead, shaking out my arms. My pulse hammered in my ears. The gap suddenly felt bigger. A lot bigger.
I took a deep breath, exhaled, then ran.
The rooftop blurred under my feet. My boots pounded against concrete. My muscles coiled tight. The edge rushed toward me—
I pushed off.
Air swallowed me whole. For a split second, I was nothing. No ground. No weight. Just open sky and the sharp pull of gravity.
Then—
The other building rushed up to meet me. My foot hit first, barely, the momentum dragging me forward. My knee slammed down next, hard enough to jolt my teeth, but I caught myself on my palms, fingers scraping against rough cement.
I sucked in a sharp breath, adrenaline roaring through my limbs. I made it.
“Shit,” Tori breathed, grabbing my arm and hauling me up.
I didn’t have time to enjoy the relief. Turning quickly, I looked back across the gap. Samson was still on the other side, standing stiff, his hands clenched at his sides.
He didn’t move.
I could see it in his face, the way his eyes flicked back toward the dumpster below, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth. His whole body was rigid, his weight shifting toward the edge of the roof—but not toward the jump. Not toward us.
A sick feeling curled in my gut.
“Samson,” I warned.
He turned back just enough to look at me, and something in his expression—something sharp and bitter—made the hair on my arms stand on end. His lip curled. “You always get to be right, don’t you?”
I stiffened. “What?”
“This is just another fucking power trip for you.” He shook his head.
I felt my fingers twitch at my sides. “This isn’t about that, and you know it.”
“Do I?” He gestured wildly around us. “Tell me, Libby—what was the plan, huh? Drag a bunch of walkers through town, hope for the best? Elliot’s dead because of you.” His voice was like a blade against bone, slicing deep, aiming to wound. “And I ain’t gonna be next.”
Something in me snapped . “ Elliot is dead because of the walkers! ” My voice came out raw, the weight of his name like iron in my throat. “And because we didn’t move fast enough! You wanna pin that on me? Fine. But don’t pretend like I put his neck in that thing’s mouth.”
His eyes burned with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned—
And sprinted for the dumpster.
“Samson, no! ” I lunged forward, but it was too late.
Tori yelled something, but the words barely registered. I watched, horror clamping down on my ribs, as his feet left the roof and his body went airborne.
He barely cleared the distance.
The second he hit the dumpster, I heard it.
A wet, sickening crack.
Samson screamed.
His leg gave out beneath him the moment he landed. He crumpled on impact, his knee twisting at an angle that was wrong —so fucking wrong. The force of his landing made him slide, and he tumbled off the edge.
“ No! ”
Tori’s hands flew to her mouth as he dropped like a sack of bricks onto the pavement below. The moment he hit the ground, his scream turned into something hoarse and guttural, a ragged sound of agony.
I stared, breath caught in my throat, my pulse hammering. The walkers had heard him.
And now, they were turning.
Tori grabbed my arm.
“Libby.”
I didn’t move.
Samson was screaming —ragged, broken cries that cut through the night like a blade. His body writhed on the pavement below, hands clawing at his ruined leg. Begging.
And the walkers were closing in.
Tori yanked harder. “ Libby! ”
I wrenched away, breath ragged. “We can’t just—”
“We have to go.” Her voice was sharp, but her eyes—wide and desperate—told me everything. “ Now. ”
I knew she was right.
I knew .
But every muscle in my body was locked, feet planted on the rooftop like they were made of stone. Because this was wrong . We weren’t supposed to leave people behind. Even though I said I would…
Samson had made his choice.
And now he was paying for it.
His screams pitched higher as the first walker grabbed hold, bony fingers clawing at his jacket. He thrashed, throwing a wild, desperate punch, but more of them were closing in—limbs outstretched, jaws snapping.
A shudder wracked through me, something cold and heavy settling in my chest.
Tori grabbed my face, fingers pressing hard into my skin. “Libby, look at me.”
I met her eyes.
“We have to go now while they’re distracted.”
The weight of it settled behind her words. The finality.
I exhaled sharply, jerking out a nod.
We moved.
Tori pulled me away from the ledge, our boots clattering against the rooftop as we ran. My brain was running hot, every nerve sparking, instincts screaming at me to move, move, move.
The alley stretched long below us, but about halfway down, a fire escape jutted out from another building. Rusted, rickety, but still intact. It was our best shot.
Tori spotted it at the same time I did. “There—”
I was already running for the edge. The gap was smaller this time, but my legs felt heavy as I pushed off. My stomach lurched, body weightless for half a second—then my boots slammed down onto the next roof.
Tori landed beside me, nearly stumbling before catching herself.
We didn’t hesitate.
The ladder was rusted, the metal groaning under our weight as we scrambled down. It rattled against the brick, but I barely noticed, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Samson’s screams had stopped.
I didn’t know when.
Didn’t know how .
And I didn’t plan on going to look.
The second our feet hit the pavement, we were running.
The alley stank of rot and stagnant water, dumpsters looming like dark, hulking figures on either side. The street beyond was a mess—bodies, abandoned cars, blood smeared across the pavement. But the herd was still clustered near where Samson fel.
For now.
We sprinted through the open, feet pounding the asphalt. I could still hear the moans behind us, the sound of the dead shifting, but we didn’t stop.
Couldn’t look back .
I spotted a break in the buildings ahead—a sliver of open darkness where the road dipped into trees. The woods.
“Go for the trees,” I rasped.
Tori nodded.
My legs burned, lungs scraping for air as we hit the edge of the road and plunged into the brush. The second we crossed into the trees, the world swallowed us whole—darkness pressing in, twigs snapping underfoot.
Tori bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees. “Jesus Christ,” she panted.
I wasn’t sure how long we had been running. My legs felt like they were about to give, my head buzzing from exhaustion and adrenaline. My arms ached. My throat burned.
But we were alive.
I pressed a hand to the nearest tree, steadying myself. The woods stretched around us, the smell of damp earth clung to the air.
Tori straightened, still breathing heavy. “How far do you think we are?”
I shook my head, trying to calculate. “Maybe five miles out? More?”
She let out a slow breath. “We should keep moving. Get as much distance as we can before—”
A branch snapped somewhere in the distance.
We both went still.
Things had been quiet a second ago. Just wind in the trees. Bugs humming in the brush. But now—
A low shuffle.
A dragging noise.
My grip tightened on my knife.
Tori barely moved her lips. “That’s not one of them , is it?”
I strained my ears. The noise wasn’t quite right for a walker. Too controlled. Too precise.
I motioned for her to move.
We crept through the brush, keeping low, our steps careful and deliberate. Every twig snap felt like a gunshot, every breath too loud.
But something was off .
I felt it more than anything. That creeping sensation at the base of my skull. Like eyes were on me. Like something was waiting.
Watching.
Then, another sound—closer this time.
It wasn’t a walker.
It was a person.
Tori’s eyes snapped to mine, panic creeping in. “What if—”
A crack.
Gunfire.
The bullet hit the tree inches from my head.
I grabbed Tori, shoving her down as we hit the dirt. “Run,” I snapped, my voice barely above a whisper.
She didn’t move. “ Libby— ”
Another shot rang out. Bark exploded near my shoulder.
I didn’t think.
I shoved Tori. “Go. Get back to Alexandria.”
Her face twisted. “What? No—”
“I can keep them distracted. You can get home.”
Her jaw clenched. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are .”
I could hear movement now. Footsteps in the brush. Whoever it was—they weren’t trying to be quiet anymore.
We were out of time.
I grabbed the front of her jacket, my voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “If they catch both of us, that’s it. You have to go. Tell Rick what happened—” My breath hitched. “Just go .”
Her eyes flashed, pained and torn, but she knew I was right. She swallowed hard. “You better catch up,” she whispered.
I forced a smirk I didn’t feel. “Ten minutes behind you.”
Tori took one last look at me—then she ran.
I turned the second she was gone, pressing against the nearest tree, gripping my knife tight. I slowed my breathing, every muscle coiled. The footsteps were even closer now, if that was possible, measured and deliberate. Whoever it was—he knew I was here. He wasn’t in a hurry.
A voice cut through more amused than anything. “Smart move, sweetie. Send the girl runnin’ while you stay put. Brave. Stupid, but brave.”
I didn’t respond. My fingers flexed around the handle of my knife, my other hand reaching slowly, carefully, for the pistol at my hip.
He stepped closer. I could hear the crunch of leaves, the slight shift of his weight. He wasn’t trying to sneak up on me—he wanted me to hear him; to know he was in control. The moment I heard the second footstep, I knew I was fucked.
I didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. I just gripped my knife, the cold press of steel grounding me.
“It ain’t gotta be like this babycakes. You come out, give me your weapons, and we have a little chat, huh?” he continued, his voice light, almost casual. “Ain’t nobody gotta get hurt.”
I swallowed, heart hammering, my eyes darted around, looking for an exit or someway to form an escape plan.
“You know, from what I could see, you’re a real cutie,” he went on, syrupy. “Negan’s real big on red heads.”
Negan?
Negan, could be real big on getting his ass fucked with fifty dildos.
Another step.
“You’re gonna wanna put that gun down, sweetheart,” he said. “I know you’re holdin’ it. And I know you’re scared.”
I tightened my grip.
I heard him sigh, almost disappointed. “Damn. I don’t like hurtin’ the pretty ones.”
I moved first.
I spun out from behind cover, gun raised, but he was already moving. Quick enough that I barely caught a glimpse of him - he couldn’t have been any bigger than Rick. Then again…that didn’t mean too much.
My shot cracked through the trees, but he ducked , rolling to the side like he’d done this a thousand times. Before I could fire again, he lunged . I twisted, but his shoulder crashed into my ribs, sending me flying . My gun slipped from my grip.
Pain exploded in my side, but I didn’t have time to process it. I hit the dirt, rolling just in time to see the blade coming down.
I jerked back. The bloody knife buried itself inches from my face, stabbing deep into the earth.
I lashed out. My blade sliced through the air, catching him across the forearm.
He hissed, jerking back. “Bitch—”
I was already moving, pivoting, swinging for his throat.
He blocked it. His boot slammed into my stomach.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, my knife slipping from my fingers. Before I could grab it, he was on me.
He straddled me, one hand pinning my arm, the other pressing his knife to my throat.
His face was close now, breath hot and sour against my skin. He was older, maybe late thirties, with a shaved head and a thin scar cutting down his jaw. His eyes gleamed — mean, amused, and hungry. “You got fight in you,” he murmured, almost like he was impressed. His weight bore down on me, pressing me into the dirt. “Negan’ll like that.”
I snarled , shoving against him, but he barely budged. Instead, his grip on the knife pressed harder against my side, the cold metal biting into my skin.
“Easy now,” he warned, voice syrup-thick with mock patience. “I could slit your throat right here. But that ain’t as fun, is it?”
His free hand moved — not to pin me down, not to strike — but to touch.
I froze.
Fingers dragged down my ribs, slow, deliberate — like he was considering something else entirely. My stomach turned. He wasn’t just trying to kill me.
“Don’t,” I spat, my voice cracking in raw panic. I bucked against him, thrashing like a cornered animal.
But he only laughed . A dry, low sound that curdled in my gut like spoiled milk. “Aw, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he drawled, his thumb sliding just under the hem of my shirt, brushing bare skin. “ Ain’t you ever been sweet on a man before? ”
“ Get off me! ”
The hand moved lower.
Fingers grazed my hip. Tugged at my belt.
I snapped.
I twisted, hard , trying to wrench free — but he slammed me back down, my head bouncing off the dirt. Stars exploded behind my eyes, a high-pitched ringing screaming through my skull. Before I could recover, his knee forced between my legs, spreading them just enough.
“Stop! Stop! ” My voice splintered into raw, panicked sobs, my body arching, desperate to throw him off. His hand was already yanking at my belt, fumbling to unbuckle it—
“Don’t fight it,” he muttered, half-panting. “Just—just relax, it’s easier that way.”
The taste of bile flooded my throat, and something primal flared inside me — pure, unthinking terror.
I saw my father. Creeping into my bed in the early hours of the morning, or when my mother was too high to care. Bathing me well past the appropriate age range to be doing so. Whispering filthy expletives in my pre-pubescent and early teen years. Taking my girlhood from me before I even knew I would miss it.
I’d die before that happened to me again.
I thrashed, my nails clawing at his face, his throat — anything I could reach. I felt my hand connect, my nails raking skin, and he snarled, jerking his head back.
“ Bitch! ”
I tried to shove him off, but he punched me — hard and fast, knuckles cracking across my mouth. Pain splintered through my jaw, my teeth slamming together so hard I tasted blood. My vision blacked out for a half-second — and that’s when I felt it.
The cold rush of air against my stomach.
He’d gotten my belt open.
My shirt was rucked up to my ribs, his fingers fumbling at the button of my jeans.
“No, no, no! ” I shrieked, panic flooding me so fast my lungs barely worked. I kicked , my knee slamming into his ribs, but it wasn’t enough. He grunted , hand tightening around my throat, cutting off my air.
“ Stay down, ” he growled. “You fight, it’ll just get worse—”
I felt the button pop open.
I lost it.
I screamed , my voice raw and animalistic. I didn’t care if I brought down hundreds of walkers on us both. This wouldn’t happen to me again. My nails gouged into his wrist as I buckled , trying to force him off—
But he was stronger.
He was winning.
I felt the zipper drag down. Felt his hand hook around the waistband, yanking it down over my hip, baring too much skin. My legs kicked , my heel connecting with his knee hard enough to jolt him — but not enough to get him off me.
My jeans were halfway down my thighs now.
I was losing.
“Stop— please! ” I begged, my throat cracking from the force of it. “ Please, don’t do this— ”
His breath was in my ear now, hot and frenzied, his body grinding me down into the dirt. “Just quit fightin’, sweetheart. It’s easier. Might even feel good.”
Tears blossomed in my eyes. His hand slid down, gripping my inner thigh.
I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I reacted.
My head slammed forward, skull cracking against his nose with a sickening crunch. He howled, rearing back — and I didn’t stop. I drove my knee up, catching him in the crotch. His grip shattered as he doubled over, a strangled noise tearing from his throat.
I scrambled , shoving him off me, kicking as hard as I could — my jeans still tangled around my knees, my shirt twisted under my armpits, skin bared and cold. I didn’t care. I kicked again, my foot catching his cheekbone with a dull, meaty crack .
“ You fucking— ” He lunged, his hand snagging my ankle.
I kicked again, blindly, and my boot smashed into his mouth. Something crunched. Teeth, maybe. He screamed, blood spitting from his mouth—
And then my fingers closed around the knife that had been dropped on the forest floor.
I didn’t wait for him to even beg before I plunged it into his neck.
The blade sank in deep — warm, thick blood spraying across my arm. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his hand still clutching my ankle — but I didn’t stop. I twisted the knife, yanked it free, and stabbed again . His throat gurgled , blood pouring from his mouth like a faucet.
“ Let me go! ” I screamed, driving the knife down again —into his chest, his stomach, his ribs—over and over, blind and feral, until his body stopped moving.
My own sobs filled my ears — raw, gasping, animalistic — as I shoved his body off me. I scrambled back, my jeans still around my knees, my hands slick with blood. I yanked my pants up, shaking so hard I couldn’t get the button fastened. My stomach heaved, bile scalding my throat, and I doubled over, retching into the dirt.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
I dry-heaved again, my whole body convulsing , and my brain wouldn’t stop replaying it . The feel of his hands. The sound of the zipper. The moment his fingers trailed my thigh .
I felt dirty. Violated. Like my skin didn’t belong to me anymore.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think . I was still crouched there, half-dressed, my body shaking like a live wire. And when I craned my neck at the all too familiar groans, my stomach plummeted even further.
Walkers.
At least twenty. Maybe more. Crawling toward me through the trees, drawn by the screams and the blood and the carnage I’d just created .
My body moved before my brain did. I wrenched my jeans up, not even bothering with the button. Grabbed my knife. And doubled right back over in pain.
My side was on fire.
I pressed a hand against my ribs, pulling it back wet with blood. His knife—I hadn’t even—
.leave me for a day or two, to make sure that i turn blue, for the first time since i drew breath, i’m undesirable again.
Notes:
i can’t recommend the song ‘last woman on earth’ by Paris Paloma enough while reading this.
when i first began writing this story and planning it out, i knew that i wanted to make Libby a girly pop that serves cunt bc WHY IS ROSITA THE ONLY GIRL WE SEE SERVING LEWKS ALL THE TIME?! but i didn’t want to sugar coat her or make her out to be this flawless woman who all the guys fawn over and gives her everything she wants. i wanted to tap into what it really means to be a girl and how the stakes are raised even higher in situations resembling Libby’s. lots of men SUCK and i truly believe the apocalypse wouldn’t weed them out as much as make them worse, and twd doesn’t portray that fear enough (i mean, we are in Rick’s pov 90% of the time, so it makes sense), but i think women definitely had it harder than we were shown.
i don’t think i’ll ever tiptoe into complete 🍇 as it’s a sensitive topic for me and a ton of others, but i don’t think this will be the last run in with these topics.
also want to highlight Libby’s strength and resilience a little extra for the chapters this month since it’s national women’s month!
hope you guys liked the episode! i sincerely love the reviews i’ve received and it drives me to write even more! it’s so fun to reply to y’all!
Chapter 58: baby-back-bullshit
Summary:
“Between you and Maggie, I don’t know who I need to worry about sneaking out more,” Rick said as he picked up a knife from the bench in front of us.
“Me,” I admitted, unashamed.
Chapter Text
.my head is made of shrubbery, my body made of stone.
Time had stopped making sense.
I had no idea how long I’d been moving.
An hour? Maybe more.
All I knew was that I couldn’t stop.
Every step sent fire licking up my side, pain burrowing deep into the very marrow of my bones, making each movement feel like dragging myself through wet cement. My breath came in short, uneven gasps, the air tasting more and more like iron. I’d tried to stop the bleeding—pressed my hands against the wound, shoved torn fabric into it, tied it off as tight as I could. Maybe it helped. Maybe it didn’t. The dizziness had gotten worse, spreading through me like slow poison, and my arms felt heavier by the second. My stomach churned, nausea curling at the back of my throat. Blood loss? Hunger? Both?
Didn’t matter.
I just had to keep going.
The trees blurred together around me, their trunks stretching tall and shadowed against the dimming sky. Everything smelled like damp earth and copper, like sweat and blood, and I wasn’t sure how much of it was mine anymore. The wind whistled through the branches, but underneath it—
The trees blurred together, a mess of dark shapes stretching toward the dimming sky, their branches shifting with the wind. Everything smelled like damp earth and sweat and blood, and I wasn’t sure how much of it was mine anymore. The world had narrowed to the dull throb of my heartbeat, the sharp stab of pain in my ribs, the slow, sinking weight of exhaustion pulling at my limbs.
The wind whistled through the branches.
And underneath it—
The dead.
They were coming.
Their sound wasn’t a roar. It wasn’t a howl. It was worse.
That low, hungry murmur—rising and falling like a slow-moving tide, a deep, guttural noise that sank into my skin and told me exactly how close they were. The way it swelled, the way it pressed in on me, echoing through the trees—I knew what that meant. They were gaining.
And I—
I wasn’t going to outrun them.
My knees had started to buckle every few steps. I wasn’t even sure if I was moving anymore or if I was just falling forward, hoping the momentum would keep me upright. I’d ditched my bow a while back. Didn’t want to. Had to. My fingers had stopped working the way they should, hands shaking too hard to hold it steady. The knife was still strapped to my belt. The pistol, too. But I didn’t have enough bullets for what was coming.
And God, I was so fucking tired.
My foot caught—maybe a root, maybe nothing—and I went down hard.
The ground hit me like a brick wall, gravel tearing at my palms, my ribs screaming from the impact. For a second, I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just pressed my forehead against the dirt and sucked in ragged, shallow breaths, trying to fight back the whimper clawing up my throat.
I could stay here.
Just a second.
Just one.
The thought curled around me like a lullaby, something sweet, something easy —but I clenched my teeth and forced myself onto my elbows. My vision swam. My side burned like it was splitting open all over again. I ignored it. Pushed up. Forced my legs to move.
I had to make it.
Something shifted ahead.
Light.
Not just the dull gray of the sky, not just the soft glow of the sun sinking down.
It took my brain a second to catch up. To understand.
The walls.
Alexandria.
I could see it through the trees, the metal glinting dully in the fading light. My breath hitched. I was so close. I could get there. I could make it. Just a little more—
A noise behind me.
The herd.
I stumbled, my feet barely catching me as I shoved through the last stretch of woods, the earth slanting under me like the whole world was tilting sideways. My ears rang, the sound almost deafening, and my body felt disconnected—like I wasn’t even inside it anymore, like I was watching this happen to someone else.
“OPEN THE GATES!”
I swayed.
That wasn’t me.
I blinked, my vision tunneling, the edges creeping black. The herd was behind me. The walls were in front of me. I was somewhere in between, stuck in the space where I wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive yet.
And the voice…wasn’t real.
I was hearing things.
“OPEN THE GATES!”
No.
That was real.
That was Rick.
I lifted my head, blinking sluggishly, and just beyond the haze of pain, I saw him.
Running.
Not toward me.
Past me.
Behind him—
A hundred. Maybe more.
Pouring from the trees, dragging themselves forward, moaning, hands reaching—
For me.
My breath caught.
I wasn’t going to make it.
I was going to die out here and nobody would know. Not until they were popping off dead ones and someone recognized my half-rotted face. Would it be Daryl?
Rick was already there, still running, still pushing forward. He didn’t see me. He didn’t see me.
I tried to yell, but nothing came out—just a rasp of air, my throat too raw, too dry. I sucked in another breath, swallowing down the panic tightening my ribs.
“Rick,” I tried, but it barely came out. Too weak. Too quiet.
I swayed, my knees giving out for half a second before I caught myself.
No, no, no, no—
I couldn’t stop. I had to move. I had to—
The moans got louder.
I could hear the snapping of branches, the shuffle of hundreds of feet against dirt, against pavement. The stink of them burned in my nose, thick and rotting, swallowing the air, closing in—
“ Rick. ”
It was louder this time, but not enough.
He was almost inside. The gates would shut behind him, and I’d be out here, alone—trapped between the trees and the dead and the walls I couldn’t reach.
A sob swelled in my throat, hot and desperate, but I swallowed it back. I forced in another breath. Forced all the air I could into my aching lungs.
“ Rick! ”
It ripped from me, hoarse and broken, and I stumbled forward a step, my legs nearly giving out from the force of it.
But he turned.
It took me a second to process it.
One second, I was standing there, drowning in the scent of my own blood, my own fear. The next he was running.
Running back for me.
Everything felt disconnected—like I was somewhere above my body, watching this happen, not really inside it. My knees locked. My vision blurred. I wasn’t sure if I was moving anymore.
Then—hands.
Gripping my arms, steadying me, pulling me up.
Rick.
His face swam in and out of focus, his mouth moving, saying something, but I couldn’t hear it. My ears rang too loud. The world felt like it was tilting sideways.
I was off the ground.
Being lifted.
Carried.
My body sagged against him, everything too heavy, too distant.
Behind us, the herd kept coming.
But Rick—
Rick didn’t stop.
_____________
Light.
Too bright, pressing against my closed eyelids, trying to drag me up.
I didn’t want to wake up.
Didn’t want to feel.
But the pain was still there, burning deep, a steady pulse in my side. Dull now, not as sharp—but it hadn’t gone away.
I shifted, or maybe I just thought I did, and something cool pressed against my forehead. A hand?
A voice, distant—muffled.
“She’s burning up.”
Another voice—lower, steadier.
“She lost a lot of blood.”
The words blurred together, slipping through my fingers before I could hold onto them. I tried to open my eyes. Only managed a flicker.
Shapes.
Movement.
Denise—yeah, that was her. She was there, hovering over me, her face tight with concentration.
Someone else.
I blinked sluggishly, my lashes sticking together.
Aaron.
Sitting nearby, arms crossed, his knee bouncing. He looked—worried? Yeah. Worried.
I tried to say something. Nothing came out. My throat was too dry, too raw.
Another flicker—black, then light again.
More movement.
Rick.
I caught a glimpse of him standing near the doorway, his expression grim. His shirt was dirty—was that my blood?
Didn’t matter.
I let my eyes slide shut again.
Fell under.
⸻
Time passed. Minutes? Hours?
I surfaced again—just for a second.
Someone was arguing.
“—shouldn’t be moving around.”
“I know that, but she needs to know what’s happening.”
A pause.
Then quieter—softer.
“She’s strong. She’ll be okay.”
That voice—
Spencer?
I tried to focus, tried to pull myself toward the sound, but the weight dragging me down was too heavy.
I sank again.
⸻
The next time I woke up, it was slower. Heavier.
Something pressed against my lips—water. Cool, wet. I swallowed automatically.
“She’s awake,” someone murmured.
I forced my eyes open.
Denise again.
She gave me a small smile, setting the cup down. “You with me?”
I didn’t answer. Just blinked at her, feeling like I was floating somewhere just outside my body.
“You’re safe,” she added. “Rick got you back in time.”
Rick.
Right.
I remembered now—his voice, his hands lifting me, the herd behind us—
My breath hitched.
Denise must’ve seen it. She placed a hand on my arm. “You’re okay,” she repeated. “Just rest.”
I let myself sink.
Falling was easier than fighting.
The pain dulled, the voices faded, and I slipped back under.
_____________
The next time I surfaced, everything was still. Dark through the window, and I briefly wondered how long I’d been out — surely more than a day. It was nearly nighttime when Rick saved me, so definitely more than a day.
My head felt clearer. Heavier, too—like I’d been dragged through sleep too long and left behind somewhere in between.
I blinked. The dim glow of a few lamps cast shadows around the room. The world wasn’t spinning anymore. That was good.
A chair creaked.
I turned my head slowly, and caught a glimpse of Maggie. She was curled forward, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together like she’d been sitting there a while.
She looked exhausted.
Next to her, Tori was slouched back, arms crossed, eyes closed.
They were both here.
I swallowed, my throat dry and scratchy. “Hey,” I croaked, voice barely above a whisper.
Maggie’s head shot up. Her eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, she just stared.
Then she exhaled, something between a breath and a laugh, and reached for my hand. “Hey yourself.”
Tori stirred, blinking herself awake. Her gaze flicked to me, and relief flickered across her face. “Jesus, Libby. I was this close,” she pinched her fingers together, “to taking a skillet to Spencer’s head so he’d let me go back for you.”
I huffed something like a laugh. It hurt.
Maggie squeezed my fingers. “It’s good that Rick found you when he did.”
I swallowed again, trying to work some moisture back into my mouth. “How bad?” I asked, dipping my chin toward my side.
Maggie hesitated, glancing at Tori before shifting forward in her chair. “It was deep. You lost a lot of blood.” She kept going, her voice even, but there was an edge of something there—something careful. “The knife went in at an angle. Didn’t hit anything vital, but it tore through enough to make things bad. Denise had to clean it out, stitch it up. You’ve been fighting a fever. Infection was a risk, but…” She exhaled, squeezing my hand again. “You’re past the worst of it.”
I blinked slow. Tried to process it. My side ached —deep, throbbing pain, dulled only slightly by whatever Denise must’ve given me. My whole body felt wrung out, like I’d been dragged through hell and back.
Which, I guess, wasn’t that far from the truth.
I shifted, testing how much I could move. It wasn’t the worst pain I’d ever felt by a long shot, but my ribs stung some kind of awful.
Tori noticed. “Hey, take it easy,” she warned. “You’ll rip your stitches.”
I huffed a breath. “It’s fine. Just want to get more comfortable.” I let my head sink deeper into the pillow, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. Everything felt slow, like I was still wading through molasses, but my head was clearer now. Clear enough for me to consider who was here and who wasn’t.
I hadn’t thought about him since I thought I was going to die—since before Rick scooped me up. Everything had been hazy, my mind too tangled up to hold onto much of anything.
“Daryl?” I asked, finally looking for an explanation.
Maggie’s expression faltered.
That told me everything.
I pushed past the tightness in my throat, doing my absolute best not to jump to conclusions. “He’s not back yet?”
She shook her head.
Something twisted in my gut.
Had things gone okay? Had the drive just been longer than anticipated? Maybe it was late and they assumed to hunker down instead of travel at night—he’d be back tomorrow.
I tried to picture it, tried to piece together how it could go. Maybe by the time I woke up again, he’d be sitting where Maggie is now. Or outside even, cigarette between his fingers, stressed because I ended up in the infirmary while he was gone again.
But…what if he wasn’t? What if none of that happened? What if something horrible went down and…
The thought made my stomach churn, bile threatening to creep up despite not having eat anything in ages.
I’d seen him walk away from fights that should’ve killed him. Seen him covered in blood that wasn’t his, coming back to wherever home was for the time being, like it was just another day. He was tough. Stronger than anyone I knew. But even Daryl wasn’t invincible.
I blinked up at the ceiling, throat thick.
If something happened—if I never saw him again—I hadn’t even told him that I loved him yet. I clenched my jaw, fingers twitching against the blanket.
It didn’t matter. He’d be fine. He had to be fine.
And when I saw him again, I’d—
I exhaled sharply.
I didn’t know. I just needed to see him.
Maggie leaned in. “He’ll make it,” she said, like she could read my mind. “Daryl’s gonna come back, Libby. Sasha, Abraham, Nicholas, and Glenn too.”
“Glenn?” I copped, not allowing her to speed past that.
Maggie looked down at my hand in hers, not willing to meet my eye. “He split off with Nicholas and told Michonne he’d send a sign if he was in trouble,” she murmured. “There hasn’t been any word yet.”
My lips parted, and I think I even let out a small cry.
Glenn wasn’t back.
I blinked, heart slamming against my ribs, the pain in my side flaring up like my body was trying to physically reject what I was hearing. My mouth was already dry as the Sahara, but this somehow made it even more raw— burning. Maggie still wouldn’t look at me.
I felt sick.
This was some baby-back-bullshit.
He was supposed to be fine. Everyone was supposed to be fine. We left for a dry run and not a one of us had been prepared for it going awry; which, was actually kind of funny considering we were usually over prepared for the worst to happen.
I scrunched my brows as the second part of that sentence caught up with me though.
Nicholas.
A tremor ran through my hands.
He split off with Nicholas.
That sorry excuse for a human being, that pathetic coward who had already tried to kill him once. The guy who abandoned people to die, who got Noah killed , who shouldn’t have even been given a second chance—Glenn went with him.
It was him. It had to be. That bastard did something —maybe he ran, maybe he left Glenn to fend for himself, maybe he— I inhaled sharply, my breath shaking.
This was going to eat me alive until I could get out of here. Daryl - Daryl was one thing. Glenn, though…he pulled me into his orbit when I had no one, he never let me feel alone, he made the hardest part of my life a little less hard. He was my brother, and he was out there with some piece of shit guy who would never have his back. And I was in here, laying in bed, fucking useless.
I clenched my teeth, chest rising and falling too fast. My ribs protested the movement, but I didn’t care.
If Nicholas got him killed—If that trifling asshole strutted back in here without my best friend— I would murder him. Ugly.
_____________
Never in a million lifetimes did I ever think I would casually say, ‘it’s okay, just a stab wound,’ and mean it. But here I was, out on Deanna’s front porch, three hours after being discharged (albeit reluctant on Denise’s part), and telling my mentor that I’d be okay to fight if it was necessary. That if our people didn’t come back in two days, that I was going to look for them. No questions asked.
Actually, if I could escape sooner than that, I’d probably try if I was being honest. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“I’ll be fine,” I said absently. “I’ve had worse.”
I’d had much worse. I’d been thrown off of a horse, fell forty or so feet into a ravine, climbed back up, fell again, fought off walkers, proceeded to climb up a second time, all while bleeding profusely from my thigh. That alone was worse than a stab wound. But sprinkle in the various ricochetted shot wounds, sprained ankles, and illness’—this was a walk in the park. I mean…I had just been blown up like two weeks ago.
Dealing with another injury was at the bottom of my concerns when it came to the buffet of problems in front of me. My losses in the last two-ish years had stacked up tall and heavy.
Aunt Bea.
Uncle Clyde.
Dale.
Melanie.
Hershel. Beth. Tyreese. The list was longer than I could ever care to admit. So many souls I’d known, loved, and respected, were lost to the world far before they were meant to go. And I would mourn them longer than I’d ever gotten to know them.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of Daryl and Glenn being added to that list though. I owed them both more than I’d ever be able to put into words; I’d die before they became just another name.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
My body ached like a son of a bitch. Road rash, a headache, and bein’ held captive would do that to ya. Guess sleepin’ up against a tree with your hands tied would too.
Couldn’t even adjust to bein’ awake again, before that skinny blonde guy was waving in my face. “Get up,” he spat, crouched in front ‘a me. When I didn’t show instant obedience, he said it again, this time louder. “Hey, get up!” The barrel of a gun aimed right at my left eye. “We’re moving. You don’t say shit, and I don’t kill you.”
“I ain’t who you think,” I murmured, chewin’ on the inside of my cheek.
The hammer of the gun clicked. “Say somethin’ else,” the guy dared me. “Go on.”
I wutn’t trying to die, just trying to make it home, so I kept my mouth shut as much as I didn’t want to.
He forced me up, pushing me toward the two women standing a few feet back. One couldn’t have been but eighteen, and that was bein’ generous. The other girl, with longer hair, she was probably Libby’s age, give or take a year or two. They both looked like shit — all three of ‘em really. Whoever they thought I was must’ve really roughed ‘em up.
“Follow them,” the guy said, pushin’ me again.
Just needed to bide my time.
______ _______
Libby POV
_____________
“Between you and Maggie, I don’t know who I need to worry about sneaking out more,” Rick said as he picked up a knife from the bench in front of us.
“Me,” I admitted, unashamed.
It was noon now and I’d already gone through seven different plans in my head on how I was going to get out. And I didn’t really care about telling Rick — he already suspected it, and I highly doubted he was surprised in the least bit about my admission. If he was, he sure didn’t say anything about it.
He actually didn’t say anything at all after that, for a really long time. We just stood there, side by side, cleaning knives and setting them back onto the work bench.
My teeth were working overtime, biting the skin of my lips, pulling it away piece by piece as my brain filed out every little detail that could’ve gone wrong yesterday, and how I could avoid them going wrong when I finally decided to sneak out. A plethora of deep rooted issues were thrumming my mind, begging for me to pay them the slightest bit of attention, but the more those issues tried clawing their way out, the further I pushed them down, replacing them with plans and escape routes.
“Three days.”
Rick finally broke the silence, but it took me a second to actually process what he said. My brain was too busy buzzing with exit strategies and distraction tactics to give it any mind.
“What?” I mumbled, still picking at my lips.
Rick exhaled sharply, setting down the knife he’d been scrubbing. “You give me three days . If they’re not back by then…I’ll take you with me to look.”
I froze.
The sting in my mouth from chewing my lip too hard dulled and my heart did this weird, painful stutter. “You’re serious?” I asked, voice strained.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. No bullshit. Just straight certainty like he’d already made up his mind long before he opened his mouth. “But you gotta make me a deal too.”
My jaw clenched.
The fact that he had actually considered going out scared me. Rick had a particularly strong sense of belief in people, and him thinking about the idea that our people might need help — it just suddenly seemed like a very real possibility they might just not be coming back at all.
Rick’s hand pressed against the table and blue eyes found mine as he leaned into my eyesight. “You with me?” he asked.
“Mhm,” I nodded, refocusing my gaze.
“You don’t sneak out.” His tone sharpened. “You don’t try anything stupid. You don’t leave the walls at all . If they’re not back by the three days, I swear to you, I’ll take you with me. We’ll find ‘em.”
I hated it. Every word of it.
Because deep down, I already knew what he was doing — stalling me . Like dangling a treat in front of a dog just to keep it from running out the door.
My lips flattened into a thin line - considering. I wouldn’t make it far in my current condition. I’d either slow myself down, get caught again, or worst case scenario — get killed . And if that happened, it wouldn’t just be me paying the price. If Glenn and Daryl made it back, they’d never forgive themselves if they found out I’d gone looking.
I exhaled shakily, nails digging into my palms. “Three days?” I repeated quietly, like I needed to hear it again to believe it.
Rick nodded. “Three days.”
“And then you’ll take me ?”
“Yeah.”
I swallowed thickly, throat burning raw, and forced myself to look at him. “Even if I’m not fully healed?”
His jaw tensed, like my question physically sank into him. “I swear.”
The air left my lungs in a sharp, uneven breath — not relief exactly, but something close enough to pass. Because even though three days felt like an eternity, it was better than nothing. “Okay,” I rasped. “Deal.”
Rick’s shoulders eased, like he’d been holding his breath just waiting for me to agree, but I wasn’t done yet.
“But promise me one more thing?” I forced my voice not to crack. “You don’t treat me like I’m a delicate little flower in the meantime. Thank you for saving my life, but - it’ll heal. I’ll heal. I know y’all want me to rest, but I can’t. So just, don’t treat me all fragile-like.”
His throat bobbed, gaze darkening in that way it always did when he was trying to carry more than his share. But he didn’t argue. He just gave me a single, heavy nod.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
They didn’t have me walkin’ too far, bout thirty minutes in the opposite direction that I wanted to go, before we stopped in front of some ashy clearing. Same charred bodies scattered ‘round like the rest of the forest. None ‘a what they said was makin’ any sense.
Kneeling?
And I still wutn’t sure who they were maybe gonna give me to.
Only real thing I’d managed to weed out was that they were the ones who burnt these woods up. Tryna fight in the beginning — tryna survive.
The dark-haired woman shrugged, “We thought everyone was fighting them wherever they were.”
“Yeah, we thought that was what everybody was doing,” the man scoffed. “Fighting it. That we’d all win together. We were stupid.” He walked ahead of me a bit.
“Y’all don’t think you’re being stupid right now?” I asked.
The guy whirled around, quick enough to make me tense up when he aimed that damn gun at my face again. "Are you saying I should kill you?" He asked, shoving the gun a little closer. "I mean it, are you gonna try and pull something on us? Are we just being thick here by not removing all doubt? Right now, by me not pulling this trigger, is that a mistake?”
Now, would’a been a good damn time for Abraham or Sasha to show their faces, cause I’s about ten-seconds away from getting my head blown off. We were past due back at Alexandria, and my mind still hadn’t caught up with what all might ‘a been going down at home, I sure as shit didn’t need this asshole breathin’ down my neck.
“I'm serious. I really wanna know,” he continued, lowering the barrel a little. “You made the choice to kill for someone else, have them own you for a roof over your head and three squares, so maybe I'm not considering all aspects here. You tell me, am I being stupid?"
I didn’t say nothin’ at first — instead I contemplated whether piping off to him would be a good idea or not. In the end, I decided if I wanted to make it home to my girl my best answer’d be:
“No,” I mumbled, stepping to the side, but he kept the gun steady. “Look, I got somewhere to be. We can make a deal. I can help you out."
"You're one of them," the man insists, almost shaking. "You're hurt and you're alone and you'd say anything. We should've never trusted you people to begin with.”
At this point, I wutn’t real sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that they kept associating me with ‘those people’.
“Go on,” he said, motioning with the gun. “Keep moving."
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
Despite the absolute shit during the last forty-eight hours, one good thing had come of it: Deanna was back on her game. I mean, the best she’d been since before Reg died. It was almost like something had grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll until she finally realized how detrimental she was to this community.
In a sense, it was actually the best time for her to have this epiphany and pull me in for drawing plans that Rick had been hounding us about.
And when I say hounding , I mean the man was on our ass about it like a bloodhound catching scent. Since the walls were holding steady and there hadn’t been a breach (yet…I mean, there were about a hundred walkers beating on them right now), Rick figured it was time to stop skating by on half-assed hope and start doubling down on survival infrastructure. Which meant actual, sustainable living, not just “oh we have some canned beans in the pantry, let’s all ration them and hope we don’t starve.”
And Deanna, bless her heart, must’ve finally seen that too, because when she came knocking on my door after lunch. She didn’t even care that I was re-wrapping my side or that Soup had shed all over her slacks when he brushed again her legs; she just pushed right on in, too damn fixated on that binder in her hand — her late husband’s binder — the one that had all the initial blueprints for Alexandria.
“You’re not resting,” she said the second I opened the door, not even greeting me first. “Good. Get dressed. I need your input.”
So now here we were — three hours deep into a planning session, sitting in mine and Daryl’s incomplete living room with half a dozen crumpled papers scattered around us and my side throbbing like hell from being vertical too long.
The first thing we tackled was the crop field. Rick had been bitching about it since we got here — how the gardens we had weren’t enough, how we’d never survive long-term without sustainable farming, how the soil we were working with was garbage compared to what it could be. He wasn’t wrong, either. Alexandria was too suburban . Houses with pristine white siding, lush green lawns, and a small community garden in the middle of town. Cute , but not functional. If we wanted to make it out of winter without resorting to eating goddamn rodents, we needed a real food source — and fast.
I guess I could thank Hershel for all of Rick’s farming knowledge.
“I’m thinking…” I chewed my cheek, glancing down at the map sprawled across the table. I stabbed my finger toward the open patch of land behind the church. “Here. We clear this out. Take down the white picket fencing and the useless landscaping, and we turn it into crop fields. Actual rows. We could use the steel siding from the old industrial building to build a greenhouse — keep it warm for winter growth.”
Deanna, perched forward with a pen half-biting her lip, nodded like she was actually impressed. “And irrigation?”
“The old plumbing lines run underneath here.” I traced my finger along the old grid map, following the water line to the main street. “If we dig it out, divert it, we could set up a pump system. Rainwater collection’s another option. But we’ll need more pipes and a water filtration system.”
“That’s not a bad idea…” She scribbled something down, then looked back up. “What do we grow first?”
“Corn. Squash. Zucchini. Root vegetables — carrots, potatoes, onions. Things that can grow underground, especially when winter hits. We’ll need to clear a spot for compost too, or we won’t have good soil.”
Deanna leaned back in her chair, blinking at me. “You’ve really thought about this.”
I exhaled bitterly. “I didn’t get the chance to before. The farm we had…it was just starting to take off when the prison fell. And I didn’t really get my hands dirty…but I got sick one time and Hershel - Maggie’s father - he, talked about farming for a good hour while we were in isolation. It was a few days before he…” My throat clamped up. “Anyway, yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
She didn’t push further. She just nodded and started jotting everything down like her life depended on it.
Next was housing.
This one was trickier, because expanding housing in a walled community meant putting stress on already limited resources. But if we didn’t start planning now, we’d end up doubling up in houses when more survivors came in, and that was a fast track to tension and overcrowding. So I pointed to the northeast end of Alexandria — the spot that was mostly old dirt and abandoned construction equipment.
“We can’t build houses from scratch immediately,” I admitted. “But we can start making extensions. Use the empty space behind these five houses and build communal housing. Think bunkhouses — three or four families in each, shared kitchens, shared common areas. Like a compound.”
Deanna’s pen froze. “…A compound?”
“Yeah. We’re not gonna have white-picket-house families forever. More people are gonna come through here, and they’re not all gonna be like us. Some are gonna be strangers. Dangerous. If we have a compound system, it’s easier to keep an eye on who’s coming and going. Plus, it frees up single-family homes for people who need them. And in the meantime, we could have the land beyond the walls cleared and eventually do an entire expansion of the walls. It’ll take more time and be more risky, so we need something to tide over the people.”
The last part was the one I felt most strongly about. Combat training.
“Rick’s been drilling us on weaponry,” I started carefully, gauging her reaction. “But we don’t have a real hand-to-hand combat plan. Like, yeah, we’ve got lookout shifts and guard posts, but what happens when those fall? What happens when someone gets in ?”
Deanna’s throat bobbed.
“We set up a dedicated combat training area,” I continued. “I’m talking a sandpit or a gym mat, open space, no obstructions. Everybody in this community — kids included — learns how to fight . They learn chokeholds, takedowns, knife defense, basic hand-to-hand. Nobody walks around useless. Nobody’s deadweight. Because if they do get in, and we don’t have guns? It’s over.”
It wasn’t until I finished talking that I realized Deanna was just…staring at me. Like she wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed. Maybe both.
“This is all going to be yours,” she finally said.
Silence. Thick, heavy silence. Then finally, she scribbled it all down. Word for word.
We worked like that for at least two hours — pouring every piece of survival strategy we could onto those pages until the edges were crinkled and my voice was hoarse from talking. When we finally ran out of ink and energy, Deanna just sat there, holding the blueprint against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“We do this…” she said softly, almost to herself. “We build the future.”
“Yeah.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
S’ bullshit.
Bullshit that I had ‘a conscience.
Bullshit that I wutn’t home.
Bullshit that they probably wutn’t all that bad.
Fuckin’ bullshit.
I shouldn’t ‘a even looked in the damn bag til I’s on the road and too far gone to even consider goin’ back. But I’d ‘a felt like shit if that kid died ‘cause I took her damn medicine.
Had half a mind to just toss the bag right there in the dirt. Let ‘em come find it theirselves. Hell, they’d already took me for a goddamn fool once — hogtied me, stole my shit, held me at gunpoint more than once. I owed ‘em nothin’ .
Still. My feet kept movin’.
Felt like my body was actin’ on its own accord, like some part ‘a me deep down knew I wudn’t gonna be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try. ‘Cause the thing was — and I hated even thinkin’ it — I got it. I got why they did what they did. Ain’t like they set out wantin’ to be assholes to me. World just made ‘em that way. Same way it made me . Same way it’d made damn near everybody since shit went south — couldn’t trust nobody.
Branches snapped beneath my boots as I picked my way through the trees, knuckles white around the damn duffel like it was burnin’ a hole straight through my palm. Couldn’t stomach the idea of that girl gettin’ sicker. Chokin’ on her own breath ‘cause she didn’t got the meds she needed.
Didn’t sit right with me. Wouldn’t never sit right with me.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, pushin’ through a thick patch ‘a brush. I’s already sweatin’ under my vest, whole body hummin’ with that restless, wired feelin’ I always got when I’s doin’ somethin’ I knew was a bad fuckin’ idea. But I still didn’t stop. Feet just kept carryin’ me, my gut twistin’ tighter the longer I went without seein’ ‘em.
Maybe they already left. Maybe they booked it soon as they had the chance — scared that I really was one’a them people they were runnin’ from. Maybe I should turn my ass around an’ do the same.
‘Cept it wasn’t like I had a choice. I knew myself too well. Even if I did turn around, I’d spend the next three months chewin’ myself up over it. I’d hear that girl coughin’ every time I closed my eyes. I’d think ‘bout how I had the chance to help and didn’t. That wasn’t somethin’ I could live with. Not no more.
So I walked faster.
Could almost hear Libby now — What the fuck’s wrong with you, Dar? They had you tied up like a hog and you’re goin’ back? You wanna get yourself killed or somethin’?
Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe I just couldn’t stomach bein’ a piece ‘a shit again.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I hadn’t planned on making this a Deanna and Libby day, but she caught me halfway to the armory and asked if I could walk with her. Said she wanted to talk more about the expansion. About what came next — assuming we all lived to see it.
I said yes, but mostly because I didn’t really have anything else going on and it gave me more things to busy my focus on.
Out by the north perimeter, tracing the cracked asphalt and flattened grass like we could start working on it first thing in the morning. And I actually wish we could - in that case, it would mean everyone was home and the walkers weren’t trying to bust into our community. But, I did have to admit, it was nice hearing Deanna unafraid to dream big again; talking about corn stalks and tomato vines.
“That space over there,” she gestured vaguely toward a bramble-choked patch of land, “could make a good area for new housing. Maybe four or five small homes. Not huge, but… comfortable.”
I didn’t answer right away. My throat was locked, and my mouth was dry, and my brain was doing that thing where it kept taking me somewhere else. Like — okay, yeah, cool, houses — but Daryl and Glenn still weren’t back. And I still had to wait three days before Rick was going to do something about it.
“…Libby?”
“Yeah.” I blinked. “Yeah, no — I mean, that’s a good idea. It’s a good spot for extra space when we need it, and that lot’s got solid ground, so it should hold the foundation.”
Deanna glanced at me sideways, like she could tell my brain was anywhere but here, and I instantly felt like shit for it. She was trying. After everything that happened with Reg and Pete, she was finally trying to lead again. She needed me to meet her halfway, and I could barely keep my head in the damn conversation.
I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to engage. “We could probably put a couple raised beds in the corner, too. Like for herbs or smaller crops. If we start ‘em inside and move ‘em out once the frost clears, we could have a decent harvest before fall.”
Deanna’s face flickered with something like hope, and I felt a little less like an asshole for spacing out.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart. Maybe even —”
A shout cracked across the air like a gunshot.
Both our heads snapped toward the sound, and my stomach instantly knotted when I saw Rick running . Full-on sprinting toward the wall like something was about to go catastrophically wrong.
“What the —”
Then I saw Spencer.
The idiot was dangling from a goddamn rope over the wall, trying to cross to the watchtower on the other side. Walkers were already clawing at the wall beneath him, and the rope was sagging under his weight.
“Jesus Christ.” My feet were already moving before my brain caught up. “What the hell is he doing ?”
Deanna was pale and shaking, her voice cracking when she tried to yell his name. I didn’t wait. I just ran — faster than I should’ve, with the damn stab wound still pulling at my side — but it didn’t matter. If Spencer fell, he was dead. Plain and simple.
Rick was already halfway up the wall when I got there, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might snap.
“Get a hold of the damn rope!” he was yelling, both hands white-knuckling the edge of the wall. “ Don’t let go! ”
Spencer’s face was blotchy red, his arms trembling from holding his weight. He wasn’t gonna make it. The angle was wrong, the rope was already fraying, and the walkers were practically clawing at his boots.
“Rick —” I didn’t even know what the hell I was trying to say. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Rick was already moving, practically launching himself onto the rope while Tobin and Morgan rushed forward to help anchor him.
“Shit,” I hissed under my breath. My throat was dry. My heart was slamming. I couldn’t do anything except stand there and watch. Like if I moved too fast or said the wrong thing, it’d tip the scale and send Spencer plummeting.
I couldn’t breathe , as he yanked Spencer up and over the wall in one final, gut-wrenching heave, and I think I actually staggered a little from the sheer wave of relief that crashed over me.
Spencer hit the ground hard, gasping and clutching his chest like he couldn’t believe he was still alive. Rick was already turning on him, eyes blazing with something that looked like pure, unfiltered rage — then turned it to Tara.
"Tara!" Rick spat, shoving to his feet. "You almost died once for these people!"
"What?” She snapped back once she was pulled up by Michonne.
"What the hell were you doing?" Rick repeated.
Meanwhile, Spencer was more upset about losing his shoe than the fact he just put multiple people’s lives at risk. His, Tara’s, his mom’s…I didn’t even want to think about how Deanna would deal with losing her only other relative.
"What was that?" Rick asked, swirling on Spencer.
"I was trying to help!" Spencer tried. "I wanted to get to a car, draw them away."
"You ever make a climb like that before?" Rick crouched, getting to eye level with him. "You wanna help? Don't make us come running to save you. You got an idea, you come to me."
"Would you have listened to me?" Spencer questioned, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“I would’ve,” I snapped, not giving Rick a chance to respond. “That was suicide, but maybe I could’ve helped. Don’t make dumb decisions without someone else to clear through the shit storm that might come with it, dumbass.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Ain’t nothin’ smart ‘bout this.
Trail’s cold, I’m sore, and my gut’s already screamin’ at me that this whole thing’s a dead end. Patty or whoever the hell they’re looking for is gone. Either somebody snagged her or the dead ripped her apart — don’t make no difference now. They’re wastin’ their time. I’m wastin’ my time. Should’ve left ‘em soon as I gave ‘em that medicine back.
But I didn’t. ‘Cause I’m a dumbass.
“Y’ sure it was this way?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “‘Least it was couple days ago.”
Behind me, Tina let out a low, miserable groan. “Jesus. We’re gonna die out here before we even find her.”
I didn’t say nothin’. Just kept movin’.
She wasn’t dyin’. Not yet. Unless she kept steppin’ like she was — all clunky and careless, like she’d never set foot in the woods before. Any other time I’d ‘a told her to watch her damn step, but I didn’t have it in me. I was too busy tryin’ not to think about Libby and home and gettin’ the hell outta these fucking woods.
“Can’t believe we’re actually walkin’ out here,” Tina kept ramblin’, and her voice was all high and whiny, like this was the worst thing that ever happened to her. “I mean, like — I get it. We need Patty, but seriously. Feels like a bad horror movie.”
I snorted.
Tina laughed. “Ha. Funny.” Then, like she didn’t know how to leave shit alone — “So what’s your deal, anyway?”
My shoulders locked, and for once I’s grateful that Dwight - her brother-in-law, I’d gathered - cut in:
”Tina…”
“Like — you got a camp or somethin’?” she kept on, not takin’ a hint.
“Somethin’.”
She waited for me to say more, but I didn’t.
Silence dragged ‘til she huffed, “Cool. Real chatty.”
I grit my teeth, slowed my steps, and glanced back, but bit my tongue. She sounded like Beth. She couldn’t’a been much older, probably the same age actually. Barely an adult, and havin’ to figure it all out in this piece of shit universe. She didn’t need me bein’ a dick just because. “Just ain’t none ‘a your business, kid.”
Tina blinked, but instead of takin’ the hint like I figured she would, she just smirked. Like she thought that was funny . “I’m not a kid.” she said, speeding up.
I frowned.
“Tina.” Dwight said again, this time matching her step, leaving Sherry a few paces behind.
“C’mon.” She hopped a few steps to close the space between us, practically rubbin’ arms with me now. “You married or somethin’? Got a girl?”
Jesus Christ .
I grit my teeth harder and yanked a low branch outta my way. “Ain’t your business.”
“It’s just a question,” Tina kept going, walking ahead. “I mean, not everything has to be boring and brutal.”
I didn’t answer, but that sure as hell didn’t stop her. She turned back with this grin, all playful, like she wasn’t takin’ me seriously. Like she didn’t think I was the kinda guy that had somebody. “I’m just sayin’, you seem real uptight for a guy who probably hasn’t been laid in a while.”
Sherry coughed. Dwight groaned.
I stopped walkin’.
Not ‘cause I was mad, just—what the fuck was this conversation?
Tina stopped too, pivotin’ back with that same damn smirk. Like she thought she was funny. “Well?”
I glanced at Dwight, who looked about two seconds from buryin’ his face in his hands. I exhaled hard through my nose, rubbin’ at the bridge, then finally muttered, “I got a girl.”
Tina’s smirk faltered, but she recovered quick. “Oh, yeah?” She crossed her arms, weight shifting to one hip. “She hot?”
“Tina,” Dwight snapped, louder this time.
Tina sighed, all dramatic, then lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, whatever. Just tryin’ to make conversation.”
“Yeah, well, don’t,” Dwight shot back.
She rolled her eyes but let it go, droppin’ back beside Sherry.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
The walls were strong. I knew that much. I knew because I’d seen them up close, touched them with my own hands, run my fingers over every solid inch of steel and wood holding this place together. They weren’t indestructible, not by a long shot, but they were built to last .
Didn’t stop me from looking at them every now and then like they might crumble right in front of me.
“You did good work,” Michonne said as we walked.
I blinked, glancing over. “Huh?”
She nodded toward the rolled-up blueprints in my hand. “The expansion plans. I looked ‘em over.”
A weird twist settled in my chest. Not because I was embarrassed or anything, but because it was Michonne saying it. Michonne, who saw through people like glass, who didn’t waste her breath on things she didn’t believe.
I scoffed, adjusting my grip on the papers. “Yeah, well. Not all my work.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the one making sure it happens .”
That pulled a dry laugh out of me. “Deanna’s makin’ sure it happens.”
“She’s pushing for you ,” Michonne countered, no hesitation.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, no kidding.”
It wasn’t exactly subtle foreshadowing for my future anymore. Deanna had all but told me she was retiring from being the leader and it was my turn to clock the fuck in. I still hadn’t fully wrapped my mind around it though.
Michonne must’ve read my face, ‘cause she kept going. “She’s right.”
I huffed, rubbing my fingers against my forehead. “Don’t make it sound like I’m this prodigy that’s been waiting for the right moment to take leadership,” I said, a but dramatically and earning myself a bright smile from Michonne.
A sound cracked through the air like a tree snapping in half.
Both of us stopped.
Turned.
My stomach dropped .
The watchtower was falling.
And it was falling into Alexandria.
.cause i can’t for the life of me, reap what i have sown.
Notes:
idk, this chapter fr wasn’t it… it drug on for me, and I didn’t really feel like there was a good place to put Libby, especially since she was injured… next chapter is pretty exciting though!!! and i added the Daryl bits so it gave a good parallel on what was happening around the same time as each other. (also, awkward Daryl is my fav). I hope y’all enjoyed this one, and our little power couple gets back together in the next one!
Chapter 59: her own prerogative
Summary:
I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat.
She was dying.
Chapter Text
.safety’s an illusion.
Walkers. A flood of them. The groan of dead lungs dragging air through rotted throats, the shuffle of bodies pressing forward like a single, writhing organism.
My gun was in my hand before I even realized it. People were screaming—some running, some frozen in place, wide-eyed and useless.
“MOVE!” My voice ripped through. “GET IN YOUR HOUSES! BARRICADE THE DOORS!”
A blur of motion to my right—Erin, maybe, or one of the Conrad boys—stumbling over their own feet as they tried to bolt for shelter. I caught them by the arm, shoved them forward. “Go! Now!”
Shots rang out. Rick’s. Carl’s. I lifted my own gun and fired again, taking down a walker that had lunged at Tori before she could even raise her weapon.
More of them poured in. A sea of gnashing teeth and clawing fingers, tearing through Alexandria’s streets like locusts stripping a field.
A woman—long brown hair, a sweater hanging off one shoulder—was struggling to get her kid inside, hands shaking too bad to unlock the damn door. I ran for them, planting a bullet in a walker’s skull as it lunged from the side. Its body crumpled, but two more took its place.
“Go, go, go!” I shouted, catching the door as it swung open and shoving them both inside. I didn’t wait to see if they listened before turning back to the street, scanning for more people caught in the open.
It was just more shots. More screams. The walkers just kept coming.
I backed up, gun raised, my heart hammering in my throat. My foot caught on something—debris, a chunk of the wall maybe—and suddenly I was off balance. A walker lunged.
I barely got my arm up in time, the thing crashing into me with all the weight of the grave. Its teeth snapped too close to my face, rancid breath filling my lungs. My gun was pinned between us. I twisted, wrenched my knee up, forced space between us—just enough.
I fired.
The walker collapsed, but more were coming. Too many.
“Libby!” Michonne called out from across the field. My head snapped up just as she sliced through a walker coming up her flank, her sword an arc of silver. “Gotta move!” she shouted, already backing toward one of the houses. Rick was ahead of us, laying down cover fire.
I swore under my breath and fired again, clearing my path. Then I ran as the street was disappearing under a tide of the dead.
My boots hit the pavement hard, breath ragged, my muscles and wound screaming under the force of adrenaline. I could hear Michonne’s footsteps just behind me, both of us cutting across yards, vaulting over obstacles, dodging the grasping hands of the dead.
Someone screamed to my left. I turned mid-stride, raising my gun, but before I could get a shot off, Rick fired, dropping the walker that had nearly taken out one of the Anderson kids, Ron, I think his name was.
A walker lurched out from the side, a blur of sunken flesh and clawing hands. I didn’t think—I just swung, pistol-whipping it across the temple. The rotted skin split, but it wasn’t enough to take it down. It staggered, reaching for me again, and I shoved the barrel of my gun under its chin and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain matter sprayed upward as it collapsed, but before the body even hit the ground, another was taking its place.
There was no stopping this. No holding them back.
We were surrounded.
Me, Rick, a wounded Deanna, Michonne, Carl, Gabriel, and that one kid with a pointed looking face. We were going to die together.
“Rick!” It was loud and gunshots followed it - but it wasn’t a voice I was overly familiar with. “Come on, I have Judith!” Then again, I wasn’t complaining when Jessie ushered the group of us into her house and away from certain death.
And for a quick heartbeat it was silent when the door closed.
Not real silence, but the kind that came when you were holding your breath, waiting for the next hit. Outside, the groans of the dead rose in a chorus. Hands slapped against windows. Wood creaked as bodies shoved against the siding. But we had a second—a brief, fragile second to get our shit together.
Jessie was gripping Ron too tight, her chest heaving. Rick was already scanning the room, supporting Deanna’s weight. And then, like a directors cut, noise and movement flashed back in like it never stopped.
“Upstairs!” Jessie ordered to Rick. “First room on the left,”
He didn’t miss a beat - just gathered Deanna’s small form in his arms and lifted her up the staircase. The rest of us were on their heels.
My breath was ragged, heart hammering in my throat as I reached the landing. Rick was ahead, shifting Deanna’s weight, trying to be careful, but we didn’t have time to be careful.
I had no idea what the hell happened to her. We didn’t have a fucking doctor. And from the forecast of walkers outside, it didn’t really look like we were going to be getting one anytime soon.
The moment we made it into the room, Rick laid Deanna down onto the bed. She sucked in a sharp breath, blinking against the pain as Michonne hurried to check her wound.
Her shirt was wet with blood, staining deeper and brighter with every passing second. Too much blood - too contained. My hands curled into fists as I stepped closer.
I already knew.
Jessie was a flickering blob in and out the doorway, saying things that my ears weren’t fully hearing. I barely registered her—I was too busy staring at the deep, festering mark on Deanna’s ribs, torn through the fabric of her blouse.
Bitten.
My stomach turned over — but I didn’t say anything. And I don’t really know why either. I should’ve pointed it out to Michonne before she started bandaging up Deanna’s wounded leg so we didn’t waste supplies. I should’ve said something so then maybe I could’ve spent a few more minutes with her. But instead, I turned on my heel and found myself wandering down the stairs until I happened upon Carl.
When I held my arms out for Judith, he quickly mentioned that he saw Soup at Mr. Adler’s before shit went south. It made my chest tighten. I knew he was telling me that so I wouldn’t worry - so I knew that Soup was with a trusted individual - but it only made me worry more. I hadn’t even seen Mr. Adler since before the supposed-to-have-been dry run.
Soup was another living, breathing piece of my heart, tangled up in the mess of people I loved. Even when he was stuck up Lori’s butt, shadowing Jude like he belonged to her instead, he always managed to find his way back to me at the end of the day.
I prayed this time wouldn’t be different.
Judith was warm against my chest, her tiny body rising and falling in a steady rhythm, anchoring me despite everything. The noise from upstairs bled into the walls—voices hushed but urgent, the world unraveling one thread at a time. My arms curled around her, protective, fingers absently brushing over the soft fabric of her onesie. I breathed her in, that faint, powdery scent clinging to her skin, something innocent and untouched in a world that was anything but.
She was growing. Too fast. It hit me all at once, standing there in the dim lighting of Jessie’s house, surrounded by muffled voices and the dead pressing in from all sides.
I remembered when she was small enough to fit in the crook of my arm, a wriggling little thing with nothing but wide brown eyes and clumsy, reaching fingers. I’d watched her change, little by little—her face filling out, her babbles turning into something closer to words. She was strong, stubborn in a way that made me both proud and terrified for her future.
But what kind of future was that, really?
What kind of world was this for a baby?
She cooed, something unintelligible, and reached out—grabbing at nothing, her fingers curling in the air like she was plucking thoughts right out of my head. Her hand found my collar, gripping tight.
I swallowed hard.
I wasn’t even sure why my chest ached so damn much all of a sudden. Maybe it was everything—Deanna, the walls coming down, the bodies piling up. Maybe it was the fact that Judith was growing up in a world that had nothing soft left to offer her. No warmth beyond the people fighting tooth and nail to keep her safe. No lullabies that didn’t end in gunfire.
Or maybe—maybe it was the stupid little idea that had lodged itself in my brain the other night.
A family.
Daryl and I had talked about it. Or, rather, I had talked about it, and he—God, he hadn’t reacted the way I expected. No shutting down, no grunting his way through an awkward subject change. No avoidance, no brush-off.
He’d listened.
And then he’d agreed.
That thought hit different now, lodged like a hook in my ribs. Because I wanted it. And I hadn’t let myself want something like that in a long, long time. Not since before the world went to hell. Not since I was just a girl with half-baked dreams and no real way of reaching them.
But now—
Now I could almost see it.
Somewhere far off from this nightmare, past the walls and the bloodshed—there was a life I could almost touch. A little house. A baby that was ours, with my wild hair and Daryl’s pretty blue eyes. Tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb. A warm, steady weight curled against my chest.
And Daryl— Daryl with a baby was a dreamboat.
The thought alone made my breath catch. I’d seen the way he was with Judith, how careful he was, how he handled her like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world.
It had done something to me then, something deep and unspoken.
And that evening, when I’d brought it up, teased him just a little, just to test the waters—encourage him a bit maybe—I hadn’t expected much. Maybe an awkward grunt. A noncommittal shrug. But instead—
Instead, he’d pulled me in, his breath hot against my ear as he rasped, “I’d give ya one.”
My stomach flipped at the memory, heat curling low in my spine.
God.
I pressed a kiss to Judith’s soft curls, trying to shake the thought loose. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. But it was there, burning inside me, waiting for a world that didn’t exist yet.
And I wanted it.
I wanted all of this to go away, to rewind and undo itself. I wanted to live in that little green house by the lake, make expansions to Alexandria, build something worth holding onto. I wanted the curve of my belly to round with something perfect. I wanted Deanna to be okay. And Glenn. And Daryl. And Soup.
Because I think they were my oddly formed apocalyptic family, and I needed them all there.
Rick, Michonne, Carl, Jude, the others—they were family, too. But in a different way. Rick was like the uncle you saw at bonfires, full of conspiracy theories and whiskey, always a little too intense. Michonne was the aunt you called when you’d had one too many drinks and needed a judgment-free ride home. Rosita was the cousin you idolized, the one you were obsessed with. Gabriel was the long-lost uncle who was just now figuring out where he fit.
And Carol—
Carol was the sister-in-law who judged a little too harshly.
Everyone had their place. No one was left out. Not even the ones who weren’t with us anymore.
Footsteps creaked overhead, and my grip on Judith tightened just a little, instinctual, protective. There was too much going on, too much crashing down all at once, but this moment—right now, standing in this house with a baby in my arms and the dead pressing in—it felt like some kind of warped stillness. The eye of the storm.
I didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to step forward and break whatever fragile peace I’d found in this small pocket of time.
But then feet hit the stairs. A steady descent.
I didn’t look right away, just pressed my lips against Judith’s temple, breathing her in.
“She wants to see you,” Rick said, his voice lower than usual, quieter.
I already knew who he meant.
I sucked in a breath, before shifting my gaze to him. He was watching me, and it wasn’t with that sharp, calculating look he usually had when he was trying to piece something together. No, this was different. Like he already knew that I knew. Like he was waiting for me to say it out loud.
I didn’t.
I just gave him a small, humorless smile. “Guess I should’ve figured. I’ve been told she has this future planned out for me.”
Rick didn’t smile back. He barely even blinked. Just exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, gaze flicking down to Judith for half a second before landing back on me.
“She trusts you,” he said. “Trusts you with her dream.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Deanna had trusted me too much . Enough to let me speak for her when she wasn’t sure of her own voice, enough to listen when I had no real right to be advising her at all. She took my word over people she’d known longer, people who were smarter, better suited for all of this. And now—
She was dying.
And I couldn’t fucking do anything about it.
I shifted Judith in my arms, trying to will the lump in my throat away. “She told me I’d have to lead one day,” I murmured. “I’m pretty sure I laughed in her face until I realized she was serious.”
Rick’s expression didn’t change much, but something flickered behind his eyes. He stepped forward, until he was close enough that I could feel the warmth rolling off of him.
“She wasn’t wrong.”
I let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah. Well.” I glanced down at Judith, brushing my fingers over the soft fuzz of her hair. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”
Rick was silent for a long moment.
Then, softer than I expected, he said, “It still matters.”
And that—that hit somewhere deeper than I wanted it to. Because I wanted it to matter. I wanted all of this to mean something . Deanna, the plans she made, the future she wanted for this place.
It couldn’t just end with her — with this wall collapsing.
I swallowed, finally lifting my gaze to Rick’s again. “How bad is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just held my stare, something unspoken stretching between us, heavy and awful.
Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You should see her.”
That told me everything I needed to know.
I nodded once, then carefully pried Judith’s little fingers from my collar and held her out to Rick. He took her without question, his arms automatically settling around her.
I lingered just a second longer, my hand brushing against Judith’s tiny foot before I pulled away.
Then, without another word, I turned and started up the stairs.
Each step was heavier than the last, like something inside me was trying to drag me back down. My fingers brushed the banister, curling tight against the wood, knuckles pale with the force of it. My throat felt tight. My chest ached.
I didn’t want to do this.
I didn’t want to do this.
But my feet kept moving, one after the other, like I was being pulled forward by something bigger than me.
The door to the bedroom was cracked open, warm light spilling into the hallway. I barely had time to register it before Michonne stepped out.
She stopped short when she saw me, her expression shifting, softening. Her gaze flicked over my face like she was searching for something, like she already knew how much this was gonna hurt.
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice, but all I managed was, “Hey.”
Her lips pressed together. She didn’t say hey back.
Instead, she reached out. Just a small movement, barely anything. But it was enough. Enough to let me know she understood, enough to say everything neither of us had the words for.
I let out a shaky breath, and then—I took her hand.
She squeezed once. Firm. Steady.
Then, just as quickly, she let go.
She didn’t say anything else. Just stepped past me, quiet as a whisper, and disappeared down the hall.
I was alone.
I turned back to the door.
It felt heavier than it should have.
I exhaled slow, steadying myself, then pushed it all the way open.
The room smelled like sweat, like sickness, like the coppery tang of blood that no one could quite wash out. The sun setting outside cast long shadows against the walls, and the sheets rustled as Deanna shifted, her breath coming uneven, labored.
She looked smaller somehow.
Weaker.
And I hated it.
Her gaze lifted when she saw me, and for a moment, just a brief flicker of time, something in her face smoothed out. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“Libby.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat, stepping closer. “Hey, boss lady.”
She huffed a laugh, but it was quiet, thin. “Not for much longer.”
I flinched.
Because I knew it was true.
But hearing her say it—hearing her accept it—felt like someone had just punched a hole straight through my chest.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, and for a moment, I just looked at her. Really looked.
Her skin was paler than before, her hair damp with sweat. The fever had already taken its hold, digging in deep, dragging her down. The bite on her side was covered, but I knew what it looked like underneath. I knew what it meant .
I shook my head. “You’re not supposed to leave yet.”
Her smile was sad now. Knowing. “We don’t always get a choice.”
A sharp, splintering breath rattled through me. I curled my fingers into the blankets, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping me tethered.
“I don’t—” My voice cracked. I shook my head again, harder this time. “I don’t know how to do this, Deanna. I don’t know how to lead. I don’t know how to be you .”
Her expression softened, something warm and achingly maternal creeping into her eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I didn’t expect it.
Didn’t expect the way those two little words completely wrecked me.
My face crumpled. My chest caved in. And suddenly, I was crying.
Not just crying .
Breaking.
Crying that shakes you from the inside out, that rips through your ribs and leaves you raw, exposed. Tears burned hot tracks down my cheeks, my shoulders jerking with every breath, and I couldn’t stop it.
I didn’t even try to stop it.
Because this wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair .
Deanna was supposed to be here. She was supposed to help build this place into something real, something safe. She was supposed to keep guiding me, pushing me, believing in me.
She was supposed to stay .
And now she was dying, and I—
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready .
I sucked in a breath, shaking, wiping at my face like it would do anything, but Deanna just reached out, her fingers curling weakly around my wrist.
I froze.
She squeezed.
“Libby.” Her voice was gentler now, but no less firm. “You don’t have to be me.”
I blinked through the tears, my breath hitching.
“You just have to be you .”
My face crumpled all over again. A fresh wave of sobs broke free, and I didn’t fight it. I let myself fold forward, pressing my forehead to the blankets, shoulders shaking.
Deanna smoothed her palm over my hair, slow and comforting.
Like a mother would.
Like my mother never had.
I clung to the sound of her voice, the soft cadence of it, the way she never made me feel small, never made me feel like I wasn’t enough.
“You’re stronger than you think,” she murmured. “You care . You care so much it scares you. That’s what makes you right for this.”
I let out a choked, watery laugh. “Pretty sure that’s what makes me the worst for this.”
She smiled again, her fingers brushing lightly over mine.
“I used to think that,” she admitted. “A long time ago.” Her gaze flickered, something distant in it. “But Reg…he always reminded me that caring isn’t a weakness.”
Her eyes found mine again, clearer this time, sharper. “It’s what makes us human .”
Another fresh set of tears slipped down my cheek.
I didn’t argue.
She let out a slow, shaky breath, her fingers twitching against mine. “And you’re not alone in this.”
I frowned slightly, wiping at my face again. “I know. I mean—I have Rick, and Michonne, and—”
“Daryl.”
I sucked in a breath. “Yeah,” I muttered, struggling to pretend that I knew he was okay.
“The two of you are good for each other,” she said, her fingers brushing over my arm. “He’s not afraid of who you are, and that’s important. Don’t forget that.”
I scoffed, leaning into her. “Why would he be scared of me?”
She nudged me, a small wince following, but it didn’t deter her. “He’s not scared of an independent woman with her own prerogative. That’s a lot. Especially for a man like him, come on, Libby,” she pressed in, almost like she was telling me a secret. “Have you seen his arms?”
Humor at a time like this was exactly what I should’ve expected from Deanna.
A smile cracked on my lips and something like a laugh escaped.
A man like him. Gruff. Works with his hands. Crass. Ornery. Intimidating to an outsider. Redneck. He didn’t exactly come off as ‘in-touch with his feminine side’. A man like him.
“I have,” I shot back, wiping the tears from my face for the umpteenth time. “He’s a lot more than I could ever ask for.”
_____________
A crash.
Somewhere below. Something breaking, shattering. Violent. Sudden.
I shot up so fast my vision blackened at the edges. My heartbeat slammed into my throat, pulse hammering like a war drum. The air in the room felt tight, suffocating.
More crashing. Muffled voices. A struggle.
I twisted toward Deanna, but she barely stirred. Her chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow gasps, her eyelids fluttering. She flinched at the noise but didn’t fully react. She was slipping, drifting.
A sharp spike of panic twisted through me, but I forced it down, swallowing hard. I was already moving, shoving to my feet, my sleeve dragging across my face like it could erase the last hour. It couldn’t. Nothing could. But I needed to know what the hell was happening.
I slipped out the door, my breath quick and uneven as I flew down the stairs. The closer I got, the clearer the voices became—urgent, angry, terrified.
I rounded the corner just in time to see Carl
and Ron disappear inside of another bedroom.
“What the hell—” My words barely made it past my lips before Gabriel rushed past me.
“They’re coming in,” he said, out of breath. “We need things to block the door.”
My stomach dropped. I turned toward the front of the house. Rick was already there, dragging furniture in a frenzy. Jessie was right with him, her hands gripping the edge of a shelving unit, her face pale with shock.
I sucked in a breath, yanked my knife free, and sprinted to the basement door. The barricade was barely holding. Rotting hands shoved through the cracks, desperate and clawing. Their moans grew louder, more insistent.
“Shit.”
The walls of the house creaked under the force of bodies piling outside. The front door shuddered in its frame. The herd was pressing in, pushing against the house, against the barricade, and there were so many more of them than there were us.
“Son of a bitch,” I snapped to no one but myself after I caught a peek of the growing hoard through the crack in the basement barricade. I turned sharply to Rick, shoving my fear down deep when Judith’s cries broke out.
Michonne cursed under her breath and shoved against the barricade, sending Rick upstairs with a look. He disappeared before I could blink.
It wouldn’t last for long.
The barricade at the front was not going to hold. I moved fast, grabbing anything, everything, piling it against the door, reinforcing. The weight of the dead was relentless. Every push, every slam rattled the walls, sent tremors through my bones. Fingernails scraped against wood. Splintering. Breaking.
“Libby, move!” Michonne’s voice snapped me back just as I dragged another heavy table against the front door. She was already beside me, shoving her back into the barricade, sweat gleaming against her temple.
I didn’t think. I grabbed an overturned armchair and threw my weight against it, wedging it into place. Jessie followed suit, her breathing sharp and uneven. Gabriel was murmuring something—praying—but his hands never stopped, reinforcing, moving, fighting to buy us more time.
Then the basement door cracked.
The sharp, violent snap of wood splintering sent an electric jolt through my spine. I turned fast—too fast—catching sight of fingers, arms, half-decayed bodies pressing forward, forcing themselves inside.
“Shit—shit!” My hands scrambled for something, anything to shove against it, my breath coming too fast, vision tunneling.
Gabriel was there first, forcing himself against the furniture, his teeth gritted. “Help me!”
I lunged. Pressed my palms against the couch. Strained with everything I had. Cold, dead fingers grazed my forearm, reaching, grasping. My knife was slick in my other hand, useless unless I let go—and I couldn’t let go.
But the basement barricade held.
Barely.
For a second, just a second, I thought maybe—maybe—we could keep this up. The pounding at the front, the moans outside, the walkers shoved against the cracks—it was all a storm raging against us, but we were holding.
Then came the crash.
Louder than before, deeper. More…I don’t know — final.
The front barricade snapped at its center.
The world seemed to lurch—a sickening shift as furniture gave way, the front door slamming inward, a flood of decay and death surging forward.
"Everybody upstairs, now!" Michonne yelled.
The house trembled. The moans grew deafening. Walkers poured in, filling the space, limbs tangled as they shoved forward, an unrelenting wave of hunger.
My pulse slammed against my skull. I bolted up the stairs, grabbing a fire poker as I ran. My mind raced—Carl, Ron, Gabriel, Jessie—who’s in front, who’s behind?
Rick and Michonne were last, dragging the couch behind them, pulling it up the stairway. Walkers swarmed below, clawing, reaching, their grotesque faces twisted in hunger. The house screamed with the sound of them.
I reached the landing and spun, scanning the hallway. The walls felt too close. The ceiling too low.
“In here!” Carl’s voice, sharp and desperate.
He was already hauling Ron into a bedroom, shoving the door open so hard it cracked against the wall. Jessie staggered in next, her knuckles white against the doorframe.
Gabriel practically shoved me through next, his breaths coming sharp and quick. The room was small—too small for all of us—but it was something. A bed, a dresser, a tiny window that overlooked nothing but the walkers below.
My stomach twisted.
The horde was everywhere. A sea of bodies, endless, writhing. There was no getting out.
The barricade at the stairs thudded.
I turned just as Rick and Michonne wedged the couch sideways, sealing the stairway. Walkers slammed against it from below, their arms stretching, clawing.
The sound—the wet, hungry moans—filled everything. The walls. The floor. My skull.
“They’re gonna push through,” I said, and barely recognized my own voice.
Rick was already moving. He grabbed Michonne’s arm, jerking his head toward another room. “We need bodies,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to catch.
My stomach clenched.
Bodies.
Dead ones.
Before I could process it, they were gone, disappearing into the darkened hall, leaving me with nothing but the smell of sweat, fear, and the relentless pounding from downstairs.
“Will it hold?” Jessie’s voice was tight, barely above a whisper.
No one answered.
Seconds crawled by, too long somehow, filled with nothing but the shuffling below, the guttural growls. I swallowed. My fingers clenched tight around my knife, useless against the sheer number out there.
Then—footsteps and heavy dragging.
Michonne appeared first, breathless, gripping the arms of a walker she’d already taken care of. Blood and viscera dripped in long, wet strands across the hardwood as she hauled it from the stairs. Rick was right behind her, lugging a second corpse, his face set, his jaw locked so tight I swore I heard his teeth grind.
I barely had time to move before they dumped the bodies in front of us. Blood smeared thick across the wood.
I knew exactly what Rick was planning, and was all of a sudden envious of Michonne who slipped through the door to check on Deanna.
The air curdled with the putrid stench of decay. It didn’t just smell —it clung, it invaded, it turned every inhale into a violation. Sweat beaded on my temples, mixing with the suffocating humidity of rotting meat and blood-soaked wood.
Rick didn’t wait for Michonne to get back. He crouched, grabbed a fistful of the walker’s sagging gut, and ripped . The flesh peeled back with a wet, tearing shluck , splitting from the sternum like an overstuffed sausage bursting at the seams. A deep, gloppy squelch followed as its intestines spilled out in a thick, putrid coil..
I swallowed, hard. Forced myself to breathe through my mouth. It didn’t help.
My hands hovered, fingers flexing, bracing—then I plunged them into the gore.
Instantly, warmth soaked through my skin. Thick. Sticky. Congealed in some places, liquid in others. My fingers curled around the slippery, bloated ropes of intestine, the skin thin as wet paper, threatening to burst under my grip.
A sickening pop split the awkward silence. Something ruptured beneath Rick’s hands—a gas pocket, maybe. The stink doubled . My throat burned.
Rick was working, fast and methodical, dragging gore from the butchered walker and smearing it onto the ripped sheets Carl was already getting ready.
I followed suit. I grabbed a fistful of the walker’s shredded liver—slimy, spongy, leaking thick, blackened blood—and smeared . Across the pristine white sheets while Rick was explaining exactly how this trick worked.
_____________
“Heard you’re leaving me,” Deanna croaked, trying and failing to prop herself up.
The effort cost her. Her face twisted, breath shuddering out in a thin, wheezing gasp as she collapsed back against the mattress. The sheets beneath her were soaked through with sweat and blood, the wound at her side a festering ruin. She looked worse than before—her skin dull and graying, her lips cracked, her eyes ringed in deep shadows that stretched and hollowed her face.
I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat.
She was dying.
No, she was already gone , in a way. What was left now was just time stretching thin, waiting for her body to finally cave, for the infection to finish its work.
“I didn’t want to,” I admitted, stepping further into the room. The air was thick, heavy, carrying the metallic sting of blood, the rancid sweetness of a body already beginning to turn. “But we don’t have a choice.”
Deanna gave a dry, rasping chuckle. “We always have a choice — in everything but death.”
My chest ached .
I wanted to argue, tell her it wasn’t true, that if I had a choice , I wouldn’t be walking out of here. Wouldn’t be leaving her to die alone in a house filling with the dead.
But what would be the point?
She knew as well as I did that there were only two options left: either she went down by herself, or she let the infection eat her up from the inside until all that was left was hunger.
Neither of us wanted the second.
I stepped closer, kneeling by the bed.
“You’re in pain,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I can—”
Deanna cut me off with a sharp shake of her head. “No. Not yet.”
Not yet.
She wanted to wait . Wanted to hold on .
To what?
What was there left but suffering?
I pressed my lips together, looking down at her hand where it rested against the sheets, trembling slightly. The veins beneath her skin stood out, stark against the sickly pallor. She was fading right in front of me, slipping further away by the second, and I—
I couldn’t do anything .
“I—” My breath caught, and I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Deanna.”
Her fingers twitched, then weakly curled over mine.
“Don’t be,” she whispered. Her grip was weak, barely there, but there was still something fierce in her gaze when she looked at me. “You’re gonna make it out of this. I know you will.”
I wanted to believe that.
I really, really did.
But right now, with the walls shaking and the groans rising and my hands still sticky with blood and rot, survival felt impossible .
Deanna must’ve seen something in my face because her grip, as weak as it was, tightened. “Hey,” she rasped. “Look at me.”
I did.
“You will survive this,” she said, voice steadier now, firmer, even as her body betrayed her. “You are strong, Liberty.”
The use of my full name nearly undid me.
Not many people used it. Not many knew it.
Deanna had made it a point to learn.
A burning knot formed in my throat.
“I don’t feel strong,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
Deanna smiled. A small, tired thing.
“Strength isn’t about feeling it,” she murmured. “It’s about getting up anyway.”
I looked away, my chest constricting, breath hitching. My grip on her hand tightened.
“I don’t want to leave you here,” I whispered.
I hated this.
I hated that I was leaving her to this .
Deanna exhaled a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “And I don’t want to die,” she said. “But neither of us get a say, do we?”
I let out a choked, broken sound, something caught between a sob and a bitter laugh.
No.
We didn’t.
Deanna reached up, shaky and slow, brushing her fingers against my cheek. Her skin was fever-hot, damp with sweat, but her touch was gentle.
“You remind me of my son,” she murmured. “Spencer. He always thinks he has to do it all on his own.”
I swallowed hard, my throat raw.
She let her hand fall away.
“You don’t,” she said. “You have people who care about you.”
I closed my eyes, sucked in a shaky breath, and nodded.
A beat of silence stretched between us.
Then, finally, I forced myself to move.
I shifted forward, pressing my forehead lightly to hers. She was burning up . Her breath was shallow. I felt her pulse flutter, weak and too fast beneath my fingers.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
For everything.
For letting me in.
For believing in me.
For caring .
I lingered for a second longer before I finally— finally —let go.
_____________
He should’ve gone with Gabriel and Judith. That kid should’ve gone — but no. He insisted.
And now Carl had a hole in his head.
Carl, who had already been shot once.
Carl, who had aged thirty-years in the span of two.
Carl, who only wanted the best for his sister.
Carl.
The name barely had time to form in my mind before we were sprinting .
Rick was ahead, his grip on Carl desperate, his son’s body limp in his arms, a deadweight that shouldn’t be dead yet , but with every second, with every ragged breath, the blood kept pouring —
Too much.
Way too fucking much.
I knew it. Rick knew it. Michonne knew it. And if the movements hadn’t already given us away, the herd knew it too.
It was like shudder passed through them - a ripple across the ocean - heads snapping in unison, hollow, rotted sockets locking onto the gaping wound in Carl’s skull and the three of us bolting around a little to fluidly to be one of them.
A wall of rot, of gnashing teeth and clawing hands, surging toward us, driven by nothing but hunger and instinct and the unshakable pull of fresh, warm blood.
I ran.
I ran so fucking hard my legs burned, muscles screaming, my lungs barely dragging in air.
A walker lunged from the side—its mouth yawning open, a cavern of broken teeth—
I fired.
The shot rang out like a goddamn cannon, the bullet slamming straight through its temple, exploding out the other side in a wet spray of gore.
Another grabbed at me—hands like iron shackles on my arm—
I snarled, yanked free, felt my skin tear—
Michonne’s katana sang , cutting the air in a brutal arc, slicing the walker’s head clean from its shoulders.
“Keep moving!” she shouted, barely winded, already cutting another down.
Rick wasn’t stopping.
He couldn’t stop.
Carl was slipping—his fingers twitching, breath a wet, rattling gasp that sounded wrong, wrong, wrong—
The infirmary was close.
But the dead were closer .
“ FUCK! ” I fired again—missed. No time to aim, no time to breathe—
One grabbed Rick.
He twisted, throwing all his weight into slamming it against the nearest mailbox, crushing its rotting ribs with a sickening crunch, but another was right there , reaching for Carl—
I moved .
My knife buried into its eye socket, my free hand pushing Rick forward. Closer to where we needed to be. Closer to safety.
More were coming.
No end to them, just a never-ending tide of death, pressing in, trying to drown us.
“ LIBBY! ” Michonne’s voice, sharp, urgent—
I turned.
She was already shoving through, clearing a path—” GO! ”
Rick barreled forward, Carl clutched to his chest.
The infirmary door was just ahead.
I reached for it, but it was already opening, Denise on the other side. A group on the other side. Aaron, and Eric, and Heath, and Spencer. Oh, Spencer.
Rick staggered inside.
Michonne spun, slicing the closest walker in half before diving in after us—
The door slammed shut.
"This is a gunshot?" Denise asked before Carl was even on the gurney. Her hands were already working on him with a precision I hadn’t quite seen before. Something about her was different.
And…and Carl was bleeding out, but she would save him. I knew she would. She had to.
I diverted my attention, refusing to look at Carl any longer than I had to. I wasn’t going to have this be how I thought of him — I didn’t want to picture him a bloody mess — I wanted him to be a little freckle faced kid who got on my nerves. And he’d still be that person when Denise was finished with him. He’d be fine.
But who landed in my gaze wasn’t much better.
“Have you seen my mom?” Spencer asked, panicked and confused.
That question barely cut through the pounding in my skull. I heard it, I felt it, but it was distant—muffled beneath the blood still roaring in my ears, beneath the panic still clawing up my throat.
Have you seen my mom?
I should’ve answered. I should’ve looked at him, instead of staring at him blankly. But I didn’t.
Because the second I did—
It would be real.
Deanna was gone .
She was back at Jessie’s house, either ripped apart, one of them, or a cold body with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. And I left her.
I left her.
I left her.
The words rang in my skull, pounded against the inside of my ribs like something feral trying to escape. I felt it coming, the weight of it, the inevitability of it, but I shoved it back, pressed it down so fucking hard I could barely see straight.
I forced myself to move, forced myself to breathe , but every motion felt sluggish, wrong—like my body wasn’t my own.
And Spencer—Spencer was still waiting.
Still standing there, still looking at me, still waiting for something— anything .
I didn’t give it to him.
Because…I was sinking.
For the first time - the first real time since Beth died - I was spacing out. Not entirely here. Or anywhere for that matter. I existed only in the sense of physical presence; my mind had sunk far back to the beginning.
To Uncle Clyde; blood-soaked collar, sweat-brimmed mustache. He only wanted to lock the love of his life away, to put her up so she couldn’t hurt anybody. Bit. And yet he still forced me to save myself. I wondered if he ended up putting himself down…or was he still locked in the bedroom? A lifetime of mindlessly bumping into walls with my Aunt Bea.
And to Dale Horvath; a friendly smile every morning on the hot Georgia highway. Always an optimist. Always the dreamer for better things. For humanity. Gutted. Dead without knowing that we’d spared the life he so desperately fought to save. Daryl had ended his suffering, and I never got to say goodbye to the man who had brought me a new found love of music in such a shitty world.
To…Glenn; my very first best friend. To bonding in a dimly lit tent over anime and Harry Potter, snacking on whatever teeth rotting snacks he was able to snatch up from Atlanta. The only person who made those starting weeks feel like an extended sleepover that I’d never experienced before. Unknown. Stuck somewhere with a man who had tried to murder him in cold blood — who’d murdered others before. Possibly surrounded by dozens, or maybe hundreds of walkers.
My mind had sunk back to the early days of Daryl; dirty-blonde hair, neatly cut, with a fuse shorter than the month he was born in. A controversial crush who’d pointed his bow at my head the very second I met him. Bonding over morally questionable siblings in an alley before I was taken hostage. Nearly being ID’d as we indulged in each other’s bodies at the CDC - the first of many not-so-secretive rendezvouses. The sweet, cotton-candy coquette flirting. Unknown. Maybe overrun by the thousands of walkers he was herding away from our home. Trouble on the road from strangers possibly? It wasn’t so far fetched after what happened to me. The love of my life, ripped apart because he’d made himself expendable one too many times.
Faintly, I heard Michonne yelling. At Rick?. But the sound of the door clicking shut was louder than a jet plane, drawing my attention to the window that Heath was sneaking a peek out of.
And then I moved, pulling the fire poker out from where I’d settled it through the loops of my shorts. In short flashes I was walking toward the door, and then I was outside.
And then—I was gone .
Not my body. My body was here, swinging, slashing, stabbing, moving. But my mind was far, far away.
The first walker fell, its skull caving inward, and I saw Sophia—sweet, quiet Sophia, with her messy blonde curls and shy smile. Lost to the woods, lost to monsters , lost to us . She walked out of that barn, and I blinked , and she was gone.
Another walker—another swing— T-Dog . Clumsy, big-hearted, good-to-his-core T-Dog. Torn open because he wouldn’t stop protecting Carol, because he cared , because he always cared .
Blade through rotten flesh— Lori . A complicated woman, but a mother through and through. She knew she wasn’t making it out of that prison somehow, and still, she gave everything she had left for her son. For Judith. Maggie had to cut her open, and Carl—Carl had to—
I couldn’t blink.
I tore a knife through the jaw of a decayed corpse, and it was Merle —loud-mouthed, arrogant, insufferable Merle, who had somehow, somehow , at the very end, chosen his brother over himself. A hero where there wasn’t supposed to be one.
The next— Andrea . Fierce, stubborn, broken Andrea. She should’ve lived . She should’ve made it out of Woodbury, but she was trapped, caught , too late to save herself.
Gunfire. A voice yelling something. I kept moving.
Melanie . My friend. My one, true friend after Glenn. And she was gone , ripped apart on a run that I was supposed to go on.
A walker lunged. I dodged. Blade to its throat, Hershel . Gentle, wise, unshakable Hershel. They held him down . The Governor held him down , and I watched as he — Jesus Christ, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it—
I was soaked in something thick. Blood. Not mine.
Beth. A gunshot. A mistake. That wide-eyed, blank look. The way she fell . The way Daryl— Daryl .
I almost stumbled.
Another kill. Another name.
Tyreese. He never should’ve died. He was strong, he was kind. He didn’t deserve it.
Aiden. Stupid, reckless, arrogant Aiden, but still human. Still scared . Ripped apart as he screamed for his mother.
I swung wildly—one kill, two.
Reg. Another man who didn’t deserve it. Another man who only ever tried to help . Slashed across the throat by a drunk, bleeding out in Deanna’s arms.
Deanna.
My blade hit something soft. Sank deep .
I was breathing too hard.
Something— someone —grabbed my arm. I swung .
“Libby!”
I didn’t recognize the voice.
I yanked my arm back, turned, ready to—
Gabriel.
Not a walker. Gabriel .
I blinked.
Aaron was nearby, stabbing a corpse through the skull. Carol was a few feet away. Michonne—when did she get there?—was cutting through a line of them, a force of nature, a storm .
I was in the middle of the street. The herd was thinning. The air was thick with rot, with blood, with sweat.
Gabriel’s hand was still on my arm. I could feel it, but I couldn’t feel it.
“Libby,” he said again, gentler this time.
I looked down.
The walker beneath my blade was already dead .
I had been stabbing it.
Over. And over. And over.
My fingers slipped from the hilt.
I stood there.
Breathing.
And then I moved.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
The fire caught fast.
The lake roared to life, flames licking up into the night sky, crackling against the dark like gunfire. The reflection of it danced across the water’s surface, a wicked, burning beacon against the cold night. A distraction. A last-ditch effort. And it worked. The dead turned toward it, the ones close enough to feel the heat lurching forward, mindless, desperate.
I stood on the roof of the truck, gripping my knife like it was the only damn thing in the world I could actually hold onto. My breathing came shallow as the heat from the fire mixed with the air. I scanned the streets beyond the blaze, past the shifting, snarling bodies moving toward it.
The walls had come down.
Alexandria had fallen apart.
Rick had been right. All that work, all that effort to make something last, and it had come to this anyway. The walls were supposed to keep people safe. But the second they’d crashed down, the dead flooded.
And Libby—
Fuck. Where was she?
The last time I’d seen her, she was headin’ off with a group — two or three days ago. Still holdin’ her own. She was tough. I knew that, but that didn’t mean a damn thing when you were drowning in the middle of an ocean of corpses.
I should’a been there. Should’a kept goin’ back for her. But I let myself get pulled in every other direction, stopped by every other fire that needed puttin’ out, caught up in a fuckin’ mission that would’a been fine without me. Now I’s standing on a goddamn truck, watching Alexandria burn, and I didn’t know where she was.
My grip on the knife tightened, and I hopped down from the truck, boots crunching against the pavement, and the second my feet hit the ground, I was moving, not payin’ no attention to any of the other people I’d been travelin’ with. The herd was still shifting toward the fire, but not all of them. Some of them had started to turn back, like they knew there was more meat to be had elsewhere.
One of them lunged, but I caught it fast—knife punching up through its chin before it could get a grip. I yanked the blade free, shoving the body back as another stumbled into his path.
Keep moving. Keep fucking moving.
A snarl to my left—I twisted, bringing the knife up, catching the walker just beneath the jaw and driving it deep. Another, coming from behind—my boot slammed into its knee, sending it buckling to the pavement before I drove the knife down through the top of its skull.
It was muscle memory by now. A rhythm. Duck, slash, pivot, strike. Get the knife in fast, get it out faster. If I stopped, or slowed down for even a second, they’d be on top ‘a me. And that wasn’t gonna happen. Not tonight.
Somewhere in the distance, on the other side of Alexandria, there was gunfire. Couldn’t tell who it was, but it meant someone was still fighting. Someone was still alive.
Had to be Rick. Had to be Carol. Had to be Libby.
I kept moving, this time toward the gunfire, slicing through whatever got too close, the fire roaring somewhere behind me. I wutn’t gonna die out here. Wutn’t gonna let anyone else die, either.
Blood. Guts. The fucking stench of it, thick in my throat, clingin’ to my skin, gettin’ into every damn cut and scrape like it was trying to burrow in. The knife in my hand was slick with it, my fingers tight around the hilt like if I let go, I’d go down with it. Didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to stop. Just kept movin’, kept takin’ ‘em down one after the other, pushin’ forward like it was the only thing I knew how to do.
Carol came outta nowhere, blade already buried in some dead fucker’s skull before she even turned to look at me. “Daryl?” she called, breathless, like she was tryin’ to figure out if I was real or not.
Didn’t answer right away. Just drove my knife up under a walker’s chin, yanked it free, and shoved the body back before turnin’ to her. She was lookin’ at me like she saw a ghost.
“What happened?” she asked, stepping closer, barely flinchin’ as she slit another’s throat and let it drop.
“Don’t matter,” I muttered, eyes already scanning past her, past the wreckage and the bodies and the fire still burnin’ in the distance. “You seen Libby?”
Carol hesitated, eyes flickin’ over my face like she was tryna read me. “Not since the wall fell,” she admitted. “I—Daryl, are you okay?”
That made me pause. Not ‘cause I wanted to. Not ‘cause I had time to. But ‘cause the way she said it—soft, careful, like she already knew the fuckin’ answer.
I clenched my jaw, shook my head once, sharp. “Ain’t got time for that.”
Carol’s lips pressed into a thin line, like she wanted to say somethin’ else, but I didn’t give her the chance. Pushed past her, shoved my knife into another walker’s temple, ripped it free, kept moving.
Didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The only thing that mattered was finding her.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
The fire had been burning for what felt like forever.
I didn’t know where it came from or who started it. It had erupted sometime in the late parts of the night, or maybe the early part of the morning, and the dead had turned toward it in droves, drawn by the heat, by the promise of something they could never fucking have. It should’ve been a relief, should’ve made this easier, but it didn’t. Not really. Because there were still so many of them. Because my arms ached, my legs were heavy, and I had lost track of time in the blood and the haze and the sickening, unrelenting movement of it all.
I wasn’t sure when night had bled into dawn. When the sky had started to shift from black to the deep, muted blue of early morning. When my vision had gone grainy, my chest hollow, my mind fractured at the edges. There was no time. No fucking time. Just one kill after the other, just hands gripping at me from the dark, just a blade cutting through rotted flesh, over and over and over again.
I was so deep in it I barely felt it anymore. Barely felt the sting in my arms, barely felt the strain in my muscles. My body moved, my feet shifted, my knife buried into skull after skull after skull.
And then, between it all, something shifted.
The air, the sounds, the weight of it pressing in on me. A pull, deep in my gut, something I couldn’t fucking place at first. But it was there, a static charge in my bones, something that told me to look—
And I saw him.
Daryl.
Fighting on the front porch of Mr. Adler’s house, moving like a goddamn force of nature, knife flashing in the dim, morning light, boots slamming against the wood, his body nothing but muscle and instinct and anger. His hair was damp with sweat, his arms streaked with blood, his breath ragged as he wrenched his knife free from a walker’s skull and spun toward the next.
Something broke open inside me.
I barely registered the walker coming at me from the side. I barely fucking thought as I spun, blade slicing, sending it toppling to the pavement. And then I was moving. Barreling through the street, cutting down anything that got in my way, my heartbeat hammering, my mind racing, my breath coming faster and faster and—
“Daryl.”
.fate is all chance.
Notes:
love love love this chapter! i got super emotional writing Deanna’s death bc i truly love her so much and wish she survived longer. Libby is having a partial mental breakdown, but somehow i think she’ll make it through. and Daryl is officially back!
Chapter 60: now i’m freakin’ out
Summary:
I swallowed hard. “Who?”
“Guy named Dwight.” His jaw flexed against me. “Had two women with him—one was hurt.”
My gut twisted. “They just—what? Took your shit and ran?”
Chapter Text
.and there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear.
His name barely left my lips — a desperate prayer rolling off my tongue in the middle of all this hell. My feet were already moving, my body surging forward before my mind could catch up, my knife plunging into a walker’s skull on instinct.
"Daryl!"
The second time was louder, like saying it again would will him closer, like it could bridge the impossible distance between us—the miles, the fights, the blood, the ruin of everything since the world went to shit again . I slashed out at another walker, sending it stumbling as I carved my way through, my heart hammering against my ribs. He was here. He was here.
I fought through the sludge of exhaustion weighing me down, my fingers slick with blood and grime, but none of that mattered. Not when my eyes were locked on him, and step by step, I was getting just a little closer.
A walker staggered toward him from the side—he turned, fast, knife flashing, but I was already there. My blade punched up through its jaw before it could touch him, and I shoved it back, yanking my knife free as it crumpled. I barely had time to register the look in his eyes before another came lunging from my left, and his knife caught it first, steel driving deep.
We moved like two halves of the same whole, cutting down whatever came too close, the space between us shrinking until I could feel him, until the air between us was filled with the sounds of our breathing and the distant crackle of fire.
And then we just stood there.
I drank him in like I hadn’t seen water in days. His hair was matted, tangled mess, his face streaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. A deep gash marred his chest—bad, but not enough to stop him. His crossbow— gone . His vest torn, his knuckles raw. He looked like he’d fought through the same hell I had.
But he was here.
A sound clawed up my throat, half a sob, half a laugh, and before I could stop myself, I was smiling. Big and wide and so fucking relieved it made my chest ache. My knife dropped from my fingers, clattering to the floor as I lunged forward, arms wrapping around him, squeezing so tight I felt the breath leave his lungs.
He didn’t even hesitate before he caught me, arms locking around my waist, lifting me off the ground. And then he swung me, that same stupid, reckless, wild energy coiled up inside him finally snapping loose, spinning me in a full circle like he couldn’t fucking believe it either.
I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing him in—sweat, blood, smoke, Daryl—and let out something that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob. My fingers fisted in the back of his vest, clutching at what I knew.
And for the first time since the walls came down, I breathed.
His arms were strong around me, the warmth of him grounding me even as everything else still spun. For a second, I wasn’t in Alexandria, wasn’t in the middle of all this death. I was just with him.
And then, too soon, he set me back down. My feet hit the ground, but I didn’t step away, couldn’t bring myself to. My hands curled into the fabric of his vest, like if I let go, he might just disappear.
Daryl’s hands settled on my face, rough fingertips brushing against my cheek, tilting my head up so he could look at me. Like he had to make sure I was real too. His eyes darted over my face, his breath coming a little unsteady. “You okay?”
I let out a breath, almost laughing. “I—yeah. Yeah, I am.”
I reached up, fingers trailing over his forearm, feeling the scrape of dried blood there. My eyes moved over him, over the wound on his chest, over the dirt and sweat and exhaustion carved into every inch of him. “What about you?” My voice was quieter now, shaking just a little. “You hurt?”
“Nah. Nothin’ bad.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He was bruised, cut up, missing his damn crossbow. But he was here. He was standing in front of me, alive, breathing.
A sharp breath clawed up my throat, and before I could stop it, tears were spilling over my lashes. My grip on him tightened, and I shook my head, huffing out a wet, uneven laugh. “God, I—” My chest squeezed, the words catching in my throat. I thought I lost you. I thought you were dead. I—
I love you.
But before I could say it, before I could even let myself think too hard about it, a voice cut through the early morning.
“Daryl!”
I flinched at the sound, my head snapping toward it. Across the yard, standing near the front gate, was Rick. His gun was still raised, but his face had shifted from focus to something else entirely. Recognition. Relief.
Daryl exhaled hard, his body tensing for half a second before he turned his head to look. Rick nodded at him, lowering his gun slightly. “You made it back.”
And just like that, the moment between us shattered. Reality came rushing back in, loud and heavy. The dead were still pressing in. The fire was still raging. Alexandria was still falling.
But Daryl was here. And I wasn’t letting him out of my sight again.
The relief was intense, almost suffocating, making it damn near impossible to breathe. It made it hard to do anything but stand there and stare at him. But then the world started creeping back in.
The groans of the dead, wet, slurred together in a chorus of hunger. The fire in the distance, still raging, still licking at the sky with plumes of thick black smoke. The scent of blood, rot, burning dead flesh . The distant shouts of people still fighting, still pushing, still alive .
I sucked in a breath, and forced myself to scan the street. The herd was thinning. Not gone, not by a long shot, but the numbers were dwindling. More bodies on the ground than moving. The fire had done its job, attracting walkers to the lake, burning them to ashes.
And the people who were left weren’t backing down.
They were still fighting, clawing their way through the wreckage, through the smoke and the bodies and the blood. The world wasn’t quiet yet. But for the first time since it began, I could see the end of it. The other side .
My eyes flicked back to Daryl, locking onto the wound on his chest again. He was still bleeding. Not bad, not pouring, but enough that it needed to be dealt with. And I could feel my own body aching, catching up to everything I’d put it through. The stab wound in my ribs that he had yet to find out about was doing a number on me.
“We should get you checked out,” I said, voice quiet. My hand lifted without thinking, fingers brushing lightly near the wound, not touching, but hovering close. “Both of us.”
Daryl exhaled hard, like he wanted to argue but knew I was right. His eyes dragged over me again, checking for injuries, checking that I was really, actually okay. I wasn’t sure either of us would believe it until we could sit down, breathe, and know we’d made it through the night.
He gave a small nod, shifting his weight like he was already getting ready to move. “Yeah. C’mon, lady.”
I nodded back, falling into step beside him as we started toward whatever counted as safety now.
_____________
“Ya got stabbed and ya didn’t even think t’ tell me?!”
The door had barely shut behind us before Daryl’s voice cut through the quiet, rough with something between disbelief and anger. He stood just inside the entryway, feet planted like he was trying to keep himself from pacing, eyes locked on me—sharp, searching, pissed.
I swallowed, trying not to look as guilty as I felt. “Didn’t wanna make you freak out the minute I saw you again.”
His nostrils flared. “Yeah? Well, now I’m freakin’ out.”
I let out a breath, turning toward the living room like I actually gave a shit about the state of the house. My eyes drifted over the furniture that never got put in its place, the half-painted walls, the floor— untouched. A miracle, considering the hell outside.
The hell I’d gone through.
Got stabbed and didn’t even tell him. That wasn’t the only thing I hadn’t told him yet — or anyone for that matter.
I forced my shoulders to relax, stepping forward like I was just taking a casual look around. “It’s not even that bad, honey.”
Daryl didn’t budge. “Liberty.”
I ignored the warning in his tone (and chose not to acknowledge my Christian name), kneeling beside the couch to pick up a book that’d fallen onto the floor. One of Deanna’s old ones—I’d borrowed it a while back and never gave it back. It was stupid, the way I traced the spine with my fingers. Like it kept me from having to look at him.
“Liberty.”
The way he said it this time was different. Lower. Not mad—just there . Right behind me.
I sighed, setting the book down, finally dragging my gaze back up to him. “I’m okay, Dar.”
His jaw tensed. He didn’t believe me.
Exhaling, sharp and frustrated, his eyes flicked toward the windows. Checking. Almost like he was making sure nobody was watching. Then he was moving—stepping closer, his boots scuffing against the hardwood.
Before I could brace myself, he dropped to his knees in front of me.
My breath caught. Unsure of what he was doing, but Daryl Dixon on his knees was enough to bring me to mine.
His hands, rough and steady, found my hips first—just a quick touch before he reached for my shirt, fingertips brushing the hem. He hesitated, like he was waiting for me to stop him, but I didn’t, still curious — until he finally lifted the fabric.
His breath hitched the second he got a look at the wound. “Shit.” His voice was tight, quiet, like he was trying to keep himself from growling. “Sweetheart.”
I swallowed, staring down at him. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
His fingers ghosted over the bruising around the stitches, his jaw flexing like he was biting back something sharp. “Looks like hell.”
I huffed out a weak laugh, but he didn’t. Didn’t even crack a smirk. His head dipped forward just a little, his arms sliding around my waist, his forehead nearly pressing against my stomach.
My heart stuttered.
He was still mad . I could feel it in the way his arms tensed around me, in the way his breathing wasn’t quite steady. But he wasn’t just mad—there was something else.
“Daryl.” My hand lifted before I could think, fingers brushing through his hair, over the back of his head. “I’m okay.”
His grip tightened. “What happened?”
I hesitated.
Didn’t wanna tell him. Didn’t wanna see that look in his eyes when he heard it.
But he was already there—on his knees, holding me like he was scared to let go—so I had to.
I had to recount the detour from Alexandria. Explain the way both Elliot and Samson were mauled to death. How Tori and I escaped through the woods until some guy fired shots at us. Then how I sent Tori back to Alexandria; putting my life on the line to save hers.
“Didn’t even know who he was,” My words wavered.
I didn’t like the way his breathing stilled as I told him about the fight…or how his grip tightened when I mentioned being pinned down with my shorts between my ankles. He shouldn’t have to hear it, and I shouldn’t have to tell it — but I knew better than anyone about keeping that shit bottled up.
My breath shuddered. “I didn’t think I was gonna make it, Dar,” I said, voice barely there. “I just - I screamed and hoped that the walkers would get to us before...”
I swallowed, my stomach twisting. “I got out of it though.” I stopped. Blinking hard and recalibrating my emotions. I’d already cried over this — already panicked. I was okay. Daryl was here, and he was safe, and that asshole was dead. “I killed him.”
Daryl shifted, just enough to press his forehead against me, his breath warm against my stomach. He was still gripping me, still close.
“M’sorry I wutn’t there.”
“Don’t.”
His fingers curled into my back. “You sure you’re okay?”
I exhaled, blinking hard against the burn behind my eyes. “I feel gross…dirty,” I admitted, while letting my fingers run absentmindedly through his hair. “But I’ll be okay.”
I let the silence settle, let it sink into my bones before I spoke again. “Your turn.”
Daryl didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, arms wrapped around me. I almost told him he didn’t have to tell me, but I knew better. Knew he needed to say it just as much as I needed to hear it. His breath came out rough. “Ran into some people on the road. Thought they needed help.”
That alone told me everything I needed to know. My grip on him tightened this time, my fingers curling tighter in his hair.
“They turned on me,” he continued, voice low and gruff, like he hated even saying the words out loud. “Took my bike… my bow. Everythin’.”
I swallowed hard. “Who?”
“Guy named Dwight.” His jaw flexed against me. “Had two women with him—one was hurt.”
My gut twisted. “They just—what? Took your shit and ran?”
He gave a slow nod against me. “Had a gun on me. I let ‘em go.”
I frowned. That didn’t sit right. Daryl wasn’t the type to just let someone rob him blind unless there was more to the story. Unless there was something that he wasn’t telling me, and if I didn’t know any better, I was willing to believe there was.
“Anything else?”
His arms tensed again. “One ‘a the girls died” His voice dropped. “I’s gonna bring the other two back here…that’s when they got the jump on me. Even helped bury that girl.”
“Assholes,” I breathed, letting out a slow breath.
The tension was still wound tight in his arms, and his shoulders. He wasn’t saying anything else, wasn’t moving either, just holding onto me like I was some kind of tree and he was a hippie-tree-hugger.
I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that. His head against me, arms locked around my waist, my fingers running through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. It felt like we’d been holding our breath for too long—both of us. Daryl had gone through hell the last couple of days, same as me, and now we were just standing in the aftermath, letting it settle over us like dust in an antique shop.
The floor creaked under my shifting weight, and something in me knew we couldn’t stay like this forever. My fingers tightened in his hair as I let out a small breath. Then, as careful as I could, I started sinking to my knees.
Daryl didn’t stop me, didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on me slackened just a little, just enough that I could ease down in front of him, my legs folding beneath me. The wood floor was solid under my knees, grounding me as I reached for him, tugging at his vest, his shirt, anything I could grab.
“C’mere,” I murmured, barely even thinking about it, just moving on instinct.
He let me pull him down with me, slow and quiet, like neither of us wanted to disturb the fragile stillness in the room. His body moved until his weight pressed against me, and somehow, by the time he finally settled, his head had ended up in my lap.
God. My throat tightened at the sight of him like that—Daryl fucking Dixon, curled into me like an angel who’d only known peace his entire life. His eyes had slipped shut, his breath slow and steady against my stomach.
I let my fingers slide back into his hair, pushing through the strands, rubbing small circles into his scalp. He was warm, and I just let myself feel that, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
He was back. He was safe.
And somehow, after everything, so was I.
_____________
It didn’t feel like three days had passed. It felt like one long, stretched-out moment, blurred at the edges, weighed down by exhaustion.
Abraham and Rick had taken charge of getting the main wall patched back up. It was slow work, a constant push and pull between progress and setback, but between the two of them, they had people working day and night to make sure Alexandria stayed standing. The air always smelled like sawdust and sweat, and the pounding of hammers never really stopped. Every time I passed the wall, I caught glimpses of one of them up there, barking orders, directing people, doing what they did best.
Daryl had kept busy, too. In his own way. He didn’t help with the walls—not really his thing—but he worked himself raw clearing out bodies. Hauling the corpses out past the perimeter, setting them on fire, making sure no trace of them was left behind.
I didn’t see him much.
He left early, came back late, covered in sweat and smoke and blood. Sometimes, I’d catch him in those in-between moments, when he’d just gotten back, before he slipped away to clean up. A few pecks, and sometimes we even ate together — but he wasn’t in any sort of chatty mood. Not because he didn’t want to, but from the sheer exhaustion radiating off of his being.
But late at night, he still curled into a c-shape around my body, and that was enough for me.
And I’d been pretty busy, too. House to house, picking up what was left behind. Cleaning. Collecting whatever supplies I could. Some houses were barely touched, others looked like war zones. The ones that belonged to people who didn’t make it—those were the hardest. Their things were still there, like they were just out on a walk, like they’d be back any second. I hated it.
But I did it anyway.
And then there was Spencer.
I made a point to check in on him. Probably more than he wanted. But I didn’t really care if he was annoyed by it or not. He’d lost his mom. I knew what that kind of grief could do to a person. He acted like he was fine, like he didn’t need anyone hovering, but I saw the cracks forming underneath. I sat with him anyway. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we didn’t. I wasn’t sure if it helped, but I wasn’t gonna stop.
Not now.
And Glenn.
He made it home. He actually fucking made it. After all that, after everything, he was here. Alive. Breathing. Maggie hadn’t let go of him for a whole day. He had this look in his eyes, though—like something had changed. Like he’d seen something out there that left a mark. I didn’t ask him about it. If he wanted to talk, he would. But the thing that surprised me most was Enid.
Somehow, over the past week, she and Glenn had struck up this weird, mentor-type thing. I caught them talking more than once, Glenn low and patient, Enid listening, arms crossed like she was trying to act like she didn’t care. But she did. I could see it. She stuck close to him now, like she was trying to learn something. Trying to be better.
And Soupy-Dupey?
He was perfectly fine. More than fine really. Doing a hell of a lot better than the rest of us, I’ll tell you what. The little idiot had been with Mr. Adler—Soup wasn’t a survivor; he was a con artist. He had a way of sniffing out the safest place in any room, and that night, it had been with the old man. They’d holed up in Adler’s house while everything went to hell outside, perfectly untouched. When I found them, Soup had just given me his usual blank stare, completely unfazed.
Little bastard.
Three days.
That’s all it had been.
_____________
Most people knew that Maggie was pregnant now — a boat load of congratulations echoed in my ears as we walked through Alexandria two weeks after we started rebuilding. It was weird.
I can remember so vividly how painstakingly horrible Lori’s pregnancy had been. The struggle of finding shelter and food. There was never a congratulatory exchange between her and…anyone really. She never had a pregnancy glow that Maggie had, or a warm bed to sleep in at night, or even a husband that held her close. The only guaranteed thing she had was the comfort of knowing the baby in her belly was so incredibly loved and protected by each one of the people she traveled with.
With each compliment Maggie received, my heart ached for a woman long dead and devoured — but grateful for the future that this new little one would have.
“Daryl started workin’ on your house again,” Maggie said, popping a piece of expired candy into her mouth.
I nodded. “He has.”
Daryl had been back at it for days.
From the moment the last body had been burned and the new wall stood tall around Alexandria, he’d thrown himself into fixing up the house by the lake like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Anything to keep himself moving.
And not once in those days had he spent a full one with me.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. The first time, I showed up with food, something quick I’d thrown together. He’d barely grunted a thanks before setting it aside and going back to whatever the hell he was working on.
The second time, I sat on the porch while he scrubbed soot off the front door. Asked if he wanted to take a break. His response had been a simple shake of his head, barely sparing me a glance before dipping the rag back into the bucket of murky water.
The third time, I just came right out and said it. “Daryl, you don’t gotta worry with this right now.”
He hadn’t looked at me. Just kept hammering some loose boards into place, his jaw locked tight. “Ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”
It was a lie. We both knew it. Alexandria still needed rebuilding, people still needed help. Hell, we could’ve just been together for a little while. But he was keeping his distance, pushing me out in the quietest way possible. And I didn’t know why.
Maybe he thought I needed space after everything. Maybe he needed space. Maybe fixing up the house gave him some kind of purpose, something different to focus on after we’d both nearly lost our lives.
I wanted to believe that was all it was.
But deep down, there was a gnawing feeling that wouldn’t quit—that maybe he just didn’t wanna be around me right now. That maybe what had happened to me, what almost happened, had built a wall between us that I didn’t know how to tear down.
And the worst part? I didn’t know if I should even try.
So I stopped. Stopped trying to pull him away, stopped asking him to slow down. If he wanted to shut himself off and keep busy, then fine. He could work himself to the bone painting walls and hammering nails until the house was perfect, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he was avoiding me.
It wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t really looked at me since that night. He hadn’t even been coming to bed at the same time anymore.
“You still with me?” Maggie nudged me.
I blinked, refocusing on her face, catching the way her lips curled into a knowing smirk. She knew exactly where my mind had gone. I let out a breath, shaking my head slightly. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Just thinking.”
“Uh-huh.” The way she drawled it out told me she wasn’t buying it. “You sure? ‘Cause I was talkin’ about Daryl, and you kinda went somewhere else.”
I huffed out a small laugh, glancing away. “I was listening.”
“Uh-huh,” she said again, amused. Then, without missing a beat, she popped another piece of candy into her mouth and asked, “So… how do you feel about it?”
“About what?”
“Daryl workin’ on your place,” she clarified. “Seems like he’s been at it every time I turn around.”
I exhaled, dragging my fingers through my hair as I thought about it some more. He had been working hard on it. Even with everything else that needed to be done—he’d consistently made the time for it. Spent more time there than he did with me…
Once the town had started to mostly settle again, Daryl had taken it upon himself to get our little green house in order. He’d spent days cleaning out the dust and debris, clearing the overgrown brush from around the porch. He’d gone through the houses of those who hadn’t made it—pulling blankets, tools, furniture, anything that might be useful. I’d caught him painting the bedroom walls one morning, his sleeves rolled up, forearm dusted in pale blue. He hadn’t said much when I walked in, as per usual as of recent—just glanced over his shoulder, grunted something about how he ‘didn’t care what color it was, just needed a fresh coat.’
I swallowed, rolling my shoulders, feeling suddenly vulnerable under Maggie’s gaze, not wanting to admit the cracks in our relationship. “I dunno,” I admitted. “Guess I didn’t expect him to go all in like that.”
She hummed, her smirk softening into something gentler. “Well, why wouldn’t he?”
I shrugged, kicking at the dirt. “Just didn’t think he’d wanna—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. I didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. Didn’t think he’d wanna what? Settle down? Build something with me? Didn’t think he’d wanna stay? Especially considering the avoidance lately.
Maggie caught the hesitation. “Libby,” she said, voice careful. “You know he’s in this, right?”
I felt my stomach twist, heat creeping up my neck. “I know,” I muttered. And I did. I knew he cared. But knowing and accepting how he chose to portray it were two different things.
Maggie gave me a long look, like she was trying to decide whether or not to push the issue. Eventually, she just sighed and bumped her shoulder against mine. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, letting it go—for now. “Besides, it’s nice to see him do somethin’ for himself, y’know? Something that makes him happy.”
I glanced at her. “You think it makes him happy?” -to avoid me as much as possible lately, I wanted to continue.
Maggie nodded, crunching down on the candy. “I do.”
I exhaled slowly, staring at the ground, toeing at a stray pebble. “He hasn’t really been around much,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant for it to be. “Not with me, anyway.”
Maggie chewed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing just slightly as she studied me. “You think he’s avoiding you?”
I hesitated, because saying it out loud made it feel more real. But there wasn’t any point in denying it. “I know he is.”
It was subtle, but it was there—the way he busied himself every time I came near, the way he barely looked at me, the way he made himself unavailable without ever outright saying it. Daryl wasn’t the kind of man to handle things with words, but his actions were loud enough. And they were telling me to give him space.
Maggie let out a breath, rolling the candy around in her palm before flicking it into her mouth. “Maybe he just needs time. To process everything.”
“I know that,” I said quickly, rubbing at my forehead. “I just…”
I hated how he coped with things sometimes. Hated that instead of talking to me, he had to do things for me. I knew that was one of his love languages, acts of service, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating when all I wanted was to hear how he felt about everything — I wanted to be part of how he processed.
Maggie was quiet for a moment. Then, “Maybe fixing up your house is how he is handling things,” she said, giving me a pointed look. “For both of you.”
I pressed my lips together, because I didn’t have a good response to that.
Daryl was never going to be the type to sit me down and talk through things. He was never going to put his feelings into words, never going to outright say what was running through his head. But the work…the sweat-driven effort — it was the closest thing to a declaration I was ever going to get.
Maggie must’ve caught the shift in my expression, because her own softened. She nudged me again, gentler this time. “He loves you,” she said simply.
The words landed like a sucker punch, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. I swallowed, my throat tight, my hands flexing against my knees.
He loves you.
The words looped in my head, clashing against every doubt, every moment of distance, every time I convinced myself that maybe I was just reading too much into things.
I
knew
it — even if we hadn’t quite reached the point of words — I knew he did. And every little thing—the house, the fresh paint, the way he always made sure I had what I needed even while keeping his distance—clicked into place.
_____________
Another week had come and gone.
The days weren’t blurred so much anymore, not like they had been the first bit after Alexandria nearly fell. I kept track of the days on the calander, because someone had to—at least Deanna thought so. Life in Alexandria had to keep moving forward. And per her wishes, that responsibility had fallen on me.
I wasn’t naïve—I knew Rick was hesitant on letting me take the reins. But I also knew that he didn’t stop me largely because I’d taken him on as a sort of co-leader. We had an understanding. He handled the external threats, the defenses, the people who needed a firm hand. I kept things running from the inside, made sure Alexandria stayed intact, made the final calls.
At the end of the day, everything ran by me first.
And Christ, it was exhausting.
I exhaled sharply, shuffling through the growing pile of papers spread across the coffee table in front of me. Supply logs, ration counts, scouting reports—half of them incomplete or barely legible. My own notes were scrawled in the margins, circling discrepancies and listing off things I needed to follow up on. None of it made sense, and the more I stared at it, the worse it got.
I wasn’t a damn accountant.
My fingers found my temples, rubbing slow circles there. I needed a system. A better way to track everything. Food, weapons, medical supplies—it all passed through so many hands that keeping a solid record was a damn nightmare. And while I trusted my people, I also knew human error could get us killed or start an uprising.
The last thing I wanted was to wake up one morning and realize we’d run out of something crucial because someone forgot to mark it down.
I barely registered the sound of someone approaching before a shadow fell over the mess in front of me. I glanced up to find Rick standing there, eyeing the scattered paperwork like it had personally offended him.
“You got a system for this?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.
“If you can call ‘organized chaos’ a system,” I muttered, sitting back against the couch. “You need something?”
Rick’s smirk faded, replaced by something more serious. He pulled one of the logs off the table, giving it a quick once-over before flicking his gaze back to me. “I need to talk to you about supplies.”
I exhaled. “I know, I know. We need to send a team out to try and find essentials. It’s just…Things finally feel better now, ya know?”
His jaw tightened just slightly. “Yeah, I know,” he paused, one hand going to his hip. “We’re lower than we thought. Food, ammo, medical. We’ve been going through it faster than we can replace it.”
I let my head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. Of course we were. Because if it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
“So, I was thinkin’ Daryl and I could make a short run together,” he said, a bit quicker than I’d heard him talk before.
Dragging my hands down my face, I sat forward again. Nobody had left the walls since the quarry run. We’d all stayed in Alexandria for nearly a month now, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit happy about that. Staying in the walls meant being safe — no deaths. But I knew that was just a short-term situation.
Didn’t mean I liked it.
“Just you and Daryl?”
Rick shifted his weight onto one leg. “Figure I could get Eugene to draw up some spots to hit on the map, maybe we could start working on getting a garden going. We’re lower on food than anything else.”
I exhaled sharply, shifting on the couch so I could stretch my legs out. “You talk to Daryl about this yet?”
Rick nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated just a second before adding, “He said I’d have to run it by you first.”
That made me pause.
I blinked at him, fingers still idly curled against my knee. “He said that?”
Rick nodded again, watching me carefully like he was trying to gauge my reaction. I didn’t give him one right away—not externally, at least. Internally? That was a different story.
Daryl had always done what he thought was best, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it. The fact that he’d told Rick to ask me before making a decision like this…it meant something. Maybe it was just a result of the way things had shifted, of me taking on more responsibility, but still. He hadn’t just gone off like he used to. He’d considered me, my input.
I swallowed, dragging a hand through my hair, my fingers catching slightly in the knots. “Right,” I muttered, buying myself a second to get my head on straight. Then I sat up a little more, shifting my focus back to the mess in front of me. “Let me clean all this up and think on it for a bit, but I don’t see there being an issue.”
Rick tilted his head slightly. “You sure?”
I nodded, pushing myself up from the couch with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. Just give me a second to get my shit together.” I gestured vaguely at the papers strewn across the table. “I was already losin’ the battle with this disaster before you walked in.”
Rick gave me a knowing smirk but didn’t push. Instead, he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna go ahead and get Eugene to start mapping them places out. Won’t hurt to have it ready to go in the meantime.”
I hummed in acknowledgment, already moving to start stacking the scattered papers into a more manageable pile. I didn’t glance back up until I heard the door click shut behind him.
Then, for just a second, I let myself sit with the quiet. Let myself acknowledge the warmth lingering beneath my ribs at the thought of Daryl deferring to me, considering me in a way he never used to. It didn’t fix everything, didn’t erase the distance that had settled between us lately.
But it meant something.
_____________
“Hey,” Daryl called from the top of the basement stairs, almost out of breath as he descended to catch up with me. “C’mere.”
I paused mid-step, one hand already on the doorknob to our room. The exhaustion in my bones made it real tempting to ignore whatever had him so eager, but something in his tone—edged with urgency—kept me from brushing him off completely. I turned, narrowing my eyes as he closed the distance between us.
“What?” I asked, shifting my weight to one foot. “I was just gonna get changed. It’s been a long-ass day, Daryl.”
He shook his head, barely slowing down as he reached me. “Nah, c’mon.”
I let out a breath, not missing the way his fingers twitched like he was seconds from grabbing my wrist. There was a pushiness to him I hadn’t seen in weeks, and it sent my guard up before I could stop it. He’d been so distant, keeping his space, barely looking at me for longer than a few seconds at a time. And now he was right in front of me, insistent and eager, like the weeks of avoidance hadn’t happened at all.
I blinked at him, trying to figure out what the hell had changed. “Daryl, I—”
“Just come on, sweetheart,” he said, softer this time, but no less firm. His hand hovered near my arm before he finally made contact, fingers wrapping gently but securely around my wrist. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful—just enough pressure to let me know he wasn’t gonna take no for an answer. “Ain’t askin’.”
I exhaled sharply, staring at where our skin touched. The warmth of his hand, the callouses pressing into my wrist, the simple fact that he was touching me after keeping so much space between us—it rattled me more than I wanted to admit.
Something had changed.
I studied his face, searching for a hint of what the hell was going on. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together like he was trying real hard to keep himself from saying something more. His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—anticipation? Hope? A bit of both? Whatever it was, it had him standing so close I could catch the faint scent of sweat and sun-dried pine clinging to his shirt.
I should’ve been more stubborn about it. Should’ve pushed back, asked what this was all about. Should’ve pointed out that he’d been the one keeping his distance and the least he could do is let me change. But hearing him call me sweetheart, like nothing had shifted between us, like we hadn’t been spending the last few weeks dancing around each other—I caved faster than I wanted to.
“…Alright,” I muttered, rolling my eyes for good measure as I let him pull me gently away from the door. “This better be good.”
Daryl huffed, the closest thing to a chuckle as he led me back up the stairs. “It is.”
He didn’t give me much time to process before he was guiding me through the house, out the front door, and straight into the cool evening air. His grip on my wrist stayed loose, just enough to make sure I kept pace, but there was an insistence to it, a quiet urgency that had my stomach twisting. He hadn’t been this close in weeks , hadn’t even looked at me long enough to let something spark up, and now he was leading me somewhere like he couldn’t get there fast enough.
The streets of Alexandria were quieter this time of day, most people settled into their homes, finishing up whatever tasks they’d thrown themselves into. Porch lights flickered on, the glow casting shadows over the pavement. Daryl barely gave them a second glance.
I used my free hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You gonna tell me where we’re going, or do I just have to keep following you like a lost puppy?”
Daryl exhaled, barely sparing me a glance. “You’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not an answer.”
He kept walking.
I huffed but didn’t pull away. As much as I wanted to pry, the way he kept checking over his shoulder at me, the way his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to move faster—it kept me quiet. It wasn’t often Daryl let something stall inside of him, and whatever this was, he wanted me to see it his way.
The familiar scent of gasoline hit me before I even realized where we were headed. It was faint now, almost completely masked by the fresh, earthy scent of the lake just beyond the houses. A month ago, it had been overwhelming, choking, thick in the air as Daryl stood there and watched the flames lick across the water, but now it smelled like damp wood and dirt, like something fresh and unburned.
- Daryl’s grip eased as we neared the lake, but he didn’t let go. His steps quickened, boots scuffing pavement before shifting to the lawn where our house stood.
My stomach twisted.
I’d been here more times than I’d like to admit the first two weeks after Alexandria was being rebuilt. Had watched him throw himself into fixing the place up, hands deep in work that kept him from thinking too hard — from spending even a total of ten minutes with me. I’d seen him sanding down the banister, replacing fixtures, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist before going right back to it, not even worrying with stopping for lunch. This wasn’t some reveal, or something he’d kept hidden—but the way he his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to run the rest of the way, like he couldn’t wait another damn second to get inside— that was different.
I wasn’t a mind reader or some professional empath, but something was telling me that he’d finished up the house.
Daryl reached the porch first, yanking the door open without hesitation. No looking back to check my reaction, no second-guessing—he just knew. Knew what he’d done and wanted to show it off — it was actually kind of cute.
Sawdust and fresh paint clung to the air, mixing with the evening breeze rolling through the open door as I stepped inside. The space wasn’t empty anymore. The dust was gone. The floors almost shined, catching the last slants of sunlight spilling through the glass. It wasn’t just a shell with unfinished walls anymore.
Daryl lingered near the staircase, shifting his weight, fingers flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“…Figured it’d be good to settle in,” he muttered, rubbing at his wrist where a patch of dried yellow paint was smeared across his skin.
I let out a slow breath, shaking my head slightly. “Dar…”
The house felt different, because it was different. There were little things that I noticed more than the mismatched shades of blue on our living room wall: the bookshelf being my favorite added touch. It was crammed with books that I most definitely didn’t own. Some tattered, some still in decent shape, but none of them had come from my own small collection that I’d acquired. I tried reading what was on the spine of the books a few times, but Daryl had started walking toward me, a hand on the small of my back as he moved me to the stairs.
There would be plenty of time to take in all the things he’d thrown together — still messy and a little unkempt — but he’d put a lot of effort into cleaning the place up. I doubted I’d ever see him exhibit so much excitement again though.
His presence seemed to fill up the entire house, and I was drowning in it.
For weeks I’d been anxious about the wedge between us. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting, for him to finally ease back into a routine with me for both of our sakes — waiting for him to give me a piece of himself again.
But everything here — everything here was a piece of himself, and I couldn’t quite tell if he was showing me, or if he was letting me see the things he’d made for us.
When we reached the bedroom, my lips quirked up at the sight of a freshly made bed. Floral sheets, pulled tight over the mattress, with a pale yellow comforter thrown atop it, and I wish I could’ve seen the process of him making the bed by himself.
I stood at the edge, fingers brushing the comforter, resisting the urge to collapse into bed and coax him to join me.
“Come on,” he said, taking a few steps into the attached bathroom.
I followed, almost feeling bad for the dirt I was tracking in with me. The scent of soap and something vaguely citrusy clung to the air—fresh, clean, and almost chemically.
My gaze landed on the tub.
It was spotless. Practically gleaming under the dim light, not a speck of dirt or grime in sight. The last time I saw it, the thing had been coated in dust, an old, rusted faucet, and some kind of black tar stuck to the bottom of it. But now it looked brand new. The faucet was new, the porcelain scrubbed raw, and I didn’t even have to touch it to know it was the cleanest thing in Alexandria.
Daryl leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me without a word.
I exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “How’d you get that sticky stuff from the bottom?”
He grunted, gaze flicking to the tub, then back to me. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Dar-“
“Ya said ya missed takin’ long baths,” he cut in, but there wasn’t any bite to it. If anything, there was something almost pleased in the way he said it, like this had been the thing he’d been looking forward to showing me and not the actual house being completed. His weight shifted off the doorframe, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “So now ya can.”
My fingers trailed along the rim, a slow, appreciative touch. I could picture him here—scrubbing, fixing, making sure it was just right —all for me.
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his eyes. “You’re golden, Daryl Dixon,”
Daryl’s brows twitched, arms falling from where they’d been crossed, hands flexing at his sides before he scrubbed at the back of his neck. “C’mon,” he muttered, gaze flicking away as he turned to walk away. “Ain’t nothin’. Got more t’show ya.”
I bit back a grin, watching the way his ears tinged pink before he turned, leading the way out of the bathroom. He moved fast—like if he stayed there a second longer, he might actually have to acknowledge what I’d said.
But that was fine. I didn’t say it expecting anything in return.
I lingered a moment longer, running my fingers along the cool porcelain once more, letting myself take in everything he’d done.
Then I followed him out, the warmth in my chest lingering just the same.
We moved through the house at a slower pace now, the urgency gone, replaced by something steadier. The kitchen was up first, and while I hadn’t expected much, I still found myself taking it in like I was seeing it for the first time. The countertops had been scrubbed down to the point that the surface practically gleamed, the cabinets—once a plastic wrapped mess—had been fixed up and wiped clean, and a few mismatched dishes were stacked neatly by the sink. It wasn’t fancy, or done up like either of the houses our group was presented with when we first arrived in Alexandria, but I kind of liked it that way.
And the dining room was much the same. Simple. Bare. The table was sturdy, though, a solid thing that looked like it had been hauled in from one of the empty houses, and Daryl had wiped it down, too, the wood worn but smooth. There were chairs pushed in on either side, just enough for the two of us, like he’d decided we wouldn’t need more than that.
The downstairs bedroom was next, though Daryl had already claimed it for me. “Office,” he’d grunted earlier, nodding toward the empty space, and I wasn’t sure if I appreciated that or the damn tub more. The idea of having a room just for me—just to work in and finally organize my paperwork—felt like a luxury.
But it was the upstairs bedroom that took me for a spin.
The yellow walls caught the soft glow of the moon. It wasn’t the glaring kind of yellow that hurt to look at, nor was it dull and lifeless. It was warm. Soft. The kind that looked like it belonged in a child’s nursery.
And it matched the paint on Daryl’s hands.
The smudges were still there, streaked along his fingers, staining the creases of his knuckles. A reminder that he had done this—that he’d stood in this room, brush in hand, carefully working over every inch of these walls until they were just right.
A single dresser sat against the far wall, worn but sturdy, like it had been around long before either of us, another relic from a house lost to the world. A clothes basket was tucked in the corner, empty but waiting, placed there with quiet intention. But beyond that, the space was a blank slate. No decorations, no clutter, no hints of a life that had been lived here before.
Just possibility.
And for a long moment, I stood there, taking it in, feeling something settle deep in my chest.
My gaze drifted back up briefly, tracing the soft glow of the walls, the emptiness of the space— then, slowly, I turned to Daryl.
I didn’t say anything—just furrowed my brows, the silence of realization settling between us.
Daryl shifted on his feet, hands flexing, like he wasn’t sure whether to cross his arms or shove them in his pockets, before finally settling on just letting them hang loose at his sides. “Figured yellow’d be good for a boy or a girl,” he muttered, gaze flicking away, like saying it outright was too much. But there was no taking it back now. He’d already put it out there…basically carved it into the walls themselves.
A quiet breath left me, my chest tight, unsure how to take it. We’d talked about it — well — done a little more than talked, but still.
His jaw tightened and I started to wonder if maybe he was regretting bringing it up. Then, with a rough exhale, he added, “For whenever… y’know. Whenever we start tryin’.”
The idea of it settled inside of me, curling into the spaces between my ribs. Daryl had always been a man of action over words, and this— this —was tangible proof. Every stroke of paint, every careful choice, the damn basket in the corner. He’d been thinking about all of it. Like *really* thinking about it.
My throat felt tight.
“Don’t gotta be right away or nothin’,” he added quickly, fiddling with his fingers. “Just figured… figured we got the space now, so…” His hand scrubbed over the back of his neck. “Didn’t wanna be runnin’ ‘round last minute tryna get shit ready, y’know? Thought it’d be better if—” He huffed, shaking his head. “Shit, I dunno. Maybe it’s stupid.”
It wasn’t.
But I still couldn’t say anything, not yet. The words were too tangled, caught somewhere between the present moment and the way my heart had started beating just a little harder at the thought.
My mind was racing with what I was even supposed to say. ‘You started a nursery?’ ’I seriously can’t remember when my last period was, so this might be a blessing in disguise.’ ’I love you.’
Daryl exhaled sharply, glancing away again. “Ain’t like I went out and built a damn crib or nothin’.”
Something in me cracked at that. Just a little.
I wet my lips, fingers brushing absently over the hem of my shirt, grounding myself. “You’ve been thinking about it?”
Daryl paused. His lips pressing into a tight line like he was chewing on the words before he even thought about saying them. His gaze flicked to me—just for a second—before dropping, before his fingers twitched at his sides, before his teeth caught his bottom lip in that nervous, uncertain way I’d seen a thousand times over.
Then, finally, he gave a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter now, a little rough around the edges, but steady. “Ain’t… ain’t somethin’ we gotta rush. Jus’—” He blew out a slow breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Wanna work up to that. One day.”
A future.
I swallowed, my fingers curling against my stomach like that would somehow ease the nausea bubbling in there. I hadn’t thought about it as more than just a hopeful dream—not until a few minutes ago, when my mind had snagged on the realization that I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember when my last period was.
And now, with this… with him , standing here, telling me he— no— showing me— the beginnings of a nursery, and openly admitting he wanted to work on our future.
Fuck, it wasn’t the right time to say anything. Not when I didn’t even know yet. Not when it had only just clicked in my head.
“You and me?”
“You n’ me, Libs,”
.have i known you twenty seconds, or twenty years.
Notes:
i had SO much fun with this chapter. I LOVE writing Daryl and being able to dive into his character traits, because I strongly believe he’d throw himself at things while he’s processing big news (ya know…like Libby being stabbed and sexually assaulted). but i also think he’s BIG on acts of service. i was really leaning into him working on the house as a way to give her a place so she doesn’t go out risking her life again, but also as something to bust himself with.
i seriously just love this chapter. i can’t believe we’re ab to be back into the angsty pieces, so i’m really soaking in as much of #Liryl as i can.
Chapter 61: held hostage by poultry
Summary:
"Think we could start one of those home renovation shows?" I smirked, leaning against the counter. "We could start pulling in some real money."
He scoffed, shooting me a look over his shoulder. "Might need to leave that to Abraham; or even Daryl, now that I seen how your place turned out."
Chapter Text
.those were the days, my friend.
“Anything in particular you need, lady?” Daryl asked, buttoning his shirt
It had been just about a week since we’d moved into the house, and already, it felt like we’d been there for months. Maybe it was the way everything had fallen into place so easily, or just the fact that, for the first time in… like my whole life , I had an actual space to myself—an office that wasn’t just a cramped corner or a cluttered coffee table. I’d gotten so much done in the past few days, organizing supply lists, tracking schedules, even going over maps for potential runs. It was a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t have to worry about someone knocking over my notes or using my papers as a damn coaster.
And then there was Daryl .
I wouldn’t call him a morning person anymore, not by a long shot, but waking up next to him every day? Having this steady little rhythm where we weren’t just surviving but living ? That was something else entirely. Things between us were… good . More than good. We’d settled into something natural, easy, something that felt like it had always been there, waiting for us to catch up to it.
I stretched out against the mattress, propping myself up on one elbow, eyes trailing over him as he finished with the last button. “Not really a need ,” I mused, letting my gaze linger, letting my tone go all slow. “But I wouldn’t mind if you did that thing with your tongue again.”
Daryl’s hands stalled as he reached to grab his vest, his ears immediately going pink. “Jesus, Libby.”
A grin tugged at my lips. “Or, y’know… you could stop getting dressed altogether.” I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. “An orgasm or two would be much appreciated.”
He huffed, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Ya got no damn shame.”
I shrugged. “When have I ever?”
Daryl made a sound, something caught between a scoff and a laugh, before finally finishing with his clothes. Then, without looking at me, he muttered, “Yeah, well… if I start somethin’, ain’t no way in hell I’m makin’ that run.”
I smirked. “Tonight then?”
Daryl glanced at me then, just for a second, before dragging his eyes away like he knew better than to look too long. But I caught the way his throat bobbed. “Whatever you want,” he murmured.
I grinned, slow and knowing, before finally shifting to sit up, letting the sheets slide down my bare body as I stretched. I could’ve been modest about it, could’ve made a show of grabbing the blanket, but where was the fun in that?
Daryl’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for the briefest moment—just a flicker, just enough to let me know he saw exactly what I wanted him to.
I pushed up onto my feet, moving with ease as I stepped toward him, feeling the cool air brush over my skin in contrast to the warmth still lingering from sleep. Tilting my chin up, I placed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to let him feel the curve of my smirk. Then, just as easily, I pulled back, trailing my fingers lightly along his arm before turning toward the bathroom.
“Be careful,” I called over my shoulder, throwing him one last glance before disappearing through the bathroom doorway. “And have a good day.”
I didn’t need to look back to know he was watching me go.
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me, letting the quiet settle over me as I padded toward the tub. Turning the faucet, I let the water rush in, steam curling up in lazy tendrils, warming the air bit by bit. My fingers drifted absently along the porcelain as I watched the tub fill, the sound of water echoing softly in the enclosed space.
It felt good to take my time. To not have to rush through a shower, constantly listening for movement outside the door, ready to be interrupted. For the first time in a long time, I had the space—the privacy —to just be .
I climbed in slowly, easing into the heat, feeling it wrap around me as I settled against the smooth curve of the tub. A soft sigh left me, tension melting from my muscles almost immediately. My legs stretched out, toes barely brushing the opposite end, and I let my arms rest along the sides, letting myself sink in just a little deeper, while the warmth seeped into my skin, loosening everything knotted up from days of moving, unpacking, and getting settled.
It was quiet without Daryl, though. After a week of spending as much time as we possibly could together, I’d grown used to the constant company. I let my head tip back against the edge of the tub, eyes slipping shut. With everything happening; the constant go, go, go—moving, unpacking, and the regular work—I’d successfully avoided the situation that crept into my brain whenever things calmed down.
Was I seven, or eight weeks late?
Seven or eight weeks.
I swallowed, eyes cracking open, staring at the water lapping against my skin. That’s not right. That couldn’t be right. I’d been busy, sure—too busy to stop, to really think about anything outside of what was right in front of me—but surely, I would’ve noticed.
I tried to backtrack, forcing my sluggish brain to comb through the last few months, searching for anything that would prove I was just overthinking it.
I knew I’d had one when we first got to Alexandria. I remembered that much. The hot showers had been new then, a luxury I hadn’t been used to, and I’d spent longer than I should have standing under the spray, watching the water run red down the drain. That had to be…what? Nearly three months ago?
Panic clawed its way up my throat, but I shoved it down, squeezing my eyes shut as I pressed further.
Reg.
The night Reg died, I’d had cramps so sharp they kept me awake, a dull, angry ache curling through my lower stomach, twisting in time with the grief and frustration pressing against my ribs. That was it. That had to be it. And that was— shit . Seven weeks ago. At least.
My breath stilled.
Seven weeks.
I was late. Really late.
_____________
The house was a wreck.
Not the ‘needs a little TLC’ kind of wreck, but the ‘holy shit, maybe we should burn it down and start over’ kind. But Mr. Adler wanted this house instead of the one he currently resided in, and felt that I owed it to him since he babysat my cat during the hell storm outside. I didn’t, but it did give me something to do and Glenn volunteered to help out.
So, here I was, hauling an old toolbox up the front steps, stepping over splintered wood and shattered glass, trying not to breathe too deep in case something in here was still rotting.
It had been one of the hardest-hit houses during the collapse, the Donovan family had once lived here, the windows were shattered, parts of the stair railing ripped off…a mess from them trying to keep the walkers from overtaking their home.
It didn’t work in the end.
Daryl found the family upstairs, turned, Ms. Donovan ripped to shreds.
I dropped the rusty old toolbox onto the warped floorboards with a resounding thud, exhaling sharply as I straightened my back, feeling the strain in my muscles.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Glenn asked, stepping through what used to be the front doorway, now reduced to an open frame with half a half-broken door hanging limply from its hinges. He stood there, hands resting on his hips, surveying the mess with a skeptical tilt of his head, his brow furrowing in disbelief.
“Because the old bat is gonna haunt me when he eventually kicks the bucket,” I replied, wiping the sweat from my forehead onto my jeans, leaving a dark smudge as the sun streamed through the dust-laden air.
“Uh-huh,” Glenn muttered, his gaze drifting to a suspicious-looking stain on the floor. “And you roped me into this because…?”
“You volunteered,” I shot back, grinning as I gave him a playful nudge with my elbow, noting the weariness etched on his face.
Glenn huffed, shaking his head in mock exasperation, but the amused glint in his eye betrayed him. “That was when I thought we were just spiffing it up for when new people showed up.”
“Those new people will get his old house.”
I dusted off a rickety wooden chair and sat down, stretching out my legs. The place was bad, but it wasn’t unsalvageable. The walls could be reinforced, the floors redone, and the windows replaced. With a little effort, this could come out strong.
“We should start with the biggest issue,” Glenn said, rubbing the back of his neck as he scanned the ceiling. “Make sure nothing’s gonna cave in on us.”
“Good plan,” I agreed. “And then maybe we can tackle that whole missing wall situation.”
Glenn nodded, hands settling on his hips as he gave the place another once-over. "Alright, so structural integrity first. Let's check for water damage and rot before we start thinking about putting anything back together."
I stood. "Lead the way,”
We started in the kitchen, picking our way through the debris. The counters and cabinets were salvageable, but the fridge needed a really good scrub down from walker flesh snatching on and hanging to it.
"Yeah, that's gotta go," Glenn muttered, crouching to poke at a section of warped floor, likely where more than a few dead ones lay in their own rot for a few days. He made a face. "Definitely gonna have to rip up the flooring, at least in here."
"Think we could start one of those home renovation shows?" I smirked, leaning against the counter. "We could start pulling in some real money."
He scoffed, shooting me a look over his shoulder. "Might need to leave that to Abraham; or even Daryl, now that I seen how your place turned out."
I snorted, moving toward the living room while he jotted a few notes down in the little notepad he’d brought. The front half of the house had taken the most damage when the walkers broke through. The entire right side was gone from what I could assume was the weight of walkers pressing into the door frame, but the left side—where the staircase was—had mostly held up.
Glenn joined me a moment later, eyeing the gaping hole in the wall. "Alright, so, missing chunk of wall definitely needs fixing. Gonna have to salvage some lumber, maybe see if we can repurpose some stuff from the houses that are too far gone."
I nodded, arms crossed as I scanned what remained of the living room. "Windows, too. If we're doing this, we might as well make sure it’s properly insulated. Winter’s gonna be brutal this far north.”
"Yeah. Good call."
We stood there for a moment, both of us taking in the mess, before Glenn sighed and flipped to a new page in his notepad. "So, you’re really doing this, huh?"
I glanced at him. "Doing what?"
"Taking over. The new ‘Deanna’."
I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Not the new ‘Deanna’. But…yeah. It’s uh, it’s what she wanted."
Glenn arched a brow, waiting for more.
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. "It’s not like I had a choice — I mean — I guess I kind of did, but I just wasn’t expecting it to be all on me so soon. We’ve only been here three months, ya know?”
His expression softened. "You’re good at it."
I huffed. "I wish I felt good at it."
Glenn snickered, shaking his head before tucking the notepad into his back pocket. "C’mon, let’s check upstairs before you start having an existential crisis."
I followed him up the stairs, which creaked but held. The second floor welcomed us with the musty scent of mildew, a telling reminder of the rainstorm that blew through a few nights ago. "Guess we’re adding ‘roof repair’ to the list,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the dampness hanging in the air
Glenn groaned. "Do we even have the things to repair a roof?”
I shrugged. "It’s probably nothing crazy; not like walkers can break through ceilings.”
Glenn hummed, still jotting things down in his notepad. “Alright, so we got—possible roof damage, partially missing wall, busted windows, possible structural issues—” He sighed. “You sure you don’t wanna just build a new house?”
I snorted. “At this point I’m scared Mr. Adler might try to sic my own bobcat on me.”
He shook his head with a chuckle, flipping the notepad closed before moving down the hall. “Alright, let’s check the bedrooms. If the floors are stable up here, we can—”
A loud thud echoed from one of the rooms down the hall, cutting him off.
We both froze.
Another noise followed—a rustling, almost like shuffling feet, then a soft but distinct thump.
My fingers curled tighter around my crowbar. Glenn’s hand went to his knife.
“I thought Daryl cleared this house?” he muttered.
“So did I,” I whispered back, narrowing my eyes at the closed door where the sound had come from.
We stood still for a moment, listening.
Silence.
Then— thump.
Something was definitely in there.
Glenn exhaled, adjusting his grip on his knife. “Alright. Three options—it’s either a walker, a raccoon, or something way worse.”
“What could be ‘way worse’?” I murmured, shifting my stance.
“Like, I dunno—feral cat? Possum? Mutant rat?”
“Like the fucking ninja turtles? Really?”
“There are dead people walking around, I’m not crossing it off my list yet.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue as I began adjusting my grip on the crowbar. “Only one way to find out.”
Glenn stepped back. “Right, well…”
I shot him a look, then, before I could overthink it, I reached for the door handle and shoved it open.
A blur of white came flying at my face, wings outstretched like some kind of demon. A horrible honk-hiss sound tore through the air, and suddenly there were feathers and beady little eyes and an unholy flurry of flapping —
“Shit—!”
I barely got my arms up before it collided with me. Something hard whacked me right in the forehead. I stumbled back, swinging the crowbar wildly.
Glenn shrieked.
I didn’t even get the chance to be embarrassed for him because the next second, I was tripping over a pile of who knows what and landing hard on my ass. The creature— goose? —was flapping and screeching, pecking at my arms as I tried to shove it off.
“Get it off —”
Glenn moved like he was gonna help but hesitated, face twisted in pure horror.
Then the goose honed in on him.
There was a pause—like it had chosen its next victim—then it turned with a vengeance and charged.
Glenn panicked. He dropped his knife with a loud clatter and let out the most undignified noise I’d ever heard before scrambling backward.
“Tackle it, Glenn!” I barked, still trying to get to my feet.
“I can’t!” Glenn all but yelled , arms flailing as he tried to keep distance between himself and the goose. “It’s gonna get me—”
“Not if you get it first!”
The goose honked again, its beady little eyes locked onto Glenn like he owed it money.
He tried to dodge, but the goose was insistent on having Glenn for breakfast. It lunged, wings flapping like a bat out of hell.
“ AHHH! ” Glenn screamed as it latched onto the fabric of his shirt, beating its wings wildly as it hung there, trying to tear into him like some kind of bird assassin. “ Do something! ” he shouted, flailing as he tried to shake it loose.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the crowbar again—but there was no safe angle to swing. The damn thing was wrapped around him like a scarf. “I am doing something!” I shot back, my voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m— I’m thinking! ”
“Think faster! ”
The goose honked. It bit Glenn’s shoulder through his shirt, and he let out another shriek, spinning in circles like that would somehow help.
I panicke d…and bolted.
“ HEY! ” Glenn’s voice cracked. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!”
“The bedroom! ”
“HOW DOES THAT HELP ME?!”
“Just—get in here!”
I ran into the nearest room, throwing my weight against the door to shove it open. The place was a mess, but it had walls and a door.
Glenn was still flailing in the hallway.
“THROW IT!” I yelled from the doorway, making urgent go-go-go gestures with my arms.
“THROW IT WHERE?!”
“ ANYWHERE! ”
With no better plan, Glenn snatched the goose, shaking it harshly before tossing it back into the room it came from. The goose hit the floor, slid a few feet, and immediately spun back around, wings flared, hissing like a demon.
Glenn sprinted.
I yanked him into the bedroom just as the goose charged again. He slammed the door, bracing against it, both of us breathing hard.
The goose hit the wood with a solid thump.
Then, silence.
I swallowed, listening.
HOOOOOONK.
Glenn bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. “That, is worse than a walker,”
I wiped my face, still panting. “How did it even get in the house?”
Glenn shook his head. “Maybe Daryl locked it in there?”
“You think Daryl had a fight with a goose while clearing bodies out and didn’t think to mention it?”
He shrugged, his head falling against the door. “I don’t know. You have a pet bobcat, a pet goose isn’t that far fetched.”
Another loud honk shook the door, like the goose was mocking us.
_____________
We’d been in here for over an hour. At least.
Glenn had already tried the window, but all it gave him was a nice view of the side of the wall. No way to climb down, no ledges to grab, and definitely no one walking by to see his sad little SOS sign scratched onto an old notebook page. He’d waved it around for a while anyway—just in case—before giving up with a sigh.
I’d suggested going back out. I’d even cracked the door open an inch.
Not my best decision.
The goose had been fucking waiting.
The second I so much as breathed near the hallway, it launched at the door like a battering ram. I barely got it shut in time.
So now we were waiting it out.
Glenn, in true Glenn fashion, had decided to pass the time by going through the old dresser in the corner, sifting through the remains of the teenager who had lived here. He wasn’t much older than Carl, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember much about him.
“Donovan,” he muttered, picking up a spiral notebook from the top of the dresser. He flipped it open, scanning the pages. “His name was Eric Donovan.”
I snorted. “What, are we eulogizing him?”
Glenn shrugged, flipping through the book. “I dunno. Just trying to get to know the guy whose room we’re trapped in.”
I sat up a little, resting my back against the wall. “That your way of coping?”
“Better than having a breakdown over a goose. ”
I scoffed, stretching out my legs. “I don’t hear you coming up with a plan, Einstein.”
“Because there isn’t a plan,” he said, tossing the notebook aside. “That’s the problem. We’re stuck in some dead kid’s room, held hostage by poultry. ”
As if on cue, a faint honk came from the hallway.
We both tensed.
Glenn exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “I swear to God, if we die in here—”
“No one’s dying,” I cut in. “It’s a goose, Glenn. Not a walker.”
“You’re not the one who got bit!”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t expecting an attack from a bird.”
“Oh, but I was?” He gestured wildly at the door. “You saw that thing! It’s like some genetically engineered war goose! ”
I pressed my lips together, holding back a laugh.
He noticed.
“Oh, you think this is funny?”
I grinned, stretching my arms behind my head. “A little.”
Glenn huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable.” He muttered, pacing. “Ya know, I bet it was your little boyfriend who set this up.”
I shook my head, glancing back at the window. The sun had moved since we first got stuck. I wasn’t about to let some oversized duck keep us trapped all day.
I frowned, tilting my head.
It had been quiet for a while now—an occasional honk, but I didn’t hear the little flappy footsteps outside the door anymore.
I didn’t trust it.
The last time I’d checked, it had been right outside the door, waiting to lunge at us. Glenn must’ve noticed my shift in focus because he stopped pacing. “What?”
I held up a finger, listening.
No sound.
“…You hear that?” I whispered.
He frowned. “I don’t hear anything. ” A moment of silence passed before he realized what I meant, his eyes widening. “Nope.”
I ignored him and carefully pushed up from the floor, pressing my ear against the door like I was in some kind of spy movie. “It’s gone,” I murmured.
“Or it’s hiding. ”
I gave him a look. “What, like it suddenly developed stealth tactics ?”
He threw his hands up wildly.
I rolled my eyes and slowly reached for the knob, turning it just enough to ease the door open an inch. Glenn hovered behind me, practically breathing down my neck.
The hallway was empty.
I opened the door a little more, peering out. The knife was still on the floor where Glenn had dropped it. No sign of the bird.
I nudged the door open the rest of the way, stepping carefully into the hall. Glenn followed, quiet as he could manage. We moved slowly, keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of movement.
The last thing we needed was to get ambushed again.
We were halfway to the stairs when a voice called up from below.
“Are y’all still here? I got lunch!”
Maggie.
My stomach sank.
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed under my breath, my head snapping back to the hallway.
It was like the universe had a personal vendetta against us. Glenn must’ve felt the same, because I heard him whisper something under his as well.
Then—footsteps.
Not human ones.
That telltale slap of webbed feet against the hardwood came from somewhere down the hall, fast and getting faster. I barely had time to react before Glenn’s voice shot out, panicked and urgent. "Maggie, get out! There's a goose!"
He didn’t wait to see if she listened. Like a man fleeing for his life, he bolted—diving into the nearest bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him.
I didn’t get the chance.
A blur of white and furious honking hit me full force, wings flapping wildly as it latched onto my shirt. I stumbled backward, arms pinwheeling, trying to pry the damn thing off, but it had a grip like a vice, its beak tearing at the fabric like it was trying to rip me apart piece by piece.
“Get it off me!” I yelled, twisting and jerking as it flapped harder, its wings smacking me in the face.
“Maggie, get Abraham!” The words shot out of my mouth before I even thought about them.
Maggie must’ve still been standing there because Glenn shouted next, voice frantic.
“Go! Just go!”
“Get Abraham! ” I yelled again, wildly assuming that a six-foot-something ex-military tank of a man would be enough to intimidate this thing.
I heard the front door slam shut.
The goose honked in what I assumed was victory.
I grabbed its neck—not tight enough to hurt it, but enough to try and pry it off. It did not like that. Its beak snapped inches from my face. I staggered, nearly losing my balance, and made a split-second decision. If Glenn could run, so could I.
“Get inside!” Glenn’s voice came from behind the door.
I lurched toward it, dragging the thrashing nightmare with me. It was still clamped onto my shirt, wings batting against me as I practically threw myself through the open doorway. Glenn was on top of me the minute I entered, attacking me—er, us— with a pillow.
A loud thud followed as it smacked against the wood, followed immediately by a furious honk. He slammed the door shut just as the goose came at us again.
I groaned, rolling onto my back, trying to catch my breath. My shirt was stretched out and torn where the goose had tried to eat me alive. Glenn stood there, panting, staring down at me like I’d barely survived a warzone.
We both flinched when the goose slammed into the door again, honking with pure, unfiltered rage. It was just out there. Waiting.
“…You okay?” Glenn finally asked, voice a little breathless.
I groaned, letting my head thunk against the door.
This was getting ridiculous.
_____________
“You think if we drink enough, it'll numb the pain for an escape?" Glenn's voice broke the silence, and I turned my head just in time to see him rummaging through one of the dresser drawers and yank out two bottles of whiskey, holding them up like he’d just found gold.
I scoffed. "You're seriously looting the kid’s room for booze?"
"What? It’s not like he’s gonna need it." He sat back on his heels, inspecting the label on one of the bottles before glancing at me. "C'mon, don’t tell me you wouldn’t kill for a drink right now."
I shook my head but didn’t argue. Instead, I just eyed the bottles as he twisted the cap off one and took a hesitant sniff. He made a face but didn’t hesitate to take a quick sip, wincing as he swallowed.
I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. "We’re supposed to be finding a way out of here, not getting wasted."
"We’ve been here for hours,” he muttered, collapsing onto the floor beside me. “It’s either this or listening to that bird’s victory honks for the rest of the day."
I exhaled through my nose, letting my eyes drift shut. He had a point. There wasn’t much we could do until Maggie came back with Abraham. At least, I hoped she was bringing Abraham. The last thing I wanted was for Rick or Daryl to find out we’d been trapped in a bedroom by a goose.
The scent of whiskey filled the air, sharp and biting, and my stomach twisted before I even knew why.
Then it hit me.
I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sudden spike of panic. And there was the exhaustion that had been getting me harder than usual. I’d brushed it off as just being overworked, not eating enough, maybe even a stomach bug. I pressed my lips together, staring blankly at the floor.
"You alright?"
Glenn’s voice pulled me back, and I forced a breath before nodding. "I think I might be pregnant."
Glenn froze, the whiskey bottle still in his hands, cap half unscrewed. His eyes snapped to mine, searching, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right.
“Wait—what?”
I let out a breath, shifting so my back was fully against the wall. “I think I might be pregnant.”
The words felt heavier the second time, more real. My chest tightened, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, like I could make myself smaller, as if that would help. Glenn stared, mouth slightly open, before setting the bottle down between us.
“Shit,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on a knot before he exhaled and looked at me again. “Does Daryl—?”
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I haven’t told him.”
Glenn’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Because I don’t even know if I am yet. It’s just a feeling— but I’m like seven weeks late. And even if I am, I don’t know how he’d react.” I chewed my bottom lip, my gaze falling to the floor. “We’re still… new.”
Glenn made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a scoff. “Libby, you’ve been attached to each other since you met.”
I shook my head. “Not like this.”
He gave me a look. “You two have been a thing for a long time. Neither of you wanted to admit it.”
I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make any of this less terrifying. “Yeah, but this—” I gestured vaguely, “—this is different. Being with someone is one thing. Having a kid with them? That’s a whole other deal.”
Glenn nodded slowly, his fingers tapping against the whiskey bottle. He didn’t try to argue, which I appreciated. Instead, he let me talk.
“We talked about it before,” I admitted after a moment. “When I told him about Maggie. It was more a dream than anything, but he seemed like he was on board. Said it sounded nice. He even painted a room in our house for a nursery—talked about the future.”
Glenn tilted his head. “That doesn’t sound bad.”
“It’s not,” I said. “But it was different when I told him about Maggie. I wasn’t leading a damn community, or have a bunch of people depending on me.” I exhaled sharply. “I’m just starting to get the hang of it, but doing it while being pregnant?”
Glenn was quiet for a moment before sighing. “You don’t have to do this alone, Libby.”
I wanted to believe that, but fear had its claws in me. I clenched my jaw, staring at a spot on the floor. “I thought I’d already lost him. When he didn’t come back after the quarry run, when we lost Deanna—everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers. Alexandria was barely holding together, and all I could think was, What if he’s gone? ” My voice tightened, but I forced myself to keep going. “I saw how Maggie was when you didn’t come back. She tried to be strong, but I could see it eating her alive. She was ready to go out there, to walk into a herd, to fight her way through it just to know if you were alive.”
Glenn looked away, his expression tightening. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
“I don’t want to feel that,” I admitted. “I don’t want to bring a baby into this world and wonder every time he walks out that gate if he’s ever coming back. If I’ll be left alone to pick up the pieces.”
Glenn exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “Daryl’s not going anywhere, Libby.”
I almost laughed. Not because I didn’t believe him, but because we both knew he couldn’t promise that. None of us could.
“Wait.” Glenn said, scooting from the door and narrowing his eyes at me. “Am I supposed to keep this a secret now too?”
I barely had time to process Glenn’s question before a sudden, heavy thud echoed through the house, followed by the front door creaking open. I snapped my head up, meeting Glenn’s wide-eyed stare. Footsteps—heavy—crossed the threshold downstairs, accompanied by the distinct jingle of metal buckles.
Glenn and I exchanged a look as footsteps thudded up the stairs. I edged toward the door, cracking it open just as Abraham’s unmistakable silhouette loomed at the top of the landing, broad-shouldered and looking as unimpressed as ever. “You got a goddamn bobcat, and you sent for me instead?” he griped, holding Soup in one hand like he’d just dragged him in from the street.
I opened my mouth to respond—right as the goose made its third, even angrier appearance.
It barreled out the bedroom from the other end of the hall, wings flared wide, eyes locked onto Abraham. Glenn jumped as the thing honked like it was declaring war.
“Shit—”
The goose charged .
But it barely made it three feet before Soup lunged .
The bobcat launched from Abraham’s grip, letting out a deep, snarling screech as he hit the floor in a blur of muscle and fur. The goose flapped wildly, throwing itself sideways, but Soup was on it, claws raking across the floor as he chased it down.
“What the hell?” Glenn yelped, flattening himself against the doorway as the two animals went tearing down the hall.
Abraham folded his arms, watching the chaos unfold with mild interest. “Knew that little bastard was good for somethin’.”
The goose skidded, desperately trying to turn, but Soup was faster. He herded it straight back into the bedroom before lunging again. There was a loud crash , a flurry of panicked honks, then dead silence.
I blinked. Glenn let out a slow breath.
“Well,” Abraham said, scratching his chin, “guess that settles it.”
I hurried forward, shoving into the bedroom—and stopped short.
Soup was perched in the middle of the room, tail flicking, ears forward. The goose: gone. And in the corner…a gaping hole in the roof and bits of insulation scattered across the floor.
Glenn whistled low. “Well. That explains the mildew smell.”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Adler isn’t getting the house.”
Abraham clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you should bring your little sidekick along more often, Red,”
_____________
When Daryl returned I was expecting some steamy sex — legs draped over his shoulders, grunts fanning into my ears, throughly used — sex. After I escaped the hell house down the road, it’s all I was looking forward to. I even shaved and tested my gag reflex a few times…but instead of putting that to use, I was greeted by a sweat covered Rick explaining that Daryl was babysitting some man they kidnapped.
It was bullshit.
So, ever the dutiful girlfriend, I grabbed a banana, some peanut butter, a few slices of bread, and fixed my boyfriend (who had a lot of explaining to do), some dinner. It’s just - the man I found out he was babysitting, was honestly, kind of, pretty.
“He definitely has a place. You don’t get those kind of silky locks by roughing it out in the woods.” I said, running my fingers through his hair gently. “I mean, honestly, Dar. There’s not a single knot.”
“What, ya gonna start braiding it?” Daryl mocked, a dismissive frown on his face.
I rolled my eyes. “If I wanted to braid someone’s hair, I’d braid yours,”
“Pffft,”
“I’m serious!” I said, an octave higher as we walked out of the makeshift jail house. “You’ve got some pretty serious length yourself, mister.”
Whether it was my mentioning it, or a habitual thing at this point, Daryl smoothed his own hair back. I loved it. I could stand it a little longer, but to me, this was a good length for him. Longer hair suited him more than I think he’d ever admit, and you damn sure wouldn’t find me complaining. Especially when he was in between my thighs.
I swallowed hard, heat pooling low in my stomach.
I wanted to be under him, his weight pressing me into our mattress, that slow, almost lazy grind of his hips driving me insane. I wanted to feel the scrape of stubble down my stomach, the bite of his fingers on my thighs, the sting of his teeth when he got too into it, when he lost the last bit of restraint and just took .
I wanted him to wreck me.
And it was a crime that he had no idea what was going on in my head right now.
He just sunk to the ground, propped against the door, completely oblivious , while I clenched my thighs together and bit the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on literally anything else .
I dropped down beside him, closer than I needed to be. Our legs brushed, denim scraping against freshly shaved legs, but it still wasn’t enough. I shifted, inching into his space, my shoulder pressing against his arm, my knee bumping his.
Daryl didn’t move at first. Just sat there, arms folded, eyes on the brick wall in front of us like he wasn’t even paying me any mind. Like he didn’t notice the way my breath hitched when I leaned in, or the way my fingers ran up and down my thigh, itching to touch .
I wet my lips.
My body was thrumming, heat rolling low in my stomach, spreading through my limbs like slow-burning fire. Every time he shifted, even the tiniest movement, it sent a jolt through me. The rise and fall of his chest, the flex of his arm where it rested against his knee—I felt every single part of him, even the ones he wasn’t offering.
I wanted more .
So I moved again, just a little, just enough to feel the press of his thigh against mine, and when he still didn’t pull away, I pushed .
Not hard. Not enough to be obvious. But enough that he had to notice.
His breath hitched.
Encouraged, I let my fingers drift, ghosting over his bicep before sliding lower, tracing the edge of his corded wrist. His pulse beat steady beneath my fingertips, but there was something else there too—something quicker, something that gave him away.
I smirked.
Daryl might’ve been playing it cool, but he wasn’t unaffected.
Slowly, I turned, pressing my chest against his arm, my weight shifting just enough to angle my hips toward him. I wasn’t even pretending at subtlety anymore. I wanted him to feel it, to feel me .
His body tensed. “Libs—”
I didn’t give him a chance to say whatever dumb protest was about to leave his mouth.
Instead, I reached down, fingers trailing over his crotch, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric. His entire body jerked at the touch, a sharp inhale echoing in the little corridor.
Daryl stiffened beneath me, his whole body coiled like a live wire. “Libby,” he warned, voice rough, but not rough enough to make me stop.
I just hummed, trailing my fingers back up his arm, over the curve of his shoulder, before slipping them into his hair. I tugged, just a little, just enough to tilt his head toward me, and then I leaned in, brushing my lips along the line of his jaw.
“We’re s’posed to be guardin’ him,” he muttered, but his voice had that telltale rasp, that edge of breathlessness that let me know he wasn’t as unaffected as he was trying to be.
“We are,” I whispered, lips barely ghosting his ear. “I can see him through the window. He’s still out cold.” My chin dipped to the window a few inches above my shoulders and a little to the right.
Daryl grunted, but it wasn’t exactly a protest.
I grinned against his skin and moved, shifting one leg over his lap so I was straddling him. His hands flexed against his thighs, like he was fighting the instinct to grab onto me. It was adorable. And infuriating.
“You’re awful at this,” I murmured, tilting my hips just enough to grind against him.
“At what ?”
I rocked forward again, slower this time, dragging myself over him with deliberate pressure. “Pretending like you don’t want me.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. His hands lifted an inch— almost touching me, almost giving in—before he caught himself, forcing them back down like he was trying to anchor himself.
God, he was so stubborn .
I leaned in, pressing my body fully against his, chest to chest, mouth hovering just above his. “You’re supposed to hold me, Dar,” I breathed, moving against him again. “Or do you like when I take what I want?”
His breath came out ragged, and this time when my hips rolled against him, he grabbed me, fingers digging into my thighs, pinning me in place.
Oh. Oh.
I barely bit back a whimper, the heat in my stomach turning molten.
But just as I was about to push further, just as I was about to win —
“The stranger in the buildin’,” Daryl grit out.
I huffed, fingers threading deeper into his hair. “Still passed out.”
“Could wake up.”
“Then we’ll be really quiet,” I teased, lips brushing his.
He exhaled sharply, but I could feel the way his grip tightened? like he was trying to keep me still, but not stop me. “Anyone could walk up.”
I dragged my lips along his cheek, down to the corner of his mouth, so close I could feel the heat of his breath. “And?” I whispered, shifting against him again. “All they’d see is me sitting pretty in your lap.”
His breath came out sharp through his nose as I slid a hand between us, fingers slipping down his stomach, until I was tugging at his belt. The leather rasped as I pulled it loose, the sound barely audible over the blood roaring in my ears.
“Libby,” he gritted out, his breath hot against my cheek.
I popped the button on his jeans, slow and deliberate, my fingers brushing against the heat of him, straining hard beneath the fabric. My own breath hitched. “Tell me to stop,”
I lifted my hips just enough to slip a hand between my thighs, hooking my thumb into my shorts and underwear, dragging them to the side.
His chest heaved against mine. “Fuck—”
I pressed a kiss just beneath his ear, my lips curling against his skin. “Real quiet,” I whispered. “Just like I promised.”
“Yes, m’am,”
.we thought they’d never end.
Notes:
i wrote this entire chapter in a single day, and now i’m two chapters ahead lol. this was SO much fun to write!!!
i contemplated on sending her with Rick and Daryl, but at the end of the day, we only have so much time with Glenn left, and he’s her bestie!also..we get to see Libby have a mini crisis about the ‘maybe baby’ and the real fear of ‘what happens if one day he doesn’t come back’… cause i don’t think that’s EVER touched on enough!!!
next chapter we really get to meet Jesus, go to Hilltop, and the calm before the storm (Negan) starts rolling.
Chapter 62: stay vigilant
Summary:
He finally met my eyes, sighing like he was already tired of the conversation. “Alexandria’s your community, Libby. The rest of us just work for you.”
That made me scoff. “Bullshit.”
Rick arched a brow, waiting, but I didn’t let the moment stretch.
Chapter Text
.each version of the story feels like men get all the glory in the end.
We’d rebuilt Alexandria.
Sure — we needed supplies — but after all the loss, we really didn’t need anymore life changing missions for a while.
So why were we miles away from our gates, piled in the RV like a pack of sardines, and going to another supposed safe community?
I’m glad you asked.
Because Rick Grimes doesn’t know how to fucking listen, and I’m a people pleaser — at least when the majority of the others thought it’d be a good idea to check it out.
I mean, it wasn’t the worst, but the last time we took nearly all of our man power on a mission, Alexandria was attacked by strangers and dozens of people were murdered, so I don’t think I was in the wrong to be concerned with how many essential people we were bringing with us. Michonne, Abraham, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl were about sixty-percent of our man power, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving Alexandria so vulnerable again.
But…I didn’t think this Jesus guy was lying. He was a little too confident.
I shifted slightly, the rumbling hum of the RV rolling beneath us shaking me with every little bump. The others were all crammed up front, caught between hushed conversation and the occasional grunt of agreement or dissent. I wasn’t paying attention.
I was in the back, stretched out in the narrow space of the bench seat, head pillowed on Daryl’s thigh. His fingers skimmed idly through my hair, a slow, absentminded rhythm.
We’d been up all night, trading shifts watching Jesus like a couple of insomniac sentries. And when we weren’t doing that, well… we weren’t exactly sleeping.
I let out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut against the RV’s interior. Sleep would be easy if my brain would just shut the hell up for five minutes. But I could still feel that creeping unease curling tight.
A nudge against my shoulder.
“Hey,” Daryl murmured, voice low, meant just for me. His fingers stilled in my hair for a beat, then resumed their lazy path. “What’s got ya thinkin’ so hard?”
I cracked an eye open, tipping my head slightly to glance up at him. His face was shadowed in the poorly shaded light, but I could still make out the crease between his brows, the way his mouth had pulled into something almost concerned.
I exhaled, rolling my head back toward his thigh. “Just thinking about how stupid this is.”
Daryl let out a quiet huff, barely more than a breath. “Might not be,”
“Might be.”
He grunted in agreement, fingers moving lower, brushing over the nape of my neck in making my stomach flip. There was something intimate about it, something unspoken. He was tired, I could tell—but he was still paying attention. “You should be sleepin’,” he murmured, voice just above a whisper.
“So should you.”
“Plannin’ on it.”
I hummed, but my mind kept moving. The RV rumbled on, rocking just enough to lull me if I’d let it, but my thoughts wouldn’t settle.
Daryl must’ve sensed it. He let his hand slip from my hair, fingers ghosting down the side of my neck, tracing the bare skin of my shoulder where my shirt had slipped. It was deliberate, coaxing. “You’re doin’ that thing,” he muttered.
“What thing?”
“That thing where you try to pick apart everything that’s impossible to pick apart.”
A faint smirk tugged at my lips. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you,”
He squeezed my shoulder lightly. “Go to sleep, Libs.”
_____________
If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. I couldn’t say I was surprised by the abrupt wake-up call by Daryl hollering for Rick to stop the RV…disappointed, but not surprised.
An overturned vehicle, smoky, and walker ridden. Apparently one of Jesus’ people. Apparently.
After the continuous run arounds this guy had given Daryl and Rick, I wasn’t too keen on actually helping him, no matter how nice his hair was.
The RV rolled to a slow, grinding stop, the scent of burnt rubber and smoke slithering through the cracked windows before anyone even stepped outside. The wreckage was sprawled into the ditch ahead—a truck flipped on its side, its undercarriage still smoldering, twisted metal catching the morning light. Walkers milled around it, dragging broken limbs, snarling, mindless.
I climbed out, boots hitting pavement with a dull thud. The air tasted like oil and something charred.
Jesus had already hopped out, standing off to the side like he hadn’t just led us into another situation .
“This is them,” he said, voice level, gaze scanning the wreck.
Right.
Sure.
Because that wasn’t convenient or anything.
Daryl unsheathed his knife, eyes narrowing as he swept the area. I caught the shift in his stance—weight forward, tension locked in his shoulders. He wasn’t buying this any more than I was, but we were already here, so we might as well check it out.
Rick gave the nod, and we moved forward, cautious, weapons raised. The groans of the walkers scraped against my ears, a familiar sound, too familiar. I took the first one out clean—a quick jab to the skull, silent and efficient. Daryl moved beside me, but he wasn’t focused on the dead. He was watching the wreckage, scanning for signs of movement.
It was a little too perfect, wasn’t it? A wreck, a scattering of walkers, no real bodies in sight.
“Seeing a whole lot of nothing,” I muttered, stepping over a corpse.
“They could be inside,” Jesus said, motioning toward a building just beyond the wreck. Brick, half-covered in ivy, old but intact.
Daryl glanced at Rick. “If this is a trap—”
“It’s not,” Jesus cut in.
I turned toward him, brow lifting. “That a promise?”
Jesus held my gaze, unreadable. “That’s a fact.”
Rick inhaled sharply, that measured sort of patience he wore when deciding whether or not to trust someone. “We check it,” he decided.
We moved toward the building, unease settling over me. The air was filled with the lingering stench of burnt rubber and rotting flesh, but underneath it, blood.
"They gotta be in there," Jesus said, pacing as Rick slammed his fist on the door.
"We movin' in or what?" Abraham asked Rick, who was leaned in, likely listening for walkers.
In response, Daryl stopped his pacing, throwing a wild finger up at Jesus. “How do we know this ain't firecrackers in a trashcan?"
"You don't," Jesus responded.
"We'll get your people." Rick turned. "You're staying here with one of us."
Jesus craned his neck around -- hopeful -- that there was an off-chance one of us would be on his side. He was only met with Michonne shaking her head once. "That's the deal,"
Adjacent to me, Glenn brushed Maggie shoulder, asking if she’d stay — a worried, and careful husband. It was no surprise when Maggie agreed, her eyes trained on the handcuffs Rick was getting adjusted for Jesus. And briefly, just a whispering touch, Glenn’s hand brushed her belly. The real reason he wanted her to stay back.
If Daryl knew just the potential chance, I doubted I would even be on this little trip. Not after everything else that had happened to me last time I went out - add a pregnancy to the mix and I’d be on house arrest.
“You comin’, girl?” The Georgia-thick accent I’d always loved asked, turning around when I didn’t follow him toward the door.
I’d have to tell him eventually. Whether I was or wasn’t, he’d still find out. I couldn’t keep it a secret.
Maybe I could cushion the landing a little bit.
“No,” I replied, trying to hold some type of casual smile. “No, I’m gonna hang back. Make sure everything stays secure.”
That, and I really didn’t need one more thing for Daryl to badger me about when he found out. Because he would find out. There wasn’t a single goddamn chance of this slipping under his radar, not when he already had a habit of clocking every little thing I did that didn’t make a lot of sense.
I’d get the whole rundown—how I should’ve told him, how I shouldn’t have even considered coming on this run, how I didn’t think things through, how reckless I was.
“Ya sure?” Daryl asked, lingering at the door, brows pulling together just a little.
I nodded, forcing a casual shrug. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta keep the peace out here.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Daryl studied me for a second longer, eyes narrowing just slightly like he was trying to read between the lines, but I held steady. He made a low sound, almost like a grunt, before finally turning away. One by one, the rest of them followed—Rick, Abraham, Michonne, Glenn.
And then it was just me, Maggie, and Jesus, locked in a silence that felt heavier than it should have.
Maggie exhaled, stepping closer, arms folding over her chest. “Smart staying back,” she said, her voice low, considering. “Not just ‘cause of him.”
I didn’t answer. Just sat down on the nearest surface, stretching my legs out in front of me, and kept my eyes on the door.
Jesus, cuffed to a metal railing, tilted his head, watching us both like we were some great mystery. “So,” he said, easy, like he wasn’t handcuffed outside of an abandoned building with two women who could absolutely kill him if he so much as breathed wrong. “Either of you want to talk, or are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other?”
I sighed. “That depends. You got anything worth saying?”
_____________
I pinched my face when we hit a particularly nasty bump as we cruised down some side roads. Daryl’s hand on my thigh a constant reminder that so far things had gone okay. A little shaky, but okay.
His response to the four newcomers was much like the one with Jesus: suspicious.
Supposedly they’d been on a supply run that had gone a little more than faulty, resulting in the smoky wreck we’d so conveniently stumbled upon. None of them looked especially threatening, but the stiffness in Daryl’s shoulders hadn’t really changed much since Jesus escaped custody in Alexandria.
I knew it was paranoia from all the times I’d seen people turn on us — all the people we’d lost. I was traumatized by it all. So much so, that I’d lost the ability to be an optimist, and that little pocket of realization was really grating at my nerves. Pessimism wasn’t the type of outlook I had ever surrounded myself with before; optimism was the key point on how I was able to function after suffering from multitudes of trauma all my life.
And maybe it was because I felt like I was the only one really questioning the intentions of these strangers.
Okay, maybe not the only one.
I glanced at Daryl. He sat stiff beside me, foot bouncing, eyes flicking around the RV every few minutes like he was keeping tabs on the new passengers without making it obvious. I knew that look. He wasn’t sold on this either.
That made two of us.
Everyone else? A little too open, too willing to take Jesus at his word. Rick played it cautious, but even he seemed more convinced than I liked. And Glenn… I got it. I did. He had Maggie and a baby to think about. The idea of some safe haven with food and medicine? It was too tempting not to at least try.
I wanted to believe it too. I just wasn’t sure I could anymore.
I exhaled slowly, shifting my focus out the window, watching the trees blur past. The sky was that dull, washed-out blue, neither bright nor dark, just existing. Kind of like the space between problems, the shallow breath before the next bad thing.
We should’ve been back home. Alexandria wasn’t exactly thriving, but it was mine , and I wasn’t too thrilled about leaving it behind again, even for a day. After everything—the attack, the blood, the losses—we’d just started patching up the cracks. And now we were already running toward something else.
It was exhausting. This constant cycle of danger, survival, hope , like it was something we could chase down if we ran hard enough. But that was the thing about hope—it had teeth. And it bit .
Daryl’s fingers twitched against my thigh, a small, absent motion, like he could feel the way my thoughts were twisting up. I glanced down at his hand, then back at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but his jaw was tight, that muscle ticking at the hinge.
I smirked faintly, nudging his knee with mine. “You look weird without your bow,”
“Could say the same for you.” His voice was quiet, like he’d been chewing on something too long. “We could probably go find yours when we get back.”
“So you can steal it from me?”
His mouth pressed into a line, but he didn’t argue, just squeezed my thigh again.
Without his bow, I’d noticed how stir crazy he’d gone. His fingernails and lower lip were getting the brunt of the abuse due to the loss of his favorite tinkering item. I wanted to eventually make a point to go searching for another. We had maps and a rough idea of the area, I didn’t see any harm with going out on a quick run to a local outdoors shop. I mean…how many people are really using a crossbow to fight walkers?
Probably just Daryl.
And it’d been a while since I’d done anything for him…as a matter of fact, the longer I thought about it, the harder it was for me to pinpoint anything I’d ever done for him. Not including sex at least — but even that was more for myself.
Fuck.
I was selfish.
Daryl had given me a house—an actual, honest-to-God house. Four walls, a roof, a porch. A place that was ours. He’d carved out a little glimpse of the past in a world that was anything but, and what had I done for him? Nothing. Just existed beside him, like that was supposed to be enough. Like he didn’t deserve more.
I shifted against the seat, crossing my arms tighter. Hell, even the stupid little things—fixing up his gear, sneaking extra rations onto his plate, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders when he thought I was already asleep—had fallen by the wayside. And he never said anything about it, never made me feel like I owed him, but that almost made it worse. He’d done everything for me without expectation, without hesitation, and I hadn’t even thought to return the favor.
I was a lousy girlfriend.
My fingers twitched against my thigh, restless, like they wanted to grab at something and hold on. I should’ve done more. Should’ve found a way to make that house feel more like home, for both of us. Should’ve paid more attention, should’ve—
…should probably stop keeping things from him.
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face. The secret sat like a rock in my gut, heavy and pressing, but this wasn’t just about that. This was about all of it. The imbalance, the unfairness. Daryl had spent so much time trying to take care of me, and I’d just let him. It should’ve been equal. It should’ve been more than just him carrying the weight.
And yet, here I was. Adding more to his load without him even knowing it.
We drove another hour or two, switching between paved roads and rougher terrain, the RV catching every nook and cranny in the ground. Daryl’s hand on my thigh turned into his arm around my shoulder, and my head awkwardly resting in the crook of his collar, when the RV thudded to another halt. In the front seat, Rick groaned, “a storm must’ve passed through. We’re stuck.”
The arm around me twitched, and I knew better than anyone that Daryl was about to offer his services. But before he had the chance to speak, Jesus stood, a gleam in his eyes. “No worries,” he said. “We’re here.”
The RV swayed as Jesus stepped forward, and the moment the door swung open, the scent of damp earth hit me. I followed Maggie out, my boots sinking into the mud, and internally cringed. It was the kind that sucked at your feet like it was going to trap you. The only grace, was that it thankfully wasn’t Georgia clay. That shit got everywhere—stained your clothes, your skin, refused to let go no matter how hard you scrubbed. This was just mud.
The RV was stuck good, tires buried deep, but that was the least of our worries for the immediate minute. The real focus were the walls in the distance—tall, sharp, and unfamiliar. The so-called Hilltop.
We started moving, boots sloshing against wet ground. Quiet conversation filled the space around me, a low murmur of voices. Just ahead, Michonne walked alongside one of the Hilltop residents, Bertie, who had the easy kind of confidence that only came with knowing she had a home to go back to. “School’s starting to come together,” Bertie was saying, her voice calm despite the weight of the world we lived in. “It’s still small—just a handful of kids for now—but it’s something. They need structure, something to keep them grounded.”
School. That felt like a word from another lifetime.
My gaze flicked toward them as they kept talking, Bertie explaining how they’d found a few books, some old lesson plans, how they were trying to rebuild an education system from scraps. The way she spoke about it, like it was just as important as food or water, struck me in a way I hadn’t expected. Maybe because she wasn’t wrong.
For all the running, the fighting, the bloodshed—we still had kids growing up in this world. They deserved more than just survival. And this place, for all its unknowns, had that — a plan.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stop gripping my knife so tightly. Maybe this whole trip wasn’t a complete mistake.
If Hilltop had the foundation, Alexandria could build on it. One of our residents, Carly, used to be a fifth-grade teacher before the world went to hell. She’d talked about how much she missed it, how she wished she could do something reminiscent of her life before the fall. Maybe this was that something. We had kids. We had people who knew how to teach. It wasn’t impossible.
And then there was medical care. Harlan, their doctor, and Denise, ours—two people who actually had training, who could swap knowledge, build something better together. I wasn’t a doctor, but I knew enough. I could learn more. And if more people started learning, we wouldn’t be so screwed every time one of us got hurt.
The thought settled something in me. It wasn’t just a road trip with a stranger anymore. It was potential. A future. A reason to keep going beyond just making it to the next fight.
Daryl’s shoulder brushed mine as we walked, grounding me back to the present. He hadn’t said a word since we stepped out of the RV.
“Stop right there!” A voice shouted from somewhere atop the wooden gates.
One by one, we all drew our weapons (save Jesus and Co.), aiming to kill at the drop of a hat. My shoulder still stretched a little painfully from my scar while holding a rifle, but not enough to throw my fire line off. “You gonna make us?” Daryl snarled at the top of the gates.
Two figures appeared along the peak of the wooden spikes, yielding what looked to be like fucking spears. “Jesus, what the hell is this?” One of them shouted down.
“Open the gates, Kal,” Jesus said in an almost irritated voice while holding a pacifying hand up. “Freddie’s hurt.”
I watched through my peripheral, not taking my eyes off one of the figures above, as Jesus turned back to face us. “Look, sorry about these guys,” Jesus continued. “They get antsy standing up there all day doing nothing .” An octave higher on that last note.
“They give up their weapons,” shouted one of the guys from above, “then we’ll open the gates.”
“Why don’t you come down here and get ‘em,” Daryl shot back.
"Gentleman,” Harlan, the doctor from Hilltop, stepped forward, “look, we vouch for these people, all right? They saved us out there!"
"Lower the spears," Jesus ordered a second time.
Rick lowered his gun in the same beat, leaning closer to Jesus. “Look, I'm not taking any chances. Tell your guy Gregory to come out here."
"No," Jesus spun around, leveling Rick’s gaze. "Don't you see what just happened? I'm letting you keep your guns. Look, we ran out of ammo months ago. I like you people. I trust you. Trust us."
Rick turned slightly, just enough for his eyes to land on me in silent question. It wasn’t just about what he thought—this was my call, too. Alexandria wasn’t just some half-assed camp in his dictatorship, it was ours , and that meant I had to be the one to weigh this moment.
My gaze flickered up to the men perched atop the gate, spears lowered, but still clutched tight, bodies tense. I knew that kind of tension—it wasn’t the sharpness of soldiers but the unease of people pretending to be. Their grip was too stiff, their stance uncertain. If things went sideways, they’d fight, sure, but they weren’t killers.
Daryl stood beside me, rifle steady, jaw locked. He’d back my play no matter what, but I could feel the resistance coming off him. Maggie, a few feet away, was watching Jesus like she was trying to peel him apart, trying to decide if his word meant anything. She wasn’t sold, not yet. Neither was I.
But I wanted to be.
And I think everyone else did too.
Because if this worked—if we played it right—Alexandria wouldn’t just be surviving and rebuilding anymore. It could grow . This was bigger than pride or paranoia. It was bigger than my gut telling me to keep my finger on the trigger.
So, I lowered my gun. Just a fraction, just enough. A silent okay.
_____________
“I want Maggie with me,” I said, arms crossed as I watched Rick wipe his arms dry. The washcloth was already stained, the water in the basin murky from dirt and blood. It felt strange, scrubbing up in some stranger’s fancy house, the air scented with lavender soap and whatever old-world arrogance Gregory carried in his cologne.
Rick didn’t look up. “You need to be the one to talk to him.”
I snorted, shifting my weight. “Yeah, I got that part.”
He finally met my eyes, sighing like he was already tired of the conversation. “Alexandria’s your community, Libby. The rest of us just work for you.”
That made me scoff. “Bullshit.”
Rick arched a brow, waiting, but I didn’t let the moment stretch.
“ Nobody works for me,” I shot back. “I lead, but that doesn’t mean I run the damn place alone. You’re every bit as essential as I am—Maggie too. And if something ever happens to me, I want her in charge.”
Rick’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing behind his eyes before he went back to wringing out the cloth in his hands. I didn’t blame him for the reaction. We didn’t like talking about after . Didn’t like putting words to the what-ifs that clawed at the backs of our minds every time one of us stepped outside the walls. But it needed to be said.
Because the truth was, I didn’t want to see Rick leading again.
Not because he wasn’t good at it—he was, the best I’d ever seen. But pure leadership did something to him. It sharpened all his edges, hardened him in ways that made the world feel bloodier, more like a battlefield than a home. He’d thrive in it, but at what cost? He had two kids who looked up to him. They didn’t need to see him like that again.
Maggie, though—she had Hershel’s steadiness, his way of seeing the long game. She could make something of Alexandria, grow it instead of just keeping it alive. And maybe, selfishly, I liked the idea of it staying in a woman’s hands. Maybe that was a small, quiet thing I held onto, a piece of something that felt right in a world that had stripped so much away.
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling. “I’ll talk to him,” I muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. “But I want Maggie with me.”
Rick gave a slow nod, something like approval settling in his gaze. “Then Maggie goes with you.”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
This was the kinda place that some kids used to come on field trips back in school, while I had to stay in the classroom cause my folks never paid the fee for me to go. I used to hate thinkin’ about it. All the shit that I missed out on as a kid, all cause I was raised lousy. But seein’ the inside of this place…didn’t feel like I’d missed too much.
It was extravagant. Fancy. But nothing worth seeing — just a big house with a lot of rooms and shit you wutn’t s’pose to touch. Hardwood floors, paintings in gold-trimmed frames, a chandelier that probably cost more than I’d ever seen in my life. Every inch of the place felt like it was trying too hard.
I ran my hand over the back of one of the tufted chairs, the wood smooth and untouched, like no one ever really sat there. Everything looked kept , like it was still a museum instead of a sanctuary.
The sound of boots on the stairs pulled my eyes up. Abraham, fresh from washing up, came down slow, rubbing at his damp hair. His gaze flicked to me, then past me, like he was looking to see if anyone else had come down yet.
Rick and Libby were still upstairs, probably still hashing out who was gonna be the one to deal with Gregory. I knew it oughta be Libby—it was her job, her call—but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
If it were up to me, Rick would handle it. Not ‘cause he was better at it, but ‘cause I knew he could take whatever bullshit Gregory threw at him without lettin’ it stick. But Libby… she had patience, sure, more than Rick most days, but she also gave a damn. She wanted this to work, wanted Alexandria to have a future that wasn’t just scraping by. And I knew that meant she’d sit there and let that prick talk at her, let him look at her like she was just some kid tryin’ to play in the big leagues, and she’d take it.
Didn’t sit right with me.
She’d become more compliant since she took on a leadership role — put up with more shit. But I knew she had bite in her. She went toe to toe with Merle and Shane without battin’ an eye.
I shifted my weight, glancing toward the stairs like I might see her coming down any second. Nothing.
Libby could handle herself. Always could. Didn’t mean I had to like standin’ around waiting while some asshole acted like she wasn’t worth takin’ seriously.
“How long do you think Rick and Michonne been uggin’ bumplies?” Abraham asked from across the room.
I chewed the inner part of my cheek, holding back some of the words I wanted to say. Didn’t really give a shit about anybody else’s sex life.
“Don’t know.”
“You ever think about it?” He kept on, pressing me about the shit. “Settling down?”
S’ what I figured I’s already doin’. Got a house with Libs, n’ we’re gettin’ along pretty fine. S’ what settlin’ down was, wutn’t it? Or was he talking about—
Not yet.
Nah.
We talked about it, but now that we was out findin’ other communities…ain’t no telling what we might run into. Don’t even need to start thinking about that.
“You think shit’s settled?” It came out a little harsher than it needed to be. Especially with Libby on my mind.
“You and little red’ve got a pretty sweet thing goin’ on.” Abe said, turning to look at me. “A house, a cat. A youngin’ wouldn’t be so bad, huh?”
It wouldn’t.
Not with her.
A kid with that girl would be more than I could ever ask for — hell — I already got more than that. A kid would just be the cherry on top. And I’s finally alright with accepting the idea of bein’ happy with her. Still didn’t think I deserved it, but I’s alright with it. But,
“Shit ain’t settled enough,”
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I took a slow breath as I stepped into the hallway, Maggie right beside me. I didn’t love the idea of being the one to try and cut us a deal, but I kept my head up. This place was a little too polished for a place that had seen the world end. It felt staged, like a house stuck in time, trying to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
The muffled sound of conversation drifted up from downstairs, but I couldn’t make out any words over the creak of the stairs beneath our feet. As soon as we hit the last step, I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me gently but firmly to the side.
His grip was warm, calloused fingertips rough against my skin, but not unkind. He didn’t say anything right away, just glanced toward the hallway where Gregory’s office was before looking back at me, his expression hard to read. “Don’t take any shit from him, girl.” he said, his voice quiet but edged with something protective.
I let out a breath, shaking my head with a small smirk. “Take a breath, Dar. I’m not exactly thrilled, but I’ve got this.”
His jaw twitched, like he wanted to argue but knew better. “Just worry ‘bout ya,” he muttered, his cheeks tinging red.
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten—not in fear, not in doubt, but in something softer that made me want to reach for him and reassure him. Instead, I just squeezed his wrist lightly before slipping free of his hold.
“I’ve dealt with difficult people my entire life, but I’ll holler if I need you, Dixon,” I said simply.
Maggie was already waiting for me near the hallway, arms crossed, watching the exchange with quiet understanding. When I joined her, she didn’t say anything, just gave me a soft smile.
I took another breath, squared my shoulders. “Let’s get us a deal,” I said, even if part of me wasn’t sure I’d ever really be ready to ‘deal’ with someone like Gregory.
We stopped in front of Gregory’s door. I knocked once before pushing it open, stepping inside with Maggie right beside me.
Gregory barely looked up from where he sat behind his oversized desk, hands folded neatly like he was someone important. The office was just as pompous as I expected—bookshelves lined with leather-bound editions, paintings of landscapes that probably weren’t even from around here, and a damn decanter of whiskey like he was some kind of businessman instead of a guy playing king in a crumbling world. Everything about it screamed arrogance, from the pristine condition of the furniture to the way he leaned back like he owned the air we breathed.
Maggie spoke first. “Gregory.”
He finally glanced up, a polite but empty smile stretching across his face. “Natalie, right?”
Maggie didn’t miss a beat. “Maggie.”
Gregory snapped his fingers like he was trying to commit it to memory. “Olivia?”
I crossed my arms. “Libby.”
“That’s pretty close,” he said with a small chuckle.
Maggie shot back before I could. “Not really.”
Gregory hummed in amusement. “She calls them like she sees them. I like that.”
Pushing away from the desk, he held out an arm, motioning for us. “Come in, let's chat,”
As Gregory shut the door behind us, I let my eyes wander the room again. It reminded me of those places kids in my class used to visit on field trips—some historical house with fancy furniture and a bunch of old shit nobody was supposed to touch. I never got to go. My parents never gave me the money. Back then, it stung, knowing I was missing out while everyone else got to see something special. But standing here now, in this overly fancy room with its stiff chairs and pretentious decor, I didn’t feel like I’d missed much at all as an eight-year-old.
In front of the fire place, Gregory gestured loosely to the painting on the wall. “I came to this place once before, back when it was a museum. Some Chamber of Commerce thing.” His voice took on this practiced ease, like he thought he was reeling us in, making himself sound important. His eyes flicked back to the painting, lips curling slightly. “Love that piece. I never figured it’d be mine, but here it is. Like it was waiting for me the whole time.”
Maggie hummed, noncommittal.
I folded my arms, raising a brow. “Chamber of Commerce, huh? Did you own a business?”
He shot me a smirk, straightening his posture like he was proud of whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “A car lot,” he said.
Figures. Something about that just made sense. He had that used-car-salesman confidence—the kind that was all talk, all handshake deals and forced charm, but underneath it? Hollow. A man who was used to getting his way because he could talk loud enough to make people believe he knew what he was doing. I wasn’t buying it.
Gregory moved on before I could press him further, waving a hand for us to sit. “Jesus told me your group saved Dr. Carson. Obviously, a doctor’s a rare commodity today, so I want to thank you for bringing ours back.”
Maggie’s voice was steady when she answered. “Our husbands saved him.”
I blinked. My stomach tightened as I took a seat next to her.
Husbands.
The word rang in my ears, bouncing around in my skull. Maggie said it so easily, so naturally, like it was just a fact. Because it was. Glenn was her husband. My mouth felt dry. Daryl wasn’t my husband. He was just… Daryl. Boyfriend didn’t quite fit the description either, even though, I guess that’s what he was. But for half a second, my brain tripped over the thought, over what it might feel like to have a word like husband fit.
Gregory didn’t seem to notice the momentary shift in my head. He just nodded, leaning back with that same practiced air. “I’ll be sure to thank them, too.”
Maggie leaned forward slightly, keeping her tone measured. “This place, what you have here, has it been like this since the start?”
Gregory nodded, like it was obvious. “That’s right.”
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, but still kept that soft smile. “And how -- how have you managed to survive here?”
Gregory sat back with an easy smile, spreading his hands like the answer was simple. “You’re looking at how. I’m good at this.” He gave a small, self-satisfied chuckle. “And I don’t get hung up on the details.”
Of course he didn’t. The kind of man who ran a used car lot for a living didn’t make it by worrying about the fine print—just the sale. The performance. And he sure as hell was performing now, making it seem like keeping this place afloat was all him, all charisma and smooth-talking.
He studied Maggie and me for a moment, then tilted his head. “Where you live, is it as nice as the Hilltop Colony?”
Maggie kept her voice even. “It’s just different.”
I nodded, a bite when I replied. “More sustainable.”
Gregory didn’t seem interested in that. He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped together. “How do you feed everyone? Jesus said you had land for gardens, but no crops.”
Maggie gave him a small nod. “We just started planting.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Planting what?”
“Cucumbers. Tomatoes,” she answered.
Gregory scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh, crops —soy, corn, hemp, sorghum.”
I crossed my arms. “Garden stuff.”
His lips twitched, amused, but there was something else behind it—calculating, assessing. Like he was sizing us up, figuring out what we were worth. “But you have guns,” he continued, tilting his head. “So I assume you have a decent weapons cache.”
I held his gaze. “It’s solid.”
“And your infirmary? Is it stocked?”
Maggie didn’t miss a beat. “Is yours?”
Gregory’s smirk faltered for half a second before settling back into place. I was starting to see through it, though—the fake confidence, the way he acted like he held all the cards, and we should just be grateful just to be sitting here.
I leaned forward slightly. “Look, we came here hoping to talk trade, not have a runaround. Do you have enough here for that?”
He gestured around him, as if the answer was obvious. “You see what I have here. You see what I’ve built.”
“And we wouldn’t have come all this way if we didn’t have enough to trade.” I wasn’t about to let him act like we were the ones begging.
Gregory exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with mock sympathy. “Jesus said that your food situation was… challenged right now. You don’t keep people fed, it comes apart.” He leaned forward slightly. “Let’s speak the common tongue here, huh?”
I didn’t like the way he said that, like we were kids who needed things spelled out for us.
“You don’t have shit,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Now, I’m happy to help,” he went on, like he was some kind of damn saint. “I’m a nice guy. But we can’t just give things away for free.”
His smile shifted, and I braced myself for whatever bullshit was about to come out of his mouth next.
“How’s this?” he continued. “Since you can’t offer much, I’ll let your people work here for their share.” He gave Maggie a pointed look before his eyes flickered over to me. “You two would be a welcome addition to the community—smart, beautiful women.”
There it was. The greasy salesman routine.
“Getting back to that common tongue,” he added, lowering his voice just slightly, “I can tell ya, I can make it worth your while.”
I didn’t even get a chance to tear into him before Maggie shut him down. “Let me stop you right there.”
Gregory gave her a patronizing look. “Listen, honey—”
“Stop coming on to me with calling me honey.” Her voice was sharp, that southern drawl really pulling heavy.
Gregory’s mouth pressed into a line, like he was rethinking his approach. I decided to speed that process up. “You don’t have any ammunition.”
His brows lifted. “Who said that?”
“You’re low on medication,” I added. “You need things. We need things.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes. “What, are you gonna give us a bottle of aspirin and a box of bullets?”
Maggie stayed steady. “Our communities can help each other.”
Gregory pushed himself up from his chair, clearly done humoring us. “Thank you, Natalie, Olivia. Been a good talk.”
Maggie didn’t move. “We can help each other.”
He gave us both a tight smile. “We’re doing fine.”
I exhaled, shaking my head. “Let me tell you something, Greg. My people have real weapons. We also happen to have a lot more fighters than you do, and we’re pretty navigationally savvy.”
I held his gaze, watching the flicker of discomfort cross his face before he smothered it.
“Stay vigilant.”
_____________
Judith was a year old, maybe a bit older now, so the last time I’d seen a cow in person was approximately twenty-some-odd months ago, and I’d be lying my little ass off if I tried to claim I wasn’t suddenly craving a bowl of ice cream. Hilltop had eight cows. Eight. The prospect of fresh dairy for our community would be a welcome change.
Even if it ended up just being milk.
It was dairy. A food group that was slowly becoming extinct. I guess the lactose free people are thriving these days.
I watched the cows lazily chew their cud, swishing their tails, completely unbothered by the end of the world. They had no idea how valuable they were. No idea how a single one of them could mean the difference between kids growing up knowing the taste of real milk instead of that powdered shit we scavenged. Cheese, butter, yogurt. Things I hadn’t thought about in forever, but now that they were right in front of me, I realized how much I missed them. I wondered if we could even make ice cream from scratch. Did Hilltop have an ice cream churn somewhere? Probably not, but it was nice to dream. And I knew how to make ice cream in a zip lock bag…kind of.
I leaned forward, resting my arms on the fence, watching a calf press its nose into its mother’s side. It made me think about how different life could’ve been if the world had held on just a little longer. If Judith could’ve grown up knowing what a trip to the grocery store was like instead of having to rely on people like us to keep her fed. It was stupid to get caught up in what-ifs .
The fence creaked slightly as someone leaned against it beside me. “You good?” Daryl asked.
“Yeah,” I said, glancing over. “Just thinking about ice cream.”
He gave me a look, like he wasn’t sure if I was serious or not.
“What?” I shrugged. “They’ve got cows.”
Daryl huffed, shaking his head, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly.
I turned back to the pasture, watching the cows shift lazily in the sunlight. “I wanna try again…talking to Gregory. I want to bring back some milk to Alexandria.”
Daryl scoffed. “Maggie said you threatened him,”
“He deserved it,” I said. “He was patronizing.”
Daryl lips turned into a thin line, his eyes training back on the field. “Don’t blame ya. Just don’t see how he’s gonna wanna work with us now.”
I let out a slow breath, watching one of the cows flick its ear. “Yeah. I know,” I admitted. “I could’ve handled it better. I just…” I pressed my lips together, rolling my shoulders back. “I’m not used to schmoozing to get what I want anymore.”
Daryl glanced at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Schmoozing?”
I gave him a dry look, but he was already amused. “I was a stripper, Daryl,” I reminded him, tilting my head. “Talking to creepy old men and getting what I wanted used to be part of the job. And I was very good at my job.”
That got a huff out of him, but his expression shifted slightly. Less teasing. More considering.
“But it’s different now,” I admitted. “I haven’t had to do that in a long time. Haven’t really wanted to either.”
Daryl didn’t say anything, just kept watching me. I felt my fingers curl against the wood of the fence, that strange twisting feeling working its way into my stomach. It was weird to say it out loud. To admit it.
It wasn’t just that the world had changed. I had.
I exhaled, trying to piece it together in a way that made sense. “I used to be really good at that shit. Playing the game. Giving men what they wanted just enough to make them think they had a shot, then walking away with a bigger tip.” I shook my head, staring out at the pasture. “It never bothered me. It was easy, and I liked taking advantage of men and their wallets.”
Daryl’s fingers tapped absently against the fence, his gaze steady, listening.
“But now,” I swallowed, jaw tightening slightly, “when a guy come onto me, or tries to make a show of things -- I just don’t feel anything. It’s not fun anymore. I mean, I don’t even feel compelled to flirt back.”
Daryl shifted, scrunching his face as he turned his head to look at me again. Confusion plastered all over, and his eyes squinting in that familiar cat-like way.
I let out a breath, glancing at him. “Because of you.”
His expression didn’t change much, but I caught the way his fingers stopped moving. The way his throat bobbed slightly like he was swallowing a reaction.
I shook my head. “I don’t mean, like, in a you ruined me for all other men way or whatever.” I smirked a little, but it faded as I tapped my fingers against the wood. “Just… being with you makes it different. I like us — being together. It makes sense to me. I used to get something out of sweet talking other guys, but now? It just feels gross when they come onto me.”
Daryl was quiet for a long moment before he shifted his weight. “Y’ain’t gotta change nothin’ about yourself.”
I gave him a look. “I know . But that doesn’t change how any of it makes me feel.” I crossed my arms, exhaling sharply. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do it if it’s for Alexandria’s best interest, but still.”
Daryl huffed, shaking his head slightly. “Y’ain’t gotta if you don’t wanna.”
I scoffed. “A cow, Daryl.”
He shot me a sidelong glance, and I grinned, nudging his arm with mine. “You don’t get to win the game unless you play in it.”
Daryl grumbled something under his breath about being a loser, but there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something soft, even as he looked away.
“C’mon,” he muttered. “S’ gettin’ late, n’ Jesus should be done gettin’ all pampered up.”
I smirked, pushing off the fence to follow him.
_____________
“We want to generate trade. Gregory does,” Jesus insisted, hands open in a pleading gesture. “But ammo isn’t something we urgently need.”
Rick’s hands were on his knees, his head shaking slowly. “Well, how’s that?”
“The walls hold,” Jesus said. “We just brought in more medicine. Gregory wants the best deal possible.”
“Yeah, well, we want things, too,” Daryl stopped his pacing, whipping his words. His frustration was evident, and I knew it wasn’t entirely due to our set back on trading. He wasn’t one to beg, or even ask for a lot. Hunting and surviving had been his way of life, all his life, but wildlife was scarce in this area of Virginia, especially with it being the middle of the summer.
Daryl had been talking about going out further to hunt for a week or two now, frustrated with how little he was able to bring in. Stretching our range was the only real solution. But that took time — to prepare, to scout, to set up routes that wouldn’t get him caught out too far if something went wrong. A trade was immediate relief though. Supplies now so he wouldn’t have to push himself.
Tara and Heath were already gearing up for a long run that wasn’t exactly the safest. We were spread thin as it was, and if something went sideways while they were out, we wouldn’t be in a great position to go after them.
I clenched my jaw, my eyes flicking over to Jesus as he tried to explain Gregory’s stance. It wasn’t that I couldn’t talk to Gregory again—I knew I could—but the fact that I’d already let my temper get the best of me was making things harder than they needed to be. I should’ve handled it differently. Should’ve swallowed my pride, played along, let him think he had some kind of upper hand so I could twist it in my favor later.
But I’d snapped at him. Too sharp, too quick, too openly pissed off at his bullshit. It had been satisfying in the moment, but it wasn’t the smart move and Deanna probably would’ve had a fit. I wasn’t stupid—I knew how to talk to men like him. I just hadn’t wanted to. And now, we were stuck negotiating from a weaker position because I hadn’t kept my mouth in check.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing a thumb over the inside of my palm. This wasn’t about pride. It wasn’t about how much I didn’t want to go grovel to some smug asshole. It was about Alexandria. About getting our people what they needed. If that meant sucking it up and playing nice, I’d do it.
Rick made eye contact with me, a brief, weighted look. I screwed up when it was my turn to talk, this was all on him now. “We need food,” he said, his gaze slipping to Jesus. “We came all this way, we’re gonna get it.”
Jesus wasn’t one of us — we didn’t know him, and I wasn’t entirely sure if we trusted him yet, but he wasn’t a bad guy. It was hard to believe that such a calm and patient man was at the beck and call of someone like Gregory. I chewed my bottom lip, flashing to the tape recorder tucked back at Deanna’s house.
I should interview him,
“I will talk to him and we will work this out,” Jesus said, finally. “Circumstances change. We’re doing well now, and you will next. I will make him understand that.”
The stretch of silence that followed was delicate. Rick’s eyes were fixed on the floor for an extended amount of time before they began flickering to each one of us, saving me for last. There wasn’t anything behind them though. No contemplation, or hesitation. It brought me back to the prison. The way he used to see me, and how I figured that must’ve changed dramatically from his point of view.
I wasn’t someone he was taking a gamble on anymore. He was suggesting me for the council against Carol’s wishes.
When nobody so much as acknowledged Jesus’s words, he took a small step forward. “Can you give me a few days?” he asked, desperation soaking his words.
Rick glanced at Michonne, who offered a small, understanding nod, then back to me. “We can,” he said finally. “Yeah.”
Jesus breathed out the softest of laughs, one that tiptoed the line of disgust, I felt. And I was going to say something. Wonder aloud about what more we needed to do, and what did Hilltop need that we may possible have to offer —but loud footsteps echoed on the porch, intense enough to shake a house of a lesser build. Then the door swept open, a man entering in sync with Gregory’s coming out of his office.
Tension settled over the room, all eyes settling on either Gregory or the man. A sense of panic seemed to have washed over, as I noticed my shoulders weren’t the only ones suddenly tense. “What’s wrong?” Gregory asked, voice shaky, which took me by a bit of surprise.
“They’re back,” said the man, looking over his shoulder, nodding outdoors.
We filed out of Barrington House behind Gregory. I wasn’t sure what the others were thinking, but I was curious what the sudden panic was all about — the why behind it could be our ‘in’ for a trade.
"Ethan,” Gregory greeted to the larger of two men as we approached. “What happened to everybody else? Where's Tim and Marsha?"
"They're dead," the blonde man, Ethan, replied.
"Negan?" Gregory asked.
My stomach dropped like a stone, the name slamming into me with the force of a bullet.
.then we grow up and read about ‘em and villainize the victims in our heads.
Notes:
i don’t really think a ton happened in this chapter, but~ i really need y’all to soak in these little #Liryl moments bc…y’all it’s all down hill for a WHILE once Negan shows up… like, even when there’s a little fluff, here comes 20 pounds of baggage following.
anywayssss~ i can’t wait for the next chapter bc we finally get answers ab Libby’s possible pregnancy!
Chapter 63: eighteen years too old for me
Summary:
His head tipped forward, hands braced against his hips, fingers curling in frustration. “But ya told them. Not me.”
I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t like that—“
Chapter Text
.cause cruelty, wins in the movies.
Negan.
The name scraped through my mind like rusted metal, dredging up thick waves of blood and bile, echoing with the haunting sound of a man's voice choking on the last remnants of his own life. My fingers twitched involuntarily, and my pulse was hammering too fast, too loud. I felt paralyzed, unable to move or breathe for a heartbeat—my body caught in the agonizing middle ground between instinctual flight and fight. I wasn’t afraid. Not exactly. But I wanted to hide.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, his voice shaky, and I watched as his throat bobbed nervously with each swallow.
"We had a deal," Gregory said.
"He said it wasn't enough," another man entered the equation. “Was the drop light?"
"No," Gregory insisted, but his body was saying otherwise. The way it froze up under watchful eyes. His fragile facade of confidence cracking.
"They still have Craig," another voice said, a woman this time.
"They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you," Ethan explained, taking a the lead, inching a few steps closer to Gregory.
A hand placed on his shoulder, Gregory nodded, “So, tell me,"
"I'm sorry," Ethan murmured, plunging a knife into Gregory’s gut.
Instinct had me snapping back, staggering into action, my hand on my gun. I wasn’t the only one moving— Rick, Michonne, everyone reacted at once. Everywhere we went, there was always a fight. I was starting to wonder if maybe we were the bad omen.
Ethan had Rick on the ground, pinning him, the blade slick with Gregory’s blood still in his grip.
I caught movement to my left—Abraham’s size made him hard to miss. The other guy in the red sweater was on him, had his hands tight around his neck, crushing down with all his weight. Abraham’s face was turning red, veins bulging, hands clawing at the arm around his throat.
“Daryl!” I snapped, jerking my head toward them. I was already moving, reaching for my knife, but I knew Daryl was closed. He was on the guy in an instant, ripping him off Abraham before he could do any real damage.
A blur of movement barreled from the front gates—Kal, spear in hand, panic in his eyes. My gun was up before I even thought about it, aimed right at his chest.
“Back the fuck up,” I warned, unwilling to let someone else be added into the mess behind me.
Kal skidded to a stop, grip tightening on his spear, indecision flickering in his face. His eyes darted to Ethan still struggling with Rick, to Maggie and Jesus trying to keep Gregory from bleeding out, then back to me.
“I’m telling you, you don’t really want it with me.” My threat wasn’t empty. I had every intention of knocking him on his ass if he decided to try it.
His chest heaved, nostrils flaring, but he didn’t move.
Behind me, there was a sharp, wet gurgle, and I knew—without even turning around—Rick had handled Ethan. But my gun didn’t lower. And apparently neither did Rick’s judging by Kal’s gaze falling behind me at the sound of a hammer clicking.
“Put it down!”
In my peripheral I saw Rick take a few steps forward until he stood about a foot ahead of me, gun in hand. “I don’t think I will,”
“Everyone!" Jesus rushed forward, placing himself between us. "This is over! Ethan was our friend, but let's not pretend he was anything more than a coward who attacked us. He did this. And these people stopped him."
"What can I do?" Rick asked. The looks we were receiving from the other people in the community weren’t exactly friendly, and I could assume shooting one of their guards wouldn’t get us any closer to a trade.
"Put your guns away, you've done enough,” said Jesus, turning to address us more directly. “You need to know that things aren't as simple as they might seem, just give me some time."
_____________
Daryl and Abraham did most of the talking. Rick wanted their encounter with Negan’s men in more detail, and we had plenty of time to kill while we were waiting for an update on Gregory—who was still alive by the way.
As they recounted their story, the pit in my stomach grew and grew. Even before now, I’d known there had to be more of them. The one I ran into didn’t seem like the type to work alone. I swallowed, my fingers drumming against my knee as I did my best to keep my face neutral, and focus on Daryl’s voice instead.
“Bout twelve of ‘em. Armed to the teeth and then some.”
Maggie shook her head. “But they don’t know about Alexandria,”
A chill ran through me.
I could feel the weight of the knife in my hand like it was still there. Could hear the ragged breaths, the disgusting things he’d said, the way his grip tightened when he realized I wasn’t just going to lay down and take it. I stood from the stiff, antique chair, and began pacing.
Glenn’s eyes were on me. I could feel it as I moved—back and forth, back and forth, he’d moved in my pathway, forcing me to go around him, and he wasn’t looking at anyone else.
Daryl was still the only one who knew. The only one I’d trusted with the whole thing—not because I’d planned it that way, not because I’d wanted some big secret between us, but because I physically couldn’t get the words out to anyone else. I didn’t want to.
I remembered the way his face had gone tight, how his breathing had changed, and his hands flexed like he was ready to go out and tear through the woods after the bastard himself, even though he was already dead.
I swallowed hard, crossing my arms.
Glenn was still watching.
It wasn’t like he knew, he just knew me. And pacing like this, damn near tearing up the floorboards, wasn’t normal for me. I could sit down. Force myself to be still. Pretend I wasn’t thinking about it, pretend I wasn’t remembering the feel of that man’s hands on me, the way his breath had hit my skin, the sheer fucking relief that came when I drove that knife into him.
But I didn’t want to sit down.
I wanted to keep moving, keep pacing, keep doing something —because if I stopped, I knew I’d begin to slowly disassociate, and I’d been doing so well with controlling that lately.
Especially with all things considered.
And Daryl hadn’t said a damn word about it since that night, hadn’t looked at me like I was weak or less than because of what happened. He didn’t pity me. He didn’t walk on eggshells. He didn’t treat me like something fragile . He never did. From the very beginning, he never sugar-coated me as a helpless girl.
That’s why I fell for him…that’s why I told him everything that happened—not because we were together, but because despite all my personal doubts, he never looked at me different.
Rick was still talking about the Saviors. About how we needed to know more—how many there were, how they operated, if they were a threat to Alexandria.
That last bit made my stomach twist up a little more.
My pacing slowed, the room was still filled with the low murmur of conversation, but it felt distant, like I was hearing it from underwater
Then I felt Rick’s eyes on me, stopping me in my tracks.
He wasn’t just glancing my way—he was staring , his expression shifting, like he was realizing all at once that I hadn’t spoken in a while, and my head was somewhere else.
I forced my fingers to unclench, my arms crossing like I could physically hold it all in, regardless of the words leaving my mouth.
“I had a run-in with one of his people too.”
Silence settled over the room, suffocating me almost. Michonne’s brow furrowed, her mouth parting slightly. “What?”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “That’s who stabbed me,” I said, the words like lead on my tongue. “Right before the herd surrounded Alexandria and Rick saved me—it was some guy.” I licked my lips, willing my voice not to waver. “He, uh… we got into it, and he told me that Negan liked redheads, and…”
Every pair of eyes in the room was locked onto me, waiting, but I could barely feel the ground beneath my feet. My pulse roared in my ears.
I forced myself to say it.
“He was going to rape me,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. “So I killed him.”
Michonne’s expression was unreadable, but her grip tightened on the arm of the chair, fingers flexing like she wanted to hit something, and Abraham muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch.
Rick was the only one who responded right away, his voice level. “You sure he’s dead?”
I blinked at him. He wasn’t doubting me, I knew that. He just needed to know.
“He wasn’t gonna walk away from what I did,” I said.
Rick held my gaze for a long moment, then gave a small, understanding nod. But the weight in the room didn’t lift. If anything, it settled deeper. Because now we knew for sure—Negan’s people weren’t just some scattered group of survivors. They were organized, predatory, dangerous.
It was only a matter of time before they had their eyes on us.
Before anything else could be said, I felt Daryl shift beside me. His fingers brushed against mine, warm and solid, before twining together like it was second nature. He didn’t say anything, but the grip of his hand was enough to keep me from sinking too deep into my own head. I let out a slow breath, my thumb tracing over the ridges of his knuckles, grounding myself in the quiet reassurance of him just being there .
The room still felt thick with unspoken words, the others trying to process what I’d just admitted. I could feel their stares, could hear the small movements—Michonne’s exhale, Glenn shifting in his seat, Abraham rubbing a hand over his face. No one knew what to say, or if there was even anything to say. But at least with Daryl’s hand wrapped around mine, I didn’t feel so damn exposed.
Then the door creaked open, and Jesus stepped inside, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered between us all, "Dr. Carlson was able to patch Gregory up. He's in pain, but he'll live."
Michonne uncrossed her legs. “So what happens now?”
Jesus stood in front of the portrait Gregory had gawked on earlier, twiddling his fingers. “Things like that don’t usually happen here,” he said carefully. “But, uh… it’s settled.”
Settled. Like Gregory almost getting gutted in his own home was just some minor inconvenience.
Rick wasn’t buying it. “We heard the name Negan,” he said, pushing off the desk, stepping in front of Jesus. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes, putting things together. “A while back, Daryl, Abraham, and Libby had a run-in with his men. Who is he?”
Jesus didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered around the room before he finally spoke. “Negan’s the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors,” he said, his voice quieter now. “As soon as the walls were built, the Saviors showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss… made a lot of demands, even more threats. And he killed one of us.” He paused for half a second, the words caught in his throat. “Rory.”
A sharp curse slipped out of me before I could stop it.
“He was sixteen years old,” Jesus went on, his expression darkening. “They beat him to death right in front of us. Said we needed to understand, right off the bat.”
My stomach twisted. Sixteen. Just a kid. I thought about the people we’d lost, the things we’d had to do, and how none of it had ever felt fair—but this was cruelty for the sake of cruelty, a message written in blood to keep people afraid. And it had worked. The people here had been too scared to fight back, too scared to even try.
Jesus exhaled sharply. “Gregory’s not exactly good at confrontation,” he admitted, his voice edged with frustration. “He’s not the leader I would’ve chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him.”
Maggie’s jaw tensed. “He made the deal.”
Jesus nodded. “Half of everything. Our supplies, our crops, our livestock… it all goes to the Saviors.”
Glenn shifted in his seat, frowning. “And what do you get in return?”
Jesus’ eyes met his. “They don’t attack this place. They don’t kill us.”
Daryl moved forward, pulling me with him. “Why not just kill them?”
Jesus shook his head. “Most of the people here don’t even know how to fight, even if we had ammo.”
“Well, how many people does Negan have?” Rick asked, looking around the room, gauging everyone’s reaction.
“We don’t know,” Jesus admitted. “We’ve seen groups as big as twenty.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could get a word out, Daryl spoke.
“Now, hold up,” he said. His grip on my hand tightened for a split second before he let go and paced forward. “So, they show up, they kill a kid, ‘n you give ‘em half of everything?” His lip curled. “These dicks just got a good story. The boogeyman, he ain’t shit.”
Jesus tilted his head. “Well, how do you know?”
Abraham leaned back, hands sprawled on his thighs. “A month ago, we took his guys out PDQ. Left ‘em in pieces and puddles.”
Jesus’ expression shifted slightly—curious, maybe even a little surprised.
Daryl, though, was already way ahead of him. Hell—way ahead of me. “You know,” he said, his gaze locked on Jesus, “we’ll do it. If we go get your man back, kill Negan, take out his boys—will you hook us up? We want food, medicine, and one of them cows.”
Despite the tension in the room, the corner of my mouth twitched. One of them cows. My mind flickered back to earlier, to me bitching about not having fresh milk. At the time, he scoffed and brushed me off, but there was something comical about him adding a cow into the trade. A potential army to take out, and he made that a priority.
Rick didn’t hesitate. “Confrontation’s never been somethin’ we’ve had trouble with.”
I glanced at the others, at the silent agreement settling between us. What we’d done to the Governor, to Terminus, to Dawn’s people at Grady—it had never been easy, but we’d made it through. And we were still standing. The Saviors might’ve had the Hilltop under their thumb, but they hadn’t met us yet. I crossed my arms, steadying myself. “We have the numbers.”
Jesus studied us for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I’ll take it to Gregory.”
_____________
"I'm sorry in advance, Gregory can be a real prick." Jesus said, leading Maggie and I from the balcony.
"We know," Maggie mumbled.
Gregory was willing to talk about the deal, but not with Rick, or Daryl, or Jesus—it had to be with Maggie and I. I knew it had everything to do with the fact that we were women and he saw us in a different light. He didn’t perceive us as threatening or serious, even when one of us had a gun raised to his guard’s head.
It was pathetic that the world functioned this way — but nevertheless — Alexandria needed this deal. We didn’t have food, or medicine, but we had man-power, and that had to be enough.
The hallway of Barrington House was almost too pristine, like it was still something out of a museum rather than a place people actually survived the apocalypse in. The walls were lined with old paintings, landscapes of rolling hills and forests that felt ironic now, given how much of the real world had gone to hell. The floors were polished wood, scuffed in some places but still gleaming under the soft glow of the lanterns hung at even intervals along the corridor.
Jesus walked ahead, leading us past a set of tall double doors before gesturing toward a room at the end of the hall. I kept my focus forward, ignoring the wary glances from a couple of Hilltop residents lingering nearby. It was clear they weren’t used to outsiders, especially ones who came in waving guns around and murdering one of their people. We didn’t have the luxury of tiptoeing around peoples feelings when someone got stabbed.
“You do most of the talking?” I asked under my breath once we stopped at the end of the hall.
Maggie gave me a side glance, but nodded. “You doubt yourself too much, Libby. Deanna chose you for a reason.”
I stood back, letting Maggie take the lead as she walked into the room, her posture squared with confidence. I had no problem following her lead; this wasn’t my scene. Negotiations clearly werent my strong suit. Maggie was calm, composed—everything I wasn’t. As she began speaking to Gregory, I took in the room, letting my eyes linger on the opulent furnishings that reeked of a world long gone. Antique chairs with cracked leather, a carved wardrobe that was probably worth more than anything I owned before all of this. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out any trace of sunlight, and the air was thick with something stale.
“What makes you think you can do what we haven’t done?” Gregory’s question almost made me physically lash out at him, as it brought me back into the loop.
I wasn’t waiting around for Maggie to respond. My tone was flat. “Jesus said y’all haven’t done anything except give him exactly what he wants.” I took another look around the room, noting the dusty corners and the way the furniture felt out of place.
“And we’ve handled people like Negan,” Maggie added.
Gregory narrowed his eyes at us, clearly unimpressed. “How?”
I stepped forward, folding my arms. “They’re dead, and we’re not.”
Gregory shifted uncomfortably, but his mouth stayed tight. “We can get your man back,” Maggie started, her voice even.
Gregory didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know if Craig’s worth the trouble,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “I mean, it’s his brother who did this.”
Maggie didn’t falter. “He was fightin’ to save someone he loves.” She stepped closer, leaning in a little. “He was afraid.”
Gregory scoffed, the words leaving his mouth before he seemed to even think about them. “That makes him weak. Frankly, I don’t know if I want him back in our gene pool.”
It was too much. This guy didn’t get it, and it was hard not to let the frustration show. Maggie was being calm, playing it cool, talking about Hershel, but I couldn’t keep quiet. “You’re already on Negan’s hit list. Getting Craig back wouldn’t be a bad idea on your part.”
Gregory hesitated for a second, but only a second, before nodding reluctantly. “Yeah, I guess… He’s a hell of a cook. Makes these amazing… baked eggs with green tomatoes.”
I stared at him for a moment. Of all the things he could’ve said, it was the fact that the guy could cook? It was hard not to let out a snort of disbelief. How did people actually like this man? Or tolerate him?
“You give us supplies, we’ll save Craig and take care of Negan and the Saviors,” Maggie said evenly, meeting Gregory’s eyes. “Permanently.”
Gregory scoffed, a dry, humorless chuckle leaving his lips. “I’m sorry, I find this whole conversation pretty funny,” he said, shifting against the pillows like he was getting comfortable. “I mean, you two balked when I proposed that your people work for our supplies, but now, isn’t that exactly what’s happening here?”
I clenched my jaw, the audacity of this guy making my hands curl into fists at my sides. That was not the same thing, and he damn well knew it. Greasy ass, piece of shit, cars salesman.
Gregory, oblivious or just not caring, kept talking. “See, I had leverage and I used it. It wasn’t personal.” He waved a hand like this was all just business, like it was some kind of game he was good at playing.
Maggie didn’t let the frustration show. She just nodded. “Yes, we need food. You have it. We’re willin’ to work for it.”
That was all he wanted to hear, apparently, because he exhaled like he’d finally won something. “Done,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “I’ll get supplies for your people.”
Maggie’s nod was sharp. “Good.”
Gregory smirked, like he thought this was all going too easy. “I’ll talk to Jesus, he’ll make the arrangements,” he said with a lazy wave of his hand. “See, this was fun. Exciting.”
I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, inhaling slowly through my nose as his eyes raked up and down our bodies. God, I hated this guy. The smug little way he lounged back, acting like he was still in control—like he had us right where he wanted us. I’d told Maggie she could lead, but that didn’t mean I was walking out of this room with him thinking he’d gotten the upper hand. There was a reason he was stuck in that bed in the first place.
I let the silence stretch, just long enough for him to think it was over, then tilted my head, my voice sweet as honey. “Half.”
Gregory blinked. “Excuse me?”
I didn’t flinch. “Half of what you have.”
Maggie picked up on it. “We saw what happened out there. Negan’s expectin’ more supplies from this place. And more and more. And if it keeps goin’ like that, pretty soon you won’t have anything left.” She let that sink in, then tilted her head. “What happens then? Without ammo, without fighters…you’d be a dead man. So half of everything you have,” she repeated, eyes locked on him. “Right now. Or the deal’s off.”
I took a step closer, folding my arms over my chest. “You see?” I asked, letting the words drip with the same smug tone he’d been using. “We have leverage.”
Gregory looked at us both, like he was reevaluating the situation. Finally, he huffed, shaking his head with that same bitter smirk. “Congratulations,” he muttered. “You have yourself a deal.” He let out a dry laugh. “You want anything else? Kidney, maybe?”
I exhaled, finally letting some of the tension ease from my shoulders, only for them to be replaced by Maggie’s following request.
Glenn Rhee sure had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.
_____________
“Daryl can’t know,” I swallowed harshly, digging my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “Nobody was supposed to know.”
Glenn winced, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight. “Look, I didn’t know that she was planning this,” he offered a small, sheepish smile. “But she lied to Daryl. Said that she wanted you here for support, and I mean—it’s better to know, right?”
I exhaled sharply, eyes flicking toward the closed door of Dr. Carlson’s medical trailer. The space was tight, just a few feet across, packed with cabinets that rattled every time someone shifted in their seat. A single counter ran the length of one wall, lined with supplies: bottles of disinfectant, labeled syringes, neatly coiled tubing. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and old paper.
The cot beneath me creaked as I moved, my nerves making me restless. My fingers curled against my thighs, gripping the hem of my shorts like it might ground me. “Glenn, if he walks in,” I muttered, glancing at the door again. “Fuck, he’s gonna hate me. This isn’t fair to him. I should go—“
“Libby,” Maggie said gently, placing a hand on my arm. She sat perched on the stool beside me, her expression steady, calm. “He’s not gonna hate you. You just need to find out first, okay? Breathe.”
I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to bolt. My knee bounced as I stared at the door again, heart pounding at the thought of it swinging open. If Daryl walks in here right now…
Dr. Carlson stepped into view, his eyes flicking between us as he set a clipboard down on the counter. “Alright,” he said, his voice level, practical. “You nervous?”
I let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sharp exhale. Understatement of the fucking century.
He nodded like he understood, rolling his chair closer. “I get it. But let’s take this one step at a time, okay? Lean back for me.”
My spine locked up like I was made of stone, my body outright refusing. But Maggie’s hand was still there, warm against my forearm. I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, inching back until I was lying flat. The vinyl beneath me was cold, making me flinch.
Carlson pulled on a pair of gloves, retrieving the ultrasound wand from the small machine beside him. The monitor was old, its edges scuffed, its screen flickering with a dull green glow. “Shirt up,” he instructed, squeezing a bottle of gel.
I hesitated, eyes darting to Maggie before I forced my hands to obey, pushing the fabric up just enough to expose my stomach. The air hit my skin first—then the gel, cool and thick, spreading as he smoothed it over my lower abdomen.
“Alright,” Carlson murmured, moving the wand into place. “Let’s take a look.”
My breath felt trapped in my chest, my fingers twitching at my sides. The monitor flickered again, streaks of static cutting through the blackness before something began to form. My heart climbed higher, my stomach twisting so tight I thought I might be sick.
Maggie’s grip on my arm tightened, grounding me. “It’ll be alright,” she said softly.
I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. My eyes stayed locked on the screen, waiting—bracing—for the answer I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.
_____________
Not a whole lot was said during our quiet ride back to Alexandria. The air inside the RV felt thick with exhaustion, but it wasn’t the kind that cane from lack of sleep—it was a lot deeper than that, born from everything we’d just set into motion. Glenn and Rick took turns behind the wheel, their low murmurs in between shifts blending seamlessly with the steady drone of the engine as the asphalt twisted and turned beneath us, a pot hole here and there for good measure.
Hilltop had sent us home with enough food to last at least a month, maybe two if we rationed it right. The rear of the RV was filled with crates, the faint scent of hay mixing with the earthy aroma of the animals we brought along. Three chickens, fluffed up and clucking softly, were nestled near the back, occasionally shifting in their cramped quarters. Their nervous movements reminded me of how fragile our new peace was, yet equally how crucial their contribution could be.
And there was Daryl’s promise of a cow, ensuring a steady supply of milk and meat, although that would come in a later pickup. Right now, I think we were all still grappling with the realities of our new situation as we bumped along the road in our fragile little sanctuary on wheels as we made our way home.
I was stretched across the bench seat, my upper half resting between Daryl’s legs while my feet dangled close to Abraham’s lap. He kept casting me side-eyes, clearly debating whether or not to shove them off, but in the end, he just sighed and let it be. Across from us, Jesus sat leaned back in a chair, one ankle propped over his knee. Another guy from Hilltop—the one who made all the drops to Negan—sat near the door, arms crossed over his chest like he still wasn’t sure if riding back with us had been the best idea.
Daryl had been quiet for most of the ride, but his fingers moved idly against the fabric of my shirt, a small, absent motion. He wasn’t one for big gestures, not in front of people, but I knew what that was. The tension hadn’t left his body since we drove away from Hilltop, but he kept his hold on me firm.
My eyes flicked toward the driver’s seat, where Rick’s gaze was set dead ahead. There was a plan now, and it was going to cost us a piece of our humanity — but it’s the way we were going to survive. I didn't have to like it for it to be the reality we were facing.
I glanced down at Daryl’s hand where it rested against my stomach. It wasn’t intentional—he wasn’t thinking about it; he didn’t even know about it. He wasn’t aware of the way it made something inside me twist. But I was. I had been for over a week at this point.
I should’ve told him already—I should’ve told him the minute I stepped out of the trailer. I knew that. And I would. But it just didn’t feel like something I should say in front of a lot of people…or right after we agreed to slaughter another community.
Daryl’s hand gave a firm pat against my stomach, and when I turned to look up at him, he jerked his chin toward the windshield.
We were home.
I sat up straighter, twisting enough to get a clear view through the glass. The walls of Alexandria stood tall against the almost dark sky, the metal gates just beginning to creak open as we rolled closer. The sight of it sent a wave of relief through my chest, the familiar tension loosening from my ribs.
Outside, I spotted Carol, Rosita, and Sasha moving fast toward Rick before the RV even came to a stop. I couldn’t quite make out everything that was said, but knew Rick wanted to have a meeting as soon as we made it back, so it was safe to assume it had something to do with that.
“Libby,” Rick called, patting the empty seat next to him.
That brief moment of relief quickly tightened back into unease as I scooted away from Daryl, his fingers, slipping away without resistance. I didn’t look back as I moved toward the front of the RV.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I rested my elbow against the armrest, watching as Rick maneuvered the RV toward the storage area. The engine rumbled beneath us a little louder before it finally shut off, the headlights sweeping over the fences lining the perimeter. Slowly the others began shifting back into motion, their tired bodies pushing forward as they filed out of the RV, their arms full of new supplies as they did.
“I need you on this,” Rick said, eyes locked ahead as he eased the seat back before he turned to face me. “We’re gettin’ as many people as we can in the church tonight. Gonna lay out what we did, what deal we made with Hilltop, and see how many we got willing to go after Negan’s people.”
I stared at him, my hands gripping the edge of the seat. “You really think people are gonna jump at the chance?”
Rick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Some will. Some won’t. But we don’t need everybody—we just need enough.” He held my gaze, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “But I need your full support on this. If we’re gonna pull this off, we gotta be all in. Are you?”
A bitter scoff left me before I could stop it. “I’m the one who made the deal…and Daryl was the one who said we’d do this.” My fingers curled into my palm, nails pressing into my skin. “I know it’s harsh, but you know as well as I do that Negan’s people would’ve done the same to us if they found us first.”
Rick didn’t argue. He just gave a slow nod. “Alright.” His grip tightened on the wheel for a second before he shifted his focus back to the group outside. “You take the lead when we get in there. Get everybody listening. I’ll lay out the details. Once we have a solid group, we’ll meet at your place in the morning and go through a full game plan.”
I swallowed. I was still coming to grips with my role of leadership, and considering the environment I was working in, I felt like I was doing a pretty good job. But this wasn’t just about keeping Alexandria safe anymore—it was choosing to go on the offensive. Choosing to take lives before they had the chance to take ours. My stomach twisted, but I nodded anyway. “Okay.”
The sound of the RV door creaking open pulled my attention. Daryl was standing outside, arms crossed, waiting. His gaze flickered toward me for only a second before settling on Rick. “We doin’ this tonight?”
Rick gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
I exhaled and pushed the door the rest of the way open, stepping down. The scent of gasoline and dust lingered in my nose as I glanced around, taking in the movement of our people hauling boxes and sacks of food toward the storehouse. Three whole chickens, crates of grains and vegetables; it should’ve been a good moment—a victory. But it didn’t feel like one.
_____________
Across the church, from where I stood on one of the steps along the stage, I watched Tara give Denise calming and reassuring shoulder rubs in a pew as Rick continued to speak about the importance of taking Negan and his group of Saviors out. Nobody seemed to be taking it particularly hard, and to be quite honest, I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. All I knew, was that I wanted to be cozied in the seat next to Daryl rather than up here. Which was kind of funny actually.
In the early days, back at the quarry, and in Atlanta, I felt like I had so much to prove. I wanted to stick out—to be reliable—someone that people looked to. It was a part of myself still so fresh from the ‘before world’, the need to prove worth.
Now I had. And then some.
Now I led a community of people who trusted my better judgement. If I chose to go headfirst into Rick’s plan, they didn’t question it.
That was terrifying.
Was it too much to ask for me to just be Daryl’s sweet little housewife who happened to have some pretty gnarly ideas and influence?
It seemed like a way better position than standing up here, hands on my hips, waiting for someone to say they weren’t willing to take so far innocent lives. Well…until the creaking of a pew and a dozen or so heads turned as Morgan stood up.
“You’re sure we can do it?” he asked, eyes trained forward. “We can beat them?”
Rick looked over to me, just a flicker of a second, before nodding to Morgan. “What this group has done, what we’ve learned, what we’ve become, all of us — yes, I’m sure.”
There was a confidence in Morgan—humanity—that reminded me of Dale. Of Hershel. His unwavering determination to use his voice, even when nobody was on his side.
“Then all we have to do is just tell them that.”
“Well, they don’t compromise,” Rick said moving his jaw around, an obvious sign that his patience was thinner than he wanted everyone to believe.
“This isn’t a compromise. It’s a choice you give them. It’s a way out, for them and for us.”
My mind wandered back to the hot, sunny days on Hershel’s farm. Back when my voice hadn’t reached the level of influence, when only Dale sought me out for my opinion on things. I was sick, supposed to be in bed, and nobody was coming up to ask me for my take on Randall, but Dale still made a point to come talk to me. Just on the off-chance I could push Daryl’s take on things to the more humane side.
It was when Daryl and I hadn’t even reached the level to consider ourselves ‘friends-with-benefits’. All coquette comments, and flirtatious touches: a crush on a man about eighteen years too old for me.
Dale was searching high and low for any branch he could use to advocate for an innocent until proven guilty life. And I had been on his side. Even agreed to talk to Daryl if he came up to the bedroom before their meeting.
Things had been so different then.
We had been so different.
Rick, once upon a time, held a gun to Daryl’s temple while the words we don’t kill the living, left his mouth. Now, I wonder if he knew how many lives he’d taken.
Fear controlled us a lot in the beginning— but in a different way.
People; yes, of course. But walkers were our biggest threat. When we ventured into Atlanta in search of the CDC, it was walkers we didn’t want to run into. On the road; walkers. Even when the governor attacked us, we were still predominantly worried about walkers overrunning us. We had a level of humanity.
Morgan was hoping for a level of humanity.
Would Dale be disappointed in me?
“Morgan wants to talk to them first,” Rick said. “I think that would be a mistake, but it’s not up to me. I’ll talk to the people still at home. I’ll discuss it with the people on guard now, too, but who else wants to approach the Saviors, talk to them first?”
Nobody stood. Nobody, and I wondered if Dale were here, if he would have. Or would the world have changed him too? Had his death been a blessing, so as he didn’t have to live through this?
I didn’t want to kill innocents.
That wasn’t who I was, or what I wanted Alexandria to stand for. If we started now, when did we stop?
But we needed the food. The supplies. And Negan’s people weren’t good people. One of them tried to rape me. A group of them tried to kill some of my people; Daryl, Sasha, Abraham. They’d murdered a sixteen year old just to get a point across.
They weren’t good.
But— sneaking into their home, where they slept soundly, presumably safe, and slaughtering them…it made me feel like maybe we’d gotten too ahead of ourselves at the Hilltop. Maybe we saw the livestock, the people, the civilization, and got carried away with something so close that we made this decision too early.
I looked to Maggie, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by anything being said. She was good. True. Honest. And she stood firmly on the deal we’d negotiated. Unwavering by Rick’s proclamation of killing them all.
So I stood there, waiting for everyone to file out the church, clasping my hands together and giving a set time for a more condensed group to meet up at my place in the morning for a thorough play by play. No matter how much it was grating inside of me, this was the playing field.
_____________
In our quiet little green house, tucked next to the lake, especially chosen for us by Deanna Monroe, and fixed up with gorgeous touches from his very hands, Daryl Dixon undressed before my eyes, and for the millionth time, I wondered how incredibly lucky I was. We had come a long way from the people we were at the CDC. How we reacted to one another.
Getting naked was one thing, but preparing for a shower was another thing altogether. It was sacred, and intimate. We weren’t stripping out of our pajamas and replacing them with our day clothes, or rushing to remove our undergarments in a flushed attempt of passion.
Showering together was different, and by far one of my favorite luxuries of owning a home with the love of my life. Being able to watch him shed all the layers of clothing he so often wore, and seeing the brief, innocent spark of searching in his eyes when he turned to check if I was still there. It was sweet. A small gesture that made my stomach flip—knowing I was what he was looking for.
The sound of water rushing from the shower filled the small space, steam curling into the air like a living thing. I stood by the sink, fingers idly grazing the edge of the counter, watching Daryl as he toed off his last sock. There was something unshakably human about it—how he never quite undressed all at once, but instead peeled away each layer deliberately, like shedding some invisible weight.
His eyes flicked to mine just as he straightened, and that brief hesitation was there again, that soft, almost imperceptible pause. He never really looked at himself in the mirror, not for long, but he always looked at me. And I met his gaze without faltering and saw the corner of his mouth twitch, just barely, before he reached for the curtain and stepped inside.
I followed, sighing as the warmth enveloped me, heat soaking into my skin as water cascaded over us. The spray was strong, hammering against my back, but I barely registered it. My focus was on him—on the way droplets clung to his skin, tracing over old scars, highlighting every dip and ridge of muscle. My fingers followed the path of the water, moving over his arm, tracing the familiar line of a faded burn near his wrist. Daryl had never been one to linger in the past, but it lived on him, written in the things he didn’t say. And when I touched him like this, when I ran my hands over every mark, he never shied away.
His hands found my waist, thumbs sweeping absently over my ribs as I reached for the soap. I lathered it between my palms before pressing them against his chest, spreading the suds in slow, deliberate motions. His breath stuttered, just slightly, at the contact. Not because he wasn’t used to it—he was—but because there was something deeply intimate about this. The trust. The quiet reverence.
I smoothed my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, working the soap into his skin. He watched me the entire time, his blue eyes heavy-lidded, focused. “Turn around,” I murmured, voice barely audible over the spray.
He did, letting me map the planes of his back with my hands, tracing the constellation of scars that ran across his shoulders. Some were from before, others from now—scrapes and gashes earned in battle, reminders of how much we’d fought to get here. I pressed my palms flat against him, absorbing the warmth of his skin, the solid weight of him beneath my touch.
After a moment, I felt his hand find mine, fingers curling gently around my wrist, but before he could turn back, I snaked my arms together, holding him. Face pressed against his back, the words flowed out:
“I’m not pregnant,”
He stilled. Completely.
Not a breath, not a twitch. The water beat down on us, slipping in rivulets down his back, pooling at the space where my hands still pressed against his skin.
Then, slowly, he turned. Not all at once—like he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Like he was giving me the chance to take it back.
His blue eyes locked onto mine, and I knew he was trying to figure out if he’d heard me right.
I swallowed. “I—” My voice wavered. “I wasn’t— It was never—” I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers against my forehead before forcing myself to look at him again. “I missed my period. Two months. I thought…” I let out a breath, shaking my head. “Carlson said it was stress. Just stress.”
His gaze flickered over my face, searching, his jaw tight. But he didn’t ask the question I thought he would. Didn’t ask why I hadn’t told him, or how long I’d been holding onto this.
Instead, his mouth parted slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Glenn and Maggie knew?”
It hit me like a punch to the gut.
My stomach twisted, guilt curling up my throat like bile. “Daryl—”
His nostrils flared, then with a sharp exhale, he took a half-step back. Barely anything at all, but it might as well have been a mile. The space between us stretched wide, and I felt it in my chest, in the way my breath hitched and my throat closed up. I shook my head, “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to tell anyone.” My voice cracked, and I hated it, hated how weak I sounded. “I wasn’t even sure. I didn’t want to—”
His head tipped forward, hands braced against his hips, fingers curling in frustration. “But ya told them. Not me.”
I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t like that—“
“But it was. Ain’t it?” His eyes narrowed enough to make me nearly flinch. “They knew, and I didn’t.”
“I didn’t want you to be so stressed,” I whispered. “Not when I didn’t know for sure.”
He let out a harsh scoff, shaking his head. “That ain’t the point, Liberty.”
The way he said my name, my full name, clipped and rough, made my stomach churn.
He ran a hand over his face, then dragged it down his neck, fingers clenching at the base of his skull before dropping back to his side. He was holding himself back, every muscle in his body drawn tight. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
The tears slipped down before I even realized they were coming. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice barely audible over the shower’s steady rhythm.
His eyes snapped back to mine. And maybe it was the wetness in my eyes or the break in my voice, but something shifted in him. Not softer, not easier—but something. “Two months, Libby?” The words weren’t cruel, but they weren’t gentle either. “That somethin’ you thought I didn’t need to know?” He let out a breath, shaking his head.
The questions punched the air from my lungs.
I clenched my eyes shut, pressing my hands over his. “I didn’t want to make it a big deal. I didn’t want to put that l on you when I wasn’t even sure.” My breath caught, and I could feel my shoulders shaking now. “I was nervous when I told Glenn, and I didn’t even mean for Maggie to find out.”
His hand moved from mine, then slid into my hair, holding me there, forehead brushing mine. His voice, when it came, was quiet, but not soft. “But y’ain’t?” A beat of silence, his breath warm against my face. “Pregnant. Y’ain’t?”
“No,” I murmured. “Carlson gave me a clean bill of health, but wants me to give my body a break to regulate itself.”
Fingers, still tangled in my hair, tightened ever so slightly, then he let out a breath through his nose, long and slow, like he was forcing himself to let go of some of his anger. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, lingering there, his lips firm.
I felt the weight of his frustration still clinging to the air between us. He wasn’t over it, not yet. But he was trying. For me.
“S’alright then,” he mumbled. “You’re alright.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t feel alright.
Daryl let out another rough breath, then pulled back just enough to look at me, his fingers brushing against my jaw. He searched my face for a long moment, like he was still trying to make sense of it, still trying to put it somewhere that didn’t feel like betrayal.
Then, he muttered, “Don’t do that shit again.”
I swallowed hard, nodding against his touch.
“C’mon,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of my mouth before reaching past me to shut the water off. “Let’s getcha warm.”
I let him guide me out, his hands firm on my waist as he steadied me on the bath mat. He barely gave himself a second to shake the water from his hair before reaching for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders before tugging me in close, his arms winding tight around me.
I exhaled, sinking into him, but it didn’t take away the gnawing guilt in my gut, or the way his voice had sounded when he realized Glenn and Maggie had known before him.
“Y’ain’t gotta be the leader ‘a this place all the time,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Ain’t gotta do none’a that with me.”
“Just didn’t want you to worry about me so much,” I admitted.
Daryl didn’t say anything, just made a low sound in his chest, something close to understanding, but not quite forgiveness. His arms stayed around me for a moment longer, then, with a slow exhale, he loosened his grip just enough to press a kiss to the top of my head before pulling back.
The rest of the night passed in silence. Heavy, unspoken tension still sat between us, the words we hadn’t yet figured out how to say. His anger hadn’t fully left, and my guilt sat like lead in my stomach, making every movement feel sluggish. We dressed, climbed into bed. And when he reached for me, arm sliding over my waist, it didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like a reminder.
I squeezed his hand anyway, a silent apology.
But I wasn’t sure it was enough.
.i’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches i never said to you.
Notes:
🫣🫣🫣
i’m sorry!!!! i know we all wanted a Dixon baby, but it just doesn’t make any sense at this point of my story! i have this fully fleshed out minus a few kinks here and there, and adding a little one at this point was too big of a change to slide in! i can ASSURE y’all that we still have a LONG way to go before this story ends (like all the way to season 11 and POTENTIALLY to France), and if the timing and fleshing of the plot line gives leeway, we may have a little Dixon at some point. (also, plz don’t hate me come season 8-9ish, ily ily ily)on a lighter note~ it’s my birth month and i’m pampering myself for the next four weeks, so expect LOTS of updates this month.
Chapter 64: death trap of a bra
Summary:
I groaned, heat crawling up my neck. “Go away.”
He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
“What are you doin’?”
“Nothing.” I tried to twist free again, managing only to trap my arm even worse. “Just—go!”
Chapter Text
.she can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes.
None of this was the right thing to do.
Killing people in their sleep was wrong.
Killing people was wrong.
It didn’t mean I was gonna backpedal on my stance or my words. I knew that we were going after people in a dog eat dog world, and they were likely a lot worse than we would ever be. It still just didn’t seem like we were the ones who were supposed to do it.
If not us though, then who?
That was the question that kept running through my mind all through the meeting. Between the guy from Hilltop who did all the drops—Andy—explaining, to the best of his ability, the layout of the compound, and Rick working through a ruse on giving them Gregory’s head, I couldn’t stop wondering:
If not us, then who?
Through the nearly burnt toast with fresh butter, and stale coffee once the others left; curled up on our couch, watching Daryl sharpen a plethora of knives.
If not us, then who?
“Dar,” I half-mumbled, half-whispered, setting my cup down on the worn side table. “Does any of this bother you at all?”
His gaze drifted up lazily, a miracle that he actually put down the knife when he spoke to me. “Has to be done,”
I shouldn’t have expected a different response. Anything questionable, or tip-toeing the lines of inhumane, it always ‘had to be done’, and I knew that this conversation was going to go around in circles.
Despite knowing that though, I pressed on, hoping to settle the weird itch inside of me. “I know that, and I’m not saying that I want to back out—but the idea of it all: it doesn’t bother you?”
There were times, especially back in the beginning, when he’d shoot me some not-so-soft looks. Not quite disdain, or disgust, but harsh; agitated even. And our relationship had been nothing short of marshmallowy sweetness, save for last night — so imagine my surprise when his face twisted into something sour in response to my question.
“Libs, that man tried to rape you. He damn near killed ya, n’ you’re wondering if that shit bothers me?” he pushed up from his chair, moving the side table back as he did. Just as quick as he stood, he began pacing. Back and forth, right in front of me, and I suddenly regretted pushing the subject.
He was still upset about last night, so I guess pressing his buttons wasn’t the smartest move on my end. It was just suffocating to feel this conflicted over a choice I’d so confidently made. I glanced up at him, hoping that if I stood too he’d at least throw me a bone instead of moving around me.
I leaned on the arm of the couch, my fingers curling into the worn fabric as my chest tightened. “Dar, I’m just worried about my conscience. Not trying to start an argument.”
My voice barely carried over the sound of his pacing, but he heard me. His head turned just slightly, his shoulders pulling even tighter before he let out a sharp scoff.
“Now you’re worried about your conscience.”
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, like the idea of me having second thoughts was somehow insulting after last night. Like I had no right to even consider feeling bad about it. The attitude in his voice cut deep, sharper than any blade he had been sharpening just minutes ago. My throat burned.
I didn’t want to cry. Not over this. Not when he was right to be upset. But the guilt twisted inside me, a deep, relentless pressure that only grew stronger with each step he took across the room. I had made a choice, and the fact that it was eating him up this much made me feel so much worse.
Daryl didn’t stop moving. He dragged a hand over his face, fingers pushing through his hair before settling at his hip. His jaw clenched so tight I swore I could hear his teeth grind. “If ya wanna stay back, stay back, Libby,” he said finally, his voice flat, but firm. “But that don’t change what’s gonna happen. It’s them or us.”
He turned then, heading straight for the door, his movements stiff and purposeful. He didn’t slam it, didn’t even look back, but his anger lingered in the space he left behind.
The second the door clicked shut, the first tear slipped free.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
I didn’t want to holler at her. Not the way my dad did to my mom, the memory of their constant arguments echoing in my mind. And I felt bad about just walking out on her too, but it was one or the other. It’d been months since I got mad at her—and when I did get upset, it was never like this.
I ain’t never wanted to yell at her.
But hell, if that wasn’t all I could feel bubbling up in my throat, mashing so damn tight against my ribs I thought I might choke on it. Libby— m y Libby—had kept something like that from me. Not just something. Everything. Glenn knew. Maggie knew. And I didn’t know a damn thing.
I stepped off the porch, the soles of my boots striking the dirt-packed driveway harder than they needed to, my thoughts churning as I walked aimlessly. There was no destination in mind, no reason other than to be away from her before I said something I couldn’t take back. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my shoulders tense with a mix of anger and betrayal. It wasn’t even just the secret itself, but what it meant. What it could’ve meant.
She could’ve been pregnant.
I barely even knew what the fuck to do with that. It was damn near disorienting. The thought of a kid— our kid—thrown into the equation, and I ain’t get even a whisper of it? If she had been pregnant, was she just gonna wait until her stomach started showing? Was she just gonna let me keep running around, none the wiser, while she went off on runs, kept puttin’ herself in danger, kept actin’ like nothin’ was different? Like it didn’t matter.
I kicked at a rock, sending it skidding across the pavement, jaw locked so tight it ached. A baby. In the middle of all this. The idea didn’t even repulse me, not really; I could picture it, see a future that could have been. But I knew one thing for damn sure—if she had been, and something happened to her because she was too damn stubborn to tell me—
I stopped in the middle of the street, breathing heavy, hands on my hips as I tried to suppress the rage simmering beneath my skin. She didn’t tell me. She let Glenn know, let Maggie know, let them carry that fucking knowledge, but she ain’t trust me enough to do the same. Not with something that fucking big.
Maybe that’s what made me the angriest. It wasn’t just the secret, or the reckless shit she kept getting herself into—but what it said about us . That she thought she had to keep it from me. That she couldn’t trust me with it. That even after all this time, after everything we’d been through, she still thought I wasn’t someone she could lean on because I’d get too ‘worried’.
I shook my head, rubbing a hand down my face. I’d been good to her. Maybe not in the way she deserved, maybe not all the time, but I tried. I did everything I knew how to do. I held her when she cried, I backed her up when nobody else would, I made sure she ate, made sure she had a place to come back to. And still— still —she looked right at me, day after day, and said nothing .
I kept moving forward, fists still clenched. The anger didn’t fade. It just sat there, because no matter how I spun it, it all came back to the same thing: she didn’t tell me.
She didn’t tell me, and I just had to fucking deal with it.
I kicked that same loose rock from the pavement earlier again, watching it skitter down the street before it clattered against a curb. I was mad. Still stewing, despite sleeping on it and trying to let it go. It wasn’t fading into the background like most things did when I got too busy or too tired to keep worrying about them. I’d never had to deal with anything like this before though. Not someone who looked at me the way she did. Not someone who made me feel like I wasn’t just some tool for fighting or drugs or both sometimes if it was with Merle. Libby made me feel like I’s worth a damn.
And just to irk my nerves a little bit more, I knew that no matter how angry I was, no matter how much it hurt—there wasn’t a damn thing that would make me stop loving her the way that I did.
Movement caught my eye as I passed by one of the porches. Carol was sitting there, leaning back against the railing, a cigarette pinched between her fingers. Tobin sat beside her, saying something that I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was made her lips twitch in something like a smile.
Her eyes flicked up when she noticed me, and for a second, I thought she was gonna say something. Ask what was wrong. But I must’ve looked mad enough to warn her off, because she just nodded up at me instead. I nodded back, brief and stiff, and kept walking.
I let out a slow breath, raking a hand through my hair. I wasn’t done being mad. Not by a long shot. But sooner or later, I was gonna have to turn around and go back— that was my girl, and she’d made worse mistakes before.
The sound of footsteps behind me barely registered at first, but they didn’t fade away like they should’ve. Light steps, steady and sure—meant I wasn’t about to get jumped, but it also meant whoever it was had a reason to follow.
I already knew before I turned my head.
Carol fell into step beside me, arms crossed, cigarette still dangling between her fingers. She didn’t say nothing right away. Just walked, matching my pace like she had all the time in the world.
“You look like you’re gonna hit something,” she finally said.
I let out a slow breath through my nose, kept walking. “Haven’t yet.”
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, not pushing, not prying—just asking. I still didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I glanced at the cigarette between her fingers, the way she brought it up for another drag like she’d been doing it for years. Maybe she had. I couldn’t remember the last time we really sat down and talked, not since the walls came down. I knew she’d kept her distance, same as I had, but looking at her now—joking with Tobin on some front porch like she belonged here—it hit me that maybe we’d let too much time pass without fixing how we left off.
I rubbed at my jaw, then muttered, “Libby thought she was pregnant.”
The words sounded weird coming out of my mouth, like I wasn’t sure I should even be saying them. Carol stopped walking so fast I almost kept going without her.
“What?” Sharp. Clipped. She looked at me then, really looked, like she was searching for something in my face, maybe some sign that I was messing with her.
“She ain’t,” I said before she could get too worked up. “But she kept it from me ‘til last night.”
Carol’s lips pressed together in a thin line. She wasn’t looking at me anymore, just staring down the street, fingers twitching like she wanted to light another cigarette right after finishing this one.
“For how long?”
“Don’t know how long she thought she was,” I admitted. “Said somethin’ about bein’ two months late.”
That made Carol take another long drag, exhaling slow like she was trying to settle whatever was running through her head.
“So you’re taking a walk?” she finally asked, a little softer now.
I shrugged, shoved my hands into my pockets. “Don’t wanna yell at her.” That much was true. The last thing I wanted was to be like my old man, hollering at her because I didn’t know what else to do with the way I felt. “She was just scared… didn’t wanna worry me or some shit.”
Carol nudged me, a light shove against my arm. “She’s only what? Twenty-six?”
I stiffened. Just a little. I hated thinking about that, about how much younger she was, how much of a damn gap we had. Made me feel like some creepy old man.
Carol must’ve noticed, because she added, “I don’t mean it like that. She’s young. A lot’s on her shoulders for twenty-six. Leading a community, new house, new way of living, lots of demands.”
I knew all that. I did. But hearing it said out loud made me feel worse. Made me feel like I wasn’t doing enough.
Carol sighed. “I’m just putting it out there, Daryl. Don’t let yourself get too caught up.”
Too late.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking on it, trying to let it settle in my head without spiraling. Libby had a lot going on—maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was just pissed because it was me she kept in the dark, and that made me feel like I didn’t matter as much as I thought I did.
I didn’t like thinking that way.
I nodded toward the cigarette in her hand. “Since when d’you smoke?”
Carol didn’t bother answering, just gave me another shove, a little firmer this time.
I smirked a little, nodding back toward Tobin’s place. “You like that guy or somethin’?”
Carol huffed, rolling her eyes. “He’s a nice guy.”
I raised a brow, waiting.
She sighed, dropping her voice just a little. “And since you moved out, he doesn’t mind coming over.”
It was such an obvious joke, I actually huffed out a quiet laugh. First one I’d had all day.
We kept walking.
Further up the street, we passed Carl and Enid sitting on the grass, Judith between them. The kid was giggling, clapping her hands as Enid made faces at her, and Carl—trying real damn hard to pretend he wasn’t into it—was sneaking her quick little glances, his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile.
Off to the side, lounging in the sun, was Soup.
That dumbass cat had settled into our house like he’d been living there forever, making a routine of begging to be let in at night and scratching at the door first thing in the morning to go back out. Libby had thrown an absolute fit when he got into the pantry once, chewed through a box of crackers like he was some kind of raccoon. He was already marking up the porch with his claws.
It was nice, though. That little routine. Letting him in. Letting him out. Listening to him purr against the blankets when it got cold. Libby grumbling in the mornings when he’d crawl on top of her, refusing to move ‘til she gave him attention.
I’d spent so much time in my life just surviving, just running, fighting, scraping by. I never thought I’d get something like this.
I looked at Judith again, at Carl and Enid, at Soup stretching his paws in the dirt.
Maybe that’s what I should be focusing on.
I swallowed, rubbing a hand over my mouth. “You think I’m overreacting?”
Carol was quiet for a beat. “I think…” She tilted her head, choosing her words. “I think you care about her more than you know what to do with.”
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
I kept my head down, staring into the frying pan, watching the eggs sizzle as I nudged them around with the spatula. The yolks had broken—just another thing I’d fucked up. The toast had already gone cold, sitting untouched on a plate beside the bacon, the good kind from Hilltop, thick-cut and crisped just right. The smell should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like home, but instead, it just made my stomach twist. I felt awful. Worse than awful. Daryl had walked out earlier, and the ache in my chest hadn’t eased since.
It’d been hours. The analog clock on the wall ticked too loud in the silence, each second scraping against my nerves. He should’ve been home by now, and I should’ve gone looking for him. It’d been months since I’d slept alone, and the thought of it made my throat tighten. I didn’t want to be alone tonight. I wanted him here. I wanted to fix this.
We hadn’t fought like that in a long time. Not since the prison. and it hurt a hell of a lot more than I remembered.
I scraped the spatula harder against the pan, jaw tight, the bitter taste of guilt on my tongue. I’d been selfish. I knew it was my fault. Because I’d done something so stupid and now, looking back, I couldn’t even understand why. What had I been so scared of? Why hadn’t I just told him?
Daryl had spent his whole life being left out, being lied to, being treated like he didn’t matter. People hurt him, used him, took from him without ever bothering to apologize. His dad, Merle, the men he used to run with—none of them ever tried to make things right. And now, I’d done the same damn thing. I’d kept something from him, something important, and whether or not it had turned out to be nothing in the end didn’t change the fact that I hadn’t told him in the first place. I hated that. I hated that I’d made him feel that way.
I exhaled sharply, snapping the stove off. My appetite was long gone, my stomach twisted up in knots that food wouldn’t untangle. The food would keep. He’d eat when he got back—I’d make sure of it. But I needed to do something, to make this right.
I glanced down at myself—sweatpants that fit Daryl better than me, and an old tank top. Comfortable. Forgettable. Not exactly an apology outfit.
Not that I had anything better. Alexandria didn’t have a lingerie store, and it wasn’t exactly an essential in the middle of an apocalypse anyways.
And besides, I wasn’t used to trying that stuff even before — dressing up for someone who actually mattered. Back when I was stripping, my body had been a performance, a means to an end. A tool, just like the pole, the music, the dim red lights and sticky pink lip gloss. I knew how to use it, how to make men forget they were mad or miserable or just plain stupid. Sex was a game of give and take, and I always came out on top.
But this wasn’t a performance. And Daryl wasn’t just some guy.
Between us, sex had never been transactional. It wasn’t about power, about control, about who owed who what. It was different—messy, raw, and quick in the beginning, and so intimate in a way I still wasn’t sure I deserved. But right now, I just wanted to make him happy. I wanted him to look at me and see something worth coming home to—not just some girl to storm out over.
And I doubted anyone had ever gotten dolled up for him before.
I made my way upstairs, rummaging through what little I had, searching for something— anything —that felt like more than just survival-wear.
What I found wasn’t much—a pair of cheeky, black underwear with lace fraying a little at the edges—and that bra. The one I hated.
It was needlessly complicated, with thin, tricky little side straps and an extra clasp that made getting in and out of it a nightmare. I hadn’t grabbed it because I liked it—I’d grabbed it because it was the only one in my size when we got to Alexandria. But right now, it was the closest thing to special I had.
I shimmied out of my sweatpants, slipping on the underwear easily enough. The bra, though, was another story.
The second I pulled it over my shoulders, I knew I’d screwed up. The straps twisted, the side clasps still fastened, digging into my ribs at a weird angle. I tried to fix it, reaching behind my back to unhook the damn thing, but my fingers fumbled uselessly against the tiny metal clasps, while the side straps were stuck in a tangled mess behind my arms.
I gritted my teeth, trying to maneuver them back into place, but they wouldn’t budge. “You’ve got to be kidding me—”
Then, just to make things worse, I heard the front door open. The sound sent a jolt through me, and I froze, arms half-trapped in the mess of tangled straps.
“Son of a bitch, ” I muttered, going completely still, as if that might somehow save me from this absolute disaster of a moment.
“Libs?”
Daryl’s voice carried up the stairs, and I panicked, yanking at the straps harder trying to free myself before he got any further. “Don’t open the door!”
“Libby?”
The floorboards creaked under his boots. He was coming up.
“Y’alright?”
I twisted, nearly yanking my shoulder out of its socket, but the stupid clasps would not budge. I groaned through clenched teeth. “I’m fine! Just—just don’t come in!”
Silence. Then more footsteps. Closer.
“Libby.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m fine!” I tried again, voice pitching higher as I flailed against the death trap of a bra. “Just—damn it, just don’t come in! ”
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Standing in the doorway, arms slack at his sides, head tilted slightly as his eyes dragged over the absolute mess of a situation I’d gotten myself into. He looked half-confused, half-amused, mouth twitching like he was fighting back a smirk.
I groaned, heat crawling up my neck. “Go away. ”
He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
“What are you doin’?”
“ Nothing. ” I tried to twist free again, managing only to trap my arm even worse. “Just— go! ”
Daryl stepped inside, arms crossing over his chest. “Ya look stuck.”
“I am stuck,” I whined, finally giving up and flopping back onto the bed, completely defeated. The ceiling blurred as I let out a long, suffering sigh.
Daryl let out a quiet chuckle, moving toward me. And then, to my absolute mortification, he straddled me, his knees bracketing my hips as he reached for the straps.
I went completely still.
I could feel the weight of him, solid through his jeans, his calloused fingers brushing against my skin as he worked to untangle the mess I’d made.
“Where you plannin’ on goin’ in this anyway?” His voice was lower now, rougher, as he pulled the strap over my elbow, slow and methodical.
My face burned. “Nowhere.”
Daryl made a low, thoughtful sound, his fingers grazing my side as he fought with the final clasp. “Somethin’ wrong with that one you been wearin’?”
I swallowed hard. My mouth had gone dry. My heartbeat had completely lost its rhythm.
“No,” I admitted, voice quiet. “I just—” I hesitated, but then the last strap slipped free, and suddenly I wasn’t tangled anymore. Just laying there. Half-naked. Beneath him.
Daryl’s hands lingered against my ribs, warm and rough, before he pulled back slightly, studying me. I let out a slow breath. “I was trying to look good for you,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. “And apologize. And then I got stuck.”
Daryl blinked, his mouth pressing into a line. Then, before I could so much as breathe , he huffed a quiet laugh—low and almost fond.
His brows pulled together, lips pressing into a thin line. His fingers brushed my cheek—warm, careful, a stark contrast to the roughness of his calloused skin. My stomach twisted. I’d never felt embarrassed around him before, not like this. He’d seen me bloody, bruised, half-dead, naked —but right now, with my failed attempt at an apology literally discarded on the bed beside us, I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
“Y’ain’t gotta wear all this, honey,” he murmured.
I swallowed, fingers twitching against the sheets. “I wanted to look good for you.”
Daryl’s gaze flicked downward, tracing the curve of my waist before settling on the tangled, inside-out bra I’d fought and lost against. He shook his head, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Not mocking—just knowing .
I groaned, heat crawling up my face as I covered it with my hands. “Stop. I feel stupid. Get off.”
“Nah.”
His hand found my chin, coaxing me from behind my palms. I resisted for half a second before giving in, letting him tip my face toward him. His thumb brushed slow over my cheek, tracing the warm skin there.
“Libs,” he said, quiet. “Honey, m’sorry. Hey—look at me.”
I did, reluctantly, and the second I met his eyes, something in my chest ached. His smile was small, a rare thing—the kind of softness he never let anyone else see.
I exhaled shakily. “You walked out today.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “And I feel horrible for making you upset. You didn’t come home for supper, and I—I just wanted to do something good for you. To make up for how mad I made you.”
Daryl just stared at me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “S’okay.” His breath left him in a quiet sigh. “I ain’t good at this stuff either, Libs. I shouldn’t’a walked out, but—I dunno. I didn’t know how to handle bein’ mad at you like that.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling against his thigh where he still had me pinned. “I’m sorry for making you that mad.”
“Don’t—”
“No.” I shook my head, setting my jaw. “It was fucked up what I did, Daryl. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway, and now I feel like an idiot.” The words came faster, tumbling over themselves as I tried to get them out before my voice cracked. “I was just scared, and nervous, and… things had just calmed down when I realized I was late.”
His expression shifted, something softer creeping in, and he just nodded, an unspoken permission to keep talking.
“I didn’t know,” I admitted. “Not until the night you showed me the house. That’s when it started clicking into place. How long it’d been.”
His expression didn’t give much away, but his eyes did. The way they sharpened, how his jaw flexed just a little before he spoke. “Why didn’t ya just say somethin’, girl?” His voice was rough, but not in frustration. Just quiet. “I coulda found ya one ‘a them tests or somethin’.”
I let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling like maybe it had the right words for me. It didn’t.
“Because I knew that’s what you’d do,” I murmured. “You’d start running off, looking for one, thinking of nothing else till you got it. And things had just started feeling normal again.” I closed my eyes for a second, trying to will away the lump in my throat. “I didn’t want you risking your life over something that wasn’t even certain yet. And I know you, Daryl. You wouldn’t have let me even try to talk you out of it. You’d just go.”
He pressed his lips together, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and I could see the muscle in his jaw flex again. “Cause you’re my girl, Libby,” he said finally. “And if you need somethin’, I’m gon’ do my best to give it to ya.”
My breath hitched.
It wasn’t fair how easily he could do that—say something so simple, and just gut me with it.
I swallowed hard, letting my hands skim up his arms, tracing the solid line of muscle on his biceps, the tension still wound tight beneath his skin. “It goes both ways,” I murmured. “And you already do enough for me, Daryl. More than enough.”
His throat bobbed. He didn’t say anything, but his hands moved, fingertips skimming along my waist.
“You fixed this house up,” I continued, my voice softer now, almost fragile. “You go out, hunt, put food on the table. You listen to all my problems. You—” I hesitated, feeling something new press against my throat. “You treat me better than I’ve ever been treated before.”
I took a breath, my heart thudding, thinking of all the ways he showed me that every single day. The things he did without ever being asked. The way he just was —solid, and steady, and good , even when he didn’t think so.
His gaze flickered. He didn’t pull away, didn’t brush me off the way he sometimes did when I got too close to something he didn’t know how to take. He just kept staring at me, his fingers still ghosting over my side, and I had the sudden, aching urge to crawl inside that space between us and never leave.
Instead, I exhaled, suddenly feeling very aware of how I must’ve looked beneath him, tangled and half-dressed. “And I’m sorry you had to come untangle me,” I mumbled, heat creeping back up my neck.
Daryl huffed, shaking his head. “Where’d ya even get that thing?”
I groaned, letting my head drop back against the mattress. “It was the only one available in my size when we first got here,” I admitted. “Heath brought my regular one back from that run later, along with a ton of other clothes.” I peeked at the discarded bra beside me, straps still knotted together in a tragic, inside-out mess. “But this was the closest thing to lingerie I had.”
Daryl’s lips twitched.
His gaze dragged over me, slow and sure, a different kind of heat settling in his eyes.
His fingers traced the bare skin just above the band of my underwear, the touch feather-light, almost absentminded—but deliberate, too.
“Ya look pretty damn good right now.”
My breath hitched.
It was subtle, the shift in the air between us. The heat. The gravity. That slow-burning thing that always sparked between us.
_____________
Dawn came with an abrupt knock at the door, and the onset of our half-thought-out plan. The RV was filled with ten of us, along with a fully stocked box of lunches for the road. Behind us: two cars holding the rest of the crew. In total—sixteen souls—going to take an unknown amount of other lives.
I hadn’t exactly made my peace with it, specifically the part where Rick told Daryl how he’d be the first one getting his hands dirty, but I’d at least accepted that this was a necessary step into keeping Alexandria running. This was the deal I’d made—the bed I’d made—and now I was about to lay in it and hope it didn’t bite me in the ass.
The RV bumped to a stop, rattling my teeth, and I barely had time to glance up before the engine cut off. A heavy quiet settled over us, save for the faint creak of shifting weight and the lingering grogginess of a ride spent in uneasy silence.
It was still early, but I wondered if I was the only one feeling the creeping weight of what we were hours away from doing.
Daryl had dozed off somewhere along the way, head tilted against the seat, arms crossed over his chest. His breathing was slow and even, but I could tell by the faint tension in his shoulders that it wasn’t the deep kind of sleep. Just rest—half-there, half-ready to snap awake.
I nudged him lightly with my elbow.
His breath hitched on the exhale, and his eyes opened—sharp, alert, like he hadn’t really been out at all. He sniffed once, rubbed a rough hand over his face, then shifted forward in his seat without a word. Just like that, he was back on, slipping into the moment without any of that sluggish, foggy hesitation most people had after sleeping.
Around us, the others stirred, stretching out stiff limbs, adjusting weapons, exchanging quiet looks. The energy in the RV was… odd. Not tense, exactly—just off . Like none of us were really here , not fully, because we were all too busy playing out different versions of what was coming. How it might go. How it might not.
No one really wanted to be here, but no one questioned it either. That was the deal. The necessary step.
The first few honks from the RV’s horn cut through the quiet, sharp and blaring. Then again. And again. A steady, grating rhythm meant to slice through the empty landscape and bring the dead to us.
I shifted, peering out the window, scanning the treeline. It didn’t take long.
The first walker emerged from the brush on the left—gaunt, slow-moving, with half its jaw missing and the skin on its throat peeled back in ragged, blackened strips. Another followed, then another. More movement on the road ahead—three, maybe four, shuffling from the opposite direction, drawn by the sound.
We didn’t even need to wait.
I rolled my shoulders, working out the ache from sitting too long, and followed the others out onto the cracked asphalt. We were somewhere off the highway, a long stretch of road flanked by dense trees, with the hum of a breeze rustling through the dead leaves. The air was cool, but not crisp—not fresh. Just empty. Like it had settled here too long, untouched, and now we were disturbing it.
Rick was already giving orders, but I didn’t need to hear them again to know what came next. The plan was simple: make noise, draw them out, find a match.
We spread out, weapons in hand, sifting through the dead, scanning for anything that matched the rough description of Gregory. Most of them were too far gone—faces caved in, flesh sloughing off in thick, rotted sheets, features indistinct beneath layers of decay. Nothing usable.
Daryl moved ahead, real quiet, and I followed, the two of us peeling off toward the trees. His eyes flicked over the figures stumbling through the brush, cataloging, assessing. I could feel him watching, too—not in a way that told me to stay close, but just enough to let me know he was keeping track of where I was.
Then, when I veered right—slipping past a thicket of bare, brittle branches—he didn’t stop me.
Didn’t protest or throw a look over his shoulder like he thought it was a mistake. Just let me go, let me have my space.
The woods swallowed me up, the damp earth soft under my boots. Sunlight cut in slanted beams through the canopy, breaking up the shadows in strange, uneven patches. I moved carefully, quiet, eyes scanning for movement.
A low groan drifted up ahead, barely audible over the faint rustle of wind through the leaves. I tightened my grip on my knife, muscles coiling as I moved toward the sound.
The groan sharpened as I crept forward, cutting through the quiet like a rusted blade. I tightened my grip on my knife, gaze locking onto the shifting figure just beyond the trees. Not Gregory. Not even close.
She had been a woman once—her dress tattered, hanging in loose, stained folds over a body that had started to wither away. Her skin was waxy, stretched too thin over brittle bones. One eye was missing, the socket a dark, gaping hole, while the other rolled toward me with slow, mindless hunger.
Her shoulders sagged, her entire frame slumping forward with the weight of undeath, but she still moved. Still came for me.
One quick step, a firm grip, and my knife drove up through her temple. Her body seized for half a breath before she crumpled, dead for good.
I wiped the blade clean on my thigh, exhaling as I straightened.
The sound of footsteps behind me sent a ripple of tension through my chest, but I knew before I turned that it wasn’t a walker.
Carol.
We hadn’t really talked since I moved out of the house, not that we were ever the type to have long, drawn-out conversations before. Things had been weird. Strained in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She had dropped whatever grudge she’d been holding against me, but she also hadn’t made an effort to close the distance either. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to, or if she was just letting things be.
Still, she was Daryl’s person. Regardless of whether she liked me or not, I wanted to be as civil as possible.
Carol nodded toward the corpse at my feet, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “No luck?”
I nudged the body with my boot. “I wish Gregory looked that good.”
Her expression flickered with something—maybe amusement, maybe something else—but it didn’t linger.
I shifted, trying to read her. Had Daryl told her about our fight yesterday? The thought made my stomach twist. If he had, what had he said? Did she come to confront me over it?
Carol tilted her head slightly. “Why’d you let Maggie come?”
I swallowed the nerves crawling up my throat. “She wanted to.” My voice was even, but I kept moving, kept my focus ahead. “Rick and I have this understanding going on. I make all the calls, but he gets final say when it comes to this kind of stuff. Who comes and goes on runs—that’s all him.”
Carol exhaled through her nose, something tense in her posture. “She shouldn’t be here.”
I nodded, keeping my tone neutral. “I don’t really disagree. But it’s her choice, and Rick was on board.”
That was the end of it. For now, anyway.
We walked. The woods stretched on around us, the air thick with the damp scent of earth and decay. Every now and then, a walker stumbled from the trees, drawn by some lingering instinct. We took them down easily, moving in tandem. An hour passed like that—walking, killing, scanning the brush for anything useful.
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t particularly warm either. I found myself thinking about how Carol had been keeping her distance from the group lately. Not just from me or Daryl, but from everyone. She was there, but not really there —like she had one foot out the door, waiting for the right moment to slip away.
Maybe she already had.
Then, out of nowhere—
“How are you and Daryl?”
I blinked. That wasn’t the kind of thing Carol usually asked. Hell, it wasn’t even the kind of thing we usually talked about.
I glanced at her, but her expression gave nothing away.
“Well,” I started, deciding to humor her, “despite popular belief, he takes two showers a day now. And recently, he’s been considering rigging some kind of doggie door for Soup.” I paused for effect, then added, “So, ya know, basically the cookie-cutter lifestyle. He might even get a promotion and start bringing in a lot more money.”
Carol huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking her head.
A walker staggered out from the brush ahead, old and balding, its sallow face slack with death. Somewhat like Gregory.
The walker lurched forward, its milky eyes locking onto us with that same mindless hunger. The thing was slow—bones stiff, flesh sagging, like rigor mortis had come and gone and left it barely held together. Carol wasn’t one to waste time.
A quick step, and a blade drove through its skull. The wet crunch was familiar, the way the body went slack even more so. She stepped back, letting it crumble to the dirt.
I crouched beside it, nudging its head to the side with the flat of my blade. “Same age,” I muttered. “Hairline’s close, too.” I took a slow breath, scanning the slack-jawed features, the nose that was a little too long and pointed. The skin was sunken, pulled tight over the bones like a bad wax figure. If I squinted, I could almost see it—the vague resemblance, the way the bone structure lined up just enough to pass if someone wasn’t looking too closely.
“Well,” she said, grabbing its arms, “ugliest son of a bitch in a five-mile radius. That’s got to count for something.”
I huffed a quiet sound—kind a laugh, kind of just an exhale—and took the legs. Together, we started dragging it through the underbrush. It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it’d be. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to this kind of thing—hauling corpses, taking out walkers, doing the dirty work that no one wanted to think too hard about.
The trip back was uneventful, just the quiet rustling of leaves, the occasional groan from a distant walker we didn’t bother with. By the time we reached the clearing, there were only three others there. The permitter watchers.
Maggie, Aaron, and Sasha. That was it.
I glanced around. “Still just you three?”
Sasha shrugged. “Rick and Michonne went to check the south ridge. Everyone else is still looking.”
Maggie eyed the walker between us, brow lifting. “Y’all are actually back early.”
“What can I say?” I deadpanned. “I have a way of charming men that look like used-up car salesmen.”
_____________
Day faded into night a lot quicker than I would’ve liked, dragging that creeping sense of inevitability along with it. There was no more prep, no more time to rethink the plan. We were doing this.
The road ahead stretched dark and empty, flanked by trees and shadows that felt too still, too quiet. The tension was thick, unspoken but shared. We weren’t headed for a skirmish. This was a hit. We were going to slip inside a compound and kill people in their sleep. That wasn’t defense. That wasn’t reaction. It was an offensive strike. And no matter how justified it might’ve been on paper—what they’d done, who they’d hurt—it didn’t change what it was.
Murder.
Some of us would go in directly—Rick, Daryl, Sasha, Glenn, Michonne—creep through dark with knives drawn and quiet intent. Others, like me, were assigned to backup duty. I’d ride in the SUV with Gabriel, Tara, Aaron, and the three Hilltop guys. Sit tight. Stay alert. Move only if something went sideways.
It was supposed to be simple. A clean hit. No mess.
But I’d learned a long time ago not to trust simple.
We were parked right out front, exactly where Andy had turned the SUV off initially. I kept my hands loose in my lap, even though every part of me itched to fidget. To move. To do something. The inside of the SUV was too warm, too quiet, everyone wrapped in their own nerves and thoughts.
We were just waiting. Watching. Wrapped in the dark, hoping we wouldn’t have to move, that everything would go according to plan.
Daryl slipped through the shadows, moving like he was part of them, a knife glinting briefly in his grip before disappearing into darkness. The man standing in front of Andy by the compound’s entrance had no idea what was coming. He was alive, breathing, whistling a tune—and then Daryl was behind him, an arm locking tight around his throat, blade biting deep.
The body sagged, and Daryl eased it to the ground with an efficiency that made my stomach twist. Then, just as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone again, swallowed back into the night.
I swallowed hard, pulse drumming in my ears.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone die. Not even the first time I’d seen Daryl kill. But there was something about watching him do it like that—cold, calculated, without a flash of hesitation—that lodged deep inside my chest. Like a sliver of glass, small, sharp, and damn near impossible to ignore.
Because the man who had done that—the one who slit a throat with the same calm precision as loading a crossbow—wasn’t the same man who touched me so sweetly. Who curled around me at night, ran his fingers slow over my skin. Who kissed me like I was so precious I might slip through his finger tips.
And yet, they were the same. Two halves of the same whole.
I tore my eyes away, staring down at my hands, at the fine tremor in my fingers.
The SUV still felt suffocatingly quiet. I was glad Tara started talking. “You still a priest?”
Gabriel turned his head slightly, considering her question. His fingers curled against his knee before he finally spoke. “Rick and Carl taught me about guns,” he said, his voice steady. “Other weapons. How to contribute.” He paused, as if weighing his next words. “I’m still a priest.”
I glanced at him. Not long ago, he’d been someone who locked his doors against people begging for help. Now, he was here, still dressed in black with that little white collar, but carrying a rifle now. He had changed.
Tara exhaled, rubbing at her face like she was trying to wake herself up. “I lied to my girlfriend this morning.”
I looked over, surprised by the rawness in her voice. She wasn’t looking at any of us, just staring ahead at the flood lighted compound, her fingers clenched against her thigh.
“I—” She hesitated, shaking her head. “She caught me thinking about something, and I panicked. So I told her that I loved her.” A humorless laugh. “For the first time.”
My chest tightened.
“That’s how I told her.” Tara let out a slow breath, eyes flicking down to her lap. “Covering something up.”
Gabriel studied her, his expression unreadable. “What were you covering?”
For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Then, in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t catch it—“That I’ve done something like this before.” Her jaw tensed. “That I didn’t like it.”
Jesus, who had been silent up until now, spoke. “Do you?”
When she didn’t respond, Gabriel met her gaze. “Do you love her?”
A beat of silence stretched between us all before she nodded, barely more than a movement. “Yeah.”
Jesus’ mouth twitched, something almost kind in his expression. “Then you know what you’re fighting for.”
The words resonated. I knew what I was fighting for. Had known it for a long time. Survival. My people. And, more than anything recently—him.
My stomach twisted sharply, guilt pressing in about the recently revealed secret I’d kept from him.
And I still hadn’t told him I loved him.
Not once.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I did. But love had never been easy for me. It hadn’t been something handed out freely, something I grew up hearing and feeling every day. I could count on one hand the people who had ever told me they loved me—my aunt, my uncle, my older sisters. And that was it.
Daryl was the same. He wasn’t the kind of man who filled space with words. He didn’t sweet talk, didn’t offer soft confessions. And I understood that, because as much as I wanted to, neither did I.
“Love is weird,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.
Tara let out a dry laugh. “No shit.”
I hesitated, then forced the words out. “I’ve loved Daryl for… I don’t know. A year, maybe. I still haven’t told him.”
Tara turned her head toward me, her eyes slightly red. “Why?”
I exhaled, shaking my head. “At this point? I don’t know.”
My love for Daryl was an odd thing. For the first bit of our friendship, I had only really seen him as someone who was ridiculously fun to flirt with, and even better in bed. I learned a lot from him, but it took me a while to figure out that I’d actually fallen in love with him.
And I knew that he felt something in that same realm for me. He just showed it different.
A volley of sharp, staccato shots split through the night, echoing inside the compound’s walls. Every muscle in my body snapped tight. The SUV doors flew open. Weapons drawn.
And just like that—backup wasn’t just an option anymore.
The blare of alarms shattered, a piercing wail that sent a tremor through my bones. The compound, once cloaked in silence, was now alive with movement—shouts, slamming doors, the distinct sound of gunfire.
“We need to go,” Tara snapped, her voice edged with panic. “Get them back to the Hilltop.”
Jesus turned to her, brows knitting. “What? Your people could be in trouble.”
I stared at her like she’d lost her damn mind. “They probably are, Tara. What the hell?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenched, throat working as if she was swallowing down something she didn’t want to say. Then, voice tight, she muttered, “If you get them back, the deal’s still on, right?” Her gaze flicked between me and Jesus, desperation creeping into her expression. “Right?”
My stomach twisted. I knew what she was saying.
Jesus met my eyes with something almost like apology. He understood too.
“If they get themselves back,” he said simply. Then, looking past me, he nodded toward Andy. “Drive him back to the Hilltop.”
Andy didn’t take a second to ask questions before he was jumping into the vehicle and tearing off into the night, tires kicking up dirt in his wake.
Tara turned back to Jesus, frantic. “Look, if they see you and we don’t make it—”
Jesus cut her off. “We’re gonna make it. And they’re not gonna see me.” He reached up and pulled his bandana over his face, obscuring half of it before slipping into the shadows like he was born to them.
I followed.
“I’m your backup.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Too bad.”
I moved after him, silent, light-footed. He was fast, but I kept up, ducking low, mirroring his steps as he slinked toward the compound’s entrance. There was something eerily familiar about the way he moved—the same fluidity Daryl had, the same careful precision. I’d seen Daryl hunt before, track a kid, track a deer for miles, but Jesus? He was on another level.
Inside the compound, the shadows stretched long and sharp, punctuated by flickering red lightbulbs that cast sickly glows against the walls. The air smelled of old metal and damp concrete, the scent of gasoline lingering just beneath it.
A man burst through a nearby door, wielding a metal bat, his eyes locking onto Jesus in an instant. He was big, broad-shouldered, already mid-swing. My body tensed, muscles coiling, but before I could even pull the trigger on my gun, Jesus moved.
It was seamless. A quick pivot, a shift of weight, and then he was inside the man’s guard, one hand latching onto the bat’s handle, the other driving into his chest with stunning force. The bat clattered to the floor, spinning uselessly away as Jesus twisted the man’s wrist in one smooth motion, forcing him to his knees.
Then, quick as a breath, his knife flashed.
A quiet, brutal stab to the temple. Precise. Effortless.
The man slumped, dead before he hit the floor.
I barely stopped myself from gaping. That had been… nothing. A ghost passing through, leaving only a body behind. No wasted movement. No noise. Even Daryl, for all his skill, made more sound than that.
Jesus barely spared the body a glance before pushing forward. I followed, my mind spinning.
This wasn’t just some Hilltop scout. Jesus had done this before. A lot.
We moved deeper, sticking to the edges of the compound, pressing into the cold walls when footsteps echoed too close. The farther in we went, the more I became aware of just how bad this could get. Daryl was in here somewhere. Glenn. Rick. The others.
And I hadn’t seen them yet.
A noise ahead.
Jesus stilled, his arm snapping out to press me back against the wall. A sharp crack shattered the air, followed by another, and I flinched as gunfire ripped into the space just beside us. The angle was bad, close—if we’d been just an inch forward, those bullets would’ve punched through us.
I sucked in a slow breath through my nose. That had been too close.
Jesus motioned for me to wait. I did, even as the tension coiled tight in my gut, my fingers flexing restlessly around my pistol. We crept forward, careful, quiet, until the hallway ended up against a partially opened metal door.
There was a man, sitting slumped against the wall, a pistol clutched in shaking hands, his arm raised. Not at us.
At Glenn and Heath.
Time stretched thin, pulled taut, and I flinched when the sound of the gunshot blasted in my ears. But it wasn’t the half-dead man who’d fired—it was Jesus.
The man crumpled, lifeless, the pistol slipping from his fingers before he could even get a shot off.
Glenn and Heath gazed at us, eyes wide, weapons raised, but their shoulders sagged when they saw who it was.
Jesus lowered his gun, stepping forward. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“So, this is the next world,” Jesus murmured.
The compound was mostly quiet now—the alarm shut off, and no more gunfire. After Jesus took down the man with the pistol, Glenn and Heath stayed back in the armory, keeping watch while we pushed deeper. They nodded to us like they wanted to come too, but there were still weapons to guard, and dead bodies to make sure stayed that way.
Jesus continued to move like he’d walked these halls a million times. Every corner he came to, he leaned just enough to see, never exposing more than he had to. His steps were measured and light, precise in a way that didn’t even feel human. I mimicked him, much like I used to do Daryl in the beginning, keeping my feet tight to the floor, breathing shallow.
We pushed open doors one after another—small bunkrooms, converted offices, cluttered closets where men had once slept. Now they just held silence and the smell of blood and gunpowder.
I stepped over the body of a man whose throat had been opened ear to ear, dried blood painting the tile beneath him like spilt wine. A knife was still clutched in his hand. I nudged it away with my foot and crouched to double-check that he wasn’t about to twitch back to life. He didn’t.
Every room held some new evidence of how much hell had broken loose in here. Spilled drawers, bullet holes in cinderblock. We moved fast, eyes sweeping low to high, corners first, never letting our focus slip. And through all of it, I kept stealing glances at Jesus. Watching the way his body moved, how clean and fluid it all was. His awareness. His poise. His quiet.
And I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Where’d you learn to do all that?” I whispered as we paused in a hallway lined with busted lockers.
He blinked at me, slightly thrown. “Do what?”
I gave him a look, gesturing loosely toward the compound. “That guy back there? You dropped him like it was nothing. Cleanest kill I’ve seen in a while, and trust me, I’ve seen some shit.”
His mouth tugged in the faintest smile as he nudged open another door with his boot. That smile stayed a second longer as he swept his gaze around a supply room and confirmed it was clear.
“I bounced between foster homes as a kid,” he said, stepping over a body that had already started to bloat. “One of the parents was ex-military. Did a lot of meditation, martial arts. He was strict as hell but… focused. Made me learn discipline, quiet.“
I kept close to him, listening while checking corners with my pistol up.
“Started taking classes wherever I could,” Jesus continued, as we ducked under a fallen light fixture. “Some places took vouchers, didn’t ask questions. I’d show up, sweep the floors, trade cleanup duty for sparring time. Got good at it. When I aged out, I lucked into a job at this Jiu-Jitsu place. Couple years in, I was teaching.”
“That’s so cool,” I said before I could stop myself, eyes bright despite the tension still hanging thick around us.
That’s so cool?
He glanced at me, a little surprised by my enthusiasm, and I shrugged, trying to hide the blush creeping up my face. “I mean it. That kind of discipline… it shows. I’ve never seen anything that clean in a fight. Was it just Jiu-Jitsu, or did you branch out?”
He opened another door, cleared it with a nod, and we kept moving.
“Some Krav Maga. Aikido. Muay Thai for a while,” he answered, almost casually, like we were chatting over coffee and not stepping over corpses. “Whatever I could get my hands on. The world ended, but muscle memory doesn’t.”
I grinned faintly, trying to maintain my calm. I felt like I was wondering school hallways with some really cool kid that I had a massive friend crush on—the one friend you didn’t know if you wanted to be with them or be them.
We started up a flight of metal stairs, about halfway up, we spotted them: Rick, Michonne, and Daryl, descending from the next floor like shadows coalescing into focus. Their eyes swept toward us in unison, weapons still ready but dropping just a hair when they saw it was us. Relief flashed in Rick’s eyes, a quiet nod passing between him and Jesus. But my eyes went straight to Daryl.
He looked tired, blood smudged along his jaw, rifle slung over his shoulder, and the moment he saw me, his brows pulled together like I was the last damn person he expected—or wanted—to see. Didn’t say anything, just looked at me like I’d dropped out of the ceiling. Still, even with that frown tugging at his face, I felt a weird little burst of warmth in my chest. Because he was okay .
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Soon as I saw her, that knot in my chest eased up just a little. She was here. Alive. Not bleedin’. Just… grinning like she didn’t have a damn care in the world, lookin’ up at me mid-sentence with that smile she used when she thought she was gettin’ away with something. She’d been talkin’ to Jesus, standing close— real close—and when her eyes hit mine, that grin stuck like honey on her face.
Then came the confusion. ‘Cause what the hell was she smilin’ about in a place like this? Blood still wet on the floor, bodies everywhere, the air full of that copper stink—and she was lookin’ at me like I’d just walked through the door with a damn bouquet in hand.
Rick was already talkin’. “You weren’t supposed to come in,” he said to Jesus.
Jesus barely blinked. “I sent Andy back to Hilltop with Craig. The deal’s still on.”
“Someone could’ve saw you,” Rick snapped.
Jesus gave one of them little half-smiles, the kind that said he already knew the outcome. “It’s a good thing they’re all dead.”
I tried not to let it bother me—how close she and Jesus were standin’. Like they’d been movin’ as a unit like me and her normally did. Her shoulder brushed his when she shifted, and I told myself it didn’t mean anything, that she always stood too close to people she trusted. But it still got under my skin, crawled there like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.
She broke away from him, crossing the last few feet, her arms were around me before I could stop her, before I could even think to protest. I didn’t do this—this kind of affection in front of other people—but she didn’t care. She pressed in close, arms tight around my neck like she’d been holding that hug in for hours.
.and she can ruin your faith with her casual lies.
Notes:
so, fun fact, i actually really don’t like ep 12 or 13 of this season. i get that they’re necessary, but they felt way too long for why???? ugh. so, i’m sorry if i don’t really capture the vibe this ep or next… but i tried still making it exciting! 🤍 (the first part is based on something that actually happened to me, and i can’t stress how embarrassed i was 🙈)
Chapter 65: had this massive, humiliating crush
Summary:
“I like watching you,” I said, quieter now. “When you’re out there being all… y’know. Rough and tough.”
“Rough and tough?” he echoed, one brow arched, amused.
I groaned, hiding my face in his shoulder for a second. “Shut up,” I muttered, blushing hard. “It’s hot.”
Notes:
season6 ep 13&filler—the break between the time they took out the satellite outpost, and the time Dwight 💀 Denise, in my story, is going to be roughly a month. I know it happens a lot quicker canon, but…idk, it don’t feel right to me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.and i don’t know what i’m crying for.
“Daryl,” I called out, lifting my hand slightly as I stood crouched near a patch of dirt about fifty feet from where he and Rick were scouring their own stretch of ground. “I think I got some. They’re a little bunched up, but don’t look like a walker.”
I stayed knelt, eyes flicking over the subtle indentations stamped into the earth—shallow, erratic, not too deep. Lighter pressure. Human. And not one person either—there were multiple, crossing paths and breaking off like a small herd. But the stride was wrong for walkers. These were hurried steps.
Head tipped up to the sunlight in my direction, Daryl squinted before both he and Rick came hustling over, weaving around the shrubs like bloodhounds who’d just caught scent.
I didn’t stand up, just shifted slightly to the side to give them a better view, as Daryl dropped into a crouch beside me, his hair falling over his forehead as he leaned in close to the tracks. His fingers hovered just above the ground, not touching anything but studying it. “Shit,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then he shifted forward a little, following the trail in short, calculated steps.
I stood up slowly, dusting my palms on my jeans as Daryl kept moving, eyes darting across the ground, every inch of him focused. He went another ten, maybe fifteen feet ahead, then slowed. Stopped.
He turned back toward me, a flicker of something proud in his face, mouth tugging up at the corner as he walked back toward the spot I’d pointed out.
“That’s my girl,” he said, voice low, rough with pride. “Looks like there’s at least five of ‘em.”
My lips parted slightly, the heat in my chest flaring not from embarrassment, but something warmer. I knew what that meant coming from him. Daryl didn’t just toss out compliments like candy—hell, sometimes getting a full sentence from him was rare when he was in mission-mode.
He’d taught me how to track. Patiently. Day by day. Out in the woods, back when things were quieter. Before Alexandria. I used to get frustrated, missing broken twigs or misreading footprints, but he’d just shake his head, “Nah, try again.”
“They dragged them this way?” I asked, stepping closer, my voice a little more grounded now, confidence starting to settle in behind the nerves.
“Nah,” Daryl shook his head. “Looks like they walked, but ya still did good. This is fresh. Ain’t more than a half hour old.”
Rick glanced between us, then down at the prints, his expression darkening. “Then we’re not far,” he said. “We stay on ‘em. Keep ‘em thinking that we’re waiting to meet up.”
_____________
It took us less than two hours to track them back to where they were holed up—a half-collapsed slaughterhouse tucked back in a clearing off an old service road. Overgrown brush and rusted fencing made the place nearly disappear into the treeline, but the tracks had led us straight here.
Rick called over the radio, testing the static clearance, confirming our suspicions.
The plan was to wait it out in the tree line and once they opened the door, we’d clear them out, and end it quick. But it was gunfire and the smell of smoke that ended up drawing us out of the woods instead.
Rick’s head snapped toward the sound, and in the next breath, he was already moving. “Let’s move in.”
We fanned out, approaching the building in staggered formation as we kept close to the tree line until it was time to cross. The smoke was heavier now, seeping out through a broken vent in the roof, the sound of shouts echoing from somewhere inside.
We didn’t charge in right away. Just five minutes of tense, rigid waiting—guns raised, backs pressed to the wall, ears straining for anything that told us what was happening beyond the concrete. My heart was a fist in my chest, tight and throbbing when the creak of metal drew our attention to the slaughterhouse door.
We all turned at once, guns locking forward as the latch began to move, slow and hesitant. Rick signaled with a slight tilt of his head, and we closed in.
Then, the door cracked open, two guns trained on us for just a second before they lowered.
Maggie had a cut on her forehead and dirt smeared across her shirt, but she was upright, walking on her own. Carol looked worse. Pale. Shaken. Her hand trembled slightly as she held the door open, but her eyes locked on us—on him .
Daryl was at her side before anyone else could move.
He didn’t say much. Just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, shielding her with his body like instinct.
“You okay?”
Carol didn’t speak, just nodded once, leaning into him.
“You start a fire?”
I moved past them, stepping into the open doorway with my gun still raised, eyes sweeping the interior. It was a mess inside—blood smeared across the floor, the smell of fire and iron. But, with Maggie’s assurance that they were all dead, I turned back.
The guy that we’d been holding was frozen, but I couldn’t tell if it was shock or fear.
Maybe both.
Rick didn’t give him anytime to explain himself once he outed that he was Negan. That name was enough to put a bullet through his brain.
_____________
“ Fuck , you’re being a dick,” I whined, dragging the words out as I squirmed further up the bed, ankle hooking around the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. My hips arched up with need, practically begging, but he didn’t budge. His mouth was still stubbornly fixed a few inches too low, working maddening, slow little circles into the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs.
Despite my very vocal and very physical attempts to redirect him, Daryl remained focused, deliberately avoiding where I wanted him most. We’d been teasing each other all morning, but for some ungodly reason, he’d decided today was the day to make me suffer.
It’d started early—his half-hard bulge pressing against my lower back when I woke up tucked into him, his lips dragging scruffy, sleep-warm kisses down my shoulder and across my collarbone. It could’ve led somewhere fast, but my bladder had other plans. And of course, by the time I got back from the bathroom, the moment was gone. He was already downstairs, poking around in the fridge, wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare black briefs that hugged his hips in ways that made me forget how to form thoughts.
He didn’t even seem to notice the way I watched him from my perch on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, robe falling open just enough to tempt him. Not that it mattered. Daryl Dixon was laser-focused on making breakfast—and if I was being honest, that whole domestic half-naked thing did more for me than he probably realized. The sight of him, relaxed and comfortable in a space we’d made our own, shirtless and barefoot and completely at ease—it made my heart swell and my body ache all at once.
After breakfast, he’d kissed me again, trailing soft, teasing pecks down my neck before nipping playfully at the swell of my chest, only to pull away with a muttered promise about going to check on his reclaimed bike. Apparently, even on our so-called “day off,” he still had a raging hard-on for that thing.
Which, if you asked me, was absolute bullshit.
Still, I let him go—mostly because I knew he’d be back. And while he was out in the garage fiddling with God-knows-what, I took full advantage of the quiet. I soaked in a warm bath, let my muscles relax, and tried not to get too lost in the fantasy of what we’d become—what we had . One month of peace. One month of safety. Of morning coffee and stolen kisses and pure bliss.
And now, he was finally back, right where I wanted him.
His head between my thighs.
His mouth so close .
But not close enough .
I let out another frustrated sound when his lips left my skin, only to travel up the curve of my stomach. I was flushed, breathless, my pulse beating in my ears—and still he dragged things out, kissing slow and soft along my belly, taking his time like he had all day.
“You ain’t bein’ very patient, lady,” he murmured against the shell of my ear, voice low and warm like honey over gravel.
I shivered, eyes fluttering shut for a second. Then I smiled, threading my fingers through his messy hair.
“Ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be patient?” I whispered back, teasing, letting my nails gently graze his scalp. “Or be a lady.”
That got him.
He propped himself up on one forearm, hovering above me with that crooked little grin—the one that barely tugged at the corner of his mouth but still made something inside me twist. His eyes squinted slightly, amused and curious all at once, like I’d just challenged him to something he was very much planning on winning.
“That right?” he drawled, tilting his head a bit.
We stared at each other, warm and close and playful in the lavender haze of love. His smile deepened. “Well then,” he murmured, dipping just a little closer. “Whatcha got in mind then, lady ?”
He said it like a joke that only we were in on, dragging the word out in that soft, mocking drawl that sent a flutter straight down my spine.
All of a sudden, the boldness I’d felt just seconds ago fizzled out, curling into something nervous and warm beneath my skin. My breath hitched. How the hell was I supposed to look this sweet, tender man in the eye—the one who touched me like I was an actual angel—and tell him I wanted the opposite ? That I wanted him rough. That I wanted to be taken . Used like I wasn’t his girl, like I was something dirtier, lower—something selfish inside me had been aching for that.
I swallowed, lips parting to speak, but the words caught in my throat. My hand still tangled in his hair, but my fingers stilled, and I felt the blush creep up my chest, warm and crawling toward my cheeks.
Daryl’s expression softened, and I swear to God, he knew . He knew without me even having to say a word.
His head tilted again, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth—but his eyes, they’d darkened. Not in a cruel way. Not even in a teasing way. Just…intent.
He lowered himself a little more, his chest brushing mine, voice barely above a breath. “C’mon,” he coaxed, lips ghosting the corner of my mouth. “Tell me.”
That simple invitation—the rasp of it—sent a shiver straight through me.
I hesitated, teeth sinking into my lower lip. “I want…” My voice was a whisper, shaky. “I want you to forget how good you are to me. Just for a little while.”
His brow lifted, barely. His nose skimmed mine. “Whatcha mean?”
I bit my inner lip even harder, heart pounding like I’d already confessed something dirty. “I want you to use me,” I whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. “Like I’m not yours. Like…a whore.”
“Thought you didn’t like bein’ called that?” he asked, voice low, guarded, but not cold. There was something else in it—skepticism, maybe even a flicker of worry. Like he was trying to piece it together.
My heart lurched. “I don’t,” I said quickly, voice a little too high, too rushed. “Not like that, I mean…” I trailed off, swallowing hard. Where the hell had all my shameless, flirty confidence gone? It was like he’d stripped it away just by looking at me like that—with those goddamn soft eyes and furrowed brow, like I was made of glass. “I don’t want someone to call me a whore,” I mumbled, cheeks burning like wildfire, “I just… I thought maybe I could be your whore.”
It sounded so much worse out loud. My stomach twisted. My face was on fire. I wanted to sink into the mattress and never speak again.
Daryl blinked, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Libs, honey—”
“Forget it,” I whispered before he could finish, already mortified. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.”
I leaned up, trying to kiss him, trying to move past it like I hadn’t just embarrassed myself into oblivion—but he dodged it, not harsh, just uncertain, his eyes scanning mine like he was trying to read something I couldn’t quite say.
“Nah,” he said, voice rougher now, like gravel under tension. “If somethin’ ain’t how you like it, I wanna know.”
And that— that —made it worse. Because now he thought I didn’t * like* it. That I didn’t want him .
“No, Daryl,” I said quickly, shaking my head. I caught his mouth in a quick kiss, trying to reassure him. “I like it. It’s fine. I’m just—”
“Just fine? ” he cut in, brow pulling together.
“No,” I said again, desperate to clarify. “That’s not what I meant, baby, just—”
“Well what’d’ya mean then?” he asked, not angry—just confused. Because all of this, sex, closeness, talking about it—it was still new for him. He was trying, really trying, and now I’d gone and made him question it all.
I hesitated, chest tight. “You just looked at me like I was crazy when I said it,” I muttered, more deadpan than I meant, but it slipped out before I could fix it.
His whole face crinkled in confusion, eyes darting between mine. “Cause ya yelled at me when I called you a whore one time,” he said, brows lifted, voice defensive in that disoriented, Daryl kind of way. “And now ya wanna be called one?”
I sighed, dragging a hand over my face. He wasn’t wrong. I had yelled at him—over a year ago, in a completely different situation. And now I was contradicting myself in the worst way.
Shaking off the heat in my cheeks, I reached for him and carefully rolled us onto our sides. His arm slid around my waist instinctively, and I rested there for a second, trying to breathe, trying to explain without sounding unhinged.
I hated how confused I was making him. Hated the look in his eyes, like he was trying to read a map with half the roads missing. But I couldn’t help it. Daryl wasn’t like other guys—he didn’t speak in subtext, didn’t catch on to romantic cues.
It’d been different when we were just sleeping together. Back then, it didn’t have to mean anything. There wasn’t a whole lot of room for feelings or pillow talk after the fact. It was heat, need, release. Simple.
But now… now it was different. Sweeter. Slower. Softer.
I wouldn’t say I’d ever had a bad sex life—but being with him, someone I’d fallen for so hard it ached, made everything feel brand new. And better. Comfortable. Loved.
And still… sometimes, I’d look at him and imagine the things he could do. Not the man I knew in bed—the one who kissed every inch of me like I was breakable—but the man I’d seen out in the world. The one who moved like a weapon. Who could level a grown man with one arm and gut a walker in a blink.
I knew what he was capable of. Everyone did.
And maybe that’s what made me ache the way I did. That contrast—between the rough, wild force of him out there, and the way he touched me like I was spun sugar in here. Maybe I just wanted to close the gap. Just once.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love the way he held me. I did. But sometimes, I caught myself wondering what it would feel like if he let go of all that sweetness. If he stopped treating me like something to protect and started treating me like something to ruin.
That made my stomach flip.
I’d seen him be brutal. Fierce. I knew he’d never hurt me, not like that—but I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t turn me on. That it didn’t live in the back of my mind like a secret I was half-ashamed to want.
“Sex is perfect , Dar,” I said finally, trying to stop the wheels I saw turning in his head. “Don’t start overthinking that.”
He looked at me like he wanted to believe me, but something still hovered in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe even guilt.
“I just…” I trailed off, suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air. My mouth was dry. My heart was doing that dumb, fluttery thing.
Avoiding his gaze like a coward, I slid a hand to his chest. Let it rest there for a beat. Then I looked at him. Let my eyes drag down over the sharp line of his arms, the slope of muscle in his shoulders, the way his skin stretched over every lean, hard inch of him. And I let my hand follow the same path. Slowly.
“You’re really hot,” I said, hoping it sounded less ridiculous out loud than it did in my head.
He blinked like I’d smacked him in the face with it. His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be uncomfortable. Probably both. Compliments still short-circuited him.
“And strong,” I added, voice softening. I rubbed his bicep a little, then looked back up at him with a sheepish smile. “Seriously. You’re just ridiculously attractive. And I mean… if it wasn’t obvious over the last two years, I’ve kind of had this massive, humiliating crush on you. I ogle you every chance I get.”
That earned me a crooked, flustered smile. He was trying not to react, but the pink in his ears betrayed him.
“I like watching you,” I said, quieter now. “When you’re out there being all… y’know. Rough and tough.”
“ Rough and tough? ” he echoed, one brow arched, amused.
I groaned, hiding my face in his shoulder for a second. “Shut up,” I muttered, blushing hard. “It’s hot.”
I felt him laugh, low in his chest, but he didn’t tease me again. Not when I lifted my head and looked at him seriously.
“And I just think…” My voice trailed, but I forced myself to keep going. “It’d be really hot if you were kinda rough with me sometimes too.”
His smile faded, just a bit. Not because he was upset—but because he was trying to understand. Processing. His hand drifted absently along my waist, but his eyes were searching mine. “So you do want me to call you a whore?”
I wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Kind of…” I admitted, barely above a whisper. My face was on fire. “But not like— mean . Just… in the moment. Like that one time when we talked about babies and you got really into it, and started taking control…”
He went still.
“…that was really hot.”
His jaw ticked. Just a little. “Libby…” he said, low and unsure, “I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable.”
“You won’t,” I said, cupping his cheek with my hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm. “I’ll let you know if anything’s too much. I promise.”
That seemed to land. His eyes searched mine again, this time not for confusion—but for permission. Almost testing the waters.
Then he leaned in and kissed me. Soft at first—sweet and tentative, like he was still checking if the green light was really green. But I kissed him back, and maybe I pulled him closer, and that softness started to burn.
It deepened. Got rougher.
His grip on my waist tightened. His body pressed into mine like he was trying to carve himself into the curve of me. And when he kissed me again, it wasn’t nearly as gentle. His mouth trailed lower, found the curve of my throat, and just barely brushed that sensitive skin—soft at first. A feathered warning.
Then his teeth grazed that spot just under my ear, and I gasped.
He smiled against my throat. Smirked. Like he’d found something he liked.
And then he kept going. Down, down… peeling my shirt away to expose my chest, not bothering with pretense or patience now. His hand cupped one breast, firm and greedy, and his mouth closed around the other nipple. But instead of that soft, careful tongue I was used to—his mouth latched on. Flicked hard. Sucked just enough to make me whimper.
Flicked. Sucked. Drew a startled, broken sound out of me before I could bite it back. My spine arched on instinct, chasing the sensation, grounding myself with fists in his hair.
His stubble scraped across my skin, leaving little ghost-burns in its wake, and when he switched sides, I swore the edges of my vision went soft.
“Fuck,” I breathed, whole body buzzing. “That’s—God, Daryl—”
I reached down on instinct, hand sliding over the front of his jeans. He was already so hard it made my thighs clench. I palmed him through the denim, slowly, and he groaned into my chest.
He started to move lower—like he was gonna drop to his knees—but I stopped him, fingers tugging lightly at his hair.
“Let me,” I whispered, breath catching. My voice was unsteady, but the way I looked at him wasn’t. My eyes dropped to the thick outline of him. “I want to.”
His mouth parted just a little. Like his first instinct was to tell me no. But I wasn’t stupid; he wanted it. I saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his pupils had blown wide.
He gave the smallest nod.
So I dropped down, and when I undid his jeans, his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. I wrapped one hand around the base, slow, and glanced up at him.
He was wrecked already. Jaw clenched. Fingers twitching like he didn’t know where to put them.
“Been thinking about this all day,” I murmured, just before I leaned in and licked a slow, teasing stripe up the underside.
His breath caught. “Shit…”
I swirled my tongue around the tip, just once, then took him into my mouth inch by inch, slow and steady and patient. I wanted him to feel it. Every inch. Every inch of want as he filled my mouth.
He was trying so hard not to move. Trying to let me take my time. But I wanted him to lose it.
So I sped up.
Hollowed my cheeks. Bobbed my head deeper. Moaned a little around him just to feel him twitch against my tongue. One of his hands finally tangled in my hair—gripping, tugging—just hard enough to make my stomach twist.
“Libby,” he muttered, voice so low and hoarse it barely sounded like him.
I pulled back just for a second, lips slick, and met his eyes with a small smile, almost acknowledging the fact that he’d said my name.
And then I went back down—hungry now, messy, filthy, just the way I knew he liked but never asked for. His hips jerked a little, like he was losing the fight with himself.
To encourage him just a little, I dropped one of my hands away from his cock, and searched for his, wasting no time to coax him into guiding me.
I could tell he was close—his breathing had gone ragged, his grip in my hair a little tighter, his hips twitching like he was fighting every instinct not to fuck my throat.
Which, honestly?
I wanted him to. I was ready for it. Bracing myself for it, practically drooling over the idea of choking on him.
But then—
“Fuck,” he growled—deep, cracked open, all grit and heat—and then his fingers fisted in my hair and ripped me off him.
My breath caught in my throat. Eyes flying up to his, wide and dazed—too stunned to even blink. Before I could speak, he shoved me backward. Not cruel, but more like claiming —like my body was his to move, his to take.
I hit the mattress with a bounce, breath punched out of me, and the flash of desire that followed nearly made me dizzy.
He loomed over me, wild-eyed and tense, his hands planted on either side of my hips like he was trying not to tear into me right then and there. “Y’ said you wanted rough,” he muttered, voice taut like a live wire.
I stared up at him, lips parted, chest heaving, every nerve on fire. “I do.”
He grabbed my jaw—palm rough, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor himself as he began tilting my face up—and then he devoured my mouth . No buildup, no hesitation. Just teeth and tongue and a groan that sounded like it had been living in his chest for years.
“You like gettin’ used like this, huh?” he muttered, lips dragging across my cheek, my jaw, down to my throat. “Like when I don’t hold back.”
“ Yes, ” I breathed, nails digging into his back. “God, yes.”
His hand slid between my thighs and found me soaked, aching. He groaned— dragged the sound into my neck, teeth catching skin. “Fuckin’ filthy,” he growled, more to himself than me. “My filthy little whore. ”
That word. The one I’d been goading him about all afternoon. Hearing it now, from him , with that rough edge and that look —I whimpered.
And he felt it. Saw it. And grinned.
That smug grin that only came out when he was hunting or fighting or so turned on he couldn’t think straight. “Yeah,” he rasped, mouth right against my ear now. “You like that, don’t you?”
I nodded, too breathless to form anything close to a sentence. My thighs shook, nerves lit up like I’d been struck by lightning.
“I love it,” I managed. “Love it when you talk to me like that. When you take what you want.”
Something snapped behind his eyes.
He reached down, gripped my thighs, and shoved them open like he owned me. Like there wasn’t a single part of me he hadn’t already claimed.
Then he drove into me—one brutal, bone-deep thrust—and the sound that tore out of me was damn near feral. My back arched clean off the mattress, stars popping behind my eyes. My legs locked around his waist, trying to drag him impossibly closer, trying to keep him buried in me.
He didn’t falter. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Just gritted out a rough, “Fuck,” and braced his fists into the sheets by my head. “Jesus… Libby.”
I was already unraveling, chest heaving, mouth open for air I couldn’t seem to find. But it still wasn’t enough. I needed movement .
“Please,” I rasped, nails threading into his hair, dragging hard. “ Fuck me, Daryl. Please. Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”
Something in him stuttered—just for a second. Like his mind lagged behind his body. Like instinct said go , but conscience said slow down .
I saw it in his eyes. That flicker of control, of guilt, of should I? Like he wasn’t sure he should be giving this to me. Like he was afraid he was going too far.
I gripped his face, wild and breathless. “You’re not hurting me. You hear me? I want this. I want you .”
Then, he kissed me like he was coming apart—sloppy, deep, no rhythm, no reason—and then he snapped his hips forward again, making the whole bed jolt.
“Shit,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at me. “You’re so fuckin’ tight… grippin’ me like that. Can’t fuckin’ think straight, girl.”
“Then don’t,” I begged. “Don’t think. Just use me. ”
Something warped in him. He hooked his arms under my knees and dragged me down the bed by my hips and hammered into me, eyes locked on mine. “You like that? Like bein’ used like some fuckin’ toy?”
I choked on a moan. “ Yes, Daryl, please— ”
“Like gettin’ split open on my cock?”
I whimpered so hard my whole body clenched. “Harder. Please. I can take it.”
He pushed my thighs up, folding me in half, cock grinding into places that made my vision white out . “Good girl,” he snarled, sweat dripping down his temple. “You fuckin’ take it so well . Like your body was made for this.”
My mouth fell open in a wordless cry. Everything in me was burning.
“ Say it, ” he ordered, voice rough as gravel. “Tell me who’s fuckin’ you.”
“ You, ” I sobbed, clinging to him like I was going to fall apart. “You are—fuck, Daryl, please—don’t stop, don’t stop—”
His hand slid to my throat, not squeezing, just holding , and the sound I made was half a sob, half a scream.
“You want me to fill you up, huh?” he grunted into my ear. “Want me to come so deep it sticks? ”
“Please,” I begged, shaking now, out of breath and out of shame. “Fill me. Breed me. Ruin me—I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”
“Goddamn,” he muttered, like I’d broken him—and maybe I had.
Because he fucked me like it was all he’d ever known. Like there was nothing else in the goddamn world but the drag of my body around him and the slick, obscene rhythm of skin on skin.
I was already teetering—right on the knife’s edge—and when his fingers found my clit, rough and ruthless and so fucking fast, I shattered.
I screamed—no filter, no shame—back bowing off the mattress as the orgasm ripped through me like a fucking bomb . My legs shook. My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think —and somewhere under it all, I felt him go rigid, heard the raw sound he made as he came hard, buried deep with one final, brutal thrust.
I was still twitching beneath him, thighs trembling, gasping for air like I’d just survived something.
He didn’t pull out.
Just stayed there—sweat-drenched and shaking, body pressed heavy to mine, hand locked tight around my thigh like if he let go, we’d both unravel.
His eyes flicked up to mine—wild, unsure again, like maybe he’d gone too far.
I smiled, wrecked and breathless. “Still with me?”
He swallowed. Nodded.
“You… okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.
I reached up, traced the edge of his jaw with trembling fingers, and dragged my thumb through the sweat-damp scruff. “That was the filthiest, hottest thing I’ve ever felt.”
His whole face flushed— deeply —and just when I thought he might bury it in my neck, he thrust again.
Hard.
“ Daryl —!”
“Just makin’ sure,” he mumbled, but I saw the flicker of a smirk.
“You’re still hard,” I breathed, in disbelief.
He leaned down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Ain’t done lookin’ at you like this yet.”
I whimpered, clenching around him without meaning to. “Fuck, you feel so good…”
“You want more?” he murmured, low and hoarse. “Still got somethin’ left in you, baby?”
I nodded—needy, dizzy. “Mhm…”
He pulled my legs up again, folding me in half like he knew exactly where I came apart. And then he started to move. Slower this time. But just as deep.
The friction had my whole body lighting up again, nerves raw and overstimulated—but in the best way.
“You’re gonna come for me again,” he said, quiet, like a promise . “Ain’t leavin’ this bed till you do.”
I whimpered, hands sliding down to grip his ass, pulling him deeper. “ Please, Daryl—fuck, I love when you talk like that—”
“Yeah?” He grunted, his voice all grit and gravel. “You like bein’ my fuckin’ whore?”
I sobbed. Didn’t even try to hide it.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say what you are.”
“I’m your whore,” I gasped. “I’m your fuckin’ whore, Daryl—”
“That’s right,” he snarled. “Mine.”
And then he just fucked me—deep and hard and steady—until I came again, full body shaking, tears in my eyes, chanting his name like a prayer.
Only then— only then—did he slow. Kissed me, slow and open-mouthed, like he was trying to drink me in.
Eventually, his hips stilled, the weight of him folding into me—forehead to mine, heat bleeding into my skin, breath coming in stuttering exhales.
His nose brushed mine. Barely. And then he pulled back just enough to look down at me—face flushed, hair sweat-damp and messy, lips parted like he still couldn’t catch his breath.
“Libby…” he whispered.
I reached up and pushed his hair back from his face, curling my fingers behind his ear. “I’m okay,” I promised. “I’m good.”
His eyes searched mine, and even though his body was still inside me, I could tell what he was really looking for. Permission. Reassurance.
“I’m more than good,” I whispered, lips brushing his cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“I just didn’t wanna hurt ya,” he said, low and cracked, like it’d been weighing on him the whole time.
“You didn’t,” I said, softly. “You didn’t hurt me, Dar, just made me feel like I was all yours . ”
His chest moved with a shaky exhale. “You are,” he said, almost like he couldn’t stop it. “You’re mine.”
And fuck, the way he said it—it wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t sharp.
It was vulnerable.
My heart squeezed so hard I thought it might splinter.
He finally eased out of me, slow and careful, and I whimpered at the loss. He winced, like he wasn’t sure if it was from pain or pleasure. But I was already reaching for him, pulling him back down beside me. ““C’mere.”
He let me pull him in, both of us a mess—sweaty and flushed and still catching our breath. He buried his face in my neck like he was hiding there, and I wrapped myself around him, anchoring him with my arms and legs.
“Daryl?” I said after a minute, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mmm?”
“You were amazing,” I murmured.
He shifted, just enough to meet my eyes again. Still shy. Still not totally believing me.
I cupped his face, kissed him soft, and his eyes fluttered shut like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of love. I let my fingers trace over the curve of his shoulder, down the long line of his spine, feeling every scar, every ridge. He held me tighter.
“Y’mean it?” he finally asked, voice hoarse. “Ya liked all that?”
I smiled. Nuzzled into his hair. “I loved it.”
He exhaled slow against my skin. “S’ good,” he whispered. “I think I did too,”
I laughed— glowed , really—and kissed the top of his head. “You went two rounds, back to back, old man; you think?”
He squeezed me, a small smile cracking, “Ain’t old,”
We stayed tangled like that for a long while. No rush. Just breath and skin and the quiet rhythm of hearts trying to remember how to beat normal again. His chest rose against mine, slow and steady now, drifting somewhere softer.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t want to move.
Not when his arm was still slung over my waist like he didn’t know how to let go. Not when his body was still warm against mine, heat pooled in the spaces where we touched. I could feel the sweat drying on our skin, sticky and sweet, like the aftertaste of something holy.
I felt safe. Loved.
Loved
That word slipped through my head like a breath I didn’t mean to take. A thought I hadn’t asked for but couldn’t shake.
He was dozing now, half-gone. His mouth slack, lashes resting soft against the tops of his cheeks. That hard-wired tension he always carried had bled out of him, leaving only peace in its place. It wasn’t a look I got to see often. The world didn’t let him rest like this.
But here he was.
I didn’t even try to stop staring.
My fingers moved on their own—slow and reverent, brushing along the edge of his jaw like he might vanish if I touched too hard. He didn’t stir. Just breathed.
And I let myself look.
There were little lines near his eyes now—just creases, like faint brushstrokes left behind by worry, or squinting too long into the sun. His brow still held that faint furrow, even in sleep, like the weight of everything he carried couldn’t quite let go. And his mouth… there was this one line, this subtle curve at the edge, the kind that deepened when he smiled—as rare as it was.
I wanted to kiss it.
I ached at the thought that I hadn’t seen those lines form. That I hadn’t been around to mark the moments that carved them into place. I mourned years I never had with him. Mourned the history I could only guess at now.
I tried to picture him younger. My age. Twenty-six.
The idea hit like a sucker punch—jarring, impossible. Like trying to imagine stone before it turned into a mountain.
I wondered if he’d kept his hair shorter, and if it was lighter back then; wondered when he started keeping his stubble rather than shaving it off, and whether he’d always had a sleeper build, or had he been lanky at any point in his life.
I studied the scruff along his jaw—blonde, mostly. Lighter than the rest of his hair, which had deepened to something of a dark cashmere over the last two years. But I remembered. That first year, right when everything went to hell—sun-bleached from the Georgia heat, messy and shorter. There’d been gold in it then. He looked younger back when the light hit him right.
Now… he was greying. Just a little. Right beneath his chin, tucked into the thickest part of his scruff—barely there, just the faintest thread of silver. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were this close.
Unless you wanted to see it.
And I did. Every detail. Every proof of time passed, of days survived, of stories written into the skin instead. I didn’t want to miss another second of it.
His lashes fluttered, just the tiniest twitch—and I froze, caught in the act like a thief.
His eyes cracked open a sliver, then squinted against the light like it offended him. “You gonna stare at me all day?” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.
I felt the flush creep up my neck. But it wasn’t embarrassment. It was… softness. That giddy, smitten warmth that bubbled up when you loved someone so much it was stupid . “Mmm. Maybe,” I murmured, still stroking his cheek.
He blinked at me, lazy and a little dazed, eyes slow to catch. Then his brow pinched—not irritated, not suspicious, just… noticing. Realizing.
Realizing I wasn’t looking at him the way I usually did. I wasn’t holding his gaze. I was too busy tracing the softest parts of him with my eyes, like I was trying to memorize him all over again before the moment slipped away.
“What’cha thinkin’ about, lady?” he asked, his voice gravel-warm and heavy with sleep, like he hadn’t quite come back to the world yet from his dazed off state.
I hesitated. My fingers didn’t stop moving—stroking his cheekbone, brushing the hollow beneath his eye—but I didn’t answer right away.
Then, quiet as a prayer: “Our age gap.”
And fuck, I felt it ripple through him.
It wasn’t much. Barely a shift. Just this subtle tension that settled in his spine, the way his shoulder flexed ever so slightly beneath my palm. His eyes darted away—not out of anger, but something else. Something that curled around shame, or guilt, or that old self-loathing that lived in the cracks of his foundation.
“Why?” he asked, finally—hoarse and guarded, even though he tried to keep it casual.
I kept touching his cheek. Soft. Patient. I knew he had trouble with our gap — something about making him feel like a creepy old man. But I loved it.
“‘Cause it’s not fair,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ceiling like it might offer him a distraction.
So I shifted a little closer, brushing the pad of my thumb across the fine line near his temple. “Statistically,” I whispered, “you start showing signs of aging around twenty-five. Fine lines first. The skin starts to remember things. And I just don’t think it’s fair that I missed out on that with you.”
His eyes came back to mine then, sharp and cautious, trying to parse what the hell I meant. He looked confused—like I was speaking another language. And maybe I was. I didn’t always know how to translate the way I saw the world into something he could understand.
My take on aging was different than a lot of people. I loved the idea of getting old. I loved the little wrinkles and lines on people, showing all the life they lived, and the habitual things that caused them — one of Daryl’s being the line between his brows, from scrunching his face up so much. I wanted to get old with him. One day, I could turn over and see a whole new line across his face and I’ll know it wasn’t there before. And I’ll love it because it means I got to be there.
Still nothing. But his breath caught. And I saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched against the sheet like he wanted to hold onto something.
Then, looking at him again, engraving every little detail about him into memory, I spoke, unable to catch my words as they tumbled out:
“I love you,” I whispered. “And it’s not fair that I didn’t get the opportunity to love you before all of this.”
There was a beat.
Not just a pause—but a silence that throbbed , stretched taut between us like some invisible thread threatening to snap. My throat tightened. My chest hollowed. And before I could stop it—before I could even breathe —tears welled up and spilled, hot and sudden down my cheeks like they’d been waiting in the wings forever.
I ducked into his chest without thinking. Tried to hide it. Tried to smother the whole thing in the warm press of his skin, the familiar thump of his heart. I didn’t want him to see me like that—cracked wide open, unraveling in real time. But his arms were already there. Already wrapping around me like instinct, like muscle memory, pulling me in tighter with this fierce, wordless protectiveness that made it worse and better all at once.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough and low, scratchy almost. “It’s alright, girl. I got you.”
God, that only made me cry harder.
I shook my head into his chest, helpless and clinging. “I’ve never been in love before,” I admitted, choking on the words. “And—it’s selfish and stupid, but if I could choose between going through all of this again or living in the world before forever, I’d choose this, all over again, Dar,”
I felt him stiffen just slightly—like the air around us had shifted, like gravity doubled. But he didn’t pull away, and my whole body trembled against him, breath stuttering. I felt ridiculous—weepy and exposed and entirely too much. But the truth was out, and there was no dragging it back in.
“Libs—” he said, hoarse, like he wasn’t sure what to say next.
I didn’t let him finish. I cut him off with a sharp, watery laugh that tasted like salt and grief. “No, it’s so fucked up. But loving you is so sweet, Daryl, and I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t get to love you.”
My hands curled into the curve of his back, holding on like the sky might fall. The tears just kept falling—hot and messy and relentless. My face was wet, my breath shaky, and I couldn’t stop wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand like that would somehow make it less humiliating.
“Why am I such a cry baby?” I groaned into his collarbone, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “God.”
Still, he didn’t say a word. Just held me tighter. Let it come. One of his hands slid up into my hair, fingertips scratching soft against my scalp like he was trying to calm the static in my brain. The other hand never left my waist—anchored there like he was afraid. Like if he let go, I’d dissolve into vapor and he’d never get me back.
Then he shifted. Pulled back just enough to see me.
“Hey,” he said, real soft. A whisper, almost. “I love you too, Libs.”
I lost it.
All over again. A new wave. Different this time—not from fear or grief, but from joy. From the aching sweetness of hearing the one thing I didn’t dare hope for over the last two years. It was dizzying. Overwhelming. It felt like crashing into sunlight.
“Good,” I croaked, a crooked smile trembling through the tears.
.i don’t think i could love you more.
Notes:
👹👹👹👹👹👹
they lurve each other and are so happy and soft and sweet and lovey and perfect. no, like, actually…writing the scene about Libby finally saying it and all that went into that coming out, it was so fun to write! i wish we could just have a super happy ending here, and they can get married and have fifteen little Dixon kiddos and live happily ever after..unfortunately~ i’m the worst.
next chapter will be the start of the SECOND worst thing that will happen to our magnificent main character, and will lead into some really dark times.
Chapter 66: i’m tough
Summary:
It wasn’t the most convenient or comfortable arrangement; stuck in the back of a standard pick up truck, bumping along the road while Daryl, Rosita, and Denise drove. Mostly because Daryl had no clue how to drive a stick shift, and the tin bed was still damp from the storm that moved through last night.
Every time he stalled out, I felt it in my teeth. The entire truck would lurch like it had been dropkicked by God. The wet metal pressed cold and unforgiving through my jeans, soaking into the backs of my thighs, but I didn’t complain.
Chapter Text
.never saw it coming, now i can’t relax.
Love was a sticky sweet thing.
Admitting out loud that I loved him, had resulted in a newfound pocket of our relationship, and it was absolutely golden. The butterflies I started feeling around him was like having a crush all over again. I could’ve lived in that haze for the rest of my life with no complaints. Just sleepy morning kisses, whispered ‘I love you’s, and our bodies intertwined forever.
“Gonna go hunt next week,” he’d said before he tumbled out of bed this morning. “You wanna come?”
Of course I did. I wanted to be with him all of the time. Attached to the hip. Live inside of his bones if I could. It was the easiest answer, with the most unexpected and delightful consequence. An answer that made his lips twitch up and urge me to roll out of bed far sooner than I would’ve liked.
Dressed in a shirt and underwear, I followed him; out our bedroom, across the hall, and into the yellow-painted room that held the promise of a child. I stopped halfway inside, confused as he reached into the closet and pulled something from the top shelf. But he spun around and presented me with the sweetest treasure: my bow.
Scratched, filthy, and missing the arrows that once settled inside the side quiver, but it had undoubtedly been my bow.
Daryl left no room for me to question him, or even thank him; immediately he told me to get dressed so we could go see if any arrows in the armory would work and he’d restring it for me. He’d said it to me so quick that I couldn’t stop myself from standing in that room a little longer than necessary just grinning. He handled me so beautifully.
I loved him so much.
And as I sat, watching him carefully clean and wax my bow, refusing to take my help, I didn’t even realize how lost in his movements I was until Rosita marched up to our porch, interrupting my focus.
He was meticulous in a way people didn’t expect—fingers stained with oil and dirt, but gentle, like the bow was something sacred. He’d already wiped down the limbs and riser, and was running a cloth along the cams now, slow and circular. His thumb smoothed along the edge like he could read wear in the grain by feel alone. Every so often, he’d flick his gaze up at me like he knew I was watching but didn’t mind. His mouth curled just barely, like he was proud of the work.
Then Rosita’s boots hit the porch—hard.
“Doc wants to talk to you, Dixon,” she said flatly, crossing her arms like she had somewhere better to be and couldn’t believe she wasn’t there already. Her voice carried that same sharpness it’d been dipped in for weeks now. A snap just beneath the surface.
Daryl didn’t look up right away—his focus stayed locked on the string he was setting, his lips parting slightly as he ran it through, holding tension. He licked his bottom lip, slow, out of habit, before tying off the nock point and brushing a thumb across the fletching like a final stamp. Only then did his eyes lift to hers.
My bow sat beside him now, half-strung and gleaming with fresh wax. I could’ve said something, should’ve maybe, but I kept quiet. There was already enough friction in the air without me nudging it.
It had been ongoing for nearly a month now — all caused by her fallout with Abe. She seemed to take out a lot of her anger and frustration with those of us in long term relationships (which happened to be nearly everyone). Just the other day she snapped at a comment Michonne made about beginning to add on to Alexandria again. Completely unwarranted. It wasn’t fair to any of us, but we understood where it was coming from — never personal.
Rosita stood like a statue, shoulders squared and eyes narrowed like she was holding back a hundred things she didn’t have the energy to explain. She hadn’t been herself since Abraham walked out on her. None of us blamed her for the scowl she wore, but lately, it had gotten sharper—cutting into every conversation that brushed too close to comfort. Everyone else seemed to be finding something close to peace, while she was still living in the rubble of what she thought she had. She never said it out loud, but you could see it in the way she tensed anytime anyone mentioned the future. Expansion. Growth. Love. Things she once planned for and now pretended not to care about.
A few days ago, Michonne had mentioned replanting the garden beds, talking about the idea of the kids around the community helping out. Rosita had gone quiet, then laughed once, sharp and humorless. It wasn’t aimed at Michonne. It was aimed at the whole damn idea that life might move forward while she was still stuck at a dead end.
She looked ready to snap again now, jaw clenched tight, toe tapping on the floorboard.
“Y’ hearin’ me, girl?”
“Hm?” No, I hadn’t been listening to him.
I blinked back to life as Daryl gave me a half-laugh, half-sigh, like he wasn’t surprised. Rosita’s eyes rolled so far back I swore she was staring at her brainstem. Behind her, Denise fidgeted, unsure whether to wait or leave.
Reaching down, Daryl held a hand out to me. “C’mon,” he said, tugging me up with a pull. “We’re gon’ get ready to go on a run real quick.”
I followed him inside, still half caught in that foggy daydream I’d been in before Rosita cut it short. He didn’t say much—he never did when something was already on his mind—but I could tell by the way his shoulders were set that this wasn’t some casual errand.
The second the door shut behind us. “What’s the run for?” I asked, already trailing after him through the living room.
“Denise wants to check out an apothecary. Said it’s out past the tracks.” He knelt down to grab his knife from under the coffee table where he kept it stashed, along with a loaded revolver. “Place ain’t been picked over. Might be somethin’ useful.”
I crossed my arms. “So we’re going flower picking for the doc?”
He glanced at me, eyes cutting up just barely. “Ain’t flowers. Medicine. Ointments. Whatever she can find.”
I raised a brow. “And she specifically asked you to go?”
He shrugged. “Said she was still gonna go whether I came or not.” Then after a beat: “I told her I’d ask you. ”
That pulled me up short. “You did?”
His silence said yeah.
A quiet flickered in my chest—small and warm. Not because it was some grand gesture. But because he felt the need to ask me for permission before just taking off outside the walls for some run.
I nodded, grabbing my boots from beside the couch. “Alright. And I’m coming too?”
He nodded, handing me my bow and quiver—now strung, waxed, gleaming like it was fresh off a rack. I ran my fingers across the wood, the string, appreciating how smooth it felt. “You really didn’t have to baby her like that,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, I did,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “Y’don’t take care’a your weapon, it don’t take care’a you. It’s been in the woods for weeks.”
He slung a rifle over his shoulder, clipped a canteen to his belt. I checked my own pack—half-full, mostly granola bars and spare socks—and looked back at him. “You think this place is clean?”
Daryl opened the door. “We’ll find out.”
_____________
It wasn’t the most convenient or comfortable arrangement; stuck in the back of a standard pick up truck, bumping along the road while Daryl, Rosita, and Denise drove. Mostly because Daryl had no clue how to drive a stick shift, and the tin bed was still damp from the storm that moved through last night.
Every time he stalled out, I felt it in my teeth. The entire truck would lurch like it had been dropkicked by God. The wet metal pressed cold and unforgiving through my jeans, soaking into the backs of my thighs, but I didn’t complain.
I used to love riding in the bed of my uncles truck on the way to the creek or through the mud on the way to grab a deer. But this…was…actually kind of embarrassing for Daryl. Like, I was getting second hand embarrassment for him, but I tried to ignore it, choosing instead to focus on how gorgeous my life had been lately.
The air smelled like pine needles and wet bark, thick with petrichor from the storm. Low-hanging clouds clung to the tops of the trees like smoke that hadn’t bothered to rise. It made the world feel slow and soft around the edges. Like we were floating in something.
Running Alexandria was getting easier and easier ever since our deal with Hilltop had been established. Not simple—because nothing ever was—but manageable. Rick had taken a backseat to leadership, opting to be a father while things were peaceful. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t jump right back into gear if anything were to come up, but it surprisingly made leading this place a lot calmer without him in my ear every five minutes.
Not that I didn’t miss him in it. Just… it was different. And maybe it needed to be.
Maggie and Glenn were gearing up to become Hilltop transplants by the end of the year. A time I wasn’t exactly ready for—but in the same breath, was kind of excited about. They were already making trips every other week to check in with Harlan, counting down the days to thirty weeks. After that, if all went well, they’d have a trailer of their own. Somewhere quiet to raise their baby, close to help if anything went wrong. Maggie was glowing, and Glenn had this constant look on his face like he couldn’t believe his life was turning out okay. It made my heart hurt and swell at the same time.
And Carol had moved in with Tobin. Which, yeah, was still weird. Like watching your aunt start dating the neighbor. But she seemed… content. Grounded. She didn’t leave the walls anymore. Just dinners, a few words here and there. Something had shifted in her too, but I didn’t press. We were all learning to wear our grief in different ways.
The truck ground to a halt, jerking me out of my thoughts. I shifted, twisting to lean over the side of the metal bed. It was a tree—wide, water-logged, roots half-ripped from the soil. It didn’t look like one we’d be moving anytime soon.
Rosita and Daryl stepped out in sync with my feet dropping to the ground. “Could be from the storm last night,” I said, quietly, walking around to the shrub side of it.
“Could be a lot’a things,” said Daryl, from his end. “Ain’t taken no chances.”
Rosita bent by the base of the tree, just briefly before standing up. “This happened fast,” she said, pulling her machete out. “Tree rotted out. It wasn’t people.” I couldn’t tell what she was doing, but Daryl seemed to completely brush her off, not entirely convinced.
I chewed my lip. I knew he didn’t completely trust it to have just been from the storm, but there were no signs of foul play around. But, either way, we would be walking to our destination.
“What’d you find?” Denise asked after Daryl gave her the all clear to come out.
“Bottles of booze.” A clinking sound came from the bag Rosita dangled in the air. “Any takers?”
Denise avoided her eyes now. “I’m good.”
“For later. I’m not bringing these to the pantry,” Rosita said, an almost smile on her face.
I threw my bow around my back, and followed a step behind Daryl toward the direction of the tree. “I’m good,” Denise reassured, even when Rosita held the bag up to her. “They were kinda my parents’ thing. Which is why they aren’t mine.”
I understood that. Deeper than Denise could ever know. The countless nights on benders and weeks zoned in and out of consciousness when they were high — it was something that engraved into what I didn’t want to be as an adult. Denise clearly just took a stricter approach.
"That truck ain't gon’ make it past this tree," Daryl said as we approached the fallen log. "C'mon, let's walk,”
And I was quick to follow, still so keen on being attached to his hip whenever possible. But Denise stopped us, "Hold up," she said, pulling her map out. "Looks like a straight shot if we follow the tracks."
“Nah,” Daryl rounded. "No tracks, we'll take the road,"
"That's twice as far," Rosita’s brows pulled together, popping her hip with more attitude than I think Daryl liked judging from his tone when he responded.
"Go whichever way you like," he snapped, making his way into the trees, not even looking to see if I was following him. "I ain't takin' no tracks."
Slowly, and unsure, Denise folded up the map, “we should stick together," she mumbled, passing me as she took off after him.
Rosita didn’t say a word, just dropped her shoulders, scoffing. I didn’t know what to do. My every instinct told me to follow Daryl —tuck into the woods and spend the next hour and a half walking with him and Denise— but Rosita stood there, a pained look on her face as she was abandoned by the other two.
I sighed, adjusting my bow strap, and spinning toward the tracks. “You coming?” I asked, a few short strides away.
“You’re going this way?”
“I’m going this way.” I confirmed.
_____________
The walk on the tracks was silent, peaceful almost, save the lone walker here and there. Rosita didn’t say anything at first, just walked alongside me, watching her side of the rails.
But when she did, it was the most expected question.
“You think Daryl’s gonna be mad you came this way?” she asked, turning her head briefly. “He doesn’t seem to like leaving you behind.”
I bit my inner cheek, fighting back the warmth creeping up my neck. “He’ll understand. I didn’t want you going alone.”
It was the truth, but I said it too quickly—like I had something to prove. The truth had a way of coming out like that when it wasn’t rehearsed.
Her response was delayed by the rustling of brush and the need to incapacitate a walker for a minute or two, but when she did finally get back on the tracks, she continued. “Is that the leader part of you talking?”
“It’s the friend part of me talking,” I shot back.
Rosita didn’t have friends. Not like the rest of us. And I’d noticed.
She wasn’t cold, but she kept her connections shallow, transactional. It was interesting to watch—a kind of controlled detachment, like she’d built herself out of puzzle pieces and left a few blank on purpose. Over the course of five months, I hadn’t seen her truly bond with anyone beyond Abraham, Eugene, or Tara. And now Tara was gone for a run. Abraham wouldn’t even look at her. Eugene was… Eugene. Not exactly an emotional lifeline.
She joked with others. Ate dinner with the group when it was convenient. But she kept one foot out the door, like she was always expecting to leave.
Maybe she was just lonely.
“How long have the two of you known each other?”
The question caught me sideways. Rosita didn’t usually ask personal questions unless it was mission-critical. She wasn’t nosy, not like Carol used to be. But there wasn’t any sarcasm in her voice this time—just something low and curious, maybe a little wistful.
So I indulged her.
I told her about the traffic jam on the interstate. About Dale’s RV. How I met Daryl by accident—literally—and how it took all of ten seconds for him to nearly take my head off over a deer. I painted those early Georgia days in rough brushstrokes. The Greene farm, the ridge we tumbled down multiple times, how he taught me to track. It felt like I was backtracking a lifetime of experiences we’d been through together, when in reality, it was right at two years. Telling Rosita about the ups and downs of knowing him felt good though, normal. It made me miss Melanie. She would’ve been so thrilled about how far we’d come.
“It’s been a lot of work,” I finished as we came to a stop on the tracks, glancing around to see if this was in fact the right spot. “Being with him makes sense though,”
Rosita gave me a half-smile, “Until Glenn said something, I thought the two of you had been together since before,”
I blushed. “I wish.”
“I guess,” she sighed, both hands entwining atop her head. “I guess once I found that out I figured our relationships were kind of the same.”
My brows furrowed—deep, dramatic confusion. “What?”
Rosita shrugged. “Abraham is very over-assuming, and I’m under. When I met him near the beginning, it was different than anyone before.”
“I think the world shifted so much, so quick, it forced a lot of close proximity,” I wasn’t really sure what to say.
It’d been over a month since Abraham left her. Left her for someone else. I couldn’t imagine the heartbreak — didn’t want to. The idea of Daryl waking up one day and deciding he wanted to go home to another woman made my throat swell up. But that’s exactly what happened to Rosita.
She dropped her hands, propping one on her hip and looking down the road, presumably for Daryl and Denise. “I loved him. I used to -- see how Daryl looked at you, and just thought—“ she shook her head. “Just thought that might be what Abraham looked like when he saw me.”
“Ro, that --“
“It’s okay. He’s happy. I don’t really want to talk about it.” Each word was quick, sharp, and short.
I had a feeling that even though she said she didn’t want to talk about it, she really did. But I wasn’t gonna push her, not while we were out on this run. Maybe when we got back, maybe then I could try to spend a night sharing drinks and listening to her monologue about the man who was Abraham Ford.
For now though, I would sit next to her on the abandoned railroad tracks and wait patiently for Denise and Daryl to come down the road.
_____________
When footfall sounded down the road, my head snapped to the left and immediately regretted it. Daryl’s eyes were locked in on me, his expression was that of a volcano waiting to erupt. My heart fell to my stomach, instincts rushing to defend my decision as we fell in step with them.
“Dar,” I said, softly as I could, hoping to ease some tension. “She didn’t need to be alone.”
He squinted down at me, face twisting up. “And you didn’t need to be on them tracks. Ain’t safe.”
I didn’t quite understand why he assumed they weren’t safe, there was no reasoning behind it just that they simply weren’t. Daryl had weird instincts though, and I learned not to question them; especially since they were normally right. But Rosita and I had made it here perfectly safe and sound. Not a bump in the road -- er, tracks.
“Daryl, we’re okay.” I tried slipping my hand into his, but he pulled away, refusing to look down at me. “Dar…”
Jaw still wound tight, no sign of ease, I made another attempt to hold his hand, this time forcing our proximity a little more. I knew he struggled to express how he felt about things—this one was likely a type of betrayal— but his fingers wrapping around mine gave me the slightest sense of relief. Even though it wasn’t an apology I gave him, as I had nothing to apologize for, I took that little gesture as a silent forgiveness.
I did understand, however, that the real forgiveness would come later. I’d hate to assume and be wrong, but I was quite sure that he’d have some form of a confession on worrying about my safety a little too much as of late.
I mean — it’d been a month since I’d left the walls.
But the gesture was enough for now. There was little animosity. A quiet understanding. I understood his worry; he understood my decision.
“Worry bout ya,” he mumbled, squeezing my hand, just barely. “Them tracks was too convenient.”
“You don’t gotta worry so much,” I bit my lip, testing the words before I said them. “I’m tough.”
A fleeting smirk fell across his mouth, amused by the phrase. It was the same one he often used back when he was teaching me self-defense. T-Dog used to mock him with it. ”Uh-uh, you’re tough, do it again.” and ”Wipe it off, you’re tough.”, were the most commonly used.
“Yes you are,” he said slowly, straightening his shoulders a little.
The lot curved slightly before giving us a clear view of the storefront— Edison’s Apothecary & Boutique —paint chipping, the cursive lettering faded to a ghostly whisper across the rotted wood sign. Dozens of pairs of bloody handprints stained the dirty windows, smeared and uneven, like someone had tried to claw their way inside. I swallowed hard, eyes locked on them, the silence around us pressing in a little heavier.
Grass had overtaken some of the gravel drive, curling up through the cracks in the pavement, stubborn in the way nature always was now—growing wild over the bones of the old world. Daryl’s hand stayed clasped in mine as we walked, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly over my knuckles. His eyes swept the building’s perimeter—windows dark, door shut tight. His jaw twitched, like he was already cataloging a dozen things that could go wrong.
Behind us, I heard Rosita snort quietly, then Denise’s voice, softer. I glanced back over my shoulder. Denise was glancing around, machete in hand, walking a half step behind Rosita. They looked like a mismatched pair—one all confidence and grit, the other all nerves and determination, but somehow it worked. I watched them for just a second longer before looking ahead again, we were just a few feet from the door. The bloody handprints were eye-level now. My skin prickled. Daryl let go of my hand to bang on the door, an attempt to draw whatever walkers may be inside out.
He leaned in for maybe half a second to listen, then turned to Denise. “Alright,” he said, shrugging off backpack, unzipping it to pull a crowbar out. “Me n’ them are gonna do this, you’re gonna stay back, got it?”
Denise responded with a nod, compliant to whatever we had to say.
Wedging the crowbar in the crevice of the two doors, we stood back as they began to squeak open, the scent of decay washing over us like a tidal wave. Quickly, he adjusted his gun over his shoulder, and as usual, we made our way inside to do a quick sweep.
I held my bow steady, one arrow knocked just in case, but considering the sheer lack of noise, it was safe to assume none of our weapons would be going to use.
Denise gagged loud behind us.
Daryl didn’t even flinch, skirting around a glass case. “We gon’ find out what you had for breakfast?”
There was a pause, and then her voice came out a little strangled. “Oatmeal,” she mumbled. “Just so you know.”
I stepped carefully between two tables, eyes sweeping the space out of instinct. The place was wrecked, like someone had run through in a panic and no one had bothered to clean up since. The shelves were mostly stocked full of cloudy bottles and jars. Everything was coated in a layer of dust so thick it dulled the color of the walls. In the far corner, a collapsed display rack leaned against a row of cabinets, tangled in a mess of torn gauze and dried-up flowers.
The stink was stronger that way. Sour and earthy. Something animal, maybe—small and long-dead. I lowered my bow.
Nothing.
I drifted a few steps away while Rosita knelt near one of the drawers and started digging through what was left. To the right, a small glass case sat crooked on its base. Most of the contents were junk—cheap brooches, a pair of tarnished earrings, a silver chain knotted into a little metal fist. But something about the case tugged at me. Like static memory. Like walking into your childhood bedroom after years and realizing how small it actually was.
I pressed my fingers against the dusty glass for half a second. Didn’t know why. Just did.
Then I turned and made my way back toward the pharmacy counter where Daryl was prying open the grated window with the butt of his knife. The metal groaned, and something shifted overhead—probably a loose shingle or a squirrel’s nest coming apart. I glanced up on instinct, then ducked under a broken sign that still read Seasonal Aisle in peeling foil letters.
It wasn’t a department store, but it was something. There were packs of unopened razors, a dusty hairbrush still in its plastic shell, and—holy shit—the crown jewel: tampons. Gold-standard luxury these days.
I still wasn’t using them—though Harlan had ruled out pregnancy after his fourth round of poking at me with cold fingers—but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get used. The women back in Alexandria would treat this stuff like treasure. Same with the adult diapers. There were three unopened packs of Depends under a shelf that had caved in, wedged between someone’s old shoe and a sun-bleached plastic pumpkin. I dug them out and stuffed my bag full, moving fast while the silence still held.
I crouched near what was left of the cosmetics section. Mostly shattered plastic compacts, glitter-stained Q-tips, and tubes of mascara that had turned into rigid, cracked fossils. But beneath a warped row of fake lashes and melted lip balm, I found a travel mirror still in decent shape. The glass was cracked in one corner, spidering from the edge in a vein-like streak.
I turned it in my hand, catching my reflection in the fractured surface. The crack sliced clean across the bridge of my nose, splitting my face in two. One eye seemed a little darker than the other. One side of my mouth didn’t look like it belonged to me at all.
Fitting.
I shoved it in my bag.
Somewhere across the room, I heard the sharp clatter of glass hitting tile. Then the brittle music of it shattering. Daryl muttered something, leaning across the counter, while Rosita startled and turned—her whole body tensing as Denise stumbled out of the back room like she’d just walked through a spiderweb.
When I peaked where she’d come from, the floor near the back office was slick with something I didn’t want to identify. Could’ve been spilled antiseptic, could’ve been blood. My boots left faint imprints through it, and when I stepped inside, I was wish I hadn’t.
My throat swelled at the long decayed scene.
It was horrifying in a way that I hadn’t experienced thus far into the apocalypse. Hush, Hush, Hush, the toddler shoe, and all the blood. My stomach heaved and I promptly emptied its contents on the floor in front of me.
As I stood again, wiping my mouth, I already heard Daryl calling, asking if I was good. But I couldn’t respond. Not without fear of emptying my stomach again, so it took me as no surprise when he came careening around the corner, Rosita trailing behind him.
“Are you okay?” Rosita asked, gun raised.
Daryl looked over my shoulder and into the room, taking in the scene himself. To my delight, he didn’t repeat the same upchuck as I did, and instead urged me forward, shutting the door once I was out of the way. “C’mon,” his hand met the small of my back. “We got what we needed, let’s head out.”
And as we did, I tried to forget about what I’d seen. About what Denise had seen.
This world wasn’t fair -- I had known that for a while now -- and rarely did it take me by such shock anymore. After all, I’d seen the left over hand of a man who couldn’t wait on a roof long enough to be rescued; a little boy, innocent, and freckle-faced, with a gaping gunshot wound in the middle of a forest; the mauled insides of what used to be a church van driver who saved old people during the early days; an uncomfortably peaceful face of a blonde teenager with a hole in her head and brain matter splattered across my mouth.
Yes -- I had seen worse.
But the baby shoe.
Hush, hush, hush.
All the bloody handprints outside of the shop.
It would haunt me in unsuspecting ways.
_____________
Dennis and Denise.
Named on a bender.
And I thought the way I got my name was bad. It was supposed to be ‘Leslie’. But, in a temporarily sober state of mind, he’d decided to become a raging, right wing, conservative; a true American — named me after a Statue that was made in France. It actually spoke volumes to the kind of person he was.
At least we didn’t get derivatives of ‘Lacey’. Although, I don’t think ‘Casey’ or ‘Macey’ would’ve been all that bad.
“Hey,” Rosita called from the tracks that she’d already passed over, pulling me from my thoughts. Only then did I notice Daryl splitting off, following the tracks this time.
“This way’s faster right?” he replied.
I knew some of it was because he wanted to get back home, but I saw the softness while he talked to Denise on the way here. He would never admit that though. Appearances and all.
Less than twenty minutes of walking though, and Denise nudged me, pointing over to a pile of cars off of an embankment. From what I could tell, the cars held nothing significant and seemed like a waste of time, but Denise didn’t wait for me to respond before she shuffled off the tracks.
“Hey,” I said, following close behind her.
“I see a cooler in there,” she whispered back, ducking to look into one of the vehicles.
Still didn’t mean we needed it. We were loaded down already. She cupped her hands together though, shouting to Daryl and Rosita about the cooler, who were walking ahead. I wondered if they even knew we veered off.
"We got what we came for," Rosita shouted back.
"Nah, ain't worth the trouble, c'mon," Daryl’s response followed. Neither of them stopped though, just kept going.
I swallowed, looking back at Denise. “They’re right. We have what we need. It’s a waste of time.”
“Not to me,” was the last thing she said before jimmying open the passenger door.
And look, I felt stupid. Real fucking stupid. I should’ve already been on the other side of the car, should’ve taken that walker out as soon as it was on top of her, but ya know what? At least I didn’t feel as stupid as Daryl and Rosita. Why the fuck they kept walking ahead, not paying no attention to how far Denise had drifted, leaving me to babysit — then they had the nerve to look at her like she was stupid when they came running back over.
I mean, she kind of was. But not nearly as stupid as two people who’d apparently tried talking her out of coming, and then walked away from her.
“Hot damn,” I heard her whisper, holding up a can of orange soda.
And again, I did feel kind of dumb. So I know that Daryl and Rosita did too. I know they were kicking themselves. And with that guilt, came anger. Hot and impulsive anger.
"What the hell was that?" Daryl snarled, whirling on her like bat outta hell. "You could've died right there, you know that?"
"Yeah, I do," Denise replied, straightening her shirt.
That wasn’t good enough for him. "Are you hearin' me?"
"Who gives a shit?" she shot back, this time exasperated. It may have been the loudest I’d ever heard her, and she had a lot of balls yelling at Daryl of all people. On her first run at that. I was impressed. "You could've died killing those Saviors, all of you, but you didn't. You wanna live, you take chances! That's how it works. That's what I did."
"For a coupla damn sodas?" Daryl quipped.
"Nope," she shook her head, pushing past him. "Just this one."
Rosita scoffed, rolling her eyes, looking between me and Daryl, as if she expected us to do something.
Truly, I wasn’t so concerned.
Yeah, Denise did something stupid and made us panic, but it’s her first run. And they sure as hell weren’t too concerned with her before the mishap.
"Are you seriously that stupid?" Rosita asked, treading the embankment, crossing her arms in front of Denise.
"Are you?" Denise spun around.
The three of us stayed silent. I didn’t feel like I had a dog in this fight, but at the same time, I suppose I did try to stop her too.
“I mean it. Are you? Do you have any clue what that was to me, what this whole thing is to me?"
Again, silence. I fiddled with my hands, avoiding her angry eyes. She never yelled. She never even copped an attitude. No matter how much anyone demanded of her, she was gentle and still.
Not now though.
Now she was a raging machine.
I wondered if this is what her brother looked like when he would get angry like she said he so often did.
"See, I have training in this shit," she continued, her voice ticking down a notch. "I'm not making it up as I go along, like with the stitches and the surgery and the…" She trails off, catching herself before she got sidetracked.
Her gaze landed on Daryl, her expression a storm. “I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe," she said, then it was my turn. "I knew if he agreed, then you would too, and you remind me of what I could have been if I wasn’t so afraid all the damn time."
My brows furrowed. I was taken aback, the breath knocked out of me. I presumed she’d only seen me as a tag along, not as one of the people she would seek out. And especially not one she’d envy.
It made sense, but it didn’t all the same.
We came from similar backgrounds. That much I knew. Our lives a weird parallel. Both difficult backgrounds, both majored in psychology of sorts, both got lucky in the apocalypse. But I never saw anything about my life as envious.
“I could’ve gone with Tara. I could’ve told her I loved her, but I didn’t. Because I was afraid,”Denise’s gaze fell on me again, and I almost forgot she was ranting for a short time.
"That's what's stupid," her words became softer, and I understood why. I understood a lot now, when it came to her. Little did she know I was in the same boat as her up until a few nights ago.
“Not coming out here, not facing my shit. And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying because you're strong and you're smart and you're all really good people! And if you don't wake-"
My heart dropped to my butt.
A bolt, quick — quicker than anything I could’ve shot — right through her eye socket.
"Up… and face your…" she didn’t finish her sentence. Her brain didn’t even know she was dead yet.
My instinct took over. Effortless; like it never left— I drew my bow back with ease, aiming it at a dozen men piling out of the forest.
One; a man, skinny, blonde hair, and a nasty, protruding scar that looked much like the one on my arm, held a weapon that I knew all too well. Almost as well as my very own. That’s how I knew who it was. That’s how I knew why he was talking to Daryl how he was.
“What do you want?” Something. Something. Something.
Something clicked in me when my mind replayed Denise falling to the ground, lifeless. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
Anger. Grief. Protectiveness. Something.
Something that made my anxiety drop. Something that forced my confidence out. Something that made me grit my teeth, and hold my weapon high, even when Daryl and Rosita lowered theirs.
Something.
“Don’t think I caught your name, Red,” the man grinned an awful grin, not even the least bit intimidated.
“I didn’t throw it. What do you want?”
Still. That same, taunting smile looked back at me. “I’m gonna ask you to lower your weapon one more time, or,” he paused, training the stolen crossbow onto its true owner. “Daryl gets to live with an inconvenient disfunction, if you know what I mean,”
I wanted to keep my arrow knocked. Desperately, I did. My fingers ached from the tension, my whole body wired like a fuse seconds from the match. But I thought of Rick—how he’d size up a situation without letting it devour him whole. He could drag a plan out of the dirt with nothing but grit and a half-second of eye contact. He didn’t let grief slip past his guard the way I could feel it spilling through mine. And I tried—God, I tried—to channel that calm he carried, that leader’s instinct that said stand down now so you can stand up later . But I wasn’t Rick. I didn’t have his years or his iron spine or that quiet, dangerous patience that lived in the back of his throat when he talked people down.
All I had was this breath—tight and shallow—and the white-hot flame of watching Denise die for nothing. For no reason. Just because. I hated it. I hated him. I hated how my hand shook, how it made the arrow wobble, how that bastard smiled at it like he already knew he’d won. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I didn’t want to be the one to bend. But Daryl hadn’t moved. And Rosita was still as stone beside me. Both weapons lowered. No cavalry. No Rick. No last-second hail Mary. Just me, my bow, and the cold fact that one wrong twitch could mean watching Daryl fall too.
So I did the only thing I could.
I exhaled through my teeth and lowered my weapon.
“There we go, sunshine,” he said, still too smug for my liking.
"What do you want?" Rosita echoed my earlier question, just as men started searching us down. Taking my bow that I’d only just got back.
"I'm sorry, darlin', I didn't catch your name either," the blonde man said. "I'm D, or Dwight. You can call me either."
I’d left that name in my memory. Forgot the time Daryl and I settled in our house, before it became a home, and spoke of the horrors we faced on the road.
"So?" Dwight continued. "What's your name?"
"Rosita. What do you want?"
"Well, Rosita, it's not what I want," Dwight shook his head. "It's what you, Daryl, and ginger over there are going to do. You're going to let us into your little complex. It looks like it's just beautiful in there. And then you're going to let us take whatever and whoever we want…”
Negan. We hadn’t killed him. That was a fact we’d known, or…kind of known, since Maggie and Carol told us that man’s name was Primo. If my gut could’ve sank any lower it would’ve been in the core of the earth.
“Or we blow Eugene's brains out. Then yours. Then hers." He nodded to me, then to Daryl. “Then his. I hope it doesn't come to that, really, nobody else has to die. We just try and start with one. You know, maximum impact to get our point across. So what's it gonna be? You tell me."
And while there was silence, as short of a gap as it was, I recounted his words, tried to formulate a plan.
He said that our complex looked like it was real beautiful inside. Did that mean he knew where Alexandria was? And if so, how long had he been watching? Did he see Rosita and I go across the tracks earlier? Had that tree really been him?
Those questions raced through my mind, all while Eugene was calculating his own plan apparently. "You wanna kill someone, you start with our companion hidin' over there behind the oil barrels," Eugene said in a panic. "He's a first class a-hole and deserves it so much more than us four."
He.
While Dwight removed his gun from its holster, and called for the other men to go check it out, I picked through the few ‘he’s it could be.
Abraham most likely — not many others would venture far with just Eugene alone. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. That didn’t rule out Rick though, or even Glenn. My gut told me it was Abraham though. But a little flicker of hope shot low in my belly that it might be Rick.
I didn’t get a chance to find out until well after Eugene provided a quite ballsy distraction. His teeth clamped down on Dwight’s crotch, latching like I never could have expected. Shots blared from behind the oil tanks, just like Eugene said they would, and in a blur of motion, Rosita, Daryl, and I were disarming and slaughtering the men who were supposed to be watching us.
All the excessive gunfire and shouting had been bound to attract walkers, but I wasn’t focused on the walkers. I was focused on the rat-faced man with a scarred cheek — he was who I was aiming for.
Having freed himself from Eugene, he unintentionally made my target much easier as he tried to slink back into the woods. And I caught him.
I know I did.
He’d told his men to fall back, and when his head was turned, I watched my bullet rip through his shoulder. Watched the blood spot form. And when he raised his pistol, it seemed to all go in slow motion.
I wanted him dead — but I wasn’t stupid.
I ducked under the embankment, missing Dwight’s last few shots before he and his men took cover and began to disappear into the trees.
_____________
We didn’t want to leave Denise. We didn’t. But Dwight shot Eugene, and there was only so much wound care I could do while we were exposed and vulnerable. I patched him up the best I could. It was just a graze. Told myself to not look at her body on the tracks one more time, because it’d freeze me in place if I did.
That’s what I told Rick when we got back.
In a flurry of barked orders and fast hands—Eugene to the infirmary, Rosita fielding questions from Carol, blood all over me I didn’t notice until later. I chose only to speak to Rick.
And it was Rick who calmed me down. Who eased my mind. Who told me that there was nothing I could’ve done to change the outcome. It was Rick who reminded me that I did nothing wrong.
Rick who gave me the satisfying confirmation that lowering my weapon was the right thing to do.
No matter how much it ached knowing that I had a clean shot — it was the only good play I had.
Daryl, wasted no time falling headfirst into his own spiral. That look in his eyes? The kind that didn’t blink. That didn’t register you when you called his name. He was somewhere else entirely—off in the woods, off in that moment, watching Denise fall over and over.
“We’ll get everyone carrying, set up some stations with guns, double our watch,” Rick said beside me, voice low as he glanced up at Sasha on the watch post. Then back down to me. “You’re sure they know where we’re at?”
I shook my head, “No, but he implied it.”
Rick nodded, jaw tight. No comfort in that, just preparation. His gaze shifted over my shoulder, and I followed it. I don’t know who I expected, but I wasn’t surprised to see it was Daryl.
He was stalking toward the gate like a dog on a scent. Quiet, but with that stubborn clench in his shoulders.
“Uh-uh.” I stepped forward, body moving before my mouth caught up. The stern sound of my voice surprised even me.
He didn’t stop. Just went right for the gate lock like I wasn’t even there.
I smacked his hand away. Harder than I meant to.
His eyes snapped to mine, wild. He looked at me like he barely recognized me—like I was some foreign object dropped in his path.
“I know what you’re doing,” I said before I could stop myself. My voice cracked around it, but the rest held. “But you’re not going by yourself, Dar.”
He scowled. That angry, cornered scowl he used when he didn’t want to admit how hurt he was. “Ain’t your call.”
“No? Then whose is it?” I snapped. “Because I sure as hell don’t see you running the show. I don’t see a plan. I see you walking into whatever bullshit trap they might’ve laid—again. And for what? So we can come bury you too?”
His mouth opened, some sharp reply loading up behind his teeth, but it didn’t come out. Rick took a half-step forward behind me, like even he wasn’t sure how this was about to go.
“You’re not going,” I said again, voice flatter now. Solidified. “It’s nearly dark, and you’ll either find someone to go with you, wait til daylight, or you won’t go at all. That’s the choice. Those are the only choices.”
The silence was loud. Daryl stared at me like I’d grown an extra head. Rick did too, just… quieter about it.
And maybe I was surprised at myself, too. At how easily the command had come. At how right it felt to say it. At how something in me had calcified out there on the tracks the moment that arrow cut through the air like it knew Denise’s name.
Something changed. I could feel it, low and cold in my gut. And I wasn’t sorry for it.
“I’ll go with him,” Rick said eventually, breaking the tension like cracking ice. “We’ll bring her back before sunrise.”
I nodded. Once. No more than that.
Then I stepped back and let them pass. As soon as the gates closed behind them, I whirled around, heart pounding, trying to reel myself in.
“You good?” Sasha asked, leaning over the watch tower. She’d undoubtedly heard me blow up at Daryl just then — uncharacteristic and out of line for me.
I couldn’t blame her for being concerned.
Still— I didn’t regret what I said. Not a single bit. Daryl had a streak of impulsive behavior that often times came to bite him in the ass. Most of it was harmless things. Shit that’d only affect him or few others. But losing him would weaken our community. It would tear more than just me apart. It’d crush a part of our core group, and it felt like we were seconds away from an all out war with people we knew almost nothing about.
I looked up at Sasha. “Shoot on sight. Anyone. We’re not chatting.”
.i’m all hypervigilance, under attack.
Notes:
yo, so i really fucking dig this chapter, not gonna lie.
Libby is v much almost at a breaking point like murder jacket Rick 🫶🏼, and this will be MY favorite era of Libby. y’all might not love her so much (she’s not fr mean to Daryl lmao), but she’s definitely going to start having a little ✨spice✨ that might rub a lot of our favorite characters the wrong way. but ahhhhh! our girl is gonna be GREAT. i mean, she’s gonna suffer mentally…but she’ll be GREAT.
thank you SO much for the reviews! i look forward to reading them everytime!-i haven’t decided if NEXT chapter will introduce Negan, or it will be the following…i think it depends on my word count 🥴. i like to keep my chapters at least 7k words, but try to cap it at 9k. we’ll see how much i can flesh out ig-
Chapter 67: L-VAD wire
Summary:
I wasn’t sure if it was dumb luck or the fact that he’d done a half-assed job covering his tracks, but part of me was pissed he didn’t even try. If it had been me, he would’ve been chewing me out about signs and trails and broken twigs for the next week. I almost wanted to snap at him for it, but hell, we weren’t in snapping distance yet.
So I helped. Made a little more noise than I needed to. Broke a branch here, crunched leaves there. Maybe some selfish piece of me just wanted him to hear us coming.
Chapter Text
.well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news, my head been wet with the midnight dews.
Daryl didn’t come to bed that night he brought back Denise. And he outright ignored my presence when he did finally come home — though it was just to grab something to eat. Still, not a ‘hello’, not a ‘goodbye’, just grabbed two slices of toast and headed right back out the door.
I wasn’t credulous as to why.
I’d slapped his hand away when he was trying to leave — not hard, not even enough to consider it a pop — but I’d still put my hands on him forcefully. And I’d argued with him. Unapologetically, and particularly loud.
Nothing remotely close to that had happened between us before. Our entire relationship, from the moment I met him, he was always the one with a quick temper. Quick to snap, or shut someone down without it lingering in the back of his mind; and that wasn’t limited to acquaintances. He’d spit some nasty words at me on many occasions. But I’d never been one to initiate the tension. Not really.
And despite how much progress he’d made, he wasn’t one to handle his emotions well.
So, I once again was seeking him out. It was past noon, probably closer to dusk actually, and I hadn’t laid eyes on him since he’d scurried in for toast. If his bike wasn’t still parked by our steps, I might have been worried he up and left. But he’d just gotten that thing back though — he wasn’t parting with it anytime soon.
To my surprise, it didn’t take me long to find my archer; legs pulled up, knees pressing into his chest on Rick’s porch. I had plans to just ask if anyone there had seen him, but he decided to make my search a lot easier.
As expected, he didn’t acknowledge me until I slid down the railing and plopped myself right beside him. But all he did then was move over, giving me whatever space I might need.
When he continued to turn his head, just slightly, to look out at the street instead of me, I couldn’t stop the loud sigh that came out. “Daryl,” I whispered.
“You mad at me?” It wasn’t sharp, or unkind in the slightest. His tone was almost ashamed, boyish in a way that had my heart clenching some type of awful.
“No, Dar,”
“Seemed pretty pissed when I left,” he still wasn’t looking at me.
“Probably because you thought it’d be a good idea to go get yourself killed instead of asking for some help,” I tried to keep my voice just above a whisper. Not for the sake of anyone hearing, but for the sake that he may take my octave the wrong way.
Daryl didn’t respond.
The quiet draped over us like a heavy coat, too thick to shrug off, too warm to be comforting. I let it hang for a minute, hoping he’d fill it.
His fingers twitched where they were locked across his shins, like he was trying to will himself into stillness. But I knew better. Daryl never fidgeted unless something was boiling under his skin. “I wasn’t gonna let her rot out there,” he said suddenly, voice low and flat. “Didn’t sit right with me.”
I stayed quiet, sensing the shift. It wasn’t vulnerability. It was anger curdling into something darker.
His lips parted again, and this time the words came with teeth. “No one else gave a damn about goin’ after her. Nobody even made a move.”
I felt that like a slap.
“You serious?”
He looked at me then—really looked at me. Eyes narrowed, jaw locked. The air between us turned acidic.
“Did you forget that she died because we got ambushed?” I asked, turning to face him completely. “Huh? Did you forget we’re probably being watched?”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t give a shit. She was one of us.”
I leaned closer, my voice low but heated. “I was there, Daryl. I watched the bolt go through her head. I saw her drop. You think I forgot that?”
“You act like it,” he said, almost too quiet to hear—but not enough to miss. He didn’t even look at me when he said it, just kept his eyes trained on the ground like it might save him from what was coming next.
That hit like a slap. “Don’t you fucking dare, ” I hissed.
He stood then, slow, deliberate, like every inch he rose was a threat. “You said to wait. You were gonna let her stay out on them tracks like garbage.”
“I said we wait because it was dark , and we didn’t know who the hell else was out there ,” I shot back, already shaking. “I said to wait because I didn’t wanna be out there digging your grave, too.”
He scoffed, biting the inside of his cheek as he started to pace in front of me like a caged animal. “Yeah? When’s the last time you even dug a grave, Libby? Huh?”
That brought me up short. My stomach turned like I’d been kicked in the gut. I blinked, hard, not even sure I heard him right.
I pushed up from the porch, shaking my head as something bitter built in my throat. “No,” I said, more to myself than him. A dry, humorless laugh slipped out, brittle and sharp. “No. You’re not doing this. You’re not making me the villain in your little grief spiral.”
He stepped in front of me fast, blocking the stairs like a wall I didn’t have the strength to climb. “What, you don’t like the truth?” he snapped.
“Daryl, stop, ” I said, trying to sidestep him.
He moved again, blocking me. My pulse kicked up hard. “I said stop. ”
“No,” he barked. “You came here to talk, right? Actin’ like you’re holier than thou. So what now, huh?”
His whole posture had changed—rigid, square, defensive. His jaw was tight, his lips curled in that way that reminded me way too much of Merle when he was spoiling for a fight. That same mean tension coiled up in his shoulders, like he needed something to swing at and I’d volunteered by standing too close.
“Goddammit, Daryl— quit! ” My voice cracked, climbing higher than I wanted it to.
“What?” he snapped, like he hadn’t just been cornering me on Rick’s goddamn porch.
I shoved past him before he could step in again, boots thudding hard on the stairs. “ Quit acting like an asshole! ” I half-shouted, spinning back to face him. “You don’t get to take it out on me. You don’t get to sabotage what we have just because you’re pissed and don’t know what else to do with it!”
I could feel the burn behind my eyes, the shaking in my hands. Embarrassment, heartbreak, guilt—fucking everything all at once. “I care ,” I added, my voice cracking. “I care about Denise, and you, and this whole goddamn place, and I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart. But I swear to God, if you keep pushing me like this—”
I cut myself off, jaw tight, eyes burning as I turned away.
“So just…” I choked on it. “ Fuck off, ” I spat, my voice breaking at the end as the first tear slipped down hot against my cheek.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
I stormed down the sidewalk without looking back, my fists clenched and chest heaving. The world blurred around the edges, too bright under the moonlight, too cold against my skin. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I hit the steps of our house and felt my knees threaten to give out.
_____________
The beginning of the worst day of my life — well — the entire day of the worst day of my life, is in bits and pieces. I remember the core stuff. I remember the things that I would look back on for the rest of my life and wonder if I could’ve done anything different.
I remember…
I remember that Daryl didn’t come home that night either.
Or the next morning.
I like to imagine that he stayed with Rick. Slept on his couch, with a blanket, and his belly full. That’s what I like to think whenever I look back on that day.
I like to imagine that before he brought his bike to life, that he contemplated coming inside our home. Maybe he thought of the little yellow room upstairs, and our legs entwined beneath the covers of our duvet, and just briefly—briefly, that he second guessed leaving me behind.
But I knew Daryl, and I knew reality.
All of that was wishful thinking.
A dream.
He stayed on Rick’s front porch, maybe getting a few winks, but never any rest. And he didn’t eat anything. Not a sandwich, not a granola bar, not a thing. Guilt filled his stomach instead.
And when he left, he didn’t think of me. Nor the yellow room that he painted with a child on his mind. Our legs entwined was a distant memory for him, tucked somewhere that didn’t contain blood, grief, or anger. When he brought his bike to life, he never had any intentions of bringing me—or even telling me goodbye.
And he didn’t know that I didn’t sleep that night either.
I sat on the edge of our bed, arms wrapped around my knees, staring out the window until the sky turned gray. I kept thinking about all the things I didn’t say. About how it felt when he blocked my path—not because he was trying to hurt me, but because he was hurting, and didn’t know what else to do with it. About how much he reminded me of someone else in that moment—someone mean and haunted. Someone who’d once made him small.
That was the dismal actuality of the worst day of my life thus far.
No love. No kisses. No thick, sweet, southern accent to lull me into peace.
_____________
“Hey!” I hollered, sprinting straight to the car before Glenn even had a chance to close the door.
Michonne looked back, eyebrows lifting, lips parting like she was gonna ask what the hell I thought I was doing. But I didn’t slow down, and I sure as shit wasn’t open to a discussion. Maybe that was hypocritical of me considering my fight with Daryl the day prior, but at the end of the line, he was nothing short of the love of my life.
I’d go with him through fields of wildflowers or hellfire barefoot and bleeding — it didn’t much matter to me.
Not when he was so adamant about cutting our time together short.
“Whoa!” Abraham thundered up on the other side of the car, yanking the back door open like he’d just decided we were road-tripping to hell together. “Make room for my freckled ass!”
I didn’t care who came. I was ready to get the wheels moving. His bike was a lot faster than us, and there was no telling who he might have already ran into.
Fuck, I was a horrible leader.
Willing to abandon my people; willing to take manpower from my people; willing to put them in jeopardy; all for the sake of my beloved.
But no matter how much Alexandria needed me, I couldn’t breathe knowing he was out there with nothing but rage in his gut and a crossbow on his back.
“No!" I heard Rosita before I saw her. She stepped between Abraham and the car, jabbing the butt of her rifle at his chest. “Cover my watch. You stay.”
Glenn, a voice of reason, always the voice of reason, shouted out of the rolled down window. “Hey! We should keep numbers here."
"I know where Daryl's going," Rosita shot back, slamming the door behind her.
We both did. I had a feeling Rosita wasn’t just tagging along to get Daryl back though — but maybe an opportunity to think on whether she wanted to join him instead.
Michonne met my eyes in the rearview, and I looked away.
I didn’t want her wisdom right now. I didn’t want the calm, collected judgment of someone who had her shit together. I wanted to be reckless. I needed to be reckless.
Every mile Daryl got ahead of me, I imagined a new way I might lose him. A trap. A bullet to the head. And the thought of him dying out there, alone, still angry at me—that was a horror I couldn’t survive.
But the guilt dug deep. Real deep.
I thought about Olivia, manning inventory alone. About Spencer patrolling, out of his depth. About the yellow room I left behind, and the people who looked to me for answers I didn’t have.
_____________
Our starting point was the place where Denise died—her blood still staining the tracks like some sick little monument to what we couldn’t stop. I could still hear her voice, sharp and angry, mid-sentence, right before Daryl’s own bolt cracked through her skull and dropped her where she stood. Her brain hadn’t even caught up in time to die proper. It just stopped. She was gone.
Daryl had a good head start, but if he was thinking straight—and he usually was—he’d be moving slow. Cautious. Calculated.
Still, it only took us about fifteen minutes to catch up.
I wasn’t sure if it was dumb luck or the fact that he’d done a half-assed job covering his tracks, but part of me was pissed he didn’t even try. If it had been me, he would’ve been chewing me out about signs and trails and broken twigs for the next week. I almost wanted to snap at him for it, but hell, we weren’t in snapping distance yet.
So I helped. Made a little more noise than I needed to. Broke a branch here, crunched leaves there. Maybe some selfish piece of me just wanted him to hear us coming.
And he did.
There was a snap-thwip —that unmistakable sound—and a bolt buried itself into a tree not two inches from Rosita’s face.
She froze. Then snapped her head toward the direction it came from.
“Watch the hell out, asshоlе!” she barked, yanking the bolt out of the bark with a harsh tug.
Daryl came stomping toward her like a thundercloud with legs, snatching it from her grip without so much as an apology. His eyes didn’t even flicker in my direction. “I did,” he said, cold and clipped. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Michonne stepped in without missing a beat. “ You shouldn’t have left,” she bit out, sharp as glass.
He didn’t back down. If anything, he stood taller.
“When I split off from Sasha and Abraham, he was out there. That son of a bitch. In the woods. In that burned-out forest with them girls,” he growled. “Put a gun to my head. Tied me up.” I could see his jaw trembling, his hands clenched tight around that bolt like he wanted to drive it into something—someone. “I even tried to help him.”
It was like a switch flipped in my brain. The voice, the stance, the fury—it was Merle Dixon. Not exactly, but enough to send a shiver scraping down my spine, because it was the same anger he wore yesterday. He hadn’t looked like this though since before the prison. Hadn’t sounded like this. Like every decent thing inside him was trying to hold back the tide of old pain, and it was losing.
Glenn stepped up, calm and steady, like always. “So, you think it’s your fault?”
Daryl rounded on him so fast I swear for half a second I thought he was gonna swing. My heart jumped into my throat.
“ Yeah, I know it is.” He was unraveling. Voice cracking. Face twitching like the grief and guilt were clawing their way out through his skin. “I’m gonna go do what I should’ve done before.”
Glenn’s voice was gentle, pleading now. “What, for her? She’s gone, man. You’re doing this for you. ”
Daryl turned back, but shook him off like a bad dream. “Man, I don’t give a shit.”
“Daryl—” Glenn stepped in front of him, hands raised like he was trying to stop a wild animal. “We need to get back there and figure this out from home. Our home. We need you. Everyone back there needs us right now. It’s—” he paused, swallowed. “It’s gonna go wrong out here.”
Michonne nodded, voice softening. “We’ll square it. I will. I promise you. Just come back.”
I held my breath. Every part of me was screaming turn around. Look at me. Please, just look at me.
But he didn’t.
His eyes stayed on the path ahead, the trees, the emptiness. Anything but me.
“I can’t,” he muttered. And then Glenn reached for him.
“Daryl.”
He jerked free like he’d been burned. “ Man, I can’t! ” he roared, and the sound of it cracked through the woods like thunder.
He took off again, fast this time, no hesitation. I stood there, frozen, aching.
Then Rosita moved first. “I can’t either,” she said simply, chasing after him without looking back.
That was enough to break the spell.
I shook my head, muttered a curse, and ran after them, heart in my throat. “Daryl!”
He didn’t stop.
“ Daryl! ” I sprinted harder, branches whipping my arms. I caught up, barely, and grabbed his shoulder.
He shrugged me off, didn’t even glance at me.
“ Go on! ” he barked, still walking.
No.
I wasn’t letting this happen. I wasn’t letting him walk away from me, from us , from everything we’d fought for.
I grabbed him harder this time, yanked his shoulder back, forced him to face me—
And he did.
But it wasn’t him that turned around.
His hands hit my shoulders, gripped tight—too tight—and shook. Hard. I stumbled.
“ Dammit, girl! Quit followin’ me, ya hear me?!” He shook me again and my breath caught. He’d never touched me like this before. Never.
“You go back home, and don’t come out to get me no more. Y’ain’t my fuckin’ keeper, bitch! Don’t need you hangin’ around, tellin’ me what to do!”
And then he shoved me. Not hard enough to hurt—but hard enough to knock me on my ass.
Hard enough to leave me sitting there, stunned and stinging, as he turned his back and disappeared through the trees, Rosita on his heels.
There was loud buzzing in my ears from the moment I hit the ground, and my chest felt numb to the pain that had been spat at out me. ’Go home’.’Bitch.’ The man who hung the moon, and painted each individual star just for me; he’d told me to go home— to the same home that we shared. That he fixed with his bare hands, just for me. He wanted me gone.
He didn’t want me.
And I didn’t realize how cold the ground was until I was sitting on it. Didn’t realize how loud the woods were, how alive with breath and birds and far-off things moving in the underbrush. My heart wasn’t beating right — it was skipping, dragging, stalling. It felt wrong in my chest.
Daryl was gone.
Gone.
He’d put his hands on me, shook me, and called me a bitch like I was nothing. Like I was a vile taste in his mouth.
The man who once sat beside me in silence, just to let me feel safe. The one who shared a dingy cell in a prison with me, and never complained about the hours of yapping I did. Who cupped my face like I might break and called me by a nickname nobody else had picked.
He left me.
No— he didn’t just leave. He pushed .
My throat burned but no sound came out. It was like my body had shut down, gone into emergency mode. No tears. No screams. Just static between my ears, filling up all the places his voice used to echo.
Go home.
To what?
The house he fixed up?
The unmade bed with his half-cleaned t-shirt on one side?
The world where he doesn’t want me anymore?
I stared down the trail like it might take mercy on me and spit him back out. That maybe he’d come running, eyes soft again, whispering he didn’t mean it.
But all it gave me were leaves blowing in the dirt.
“Libby.” Glenn’s voice broke through like sunlight through a storm — gentle, careful. He was standing a few feet away, hands loose. He looked at me like he didn’t want to say what came next. “Come on,” he said quietly. “We need to go home.”
Home.
That word again. That stupid fucking word.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Just watched the place where Daryl disappeared and prayed he’d come back through it. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
“We’ll get Rick,” Glenn went on. “We’ll come back out. We don’t have the numbers right now.”
I closed my eyes hard, like maybe I could force the image of Daryl’s face out of my head. But it wouldn’t go. His voice was still ringing in my ears. His hands still felt like they were on my skin, shaking me down to the bone.
“Glenn…” My voice cracked. “I can’t leave him.”
He looked gutted. Like, for the first time, he didn’t have the right words to say to me. I knew if it was just he and I out there, we would’ve continued to trail him. I followed him to find Maggie after the prison against all odds, and he’d do it for me.
But we weren’t alone.
Michonne knelt beside me, her calmness like a blanket she was trying to throw over my heartbreak. “We have to,” she said, and her hand found my arm, squeezing gently. “We’ll get Rick. We’ll come back out with more people. We came as far as we could.”
“He wouldn’t leave me,” I said.
He wouldn’t. Not the Daryl I knew. Not the Daryl who gave me a sponge bath in the farmhouse a thousand nights ago. Not the one who braided my hair after I told him all of my fucked up family history.
But maybe that Daryl didn’t exist anymore. Maybe I was in love with someone who finally had that last nail hammered into his coffin— and he didn’t survive this world.
Glenn glanced toward the trees, like he wanted to believe that too. Like maybe, deep down, he was still hoping to see Daryl stomp back through, pissed and wild-eyed but there.
“The thing is,” he said, “those men… they could be back in Alexandria right now.”
“If they are,” Michonne said, cold steel in her voice, “they’re dead.”
Glenn exhaled through his nose. “I hope not. We need them alive.”
I pushed myself to my feet finally, knees stiff, body heavy. Every part of me felt off-balance. Like my bones didn’t fit together the way they used to. “We need to find out more,” I said quietly. But my eyes were still trained on the tree line.
Yeah. Daryl was long gone.
“Yeah, we do,” Michonne said, standing beside me now.
We started walking, slow. Glenn leading. Michonne behind him. Me behind her. Every step felt like it was taking me farther away from something I wasn’t ready to lose.
I trailed behind. Couldn’t help it.
That was my boyfriend . My home . The man who called me lady like it was my God given name. And he just—
Left.
“You know,” Glenn said after a while, voice low, almost to himself, “we just got stuck with each other.”
He wasn’t looking at me. Not exactly. Just speaking it into the silence.
“We were lucky.”
I glanced up at him, and for a second, I saw what he meant. Not just about Maggie. About all of it. The way we found people in the middle of the end of the world. The way we clung to each other, even when it hurt, and everything went to shit.
He looked back toward the direction where Daryl had vanished.
“We figured it all out together. It felt like we did. After everything, we did. The world’s not what we thought it was.”
He looked to Michonne then, and something passed between them — shared understanding. “Hilltop. The Saviors,” he went on. “It’s bigger.”
I opened my mouth to say something — I don’t know what — but the sound stopped me cold.
A whistle .
Sharp. Singular.
We all froze.
Then another.
Glenn’s rifle was up in an instant. Michonne raised hers. I lifted mine too, heart jumping.
Another whistle. Louder. Closer. Echoing from every direction.
My eyes darted through the trees, trying to find something — someone — but it was all shadows. All noise.
The sound made my skin crawl. Made my spine go stiff. It was surrounding us, like the forest was closing in.
“Hi.” The voice was oily. Casual. Like he was dropping by for coffee. Dwight stepped from behind a tree, pistol in hand.
Behind him, at least a dozen more men appeared like ghosts. All armed. All staring.
We lowered our weapons.
We weren’t stupid. This wasn’t a fight we could win.
A man moved toward me fast, and before I could blink, my wrists were yanked behind me. Rope. Tight. “What do you want?” I spat, but my voice shook.
Dwight didn’t answer. He just tilted his head. “Gag them.”
Panic sparked in my chest.
Hands grabbed me again. A cloth shoved in my mouth, pulled tight. I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to call out for Daryl. For Rick. For someone .
But there was no one coming.
_____________
They tied us up in a neat little semi-circle like we were just another task to check off their list. Me, Glenn, Michonne—wrists bound tight behind our backs, mouths gagged, stripped of control. We weren’t just cornered. We were conquered. The three of us sat in the dirt like offerings, surrounded by a sea of men who didn’t look worried, didn’t look tired, didn’t look like any of this was new. They were relaxed, some chatting with each other like they were back at camp after a successful hunt. Except we were the trophies.
I counted heads like it mattered. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. More than fifty. That was just in the clearing. Who knew how many were still hiding in the trees? How many were already on the way to Alexandria? Because that was the real gut-punch—knowing that everything we’d done, everything we thought we’d done, meant jack shit. We hadn’t wiped them out. Not even close. The outpost was a dent, not a deathblow. A scratch, and now they were bleeding back, twice as strong, twice as smart. Organized. Like a damn army.
And this…this wasn’t spontaneous. No, this was rehearsed. It was strategic. They’d known about us. Known we were coming. Knew the layout of our town, our routes, our habits. Hell, maybe they’d been watching us for weeks. How many more were out there? Did they already have Rick? Maggie? Carol? My stomach rolled and twisted until I felt sick. We were already too late. And what if they found Daryl and Rosita too? They knew they were out here. One of the bastards even said it, like it was nothing. “We’ll find the others. The ones who split off.” As casual as a comment about the weather.
I clenched my jaw against the gag, tasting dirt and cotton. My wrists ached from how tight they’d bound them. I shifted, trying to ease the pressure, but it didn’t matter. We weren’t getting out of this, not right now. There was too many of them. My mind drifted, like it always did when I was trying not to fall apart, but it only made it worse. I remembered the man in the woods—the one who tried to rape me. He was one of them. Had that same smug cruelty in his voice. The same deadness in his eyes. I’d barely gotten away that time. And now, there were too many. There’d be no running now.
I kept scanning the treeline, hoping, praying that somehow we were still gonna come out on top.
Glenn saw him first—his whole body tensed like a coiled spring, shoulders jerking with panic as he started making these muffled, frantic sounds through the gag. His eyes darted sideways, wild with alarm, not at the fifty-some men surrounding us, not at the weapons they held like extensions of their hands, but at something else. Someone else. I followed his stare through the trees and saw him too.
Daryl.
Crouched low behind a trunk thick with moss, his body barely visible through the underbrush. He looked like a ghost of himself—feral and focused, hair matted to his face, knuckles white around the stock of his crossbow. His eyes found mine. That same blue I’d memorized a hundred times in half-light, in sweat-soaked sheets and whispered arguments by campfires. He raised one finger to his lips, slow and steady. Stay still. Don’t speak.
No, bitch. No, go home.
But Glenn was still making that noise, and it wasn’t panic anymore—it was a warning. Something behind Daryl, something coming.
Then I saw Dwight, slithering forward like the coward he was, half-shadow, half-smirk. I watched his arm lift, watched his fingers curl around the grip of a pistol, watched the sun glint off the barrel like it was winking at me. And time—time fucking stopped .
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. My entire world shrunk to that single, frozen second: Daryl kneeling in the woods, trusting the shadows to keep him safe, while death stepped up behind him.
The gunshot cracked through the clearing like lightning splitting a tree in half. It echoed off the trunks, chased the birds into the sky, sent my heart crashing straight through my ribs.
Daryl staggered.
Just—staggered. Like someone had shoved him in the chest. And then the blood came. Fast and ugly, blooming across his vest, staining the air with a mist of red that painted Dwight’s arm, his face, the leaves behind them like some grotesque Jackson Pollock. Daryl hit the ground hard, and for a second—just a second—he didn’t move.
I broke.
The scream ripped out of me like an animal being skinned alive. It caught in the gag, choked and muffled and ragged, but it didn’t stop. My whole body convulsed, yanking against the ropes so hard I felt them bite through skin. I didn’t care. I didn’t even feel it. I could’ve snapped my own wrist just to get free and still wouldn’t have blinked. I had to get to him. Had to.
“I’ve got medical training!” I tried to say, over and over, slurred and smothered by the gag. “Please! Please, let me go! I can help him!” I didn’t care if they understood me or not. The words came out half-formed, spit flying with each breath, tears hot and blind down my face. “Please, please !”
The men standing over us just laughed. Like it was funny. Like watching me come apart was their idea of entertainment. One of them leaned down, voice like gravel dipped in grease, and said, “You’re a pretty crier. Even gagged.”
I could’ve ripped his face off with my teeth if I could move. Could’ve dug my nails into his eye sockets and kept going until he stopped breathing. But all I could do was scream and shake and watch .
Daryl still wasn’t moving.
I couldn’t tell how bad it was. Couldn’t see his face. Just that blood. So much blood. I kept telling myself it was shoulder, or maybe just a graze—he’s been shot before. He’s been stabbed. He’s survived worse. He’s Daryl fucking Dixon . Nobody could kill a Dixon except a Dixon. That’s what he always said, like a badge of honor. Like a shield.
But now, I didn’t know a damn thing.
And that helplessness cracked something open inside me—something old and rusted, buried deep. The part of me that always thought I’d never get to keep anything good. Not for long. Not really. The part that remembered my sisters leaving home one by one. My uncle’s blood stained shirt before he sent me to Atlanta. Dale’s last conversation with me. The part that knew love was a risk , and I’d taken it anyway—and now it was bleeding out somewhere in the woods because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, good enough.
I could barely see through the tears, couldn’t breathe around the panic, and the only thing I felt—above the fear, above the heartbreak—was this desperate, aching ache . Like someone had reached into my chest and twisted.
He was mine . And I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to save him.
Time didn’t pass so much as drag , thick and suffocating, like it had to crawl its way over every second. I couldn’t keep screaming—not from lack of trying, but because my throat had nothing left. Just breath now. Shallow, gasping, desperate. My whole body shook with it, limbs trembling like leaves in a storm. I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Couldn’t feel anything but the burn of helplessness eating me alive.
Then I saw Dwight and three other men come striding out from the trees, dragging Daryl between them like he weighed nothing. His boots left streaks in the dirt. One of his arms hung limp, smeared with blood, his head slumped forward against his chest like he was just… asleep.
Only he wasn’t asleep.
His vest was soaked, the dark fabric sticking to his back like tar. I couldn’t even tell where the blood ended and the clothes began. One of the men yanked his arm over their shoulder to keep him upright, but Daryl’s knees kept buckling anyway, like his body had given up on fighting.
And Rosita was trailing behind them, her hands up and her jaw tight, trying to stay close without giving them a reason to shoot. Her eyes darted to me once. Just once. That look said everything. She didn’t know how bad it really was.
I wanted to run to him. Throw myself over him. Tear at the men holding him until they were nothing but shredded flesh and bone. But I couldn’t. The ropes still held tight. I was still on my knees, useless, gagged, shaking, and watching them carry the man I loved like he was already dead.
Then a sound—rough, metallic—split the haze.
A large man moved toward us. Burly, wide-shouldered, and silent except for the rasp of the knife in his hand. I tensed. For a second, I thought he was going to finish it. That maybe they were just gonna clean up what was left of us and dump the bodies like garbage in the brush.
Instead, he crouched beside Glenn and cut the zip ties off his wrists.
Then Michonne’s.
Then mine.
My arms collapsed the second they were free. Every nerve lit up like a wildfire—tingling, throbbing, aching. I didn’t even care. I reached for the gag, pawed at it until my fingers scraped fabric, and yanked it down. The sob that came out of me was guttural. Raw. It didn’t sound like me. It didn’t sound like anyone . It was just pain. No shape. No meaning. Just pure, animal grief.
I was still trying to suck in air when Dwight swaggered up to me, boots heavy in the dirt, his silhouette blocking the light. He didn’t look at Glenn. Didn’t look at Michonne. Just me. Like I was the real prize here. His eyes glittered—narrow and venomous, full of something that made my stomach roll. “You gonna shut up?” he asked, his voice oozing with amusement. “Or do we need to gag all of you up again?”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
“Let me stop the bleeding,” I rasped. “Please. Let me help him.”
He smiled. But it wasn’t the kind of smile that meant anything good. It was the kind you saw right before a snake sank its fangs in. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his gaze roamed over my face like he was considering something. “Didn’t answer my question, darlin’,” he said finally, slow and mocking. “But you sure do beg pretty.”
I wanted to hit him. Spit on him. Sink my nails into his rotted, smug skin and drag him down into the dirt. But instead I just stared. Pleading. I didn’t care how broken I looked. Didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. My hands were trembling and slick with sweat, but I held them out in front of me anyway, like maybe that gesture would be enough. Like maybe he’d see I wasn’t a threat anymore—I was just desperate.
Dwight’s smirk widened. “You’re gonna be in for a lot of hurtin’ later on,” he said, soft like a secret.
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I’d already given him too much. I didn’t want to hear what he meant . I didn’t care about what came later. I only cared about Daryl. Getting to him. Stopping the bleeding. Making sure he lived to tell me he wasn’t worth saving.
Dwight leaned back a little, then jerked his head to someone behind me. “Romeo,” he called lazily, like it was a game, “get the girl one of them towels.” He turned back to me, smile fading just enough to show the rot underneath. “It’ll be covered in oil, but it’ll have to do.”
It wasn’t an act of kindness. It wasn’t even pity. It was mockery . He wanted to watch me use a filthy rag to try and patch up the man he’d just shot like a goddamn trophy kill. He didn’t think I could do anything. Didn’t think it mattered. Just wanted to see how far I’d crawl.
I didn’t give a damn.
Didn’t say thank you.
Didn’t say anything.
Romeo—young, nervous, a gun slung too loose over his shoulder—handed me a towel that stank of exhaust. It was stained, but I clutched it like it was a lifeline. My legs barely worked as I pushed to my feet, knees wobbling beneath me. I could still feel the impression of the ground burned into my skin. Still tasted blood and fabric in my mouth.
But I didn’t stop.
I turned and sprinted toward the van, stumbling twice, catching myself with trembling hands. My ribs screamed, and my shoulder throbbed, and everything inside me felt like it was unraveling—but I ran . Because Daryl needed me.
So I kept moving until I reached the edge of that van and saw his body slumped inside. Rosita was already putting pressure to the wound. “Dar,” I said his name, but didn’t get to see his face before the metal doors of the van were slammed shut, engulfing us in darkness.
The darkness was suffocating—literally—hot, airless, thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder and motor oil. I couldn’t see a damn thing, just vague shapes and the sound of breathing, shallow and strained. Rosita shifted beside me, her hands sticky and slick, voice low with panic as she whispered, “It’s not as bad as it looks, I think it just stunned him.”
“Good,” I said, or maybe I just thought it. It didn’t matter. I was already climbing over her, pressing the oil-stained towel against the wound like my life depended on it—because it did. Mine. His. Ours.
Daryl groaned beneath me, a sharp, wet sound that made my stomach turn. His body twitched, jerking away from the pressure, but I didn’t ease up. Couldn’t. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely keep them in place, but I didn’t stop pressing. Couldn’t tell how deep the bullet went, but when I felt the exit wound beneath my fingers—when I realized it passed clean through—I swallowed the bile in my throat and breathed just enough to steady myself. It was bad. But it could’ve been worse.
“Daryl,” I whispered, leaning in so close I could feel his breath against my cheek. “Hey. You’re gonna be fine, okay?”
He mumbled something that sounded like my name, then again, quieter. Like he was dreaming it.
“I’m here,” I said, dragging the towel down to cover both wounds, folding it the best I could in the dark, trying to keep pressure without hurting him more. “You’re okay. I got you.”
He shifted, trying to sit up, muscles straining weakly beneath my hands.
“No—don’t.” I pushed him back gently, guiding him down again. “You’ll make it worse.”
He muttered something unintelligible, another groan rattling in his chest. His head lolled toward my shoulder, forehead brushing my collarbone like he didn’t have the strength to hold it up.
I held the towel firmer, feeling it soak through, but surprisingly not as quick as I thought it would. “Goddamn it,” I choked, fingers slipping when it did finally bleed through. “I need more—something clean—”
There was nothing. Just me, my hands, and this fucking towel.
“You’re not getting an infection, Dixon,” I whispered, mouth right against his temple. “You hear me? You’re not. Not after calling me a bitch and running off,”
The van jostled slightly, metal creaking with every shift of weight, every breath that sounded too loud in the dark. I stayed crouched beside Daryl, hand slick with sweat and blood as I pressed the towel against the wound. My shoulders were cramping, my knees raw from kneeling, but I didn’t let up. Couldn’t. Every shallow rise and fall of his chest was a victory. Every low groan, a promise that he was still here.
A soft tap at my waist made me flinch, and I nearly elbowed whoever it was—until I heard Glenn’s voice. “I have this rag,” he whispered, low and urgent.
I felt for it in the dark, my fingers brushing against the fabric—softer than the oil-stained towel, and maybe cleaner, too. “Thanks,” I murmured, taking it from him. There wasn’t time for gratitude. Just triage. I bunched it over the towel, reinforcing the pressure on Daryl’s chest, and prayed to whatever the hell was listening that it would hold.
Rosita’s voice cut through the thick silence. “What’s the plan now?” she asked. Her tone was edged, frayed—like the last thread holding her together was about to snap.
“As soon as the bleeding slows down,” I said quietly, my thumb brushing across Daryl’s cheek in a motion I barely registered, “we’re gonna prop him up and get it elevated.” My voice cracked near the end. I tried to forget how he’d called me a bitch earlier. Told me to go home.
Rosita snapped again, sharper this time. “No. I mean, how do we get out of here?”
Michonne’s answer came calm and cold: “We don’t.”
“So we just give up?” Rosita shot back. Not venomous—just frustrated. Cornered. She had a right to be.
I stared down at the dim shape of Daryl beneath my hands, watching the cloth soak a little slower now. I was thinking about what Rick would do. About how he always had a plan. How he’d find a way through the cracks, blaze a trail even when the walls were closing in. I tried to imagine channeling that. Tried to hear Rick’s voice in my head.
But it wasn’t there.
Because I’m not Rick.
I’m not a sheriff, not that kind of leader. I don’t rally troops or make desperate plays that somehow work out in the end. I’m Libby. And I know pain. I know how fast blood can leave a body. I know when a move will get someone killed.
So I shook my head. “With Daryl like this, we aren’t gonna make it far. And that’s not taking into account the fifty or so men outside, probably waiting for us to try something.” My voice dropped. I lifted the cloth just enough to check the bleeding. Still slow. Still steady. “Rick’s gonna come after us once he realizes we’ve been gone too long.”
“That’s exactly what they want,” Michonne said.
Rosita exhaled through her nose, hard. “So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait?”
Daryl shifted under me, his body tightening, breath rasping through clenched teeth. “M’ fine,” he mumbled, trying to sit up again like a goddamn idiot.
I shoved him back down, not gently. “Shut up,” I snapped. “Yes, we just wait and—”
A deafening bang shook the side of the van. Metal rattled, and the sound slammed into me like a gunshot. I jerked back, hand flying instinctively toward Daryl’s chest again, trying to shield him.
“Be quiet or we shoot him again!” a voice barked from outside. Male. Cruel.
Silence dropped like a hammer.
My throat closed. My heart beat so fast it felt like it would crack my ribs from the inside. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the image of another bullet tearing into Daryl. Of blood gushing while I screamed and no one could stop it. I felt sick. Useless.
_____________
The daylight was gone. I could tell by the way the light shifted in through the bullet-holes—what used to stream in like something warm and golden had dulled into a cold, washed-out kind of blue of LED headlights. It was like even the sun didn’t wanna witness what came next. Everything felt dimmer, not just outside, but in me too. And the part of me that still believed we’d be okay was flickering out with the last of the light.
Daryl wasn’t bleeding anymore. Or at least not enough for it to show. He was slumped against the side of the van, breathing slow, shoulders moving just enough to tell me he was still alive. The towel he’d used was crusted dark against his skin, draped over him like some makeshift armor, but he didn’t complain. We didn’t say much—just a few quiet words traded like smuggled contraband, barely audible over the creak of the metal and the occasional voice outside. He’d tried apologizing more than once, tried whispering something like regret, but I shut him down every time. Not out of anger. Not because I blamed him. I just couldn’t bear to hear any kind of goodbye. Not yet. We weren’t done.
But that hope, that thin thread I’d been clinging to since the doors slammed shut behind us, was fraying fast.
My mind kept spinning, scraping against every possibility, trying to dig its way out through the walls. Rick had to be looking for us. He had to. He wouldn’t just let us disappear without turning over every road, every inch of the map. He’d find a way—he always did. Maybe he’d cut a deal, maybe he’d put a bullet in somebody’s head, maybe he’d stand up in front of them like a man possessed and demand they give us back. He was probably already trying. Probably getting closer. And once he did… once we were free…
We’d go back to Alexandria. Back to that quiet little house.
We’d work it out. Me and Daryl.
I’d sit across from him in our kitchen again, hands wrapped around a mug that didn’t truly belong to me. I’d tell him I didn’t mean to piss him off. That I loved him so much it scared me. That the thought of losing him made my chest ache like it’d been hollowed out and left there to rot.
Time passed weirdly in the van. Slow and fast all at once. The light dimmed more. The voices outside multiplied, came in waves. First just a couple. Then more. Snatches of conversation that didn’t quite reach us. The occasional bark of laughter that made my skin crawl. I kept counting the voices without meaning to, like I could somehow outnumber them with my own stubborn will.
But then the whistling started.
All at once, like the forest itself was exhaling. High and eerie and wrong . It sliced right through the walls of the van and into me, and I swear my heart just… stopped. Everything went still except for that sound. Daryl shifted fast, shoulders tense as he angled himself in front of me, the towel still clinging to him like a bandage he didn’t care to replace. Even in the weak light, I could see the way he moved—protective, automatic.
I reached out and pressed my hand to his thigh, fingers gripping a little too tight. I just needed something solid. Something alive. If I kept touching him, maybe I wouldn’t slip into whatever dark place my mind was dragging me toward.
There were voices again. Closer now. But muffled. Too many to track. No names. No faces. Just shadows moving around us.
The door wrenched open so suddenly it made me audibly gasp when I saw Dwight. But I didn’t even have time to flinch before his hand shot in and snatched Daryl by the wrist dragging him out first, muttering, “Come on. You got people to meet.”
For a second, I sat frozen, the abrupt rush of outside light burning into my eyes like a punishment. Then I scrambled forward, practically falling out of the van in my rush to keep up. I didn’t want to give them the opportunity to touch me; wasn’t about to be yanked like some broken doll. I hit the dirt and staggered, the dim world expanding into my soul being ripped away from my very being.
Rick. Carl. Aaron. Eugene. Abraham. Sasha… and Maggie .
She looked like a ghost. Slumped against the gravel, pale as death — skin washed out and barely clinging to consciousness. My knees buckled under me and I dropped down beside Daryl, staying close, needing to be close out of unmitigated terror.
I could barely breathe. I could hear Glenn whisper her name somewhere off to the side, but he got shoved back down before I could track the sound. All I could do was look. Just look and hurt and wonder how we had ended up here.
Rick caught my eye for a split second and his look was sharp, and full of warning, despite his own body language being wracked with uncertainty. Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t do anything stupid.
And then a voice I didn’t recognize boomed out, grating and obnoxiously chipper. “All right! We got a full boat,” a Savior with a thick mustache declared. He sounded like he was announcing a late night game show. He thudded a fist against the side of the RV. “Let’s meet the man!”
I turned to Daryl instinctively. His eyes were narrowed, his body stiff. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him like this—not with Merle, not with the Governor, not even with Joe’s group. For just a second, and maybe for the first time ever… I saw fear flicker in him.
And then the door to the RV creaked open.
Out came a man wearing a red scarf tucked neatly around the opening of a pristine leather jacket, all cocky swagger and a stupid grin that made my skin crawl. I knew his face, somehow. He looked like that actor my aunt used to drool over, the one from that hospital show with the L-VAD wire storyline. And he was carrying a bat.
A baseball bat.
Wrapped in barbed wire.
“Pissin’ our pants yet?” he drawled, walking toward us with a bounce in his step. “Boy, do I have a feelin’ we’re gettin’ close.”
I lowered my gaze fast, swallowing hard. My stomach twisted. I didn’t want to make eye contact. Didn’t want to draw attention. I felt like a coward for it, but I kept my head down.
“Yep,” he went on, too damn pleased with himself. “Gonna be pee-pee pants city here real fuckin’ soon.” He stopped. “Which one of you pricks is the leader?”
My whole body locked up.
I felt Daryl shift beside me again, just slightly, and I knew— he knew.
I was the leader.
This was my fault.
But the Saviors didn’t know that. They hadn’t called me out.
“It’s this one,” the mustached Savior said, jabbing a finger toward Rick. “He’s the guy.”
And just like that, my guilt grew claws.
I stared at Rick. I wanted to call out, to correct him, to take the heat off him. But I didn’t. I let them believe it. Let them shift the blame to someone who didn’t deserve it. Again . My heart sank so fast I thought it might leave a crater in my chest.
The man with the bat grinned wider. “Hi,” he said, all fake-friendly charm. “You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men.”
He glanced down, like he was counting bodies in his mind. “Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killin’ my people, you killed more of my fuckin’ people.” He tilted his head like a disappointed teacher. “Not cool. Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes.”
My spine prickled. I wanted to disappear.
Negan kept talking, but it was less like conversation and more like a performance. He was pacing now, showboating, the bat swinging at his side like a third limb. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what, you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this—and it’s really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you very well may fuckin’ be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes. Pay attention.”
He dropped the bat down from his shoulder, stopping it just short of Rick’s face. The sound made me flinch, every nerve in my body screaming.
“Give me your shit,” he whispered, “or I will kill you.”
Then he spun and kept walking, dragging that tension along with him like a storm cloud.
“Today was career day,” he announced. “We invested a lot so you would know who the fuck I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it… you most certainly fuckin’ will.”
I thought about Hilltop. About how desperate they’d been. About how I’d let our people get involved. I thought we were doing the right thing. Protecting people. Stopping monsters. And now we were kneeling in the dirt, our people bruised and bleeding and shaking, because I hadn’t understood what we were walking into.
Negan strolled past Carl. Paused. Kept going. Then he stopped right in front of me.
Our eyes met.
I held his gaze, even when everything in me wanted to look away. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Don’t show fear . Don’t let him win. He smiled like he could see right through me.
Then he moved on.
“You ruled the roost,” he said casually, now back in front of Rick like this was just a beer-and-bullshit chat between neighbors. “You built something. You thought you were safe. I get it. But… the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are fucked . More fucked if you don’t do what I want.”
Half. He wanted half of everything.
“We’ve got barely enough to feed our own people,” I thought, panic building. “How the hell are we supposed to give half to him ?”
“This is your way of life now,” he went on. “The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that fuckin’ door. You try to stop us and we will knock that shit down. You understand?”
Rick hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t even blinked.
He looked broken.
I’d seen Rick in every mode—angry, calculating, hopeful, grieving—but this was something else. He looked… empty. Hollowed out from the inside without an answer for the very first time.
Negan wasn’t finished. “What, no answer?” he demanded, smirking. “You didn’t really think that you were gonna get through this without bein’ punished, now, did you? I don’t wanna kill you people. Just wanna make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you?”
For a heartbeat, I thought—maybe. Maybe we’ll make it out of this. Battered, bruised, scared shitless, but alive.
Then Negan shrugged.
“I’m not growin’ a garden,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But… you killed my people. A whole fuckin’ lot of ’em. More than I’m comfortable with. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”
He lifted the bat, slowly, reverently, like it was sacred.
“So now,” he said, “I’m gonna beat the holy fuckin’ hell outta one of you.”
In one quick spin he continued pacing. “This,” Negan announces, twirling the bat in his hands, “This is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.”
My breath stuttered in my lungs, cold and uneven. The longer this went on, the more I felt reality slipping into something surreal—like time wasn’t working right. He said it so casually, that this was just a process. A game. A sick ritual. And we were the prizes. The meat on display. My stomach churned violently, the taste of bile thick in the back of my throat.
He came to a stop in front of Abraham.
Abraham squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. No defiance in words, just in the way he carried himself—unbending and silent, daring Negan to choose him. I admired that, God, I did, but it made me want to scream. We were all going to die. One by one. Or all at once. And standing tall wasn’t going to change that. None of us could stop this. No amount of bravery was going to shield us from the storm coming down.
We were fucked.
Negan cocked his head, scratching at his face like he was picking a melon at a market stall. “Huh. Ugh. I gotta shave this shit.”
He moved on.
The second he stepped away from Abraham, my body sagged forward, barely noticeable, but enough that my muscles no longer locked in the same desperate brace. But that small relief vanished the moment he crouched down in front of Carl.
“You got one of our guns,” he said, almost conversational. “Whoa… yeah. You got a lotta our guns.” Carl didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His face was stone. Untouchable. “Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little.”
Somewhere inside the tight knot of horror clawing through me, a flicker of pride sparked to life. That was Lori’s son. That was Rick’s son. That was all of our kid. And he wasn’t giving Negan the satisfaction of fear.
But the pride was gone before I could even hold onto it.
Negan stood back up, laughing like this was just entertainment for him. A show. A Saturday night.
He kept walking.
Maggie’s name was already forming in my head before he reached her, dread cutting sharp through my ribs. I saw her slumped posture, her skin damp with sweat, too pale in the dim light. She couldn’t even hold her head all the way up anymore. Whatever fever was in her had taken root, growing like mold under her skin. “Jesus,” he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. “You look shitty. I should just put you outta your misery right now.”
My mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. My scream froze in the back of my throat.
And then Glenn was moving. “No!” he roared, lunging forward with everything in him. “No!”
The sound of it cracked me open. My heart stuttered, a surge of panic electrifying my spine as Glenn’s voice tore through the silence. He wasn’t thinking—he was feeling , reacting, loving. And it was going to get him killed.
Dwight was on him instantly, dragging him down and pounding into him without hesitation. My limbs jerked, instinctively ready to move, to help, to do something , but the slight brush of fingers against my thigh stopped me. Daryl’s ghosted touch caused me not to even lift a hand. My legs were numb. My arms too heavy. All I could do was wait before I reacted.
Glenn thrashed beneath Dwight, wild with panic, and my tears finally broke loose. Hot. Silent. My body stayed frozen, but my face trembled under the weight of it all.
“Stop it!” Maggie sobbed.
Glenn stopped moving, his limbs going limp at the sound of her voice. The shift in him was immediate. As if all his fire had been pulled out in one second. Dwight kept him pinned, Daryl’s stolen crossbow pressed against Glenn’s chest, but it was Negan who drew all the attention back.
He turned, face lit up like this was the highlight of the night. “Nope!” he barked, his voice booming. “Nope, get ’im back in line.”
Glenn was dragged across the dirt, knees scraping rock, fighting and crying and calling out, the sound of it carving deep gouges inside me. He wasn’t crying for himself. He was crying for her.
“Don’t!” he begged, voice ragged and breaking. “Don’t.”
Negan just smiled. “All right, listen,” he said, amusement lacing every word, “Don’t any of you do that again. I will shut that shit the fuck down, no exceptions. First one’s free. It’s an emotional moment, I get it.”
The air around us went still. Dead still. Not a single breath dared to break it. Fear pressed down over all of us, a thick, invisible shroud that threatened to squeeze the air right out of our lungs. I kept expecting someone to move—to say something—to stand up and stop this.
But none of us did.
Because we couldn’t.
Because we knew .
This wasn’t a fight we could win. Not today. Not in the position we were in.
Negan’s voice dropped into something darker, quieter, more dangerous. “Sucks, don’t it?” he said, his gaze landing on Rick like a weight. “The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”
Rick didn’t lift his head. But I saw it—whatever spark had always been there, the thing that made him Rick Grimes… it was flickering. Dimming. I hated it. I hated him for it. I hated that we had come so far just to be thrown down like dogs before a man with a bat.
Negan moved again, zeroing in on Carl.
“This is your kid, right?” he asked Rick, grinning like it was a game. “This is definitely your fuckin’ kid!”
“Just stop this!” Rick’s voice cracked open, torn from the back of his throat.
“Hey!” Negan shouted, twisting on him with venom. “Do not make me kill the little future serial killer. Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody. Everybody’s at the fuckin’ table, waitin’ for me to order.”
He started pacing again, lips pulled back in a sick imitation of a smile, whistling through his teeth like he was picking appetizers off a damn menu.
“I simply cannot decide,” he said, eyes crawling over each of us like insects under a glass. His gaze locked on mine and didn’t move.
My breath caught.
He saw me. And in that split-second, I knew—I was an option. I was on his list.
“It all looks delicious,” he said. “I got an idea.”
.i’ve been down on bended knee, talkin’ to the man from Galilee.
Notes:
omg. so… this chapter and the next took me the ENTIRE nine days of absence to write. i do NOT feel like they are good at all.
i erased, re-wrote, erased, re-wrote, erased, re-wrote, CONSTANTLY.
my birthday was the 12th, and y’all… i was so pissed that i didn’t have it even ALMOST done. i was so hype that we got to Negan during April and wanted it posted on my birthday… but my skills took a bit ole flop.
Chapter 68: dandelion seeds
Summary:
Glenn buried his face in his hands. “Libby.”
“Gotta keep everyone on their toes,” I teased. “Can’t let anyone know my next moves. Maybe Rick, maybe Daryl, maybe you and Maggie.”
Chapter Text
.just tell me about your day, just as it was, baby.
Lavender, and baby pink, and butter yellow, and pastels. Those were my favorite shades. The soft ones—the ones that looked like they belonged in watercolor paintings or dream sequences. For as long as I could remember, I dreamed of being a soft and sweet girl. The kind with floral bedding adorned in cotton ruffles, and a dresser full of clean clothes that fit me just right. Clothes that didn’t smell like mildew or sit awkward on my shoulders. Clothes that were mine, not borrowed from someone else’s cast-offs or pulled from a forgotten bag behind a church donation bin.
It was the furthest thing from what I grew up with—admittedly, I was still technically a child—but now, standing in the cool, humming aisle of Lowe’s with the buzzing lights overhead and the overwhelming smell of sawdust and fresh paint, I felt like could get anything I liked.
Uncle Clyde let me pick.
An entire day, dedicated to decorating a space exclusively for me.
“Whatever color I want?” I asked him, cradling a palette of swatches like it was something holy. My eyes scanned the massive wall of colors, my heart skipping with every name—“Powder Petal,” “Blushing Apricot,” “Seashell Veil.” I tried to string them together in my mind like a ribbon of satin, trying to imagine what a room like that might feel like. Safe, warm, sweet like honey milk. Maybe it would smell like dryer sheets and vanilla lotion and be lit up with the soft gold of fairy lights.
“Maybe not black,” he muttered without looking at me.
I rolled my eyes and bumped my shoulder into his. He knew I wasn’t going to pick black. He knew. The idea of returning to the world of browns and beiges and the too-dark greys of my past made my stomach twist. That life had smelled like rot and bleach. It had sounded like doors slamming and arguments behind walls and me pretending I didn’t hear any of it. But Uncle Clyde never missed a chance to tease. Or to try and take something grim and stretch it just far enough to make it a little funny. A little bearable.
For the first time in nearly fourteen years, I was actually excited to go home.
Home.
To the little place at the end of the not-quite-paved road, where the gravel clicked under tires and the porch light flickered if it rained too hard. Where Aunt Bea hung tea towels to dry on the railing and always had a pie cooling even if we didn’t have guests coming. Where the crockpot was practically a fourth member of the household, bubbling with pot roast or chicken and dumplings more nights than not.
Upstairs, there was a perfect little bathtub just for me—clawfoot, with a chipped rim, and a window that let in the afternoon sun. I’d pour in too much bubble bath, turn on the radio, and let myself feel clean and soft and girlish in a way I never could before.
Across the hall, in a perfect little pale yellow room—no.
Home.
Home was the living room couch that always sloped to the left where Uncle Clyde had broken in the cushions with his favorite books and his beer belly. Home was Aunt Bea’s humming and the little paper notes she left in my lunch. Home was their mismatched mugs and Clyde’s too-loud sneezes and the way they looked at me like I was something to be proud of. Something to love.
Home.
Home with Aunt Bea and Uncle Clyde. We didn’t have spare bedrooms or space for babies. It was just us three. But — my mattress was so much softer in my new home, and I fit into his arms perfectly. He had pretty blue eyes, and a permanent scowl, but when he slept it was so peaceful. Like a man who finally had everything he ever wanted. And he told me he loved me.
No pretty blue eyes. No floral bedding. No crockpot. No late-night humming from the hallway. My aunt was dead. My uncle was dead. Abraham too.
Gone like dandelion seeds on a bad wind.
And there was a lot of crimson. Sticky and syrup-thick. Blood that didn’t rinse out. Blood that soaked into the ground and painted my palms.
Everything was red now. Not soft reds. Not pinks. Just blood.
And I was so, so tired of red.
Of blood.
_____________
Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
So.
Much.
Blood.
Splattered everywhere; on the ground; on Maggie; on the bat; on the cuffs of Negan’s jacket.
And Abraham. Oh, Abraham.
Sergeant Abraham Ford: on a mission to save the goddamn world. That’s how he’d introduced himself to Tara and I all those months ago. A man built like a tank. Strong willed and determined, straight from the jump. He successfully helped Eugene get to Washington D.C (despite the cure factor being a lie), and in doing so, Sergeant Abraham Ford melded into part of our tight knit group of family.
But now—there he was, a body without a head. Just a pulverized splotch of blood and brain matter on the ground, where his neck once met his skull.
And all Negan did was laugh — continue to mock us — as if obliterating a piece of our hearts wasn’t enough.
He swung blood spatter all around us.
Sexualized his weapon of choice as it was doused in the remnants of Abraham.
Pointed it in Rosita’s face; the woman who loved him, no matter his faults or how he’d abandoned her.
Taunted her.
And.
And.
Daryl— the man who was once a constant time-bomb, who didn’t care what he said to anyone, who stood vigilantly behind our group, who always wanted the best for each and every one of us.
The love of my life.
A noise I didn’t even know I was capable of making made my chest cave in with agony as I watched the very crossbow he once carried was pointed directly at his chest — a bolt knocked and ready to pierce.
Not him.
Not him.
_____________
“Not him,” he said, nestling his chin in the crook of my neck. His voice was quieter now, like we were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “Just one of his friends he used to run with. Shit got outta hand, and we ended up dumping it in the creek.”
My brows furrowed and I couldn’t help the breathy little laugh that slipped out. His scruff tickled at the most sensitive part of my neck, and when I squirmed, he pulled me in tighter, arms wrapped snug around my waist like I might slip away if he loosened them.
“You laughin’ at me, girl?” Daryl teased, his voice so close I could feel it vibrate through my skin.
I let out a louder laugh this time, tossing my head back onto the pillow as I tried to picture it—young Daryl, caught up in some Merle-fueled scheme, dragging something God-awful into a creek under a moonlit sky. I figured I could get used to this feeling. His arms around me. The two of us tangled together, skin to skin, legs woven like vines under a blanket that probably belonged to another couple a couple months ago. One that didn’t make it.
Friends with benefits wasn’t so bad with Daryl. But maybe a relationship wouldn’t be either. Not if he kept looking at me like that. Not if he kept laughing into my neck, holding me like this, making me feel like I belonged somewhere.
And if this was all he could give me—just this sliver of warmth in a cold world—I’d take it. I’d take every second.
“So did anyone ever get arrested for it?” I asked, my fingers playing lazily with the edge of the blanket as I leaned back against him, pressing in like I could somehow crawl beneath his skin.
“Nah,” he muttered, shaking his head, the scratch of his chin grazing my neck again. “I ain’t ever seen them after that. Pretty sure Merle dealt with it.”
“You didn’t have to pay them or anything? My sister always had to pay a debt,” I mumbled, not really thinking about it until the words were already out. It was always debts with her. Cigarettes. Pills. Favors. I guess when you’re in deep, people start keeping tabs.
“Didn’t owe a debt. And besides,” he said, voice growing a little harder, a little older, “it was still Merle’s shit. I’s just coverin’ his ass when it all went down.”
My aunt and uncle would probably be a little disappointed in the fact that I was sleeping with a man who’d apparently helped dump something suspicious into a creek and had somehow slipped under the police radar despite the amount of drugs his brother moved. But in both his and my defense, it was usually Merle’s stash. Daryl was more of an accessory to crime than a criminal. A reluctant sidekick with a sunburn and a conscience.
“So legally speaking…” I trailed off, finally rolling over in his arms to face him. I liked looking at him like this—his hair messy, face a little sleepy, skin warm against mine. “You’re squeaky clean?”
He made a face. “Couple traffic violations. A DUI. But—”
“ Daryl Dixon! ” I squeaked, way louder than I meant to, which made him snort. “A DUI is serious! ”
He groaned like I was dragging him through the mud. “I’s hardly over the legal limit.”
“Doesn’t matter!” I scolded, poking him in the chest, though I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “That’s still illegal!”
“Whatever,” he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m serious! And didn’t you say you kept an unregistered gun in your glove box?” I said, eyes widening in mock horror. “How the hell did they not get you for that too?”
“I guess they didn’t look,” he shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like keeping a loaded firearm under your seat was just another Tuesday.
I sighed. “God, I freaked out once at the airport when they asked if I was carrying a bomb. I had a full-blown panic attack because I thought—what if I was ? Like accidentally? I don’t even know how to make a bomb, but I was convinced I could’ve somehow brought one anyway.”
He laughed then, the raspiest, warmest laugh I’d ever heard—something that etched itself straight into my memory. Not just the sound of it, but the feeling too. That low rumble in his chest. The way it made his arms flex around me.
“That’s not how it works,” he chuckled, voice dragging like gravel over honey.
“That’s not how it works,” I echoed, rolling my eyes as I snuggled closer, letting the moment swallow me whole.
That’s not how it works.
_____________
"That's not how it works. Now, I already told you people. First one's free. Then; what'd I say? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions. Now I don't know what kinda lyin' assholes you been dealin' with, but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are fuckin' important. I need you... to know me. So…" Negan hefts the bat again, voice lilting, he grins, “Back to it.”
Then he spins.
The sickening, wet crack of wood slamming into flesh and bone. That sound shatters the air and breaks something inside me so violently I swear I physically feel it. The bat hits Glenn’s head, and the world—my world stops.
No, no, no, no, no—
My entire body jerks forward, but my knees won’t move. My legs are filled with stone. My hands fly to my mouth. I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. I can’t even scream. Glenn’s body slumps, and the way he drops—it isn’t right. It’s not just pain or unconsciousness. It’s gravity winning a war no one saw coming.
And in that moment, I shatter.
There’s no air in my lungs. No thoughts left in my head. It’s all just sound—blood rushing in my ears, the distant ring of someone sobbing. My heart clenches so violently it feels like something’s clawing at it from the inside, trying to tear it out. I want to move. I need to move. But I’m locked in place, frozen by a grief so massive it eclipses everything else.
Glenn.
Glenn.
That’s my best friend. My person. The one who made the beginning of the end of the world so much sweeter. Who shared a tent with me, and spent countless hours awake, yapping about Marvel or the stolen set of manga he’d found. Who listened to Billy Joel and mourned Dale alongside me. Who gave me his last can of peaches once because he knew I was having a hard day. Who made me the godmother of his unborn child.
And now… now he’s…
I hear myself whimper. It sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well, muffled and far away, but it’s me. It’s my voice, breaking under the weight of something I don’t know how to carry.
He lifts his head. Oh God, Glenn tries to lift his head. His skull is cracked open and he’s trying to lift it— why is he still moving? His face is bloodied and caved in and yet somehow, somehow, he’s still alive in there. His one eye barely open, the other lost to swelling, and his mouth works around broken syllables that punch the breath out of my chest.
“M-Maggie,” he slurs. “I'll find you.”
That’s it.
That’s the final blow—not the bat, not the gore, not the ruin of his face. It’s the love in his voice. The way he uses his last strength to speak her name. He’s not screaming or pleading. He’s loving her . Even with his brain exposed to the air, even with his death halfway through the door, Glenn chooses love.
I fold in on myself, my hands clawing at my hair, my scalp, anything to anchor me before I unravel. My stomach lurches like it’s going to purge itself, and bile burns the back of my throat, but I choke it down because I can’t look away. I won’t look away. If this is the last moment I get with him, I owe him every broken second of it.
Negan steps forward again.
No.
The bat rises.
Please.
It falls.
Please, no—
Over and over.
And I watch. I watch. I watch until there’s nothing left but red and pulp and the soft, wet thunk of wood striking meat. I watch until Glenn isn’t there anymore—not really—and all that’s left is the echo of him in my bones, my memories, my breaking heart.
He’s gone.
He’s really, truly gone.
Something inside me splits wide open, and I’m drowning in it—grief, rage, disbelief, guilt. I feel it all at once, like I’m being crushed under the weight of a collapsing world. My face is soaked in tears I didn’t even feel falling. I try to scream but no sound comes out, just this raw, rasping inhale like I’ve been punched in the chest by God himself. My mouth opens in a sob that doesn’t even sound human. I think I’m going to pass out. I want to. I want to stop existing, if only for a second. Anything to not feel this.
I hear Maggie crying, and it cuts me open all over again.
I should’ve protected him. I should’ve said something. I should’ve done something. Anything. He was the best of us. And now he’s a corpse in the dirt, and the world is colder without him.
I think of every dumb conversation we ever had—who’d win in a fight, Naruto or Goku? Was peach cobbler better than cherry? The way his mouth gaped when I said I’d slept with Daryl. How he teased me for not knowing how to fix a carburetor but still tried to teach me. How he hugged me once when I was shaking after
Daryl left with Merle, and didn’t let go until I stopped pretending I was okay.
Glenn Rhee is gone.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep going.
_____________
I knew his age, where he was from, how many sisters he had, and that he used to be a pizza boy, all within our very first conversation. I also learned that he liked video games and that baseball was his favorite sport, so maybe I found my first ‘end-of-the-world’ friend if things never returned to normal.
Never before had I hit it off with someone quite as quick as I did with Glenn Rhee, and ever since I always wondered if most people really went their entire lives with someone like him to call a friend.
“I was never big on COD ; Halo was more my jam,” he told me, right after blabbering on about PlayStation versus Xbox , like it was a deeply philosophical debate.
I bit my lip, not to hide a smile—though there was a hint of one there—but more out of caution. Despite his bubbly, borderline infectious nature, I wasn’t used to people like him. Friendly people. Warm ones. People who actually wanted to talk to me without trying to get something in return. Because… well… I’d never had a real friend before. Not one that stuck. And frankly, I deserved to be a little apprehensive. It’s not like caution was a bad thing—not when the world had basically gone to hell and the kindest people could still be the ones hiding a switchblade.
I mean, I guess I had technically let the cautious ship sail when I agreed to bring my truck around and camp near Dale’s RV. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to be a little skeptical about the rest of the people scattered around the quarry.
Still—Glenn’s eyes were lit up like the Fourth of July, just waiting eagerly for my response. It was almost cute how oblivious he was to the fact that I was still sizing him up. He reminded me of a golden retriever peeking through a front window, waiting for someone to come home. Tail wagging. Hope in every inch of him.
Except instead of a tongue hanging out and soft whining, Glenn had a slightly-too-snug baseball cap and a wide, toothy grin like he’d already decided we were going to be best friends whether I liked it or not.
And something about that—about how pure and soft he looked—yeah, I could give him an inch.
“You ever watch RvB ?” I asked, almost testing him.
His whole face lit up, eyes crinkling. “ Hell yeah! Caboose was my guy. ‘I like me!’”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Out loud. Not just a breath or a huff or a twitch of the lips, but an honest-to-God laugh. And he looked so pleased with himself for cracking me open even a little bit that I almost wanted to hug him.
Maybe friendship wouldn’t be so bad.
_____________
“Am I stupid?” he asked, falling back onto the mattress with a dramatic huff. “I mean, seriously, am I an idiot?”
“Freezing up because you got overwhelmed and had a lot on your mind — nah; that’s not that bad,” I said casually, like I wasn’t already biting back the laugh. I leaned back against the headboard, arms folded, watching him sink deeper into the mattress, probably hoping it’d swallow him whole. “Telling her that it was her fault because she said she loved you… yeah, you’re pretty damn dumb.”
His face dropped like a kid who just got told Christmas was canceled. “Thanks, Libby. I’ll definitely be coming to you for support from now on.”
My eyes widened, mock-offended. “You didn’t say you wanted support! You specifically said advice. My opinion.”
“Yeah, well, your opinion sucks,” Glenn shot back, folding his arms like a toddler on timeout. “You’re supposed to take my side and tell me I’m right.”
“Oh, stop being a big baby and tell her how you feel.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face like that’d somehow scrape the guilt off. “What if she doesn’t wanna hear it?”
“Then you still said your piece,” I said, shrugging as I tucked under the blanket. “You can’t just let it rot inside you, Glenn. It’ll fester.”
“If I say something and it makes it worse?”
I sighed, real soft. “You’ll be fine,” I said quietly. “Just apologize, or at the very least tell her you didn’t mean to blame her. That’s gotta count for something.”
For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Just stared up at the ceiling like it had the answers written in invisible ink. His chest rose and fell in slow, thoughtful rhythm. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You ever do that?” he asked suddenly. “Blame someone for something just ‘cause you were hurting?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, before I could stop myself. “A lot, actually. Usually the people I care about the most.” I paused. “It’s easier sometimes. Being angry. Makes the grief feel… manageable.”
His head turned toward me. “Did you ever fix it?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “Sometimes not.”
That earned a hum, thoughtful and a little sad. He rubbed his thumb along the seam of the blanket, real slow. “She’s just… really good. You know? Like, she’s not perfect, but she tries. And I made her feel like shit.”
“Then tell her that,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t make her guess. Don’t let her keep thinking she’s the reason you almost got yourself killed.”
Glenn nodded, lips pressed into a line. He looked younger like that—vulnerable and earnest and painfully human in a world that didn’t have much room left for softness.
“You’re kinda smart sometimes,” he muttered.
“Damn right,” I smirked. “Even if my opinion sucks.”
We lay there for another minute or two, not talking. Just sharing the silence.
Glenn messed up, but he always wanted to make it right. In a world where most people only looked out for themselves, Glenn still gave a damn.
And I’d never stop rooting for people like that.
_____________
My smile couldn’t be contained as I rushed down the corridor, nearly sliding to a halt in front of Glenn and Maggie’s cell. “Where’s Maggie?” I asked, trying to withhold a laugh. “She should hear this too.”
Glenn was halfway lying down, arms behind his head, probably trying to catch a rare moment of quiet. He propped himself up on his elbows, brows furrowing, probably at my abrupt entrance. It’d been two months since the Governor attacked, and we’d finally started settling into a routine — which left little room for idle chit-chat anymore. It was almost always business. Always food runs, guard rotations, supply counts, or check-ins.
But this—this was worth interrupting the monotony for.
I plopped down beside him on the bottom bunk, crossing my legs and wiggling my shoulders like I was about to tell a ghost story. “You know Penelope? The little blonde girl who’s always following behind Rick because she likes to play in the dirt?”
He gave a little nod, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile. “Yeah… the one who called Carl ‘bossy’ last week?”
“That’s the one,” I grinned. A look of curiosity bloomed in Glenn’s eyes, something bright and unguarded that only came out in rare moments like this — little blips of innocence that had somehow managed to survive the end of the world.
“Where’s your wife?” I asked again, looking around as if she’d pop out from under the bed.
“Inventory,” he said, shifting so he was sitting cross-legged too. “Libby, what’s up?”
“She asked if me, you, and Maggie were married,” I said, letting out a fit of giggles that I could barely suppress. “Like. All three of us. One big, post-apocalyptic throuple.”
He blinked, clearly trying to process that. “What? Why?”
“Because apparently — and this is her exact words — ‘the tan guy is always asking Rick where you two are with a worried look on his face.’”
It took a second, but then Glenn’s face slowly twisted into this expression of utter disbelief. “Wait… the tan guy ?”
I nodded, eyes wide with amusement.
“You mean me?”
“I mean, fun fact, you do happen to be Asian, unless you forgot,” I laughed. “Congrats.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”
“Oh, but it gets better,” I said, leaning in. “Rick didn’t correct her. Just kind of stared at her like he was trying to figure out how to explain what a platonic friendship is to a five-year-old.”
Glenn shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Okay, so what did you say?”
“I told her you two were my backup spouses in case Rick denied my marriage proposal.”
He froze. “No.”
I burst into full-blown laughter. “Yes! Her eyes got huge. She said, and I quote, ‘What about the guy with the motorcycle?’”
Glenn buried his face in his hands. “Libby.”
“Gotta keep everyone on their toes,” I teased. “Can’t let anyone know my next moves. Maybe Rick, maybe Daryl, maybe you and Maggie.”
The laughter between us stretched, filling the small cell with something light and needed. It’d been so long since I’d seen him laugh like that — really laugh. Not the tight, tired kind that followed jokes made out of survival instinct, but the deep-belly, forget-the-world kind. It reminded me why I loved being around him so much.
For a moment, things felt normal.
“Y’know,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder, “if the world was still normal, I bet Penelope would’ve made a great flower girl. Lots of gardening skills from Rick.”
I smiled, quieter this time. “Yeah… she would’ve. Very pretty.”
Neither of us said anything after that. We just sat there for a while, letting the giggles fade into a kind of warm silence.
_____________
When Rick and Negan left it was still dark outside — I couldn’t quite piece together time, but it was most definitely past dawn by the time they pulled back up, and somehow, Rick managed to look even worse than he had when Negan drug him into the RV hours ago.
To be honest with you…I wasn’t paying that much attention to any of the shit Negan was saying. Not even when they put a gun to the back of my skull, a promise of an ugly death if Rick didn’t obey. And really—truly—I didn’t give a damn.
If my brain matter covered the ground in front of me, at least I wouldn’t have to keep witnessing the psychological and physical torture we were all going through. I wouldn’t have to watch Rick hold a hatchet up high above Carl’s arm. Or hear Carl’s broken voice tell him that it was okay. To just do it.
I envied Abraham.
I envied Glenn.
They were oblivious to the horrific reality we were now going to be living in.
Providing for Negan.
Working for Negan.
Answering for Negan.
Negan chuckles— chuckles —like this is all some fun little afternoon out, grinning down at us like a kindergarten teacher admiring a finger painting made out of blood and trauma.
“Ah…” he sighs, like he’s satisfied, like slaughtering Glenn and Abe was just the appetizer. “Dwight. Load him up.”
He points that goddamn bat at Daryl, and it feels like the world yanks sideways. My lungs collapse. My ribs go hollow. Everything inside me drops out. “No.” The word falls out of me, broken and quiet at first, before panic floods in and lights every nerve in my body on fire.
I lurch forward, clawing at the air like I can somehow stop what’s already happening. Dwight and another one of those red-armed bastards are already grabbing Daryl. He’s bleeding, dazed, dragging his heels but too out of it to fight them off. I can’t even see his eyes. They shove him like he’s nothing, like he’s just some trash they’re hauling away.
“No! No, no, wait— Daryl! ”
Rosita’s fingers tighten around mine but I rip away from her like she’s burning me. My knees scrape against the dirt and gravel and sharp rock bites into my skin, tearing straight through my knees like they’re paper. I don’t care. I don’t feel it. I’m crawling, scrambling, dragging myself across the dirt like I’ve been gutted and all I’ve got left is this pathetic forward motion. “Please!” I choke on it, the word twisting in my throat. “Please, don’t take him! Don’t— fuck, please—take me instead! Just don’t—don’t take him! ”
I can’t even see straight anymore. There’s salt in my eyes and blood on my hands and I don’t know if it’s his or Glenn’s or mine. The van door slams and the sound is deafening. Final. Like a tomb locking shut.
Daryl is gone.
He’s gone.
And I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t anything.
My hands tremble against the dirt. I curl into myself, sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. My face is pressed to the cold earth like it might give me something—anything—to hold on to. But there’s nothing. Just the taste of dust and blood in my mouth and the weight of failure crashing down so hard I swear it’s gonna crack my spine.
Negan turns, all slow and casual, and points that bat right at me. “See, she —” he waves Lucille like I’m some fuckin’ show-and-tell project—“she knows how to beg.”
I barely register what he’s saying. I don’t care about Rick. I don’t care about his threats. The only thing I want is in the back of that goddamn van, cause I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
Negan turns back to Rick, still playing his sick little game, still winding his finger around the trigger of everyone’s suffering. “You still wanna try somethin’? ‘Not today, not tomorrow.’ Not today, not tomorrow, I will cut pieces off of…”
He trails off, glancing back at me with mock confusion, like he doesn’t already know. Like Daryl’s just a name on a list, not a human being I love with every broken piece of myself.
Simon leans in: “Daryl.”
Negan perks up like someone just handed him a lollipop. “ Wow ,” he laughs. “That actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put ‘em on your fuckin’ doorstep, or, better yet…”
He crouches, real slow, right in front of me.
I can’t even lift my head. My arms are trembling so hard they give out beneath me and I collapse onto my elbows, choking on dirt and spit and tears. He leans in, like he’s whispering a secret to a dying animal.
“I will bring him to you and have her do it for me.”
I flinch. My breath stutters.
He grins wider and lets out a pleased little sigh, like he’s proud of himself.
“Maybe I’ll take her next. Give Daryl a little encouragement to listen.”
He claps Rick on the back like they’re old friends catching up over drinks and straightens up with a flourish. “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits!” he crows. “I’m gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the shit you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offerin’ in one week. Until then… ta-ta.”
And then he’s gone.
The world goes silent except for the ringing in my ears. I’m still on the ground, still shaking, still bleeding at the knees, my face pressed to the gravel like if I just stay here long enough maybe this will all rewind.
But it won’t.
Abraham is dead.
Glenn is dead.
Daryl is gone.
And I am not okay.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
They hauled me outta the van like I weighed nothin’. Yanked me out by the arm they shot the night before—same damn spot, same fire-burnin’ agony that lit up my shoulder like a fuse. I gritted my teeth hard enough I thought I might crack a molar, but I didn’t make a sound.
Didn’t get the chance to catch my breath.
One of ’em shoved me forward. “Move,” he barked, like I was a dog.
I stumbled into some big metal shithole—concrete floors, no heat, reekin’ of mildew and motor oil. Every step echoed. Sounded too loud, too empty. I stumbled once. Just once. Boot caught on a busted floor grate, and I was down on one knee—but not for long. A hand fisted in my hair, yanked me back up so hard I couldn’t even focus on what he was sayin’ to me.
They took me down some narrow corridor—walls sweating with old moisture and rot. There was a hum in the walls, like some old generator chugging out its last breath. The whole place stunk of mold, piss, rust, and something sour.
Then we stopped.
A door squealed open, and they shoved me inside without a word.
The cell was small. Not even a cell, really. Just a box with a drain in the center of the floor and a piss corner that stank to hell. Smelled like every fuckin’ body they’d locked in here left somethin’ behind. And the door was like somethin’ outta a fuckin’ meat locker. Some vents up top where light trickled through bars, just enough to see that the place was filthy—stains all over the floor.
They didn’t wait long.
Soon as the door slammed shut behind us, one of ’em shoved me forward so hard I hit my knees. Shoulder screamed, but I didn’t.
“Hold still,” one of ’em said, real casual, like we were buddies, like he wasn’t startin’ to put his hands where they sure as hell didn’t belong.
Not fists. Not weapons. Hands. Rough, smug, searching .
I froze. Stomach turned ice cold. Real deep, twistin’ sickness in my gut. Couldn’t even think, not all the way. Just white noise and the feel of his hand pressin’ flat against my chest, slidin’ rough over my ribs, then lower. Grabbin’. Gropin’.
I flinched hard, elbowed the nearest one in the gut hard enough to make him grunt—but the second guy stepped in. My knees buckled when he drove his fist into my ribs before twisting my bad arm behind my back, jerking me so hard I swore something tore.
They didn’t care. Just kept going.
Pulled my shirt up over my head—ripping the damn thing clean down the middle when it caught around my shoulders. Exposed me. My back. I heard one laugh.
“…the hell’s this?” the other one of ‘em muttered. His fingers skimmed over the mess of scars.
“Somebody got real creative with this one.”
“Bet he liked it,” the other one said, and that made me jerk away hard, heart beatin’ so fast it hurt. “Bet he misses it.”
They pushed me forward. The wall scraped my chest. Cold fingers found the waistband of my pants and started working at the belt buckle.
Time froze.
My breath locked in my throat. Panic flooded so fast I almost choked on it. I kicked, fought, clawed, but it was like tryin’ to stop a truck with bare hands. They were laughin’. Talkin’ to each other. Sayin’ I was twitchy. That maybe I wanted this too.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
My belt unhooked. Jeans tugged down.
Bare.
Humiliated.
They got my pants off.
Left me curled up in that cell, bare and shakin’, breathin’ through my teeth just to keep the sob down.
One of ‘em spat on the floor next to me.
Another kick landed. Then the door slammed shut. Metal on metal. Locked.
I didn’t know how long I laid there.
Time turned into a blur. My cheek was pressed to the cold floor, sweat and grime stickin’ to the concrete like glue. I couldn’t stop shakin’. Every time I tried to breathe, it felt like I was swallowin’ gravel. My body wouldn’t stop tremblin’, like it wasn’t mine anymore. Like my muscles didn’t know what to do except keep flinchin’, keep twitchin’, like they expected more.
They didn’t even do it. But it didn’t matter. They could’ve . They wanted me to think they would. And in that second—when my belt came loose, when they laughed and pulled—I’d already broken. My brain had already gone somewhere else, fast and far, like it had to get out of my skull before it drowned.
My skin felt too tight. Like it didn’t fit right anymore. Like they’d touched me so wrong it left a film behind, something I couldn’t scrub off even if I peeled it down to bone.
The room was silent, but the echo of voices still rang loud—not their voices though. No. That cruel laugh of my brother and all the guys we used to roll with. I could hear them cackling about being butterball ass naked, lying on a concrete floor, with fear in my gut. How they’d probably mock me for not fighting back harder.
They wanted to humiliate me.
Just like the guys who stripped me.
And they did.
They fuckin’ did.
Everything hurt. My shoulder throbbed with a feverish pulse, like it was ready to go septic right there in the socket. My ribs burned. My thighs ached from the kicks. My knuckles were bruised from where I’d hit one of them.
I sat there on the floor, leaned against the wall, cold concrete at my back, heart hammerin’ so fast it felt like it might tear through my chest.
I couldn’t look at the door. Couldn’t look at the spot on the floor where they’d stood. Where I’d knelt.
I tried to bite it down. That part of me that still wanted to cry. But it was already leaking out, slow and sour. Hot behind my eyes. Down my cheeks. My whole face burned with shame.
They didn’t rape me. But they didn’t have to.
They’d already taken everything else.
And I deserved every single bit of it.
Glenn was dead and it was all on me.
He’d never meet his kid. Maggie’d have to be a mom all by herself. Maybe if she was lucky, she’d never have to see me again.
I don’t know how long I sat there, knees drawn to my chest like a kid. Shivering. Bleeding. Feeling smaller than I ever had in my whole goddamn life. Smaller than when I was ten years old, hiding under the porch while my dad yelled. Smaller than when Merle left me the first time. Smaller than when I called Libby a bitch.
I thought about her. Her face. Her mouth when she got frustrated. The way she’d touch my cheek so soft when she tried to explain herself. Always makin’ me feel like I was good.
I didn’t feel good now.
Didn’t feel worth shit.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
We got back yesterday. The gates creaked open like they always did—same worn sound—but nothing felt familiar. Not without him.
Maggie stayed at Hilltop with Sasha. Glenn too. Abraham. We left them behind. Maggie needed medical attention. Baby Rhee had to be okay. I tried staying; argued with Michonne and Rick—but I couldn’t risk Negan noticing too many of us gone. Couldn’t risk him asking questions. So I came back. Came back without Daryl. Without even a fucking scrap of him. Not a jacket, not a knife. Just the ghost of his voice echoing in my skull, low and mean from that last fight. Just the burn of his eyes when he’d told me to go home. When he’d called me a bitch.
I hadn’t slept. Just curled in a tight knot on our bed, sheets twisted like seaweed around my legs, the pillow soaked with guilt. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him. Not alive. Not okay. Just his body somewhere cold, curled up like roadkill. His hair matted. His back bent. His gunshot wound maybe infected. It never stopped replaying—the moment he lunged, the sick crack of Lucille in the air over Glenn, Dwight dragging Daryl off like he was nothing more than a body to claim.
Soup didn’t leave my side. Not once. He’d taken to pressing his big stupid cat head into my ribs like he could purr my heart back together. I didn’t pet him. Couldn’t. My hands felt too heavy. My bones too thin. Like if I moved wrong, they’d all shatter.
I stopped changing clothes. Stopped brushing my hair. It stuck in places like wet straw, clumped from sweat and tears. I could smell myself—sour and stale—but I didn’t care. The mirror was covered with a towel now. I couldn’t look into it without seeing his blood. Even if it wasn’t there.
People knocked. I didn’t answer.
Rick. Michonne. Even Carl, once, I think. Didn’t matter. They asked if I needed anything and I lied through the door, said I was just tired. That I was resting.
I hadn’t closed my eyes in seventy hours.
There was vomit in the bathroom sink from this morning. Bright yellow and bitter. Stomach acid, mostly. I was so empty there wasn’t anything left to lose. It burned all the way up. I’d dropped to my knees, hand clutching the tile like it could anchor me to the world, and cried until I couldn’t tell what the tears were for anymore—him, or me, or the whole fucking world falling to shit around us.
I was sick. I knew that. Not sick like a cold. Not sick like a cut. Sick like something was wrong deep down in my soul. Like grief had taken root in my lungs and grew vines around everything else. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move without that heavy, churning ache coiling in my belly like it wanted to rot me from the inside out.
I couldn’t feel the air right. It didn’t go down smooth. Every breath was a ragged inhale over broken glass. I kept swallowing, like that’d stop the lump in my throat from climbing higher, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. My skin itched like it wanted out of my body. I scratched at the inside of my arms until I left little half-moon scabs. I didn’t even notice I was bleeding until I went to finally change my shirt and saw the smears.
I hated everyone who said it was gonna be okay. I hated hope. Hope was a liar. Hope said Daryl would come back. Hope said he’d be fine. Hope said he wasn’t somewhere getting beaten or starved or—any of the things Negan might be doing to him—I couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about what they might be forcing him to do. How they might be hurting him just to send a message. He hated being caged. Hated being touched. And now he was alone.
And I wasn’t there.
I wanted to die.
Genuinely.
I wanted death to consume me.
Not in a way that made a point. Not in a way that made people cry. I didn’t want anyone to even notice. I just wanted to stop being here. I wanted death to consume me. Quietly. Softly. Like falling into water.
I thought about taking something. About slipping away in my sleep. But I couldn’t even do that right. Couldn’t bring myself to take what little strong medication we had for such a selfish reason.
So I just stayed there. In the dark. In our bed. In this silence that kept pressing in harder and harder. I waited for the world to forget me. For the light under the door to vanish. For everything to just stop.
Because if he was really gone—if he never came back—I didn’t know who the fuck I was supposed to be.
.before the otherness came, and i knew its name.
Notes:
omg. another not so awesome chapter imo. i rewrote this one like 4 times i think… i feel like i did an injustice to Glenn and to Daryl.
i think next chapter will be a lot better though!
Chapter 69: stupid, piece of shit, baseball bat
Summary:
I launched at him. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed, my voice splintering into something feral. I didn’t care if he was bigger or stronger or armed—I hit him in the face, in the chest, wherever I could land a punch. He staggered, blood blooming from his nose, and I felt something wet on my knuckles but I didn’t stop. I punched his ribs, his gut, clawed at whatever part of him I could reach. I wasn’t thinking. There was no plan. Just fury.
He stumbled back, and I surged forward again, ready to take him down with me if that’s what it took.
Tight, ironclad arms caught me from behind.
Chapter Text
…are you ready for it?
Four days passed. I think.
Might’ve been five.
Time didn’t move in here. Not anymore. The clock on the dresser had died at 2:37 a.m., and I never changed the battery. It just sat there like a corpse—like everything else in this house. Frozen in one quiet second before the world caved in.
Soup was the only sound. His breathing, soft and steady, curled under the windowsill like he was waiting for someone who wasn’t coming. He didn’t nudge me anymore. Didn’t paw at the sheets or nose his head against my arm. Just sat vigil now. Like a soldier at a grave.
I think he understood.
The ceiling had a crack in the corner—just a thin, spider-vein in the plaster. I stared at it like it might blink back. Hours. Days. I didn’t move. My back had fused into the mattress, a body-shaped imprint pressed into stale cotton and sweat. The sheets clung damp to my skin. I hadn’t eaten since… I don’t know. The food had stopped meaning anything.
That’s when it hit me.
He was probably starving.
Somewhere out there—caged, beaten, stripped down to bone and defiance—and I was here. Hiding in silence and fabric that still smelled like pine and leather and sweat— him. Rotting from the inside out while he maybe didn’t even have a blanket. Didn’t even have water. I buried my face, sick to my stomach, hating how good his pillow still felt.
And I was just lying here.
That’s when something cracked.
Not a slow break. Not a soft ache in my ribs.
This was rage.
Ugly, choking, blood-hot rage.
It didn’t build—it detonated .
I sat up so fast the room spun. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to tear through bone. I kicked the covers off, legs half-numb, and stumbled to my feet. The nightstand tipped, crashing like thunder against the wood floor. The lamp exploded. Glass like diamonds scattering across old wood. Soup yowled, startled, and bolted down the hall.
I didn’t care.
My scream ripped out of me raw—no words, just sound. A sound I didn’t recognize. A thing too loud to be human and too real not to be. My throat burned with it. My whole body shook.
I grabbed the closest thing—his mug from the dresser—and threw it against the wall. It hit and bounced, ceramic cracking on impact. Then came the picture frame. Us in the kitchen, laughing. His arm barely around my shoulders, that stupid look on his face like he wasn’t used to smiling. I hurled it. The glass exploded. Splinters of memory rained down across the floor.
I ripped open drawers. Threw clothes. Kicked a chair until the leg splintered. The noise didn’t fill the silence—it fueled it. Amplified it. I was yelling again, lower now, rougher. The sound of a person unraveling. I punched the closet door hard enough to pop it off the hinges. My knuckles split. Then again. And again.
He wasn’t here. He wasn’t fucking here.
And the world kept turning anyway.
No one stopped. No one screamed with me. It was just me and the ruins of what used to be home.
Right there, in the wreckage. Knees to the floor. Palms bleeding, body trembling, throat ripped to ribbons. I sobbed like a child—hiccupping, gasping. The kind of sobs that steal all the air and leave you coughing on nothing.
I wanted the floor to split open. I wanted the house to bury me. I wanted the sky to break in half and scream with me.
But it was just silence. Cold, sterile silence. And that silence was sharp now. Not soft like before. It was pointed. Watching me. Waiting.
I don’t know how long I sat there, hunched over, skin trembling. But eventually, something shifted.
The sobs dried up.
The shaking slowed.
And the stillness didn’t feel like defeat anymore.
It felt like focus .
I stood. Feet bare. Skin scraped. Stepped over shattered glass and didn’t flinch. Blood dotted the floor in lazy drops, and I liked it. It meant I wasn’t empty.
My hands still shook, but not from grief. From adrenaline.
I opened the closet and yanked out my gear. Jacket. Knife. Arrows for my bow. I strapped them on like armor, like ritual. My fingers moved without hesitation now. Like muscle memory had taken over and decided I wasn’t allowed to quit.
I ripped the towel off the mirror.
What looked back at me wasn’t a girl.
It wasn’t even a woman.
It was something else .
Hair matted. Eyes hollowed out, wide, wild. Blood on my lip from biting too hard. I smiled. Just barely.
They didn’t kill me.
They should’ve.
Negan made one mistake.
He left me alive.
Now I was going to make him choke on it.
I didn’t know how yet.
But I would.
There was always a way.
_____________
The water ran brown when I splashed it on my face.
Dried blood, dirt, tears—a week of it. It clung to me like rot, like it’d soaked into the cracks of my skin. I scrubbed until the sting hit raw, knuckles pressed white against flushed skin. I barely looked at the mirror. Just enough to know I still had a face. Didn’t want to see what was left. Didn’t want to face the shell. Just needed to look human enough to make it through one goddamn conversation. Not for comfort. For strategy. People listened better when you didn’t look like a feral animal.
I tied my hair back with shaking fingers, jaw clenched so hard my temples ached. Slipped on my vest. Tightened the straps on my quiver one more time like I could cinch the fury down too. The knife at my side felt heavier than usual, like it knew what I was planning. Like it was waiting.
Soup sat by the door when I turned. Quiet, ears half-back, watching me with that too-smart look. His tail flicked once, slow. He didn’t move when I stepped over to him.
“Not this time,” I muttered, kneeling to stroke behind his ear. He leaned into my palm like he knew it was goodbye. Or maybe just see you later . I forced a breath, tried not to let it hitch. “You stay and guard the fort. I’ll bring our guy back.”
The air outside slapped me awake. Not cold, but still sharp. I walked fast, boots crunching over gravel. Alexandria looked the same—peaceful, fake—but my chest buzzed like I was marching into a battlefield. The sun was too warm. The sky too clean. It all felt wrong. Like the world didn’t realize it had just lost Glenn Rhee— arguably the most sunshine-y person ever.
Rick’s porch creaked, and I didn’t knock.
I opened the door like I lived there.
He was in the front room, pacing. Gun belt slung low, brow furrowed like thunder. He turned fast, already wired. I didn’t give him time to ask.
“I’m going after him.”
Rick stopped mid-step. “What?”
“Daryl.” I didn’t blink. “I’m not waiting around anymore. I’m finding where the Saviors run their routes. I’ll figure out where they’re keeping him. I’ll get him back.”
His expression darkened immediately. That ticking-bomb look he always got before he exploded. “Libby, no. That’s not—”
“I’m not asking.”
“I don’t care!” he snapped, stepping forward like he could shake it out of me. “You think you’re gonna take them on by yourself? You don’t even know where their outposts are—”
“Then I’ll find them.”
“You’ll get yourself killed!” His voice hit the wall like a gunshot. “You wanna help him? Then don’t do something this stupid!”
“I have to do something!” My voice cracked, raw and jagged, but I didn’t stop. “He’s out there, Rick! Every second we sit here, they’re probably doing something worse to him. I can’t just wait for you to be ready.”
“I am ready!” he shouted. “But we do this smart. Not suicidal.”
“It’s already suicidal!” I threw my arms out like the walls were closing in. “Everything is! Glenn and Abe died on their knees and we all just stood there. You watched him beat them to death and then let Negan walk away . So don’t you fucking talk to me about smart!”
Rick flinched like I’d struck him. His mouth opened, then closed. His hands flexed at his sides, like he didn’t trust them. I saw the guilt crack through him—just for a second—before it turned back into anger.
“You think I wanted that?” he growled.
“I think you let it happen,” I said, low. “And I think if we wait around for the perfect plan, they’ll bury Daryl in pieces.”
We stared at each other, the space between us scorched and crackling. Neither of us moved. Neither of us backed down.
And deep down, inside of my bones, I felt guilty for everything I was throwing at Rick. Truly, I did. He didn’t deserve it.
But I was pissed as hell, and angry at the world.
Feet pounded through the house like gunshots—loud, fast, panicked. Carl burst into the room, breath ragged. “Dad,” he gasped. “They’re here.”
My stomach dropped. No. No fucking way.
I shoved past Rick, my body moving before my mind could even catch up. “It’s only been four days,” I snapped, voice sharp with confusion, with rage. It wasn’t time. It wasn’t time yet.
Rick was already moving behind me. “What the hell—”
We stormed up to the gate and there they were. A convoy. Like something out of a goddamn parade if parades were made of threats and steel and men with rifles.
Negan stood front and center, casual as ever, like this was a fucking brunch date instead of an occupation. His grin stretched wide, Lucille hanging lazily from one hand.
“Do not make me have to ask,” he drawled.
Rick squared his shoulders. “You said a week.” His voice was steady but tight. “You’re early.”
Still, he opened the gate.
Negan strode forward like he was arriving at a party, not a graveyard. All swagger and showmanship, his bat resting lazy on one shoulder. The sun hit the barbed wire wrapped around Lucille just right—like it was trying to blind us on purpose. He flicked his eyes between Rick and me, eating up the way we tensed, the silence we gave him.
“I missed you,” he crooned, almost sing-song.
I didn’t answer. My expression was doing all the talking anyway. And if looks could kill, Negan’d be a smear of pulp on the concrete.
He kept smiling, like he didn’t even notice the tension in the air—like it didn’t matter that the ghosts of Glenn and Abraham still stained the pavement in ways no one could scrub away.
Then, like the goddamn universe couldn’t help itself—like it wanted to rub a little more filth into the wound—a walker staggered up the road. Just one. Slow and clumsy, dragging dead weight across the road, weaving between the armored trucks like it belonged there.
Negan’s whole face lit up like it was opening night on Broadway. He took a step forward and threw out a hand like he was inviting us to join in the spectacle. “Oh, Rick,” he called, eyes gleaming. “Come on out here, watch this.”
I didn’t move.
Negan twirled Lucille like a baton, winding up like it was all choreographed—like the world was his stage and we were just watching from the cheap seats.
“Callin’ it!” he sang.
Crack.
The sound made my skin crawl. Wood meeting bone. Skull folding in on itself. The walker collapsed in a boneless heap, face obliterated, black ichor seeping into the road. It sounded too much like that night. Like our people.
I flinched. Couldn’t help it. My spine locked up and my stomach turned. My throat closed around a scream I didn’t let out.
Glenn. His eye. That final, terrible sound that lived in the back of my skull like a parasite. Maggie’s scream—guttural, shattering, like something ancient and primal. I dug my nails into my palms until I felt skin split. Pain was better than memory. Pain I could control.
Negan laughed. Spun around like he’d just landed a flawless routine. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!” he shouted, grinning wide enough to show teeth.
His eyes lit with something darker. Something gleeful and cruel when they landed on me again. He cocked his head, like I was a new toy he hadn’t broken yet.
“Y’know,” he said, “I remember someone pitching a real fit about me takin’ Daryl. You made quite the impression.”
I didn’t say a word. My jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might snap.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The venom in my veins nearly boiled over. But I gave it to him. Eventually. Flat. Empty. “Liberty.”
That fucking cackle. Loud and grating, like nails on sheet metal. “What? Like the statue?” He was laughing before I even finished nodding.
“Yes,” I said tightly. “Like the statue.”
His face twisted into mock awe. “Well, shit, Libs. You gotta lighten up.”
I stopped breathing.
My stomach dropped. My vision tunneled.
Libs.
Only one person ever called me that. Daryl. Often. And from the second or third conversation we ever had. It was his. Soft. Private. A little teasing, a little sweet. Always with a drawl. Georgia. Summer. And everything I adored.
Hearing it in Negan’s mouth was a violation I didn’t have a word for.
My voice came out low. “Don’t call me that.”
I could feel my body winding tight, fists curling of their own accord. It wasn’t a threat—it was a warning. The kind of warning that comes before blood. I wanted to swing. I wanted to launch myself at him and let whatever happened, happen . But I didn’t move a muscle.
Not until I caught something out of the corner of my eye.
Familiar. Broken.
Daryl.
Behind them. Limping. Hollow. Ghost-white in that oversized gray tracksuit, like he’d been pulled from a grave and propped up like a trophy. His face was a wreck—cut lip, swelling jaw, bruises in shades of purple and sick yellow that stood out stark against his grime-slicked skin. His hair hung in wet clumps. His shoulders sagged like he didn’t even have the strength to fake being strong anymore.
His eyes found mine. Just for a second. And that was enough.
It cracked something permanent inside me. Something I’d remember for the rest of my life. His gaze was dry, but not empty. No tears. No pleading. Just… a kind of silent endurance. Like he’d built a dam out of nothing but willpower and stubbornness, and it was all holding back a scream.
His mouth twitched, lip trembling, but then he looked away—ashamed, maybe. Or afraid that if he held my stare too long, he’d fall apart in front of them.
I took a step toward him without even thinking. My body moved on instinct, every part of me screaming go to him . But a hand caught mine.
Rick.
I spun toward him, blinking out of the haze. His eyes were wide, begging me not to make it worse. Not here. Not yet. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was unmovable. Not chains. More like concrete.
My breath hitched. I yanked my hand back, hard, fury hot behind my eyes. But I didn’t run. I stayed. My feet planted by something stronger than fear. I wanted to believe it was strategy. But I knew better.
It was grief.
Negan kept talking. “Hey, Rick,” he said, oozing back into the spotlight like we were just extras in the background. “You see that? What I just did? That is what I call service .”
He grinned wider, bouncing on his heels. “We roll up, you got your people whispering about us behind your shiny-ass gate. But do I freak out? Do I bash another ginger’s skull in for funsies?” He paused, let that memory hang like the stench of rot. “Nope. I do you a favor. I take care of a problem. That dead prick back there? He could’ve killed somebody. Not anymore.”
He bowed. Actually bowed. A long, sweeping theater gesture like we owed him a standing ovation.
Then, almost lovingly, he pressed Lucille into Rick’s hands. She dripped thick with walker blood, still warm. The barbed wire had split flesh. It always did.
“Hold this,” he said softly.
Then he turned. Walked into our home like he’d always owned it. Like he hadn’t shattered everything we were in a single night.
And I just stood there—paralyzed between rage and grief and the need to go after the man I loved before the last piece of him disappeared completely.
“Hot diggity dog!” he whooped. “This place is magnificent! An embarrassment of riches, as they say.”
And all I could do was stand there, heart thrashing against my ribs, stomach knotted so tight it hurt to breathe. My eyes were locked on Daryl—what was left of him, anyway. His silhouette half-slouched in that disgusting tracksuit, bruises blooming down his neck like fingerprints someone forgot to wash off. He looked wrong. Like a bad sketch of the man I knew, smeared and unfinished.
Then Dwight stepped into view.
My brain short-circuited for a second. Just—blank. Like I couldn’t even process what I was seeing. That thing was hanging off Dwight’s pathetic frame like a cheap Halloween costume. Sloppy on the shoulders. Loose at the waist. It didn’t fit him. It didn’t belong to him. That vest was Daryl’s skin. He’d bled in it. Slept in it. Carried the weight of our world in it. And now it was being paraded around like a war prize.
Daryl tried to help him. Gave that piece of shit a chance. Stuck his own neck out and this is what he got. This mockery. This slap in the face while the bastard strutted around in his second skin like he’d earned it.
I could taste blood in my mouth from how hard I was biting my tongue.
“Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up,” Negan said, turning his grin on Rick.
Rick’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t flinch. “Daryl,” he said, cutting a glance sideways—just enough to say I see you. I haven’t forgotten you.
But before Daryl could even lift his eyes, Negan was there—cutting between them with that snake-oil salesman’s smile wiped clean off his face. “No,” he snapped. All playtime over. “Nope! He’s the help. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, and I don’t make her —” he gestured toward me, lazy and deliberate, “—chop anything off of him.”
Then, he turns— on me.
His boots scraped against the concrete, slow and heavy like an executioner. The shadow of him slid over mine, swallowing me up. I didn’t flinch, but everything inside me braced like a struck match.
His finger came up, crooked under my chin like I was some prized livestock. I met his eyes. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. But my stomach twisted like the barbed wire on his stupid, piece of shit, baseball bat.
“He’s mine,” he murmured, like it was some kind of dirty secret. His breath curled hot against my skin, sour with rot and blood and power. Inches from my mouth. Like he wanted me to feel it. Like he wanted to poison the air between us.
“But maybe if you get on your knees and—”
“You can go to hell.”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I shoved past him, hard enough to jostle his stance, and I didn’t care what he did or said next. I didn’t look back.
I walked fast—too fast—and I didn’t have a destination other than away . Away from his smug face and Rick’s silence. Away from the blood on Lucille and the sight of Daryl’s trembling lip. My feet find their way home, but my heart stays planted in the dirt, frozen back there near the gate, right where he was standing in that god-awful tracksuit like some prisoner of war. Like he didn’t belong to us anymore.
Everything inside me screamed go back—do something , but I couldn’t .
Because if I turned around, I’d lose it. I’d run at Dwight. I’d claw that vest off his skinny little chest and break every bone in his body. I’d cry in front of Daryl. I’d crumble. And I couldn’t afford to be the next weak link. Not when we’re all one wrong breath away from someone else getting Lucille’d for my mistakes.
Every step felt like I was walking through molasses. My skin felt hot and tight, stretched thin over bones that don’t know how to hold me upright anymore. My hands shook and I wanted to scream until I was hoarse, until I was nothing but noise and spit and fury—but I didn’t. I walked.
Daryl was right there. Close enough to reach out and touch, and I couldn’t even say his name. Couldn’t run to him, couldn’t hug him, couldn’t fall to my knees and tell him I was sorry—for everything. For not being enough.
What the hell are we even doing?
Negan’s not here for justice. He’s not here to keep the peace or “punish” anyone. He’s here to mock us. To play with his food. This is just some sick theater for him. Marching through our gates with his little entourage like we’re nothing more than a sandbox he gets to stomp around in.
And Rick—he was letting it happen.
We all are. Because we have no choice. But that doesn’t make it any easier to live with.
That doesn’t make me any less pissed off.
I reached my house and slammed the door behind me like it could keep the whole apocalypse out. Pressed my back to it and felt everything inside me crack. my chest felt like I’d just outran a herd. My body feels hollow. Like it’s already started grieving a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.
Daryl was right there, and I couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t even look him in the eye. He wouldn’t let himself. He looked… broken. Like he’d been gutted and stitched back up all wrong.
I slid down the wood until I hit the floor, arms curling around my knees like they could hold me together. I was shaking. Not from fear, but fury. Grief. Shame. The pain that settled in your marrow and whispered horrible things to you.
I didn’t even hear Soup come in until his shoulder brushed mine. He nosed my arm once, his massive head pressing into me until I finally leaned into him. My forehead touched the top of his skull, the air shaking with a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My fingers buried in his fur like I could pull some comfort out of him if I just gripped hard enough. It wasn’t like I could do anything fucking else.
A shot cracked through the air like a bone snapping, and I jerked up so fast my head spun. My body moved before my brain caught up, boots hammering against the porch as I tore down the street. No no no—
Not again. Not another name added to the list.
I saw them gathered outside the clinic—Denise’s old place—and my stomach twisted. That many people standing that still? Not good. I shoved my way through, ignoring whoever cursed at me as I pushed past and into the building.
Carl was holding one of the saviors at gunpoint, while Negan circled, and Rick had his hand held out, trying to retrieve the gun from his son. “No,” Carl said flatly. “He’s taking all of our medicine. They said only half our stuff!”
“Of course,” Negan practically purred, stepping in between Carl and one of his goons with that gleeful, mocking grin. “Oh-ho… really, kid?”
“And you should go,” Carl snapped, the kid’s jaw tight with fury. “Before you find out how dangerous we all are.”
“Well, pardon me, young man,” Negan said, his voice dancing between amusement and mock-offense, “and excuse the shit outta my goddamn French, but did you just threaten me? Look, I get threatening Davey here, but I can’t have it. Not him, not me.”
“Carl, just put it down,” Rick hissed, and I could see the panic starting to rise in him.
“Don’t be rude, Rick,” Negan chided with a chuckle. “We are havin’ a conversation here. Now, boy, where were we? Oh, yeah. Your giant, man-sized balls. No threatening us. Listen, I like you, so I don’t wanna go hard provin’ a point here. You don’t want that. I said half your shit, and half is what I say it is. I’m serious. Do you want me to prove how serious? Again?”
Carl’s hands trembled, but he finally lowered the gun and shoved it toward Rick with a heavy breath. Negan just snatched it, pleased as hell.
“You know, Rick,” he said as he twirled the weapon in his hands like some cowboy, “this whole thing reminds me that you have a lotta guns. There’s all the guns you took from my outpost when you wasted all my people with a shit ton of your own guns, and I’m bettin’ there’s even more. Which adds up to an absolute ass load of guns, and as this little emotional outburst has made crystal clear… I can’t allow that.”
He paused, then smiled like a cat who’d just eaten the canary.
“They’re all mine now,” he declared. “So tell me, Rick… where are my guns?”
Another gunshot rang out.
My stomach flipped. No—dropped. My blood turned cold.
“Again? Really?” Negan barked, already in motion, that predator’s gait of his kicking in. The rest of them poured outside like dogs off the leash—shoving, cursing, panicked. My brain stuttered, disconnected from the chaos until I heard it—that scream. Guttural. Torn from somewhere deep and primal.
Mine.
I screamed. A ragged sound I didn’t recognize until it was out there, echoing across the street.
Soup.
He was splayed on the pavement like a broken toy, a slick red pool spreading from his side, seeping into the cracks. His flanks rose and fell in short, frantic bursts. His hind legs kicked weakly at nothing. Carl was already down there, hunched over him, hands shaking as he bundled his flannel around the wound. He looked up once—wild-eyed—but I wasn’t seeing him. I wasn’t seeing anything. My limbs moved on their own.
I spotted the Savior still holding the gun. Still warm. Still smoking. He was smirking like he’d just won a carnival game.
I launched at him. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed, my voice splintering into something feral. I didn’t care if he was bigger or stronger or armed—I hit him in the face, in the chest, wherever I could land a punch. He staggered, blood blooming from his nose, and I felt something wet on my knuckles but I didn’t stop. I punched his ribs, his gut, clawed at whatever part of him I could reach. I wasn’t thinking. There was no plan. Just fury.
He stumbled back, and I surged forward again, ready to take him down with me if that’s what it took.
Tight, ironclad arms caught me from behind.
Not Daryl.
I shoved hard, both palms slamming into a chest that felt too solid, too smug. Negan.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I snarled, the words breaking loose like bile. My vision blurred, not just from tears but from rage. “You ruin everything you fucking touch!”
I dropped beside Soup again, knees scraping concrete. Carl had his hands jammed down against the blood-soaked shirt, but it wasn’t helping. It wasn’t doing a damn thing.
I reached out, hands trembling as I touched the edge of the makeshift bandage. I could feel him shuddering underneath it. He let out this tiny, breathless yowl, that didn’t belong to something wild anymore. Just scared. Just hurt.
Behind me, Negan laughed—loud, delighted, absolutely goddamn deranged. “A fucking bobcat?” he said, grinning like it was the best joke he’d heard all year. “Hot damn! You are something else little red.”
I snapped to my feet again, chest heaving. My cheeks were wet, but I didn’t remember crying, as I stormed across the grass toward him.
“Give me what I need to fix him,” I said, voice wrecked, throat raw. I didn’t care if it sounded like begging. It was begging. I’d get on my hands, my knees, my fucking face if it meant Soup had a chance.
Negan tilted his head, his eyes dancing as they slid toward Daryl, who hadn’t moved from where he stood, still a ghost in our midst. Still refusing to look at me.
Negan grinned wider, tongue poking out between his teeth as he looked back at me. “You really bagged her?” he said, tilting his head toward Daryl. “No, seriousl y? ” He looked back at me, then made a crude gesture with his mouth and tongue that made my stomach churn.
I wanted to throw up.
“Give me what I need,” I snapped, my voice catching hard in my throat as I looked at Soup again—his breath rattling, limbs gone limp. A horrible sort of stillness was starting to set in.
Negan clapped his hands like someone just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Tell ya what,” he said brightly. “I didn’t authorize a damn thing about one of my boys offing your emotional support jungle cat,” he said brightly, like we were swapping neighborly grievances. “And sure, technically, I don’t consider animals part of the Alexandrian census—but I’m not heartless.”
He gave me a smile full of teeth. “So let’s make a deal. You drop to your knees, right here, right now—and I’ll call it square. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
I stared at him.
The world had gone quiet around me, like it sometimes did before a panic attack. Like the air had collapsed in on itself.
I turned my head toward Daryl. He was still a statue. No eye contact. No lifeline. Just… shame. Silence.
So I turned back to Negan and dropped.
My knees hit the grass slow. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cry. I just stared up at Negan, my face hollowed out, my spine the only thing keeping me upright.
He crouched in front of me like he was about to make a wish. “Pretty,” he murmured, tilting my chin with one finger. “That’s what I think about you. Pretty and a nice rack.” He straightened with a snap of his fingers. “Bobby! Give Ms. Liberty here whatever the hell she needs to patch up that overgrown housecat you nearly turned into roadkill.”
Bobby clutched his bloody nose. “She fucked my nose up!”
Negan snapped around so fast it startled even me.
“Hey!” he thundered, voice booming like a damn shotgun blast. “I don’t give a greasy rat’s dick if she ripped your balls off and mailed ‘em to your mama— do what I said! ”
Bobby froze. Then nodded. Blood running down his face like ink.
I stayed on my knees a second longer, feeling the ache set into my joints, letting the cold of the pavement crawl up my legs like frostbite.
Then I stood, slow and shaky, and ran back to Soup.
_____________
The knock came after dark, slow, just enough to make Soup stir from where he’d curled on the couch, a low chuff escaping him as his head lifted and his ears twitched. He was still groggy, his pupils slow to adjust in the low light, bandaged and drugged but stubbornly alive.
I murmured something soft, barely aware of the words, my hand brushing over his fur with the same reverence I might’ve given a prayer. My other hand was already moving—instinct taking the reins—palming the handle of the knife tucked into the waistband at my lower back. I hadn’t fully come down from the adrenaline that had gripped me earlier. My shoulders still carried it like sandbags, that tight, unrelenting awareness that I wasn’t safe. That nothing was anymore.
I opened the door a crack, just enough to see; Carl stood there, lit by the porch lamp and a haze of chilled air, his jaw tight, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. He wore a hoodie that looked too thin for the night weather, sleeves pushed up like he was still pretending everything was normal. Just a kid on a late-night walk.
Olivia stood behind him, arms wrapped around herself, sleeves balled in her fists like they might unravel if she let go. Her eyes flicked past me, not at me—past me, to the faint lamp-glow of the living room, like she was already picturing what it might feel like to be inside, somewhere warmer, and with the illusion of safety.
And at the back, barely a pace behind, was Aaron. His expression was harder to read, but something intense sat behind it—sharper than concern, heavier than curiosity. His gaze met mine like a test.
I blinked, brain lagging. “Uh… is everything okay?”
They didn’t ask to come in, just drifted past me like fog through a broken window. I stepped back, watching them file in with that creeping sense that something had shifted again—another inch of ground pulled out from under us that I had no clue about.
In the living room, Soup gave a weak growl when he saw Carl, a lazy sound, more memory than aggression. Carl crouched next to him immediately, and Soup exhaled through his nose and laid his head back down. I swallowed against the knot in my throat and took the chair across from the couch, dropping into it like my bones had finally remembered how exhausted they were.
Olivia hovered at the edge of the room, uncertain. She looked like someone stepping into a stranger’s funeral—aware she didn’t quite belong, but compelled to be there anyway. Her eyes darted to the couch, the floor, the pictures on the wall. She fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan like it might give her courage.
“I heard they were looking for missing guns,” I said after a beat, my voice scraping in my throat. “They find them?”
“Spencer’s house,” Aaron answered flatly. He perched on the arm of the couch like he didn’t trust the cushions not to betray him. Like he wanted to be ready to bolt, just in case.
I let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Of course it was.” I didn’t bother pretending to be surprised. Spencer was the kind of guy who looked in the mirror and saw a hero. Rat-faced little shit probably thought he was doing us a favor.
Carl was still focused on Soup, one hand hovering near the thick bandage on his side. “Soup?” he asked gently, voice low.
“He’ll be okay,” I murmured. “It was a flesh wound. Clean-through.” Mostly. “I gave him pain meds and stitched it up best I could.”
I didn’t say how my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. How I had to stop halfway through and puke in the sink because the smell of burnt fur and blood turned my stomach inside out. How I kept apologizing to him, over and over, even though I knew he couldn’t answer. That part was mine. That was the debt I owed for hesitating.
Olivia finally sat down, but only barely—perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch like it might swallow her. Her knees were together, fingers still worrying at the wool of her sweater, her eyes scanning the room like there was something she was trying to find the words for.
It was Aaron who finally broke the silence. “Rick said Negan’s in charge now.” His eyes flick to mine and hold. “Eric asked about you during the meeting. He said the two of you weren’t running things.”
That caught me off guard. I straightened a little, not defensively—just surprised. “Rick and I had a fight earlier. Before they showed up—“
“They have Daryl,” Olivia interrupts. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her voice not waver. She’s nervous, but she’s pushing through it, and the fact that she’s even speaking up is enough to make me pause. “You two are a thing, right? Negan has him. You’re not giving up, right?”
I stared at her, unable to speak at first. Something inside me buckled—like the floor had just tilted and I was sliding toward something I couldn’t name.
She didn’t say it like gossip. She said it like faith.
I looked back at Soup, his side rising and falling slow and shallow, and I thought about that moment in the dirt—on my knees, my mouth dry, while Negan laughed above me. Daryl hadn’t even looked. Hadn’t said a word. I’d been alone, and I’d done it anyway.
I blinked, throat thick. “I’m still running things,”
The words landed like a promise, but they burned like a brand. Because I meant all of it. Even if I didn’t know how the hell I was going to pull it off.
Carl shot to his feet again, jaw clenched. “I’m gonna talk to my dad. And Michonne.” His voice didn’t shake, didn’t rise—but it had an edge. “We can’t just lay down and let this happen. You can’t.”
Aaron nodded. “Deanna wanted you to lead.” Calm on the surface, but I can feel the heat behind it. “She didn’t give this place to Rick. She gave it to you. And you’re letting him hand it over to Negan without a fight.”
My throat clenched. “It’s not that simple—”
“We’ll stand with you,” Olivia said suddenly. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. She sat upright on the couch, her hands balled tight in her lap, gaze fixed.
That silences everything. The room goes still, like we’re all realizing at the same time that something’s shifting under our feet.
I sat there, heart pounding, unsure if it’s anger or adrenaline or both. The truth is, I let Rick take the reins. Pretended he knew best because he’d walked through more blood than I had. Because he looked the part. I didn’t want to have to argue with him, or with anyone else. But I didn’t want to be Gregory. Maybe I let things slide too far.
Aaron leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. “I will,” he said. “Eric will.”
And I know what I have to do. I can’t wait for things to get worse. I can’t sit here while Negan’s people pick us off, one by one, until there’s nothing left but blood and empty houses. I have to get Daryl back. I have to check on Maggie, on Sasha. I need a plan. I need allies. I need fire.
I stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, I saw exhaustion behind his eyes. Not the optimistic, bright-eyed, man who took in a group of a dozen strangers. He been surviving on fumes since the wolves attacked and was finally at the end of his rope.
I looked down at my hands. They didn’t shake, not now—but I remembered them shaking earlier, red to the wrist while I stitched Soup up on the kitchen floor, thinking about Daryl. About his face when they dragged him away that night. I couldn’t get it out of my head—the blood on his chest, the slack in his body, the way he didn’t even try to fight.
“I have to find out where Negan actually lives,” I said.
Aaron nodded slowly, rubbing a hand down his face like the weight of everything had finally started to land heavy on his skin. He looked tired. Not just physically, but somewhere deeper—like the foundation had cracked and he was still pretending it could be patched.
“I’m going to look with Rick tomorrow,” he said, voice low, thoughtful. “I have…” He trailed off, chewing on his lower lip like it tasted bitter. “I have an idea.”
I watched him, brow pulling together in confusion. I wanted to ask—wanted to press him for what the hell kind of idea he thought would be good enough to fix this mess—but I stopped myself. I trusted Aaron. Trusted him more than most people left in this world. And maybe more than that, I needed to be able to say I didn’t know when Rick eventually cornered me about something.
“Okay,” I murmured, giving him the smallest of nods.
Olivia shifted beside him, scooting further onto the couch with a sigh that sounded older than her bones. “I can stay with Soup,” she offered, voice quieter now. “He shouldn’t be alone. And I don’t mind the couch. They took half our furniture anyway.”
There was a heaviness in her tone that caught me off guard—something hollow, bruised. I hadn’t realized just how much the Saviors had taken from everyone, not just in things but in spirit. Her quiet offer settled over me like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t just about Soup. It was about doing something , anything, to feel like she still had a choice in this world.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. “That’d help a lot.”
Carl, who’d been pacing a little near the fireplace, finally turned back to face me. “I can try to get Michonne on our side. If not…” He turned back toward me, eyes burning with something too big for his age. “I’m coming with you.”
“Carl—” I began, already hearing the arguments forming.
“I am, ” he said again.
I stared at him, and for a second, I saw the boy he used to be. Soft cheeks. Wide eyes. Always hanging close to Lori, or Shane, or Rick. Back before the blood and the walkers and the barbed wire. Too young to carry this weight, but carrying it anyway.
I exhaled slowly, nodded once. Not because I agreed—but because I knew trying to stop him would only push him harder. And I’d told him so many months ago, that if he was going to do something reckless—dangerous—to at least tell me first, so someone would know.
He gave a small, satisfied tilt of his chin and turned back toward Soup, kneeling again to scratch behind the bobcat’s ears. Soup blinked slow, drugged but still annoyed that he wasn’t the one doing the hunting tonight.
For a moment, no one spoke. The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was dense with tension, with the knowledge that this was the calm before something big. And probably ugly.
My mind drifted, turning over thoughts I hadn’t wanted to say out loud until now. I’d given Rick space. Let him take the spotlight because I didn’t want to be the one constantly at odds with him. I told myself it was diplomacy. That I was avoiding unnecessary friction. But the truth was, I’d stepped aside when I should’ve stepped in.
Rick was trying to be a father first. Trying to build something safer, more stable—for Judith, for Carl. I couldn’t fault him for that. But it made him soft in all the wrong places. Made him hesitate when what we needed was fire.
My thoughts turned to Maggie. To Sasha. To Hilltop. I hadn’t heard much since that night, but I could guess what was happening behind those walls. Grief could freeze you or sharpen you. Knowing Maggie, she was sharpening.
“I need to get to Hilltop,” I said. “See where Maggie stands. If she’s planning anything.”
Aaron looked up at me sharply. “You think she’d be willing to go against Rick?”
“She’s not gonna let Negan fade into the background,” I said. “Not after Glenn. She’s grieving, but she’s still Maggie. She doesn’t break easy.”
Carl nodded, his voice a whisper. “Sasha won’t sit this out either.”
“She won’t,” I echoed. “And I’m not gonna sit here and wait for Negan to decide who dies next. If Rick wants to keep pretending submission is survival, fine. But I won’t be part of that.”
Aaron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor like he was picturing everything unraveling in real-time. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It always does,” I said, and the words left a sour taste in my mouth.
Outside, the wind picked up. Leaves scratched against the window like fingernails. Soup let out a soft chuff in his sleep, like he could sense the storm coming.
Olivia curled into herself slightly, tucking her legs under her and resting her chin on her hand. “If we push back… they’ll come harder. We’ll lose people.”
“I know,” I said. “But we’re gonna lose them anyway. At least this way we get to choose how it happens.”
“We start planning tomorrow?” Aaron asked.
I shook my head. “No. Tomorrow I’m getting my man back.” My jaw was ready to break with how hard I was clenching it, but there were butterflies in my stomach at the idea of bringing Daryl home. “Then we start planning.”
.baby, let the game begin, let the games begin.
Notes:
y’all~ i toyed with doing a chapter dedicated to ‘The Cell’, but i genuinely haven’t watched that episode but MAYBE twice… and i actually hate how good of a job Norman portrays Daryl being a POW, bc it makes me sick to my stomach.
i will probably add some pov in the next episode, but ughh~ i just couldn’t do a full chapter pov like i originally wanted. anyways~ and like, idk, Aaron and Olivia, to me, feel like the two og Alexandrians to really stand on business.
this one is kind of a short chapter, but i still really love it!also….sorry ab the near assassination of Soup Can….
Chapter 70: fucking hated teenagers
Summary:
I squinted, surveying the layout. It was risky. Hell, the whole plan was risky. Nothing about what we were about to do was exactly OSHA-approved — not unless OSHA suddenly started handing out certifications for ‘most batshit crazy infiltration mission.’
I exhaled through my nose, decision made.
“I’ll go first. Once I make it to that first dirt hill, you start coming down.”
Chapter Text
.teenagers scare the livin’ shit outta me.
I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. Not with the silence and all the ghosts crammed into the walls; especially not after yesterday.
I got dressed in the dark, pulling my boots on by muscle memory, jerking the laces tighter than they needed to be. Every motion was stiff, mechanical, like I could jam myself into gear if I just moved hard enough.
Shorts, jacket, belt, knife. Bow across my shoulder. No plan yet. Just a fire crawling under my skin and the gnawing certainty that if I stayed still any longer, I’d rot in place.
I packed a side bag, filled with the bare minimum. A few snacks, an extra pair of socks, and a single shirt of Daryl’s. That’s about all that would fit anyway—tight and sloppy, the zipper barely closing.
Soup stirred from where he slept on the couch. He didn’t get up—just blinked at me with those pale eyes, still probably doped up from that last dose of medicine I gave him before we settled down for the night. I crouched down, pressed a hand against the ruff of his neck. “Olivia’s gonna check on you, and keep an eye on things around here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He huffed. That annoyed little exhale he did when I either woke him up a little too early or scooted him out my bed.
I slipped outside before the sun broke, the sky stretched in dark, sallow colors—purples and grays like old bruises spreading under the skin. I tightened my jacket around myself and stepped on Rick’s porch. The steps creaked as I just stood there for a second, staring at the door, fists clenched, heart rattling. I didn’t have a pitch. No rallying speech. Just this pit in my gut that kept screaming
he’s not gonna do a damn thing.
But I needed to hear him say it.
Needed the final push, the last little bit of proof that if Daryl was ever getting out of that place, it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be thanks to Rick Grimes.
I knocked hard, twice. A minute or two later, the man himself opened the door with a half-sleep squint, shirt rumpled, and jaw set.
Rick squinted against the porch light, knuckles scrubbing his face, hair messy from sleep. “Everything alright?”
I tightened my grip on the strap digging into my shoulder. “Can we talk?”
He didn’t answer, not in words. Just shifted aside enough for me to slip in, shutting the door behind me with a soft click that sounded too loud in the stillness. The house was colder than it typically was, smelling faintly of shea butter and some kind of cologne.
I hovered near the door, boots glued to the worn rug. Rick disappeared down the hall, the floorboards groaning under his bare feet. A few cabinets creaked open, and the coffee pot grumbled to life, coughing steam into the kitchen.
The sound of tiny footsteps broke the hush — fast, unsteady. I turned my head just in time to see Judith toddle in, dragging her blanket by the hem. Her diaper sagged low on her hips, and her hair stuck up in a dozen wild directions. She paused when she saw me, wide-eyed, then waddled straight for the couch, heaving herself up with both hands and curling into the corner, blanket tucked around her like a little nest.
It was ridiculous how much she’d grown since we officially moved into Alexandria. It had technically been around five or six months, but with how much older Jude looked, it felt like at least a year.
Rick came back balancing two mugs and a third, smaller cup tucked into the crook of his elbow. He set one down on the side table by Judith, before setting the second mug down in front of me, the surface of the coffee trembling faintly against the wood.
I took it without thinking, the ceramic warm against my palms. Judith clambered onto the chair between us, blanket dragging over the floor, her tiny hand wrapping around a mug half her size. It wasn’t coffee—probably warm milk—but she cradled it with all the seriousness in the world.
“I can’t believe how big she is, she’s such a little lady now,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be. Gravelly from a throat too raw from the constant grief I’d been giving it for the past week.
Rick followed my gaze over to his daughter, something soft crossing his face. “She’s been calling Michonne ‘mama’ lately.”
The words hit a little harder than I expected. I curled my fingers tighter around my cup. “How’s Carl feel about that?”
Rick gave a slow shrug, eyes dropping to the tabletop. “He thinks Judith deserves a mom.”
I stared at Judith, the tiny curls sticking to her forehead, the stubborn way she tried to lift her cup with both hands even though it wobbled dangerously. It yanked a memory straight to the front of my mind—Carl, when Lori was pregnant. How excited he’d been, trailing after her, asking a hundred questions a day. Oblivious back then to the real ugliness of this world. Back before he’d had to shoot his own mother to save his sister.
He should’ve fallen apart after that. Anyone would’ve. But Carl carried it—carried all of it—with a kind of grace that most grown men couldn’t scrape together. Quiet strength. Pain etched into the cracks that used to be boyhood. Watching him these days was like watching a battle-worn soldier barely hanging onto what little innocence he had left. The childhood he was robbed of.
I set my mug down a little harder than I meant to. Rick’s eyes flicked to me. He caught the shift in the air, but didn’t say a word.
“Rick,” I said, “we have to get Daryl back.”
He leaned back in his chair, slow like he had all the time in the world, jaw tightening hard enough I saw the veins pop along his neck. That same tired sigh left him—the one I’d heard too many times lately. He shook his head slow. “All we can do is listen to Negan… maybe one day he’ll let Daryl come back.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
“Bullshit.”
I pushed up from the table so fast my chair scraped back hard. The way he said it—calm, almost casual—it made something ugly snap inside me, and the urge to throw something burned through me so strong my hands shook at my sides. “For someone you call your brother, you sure do treat him like he’s still that same guy back in Atlanta.”
Rick’s mouth went tight, flattening into a hard, colorless line. “That’s what you think?”
I took a step back, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “You saw him, Rick,” I said, barely able to get the words past my teeth. “You saw what they’re doing to him. And you’re just gonna—what? Wait ?”
He stood too, shoulders stiff, palms planted on the table. “What do you want me to do, Libby?!” he snapped. “I have two kids to think about!”
The words didn’t even slow me down. My heart thundered against my ribs, anger and heartbreak a tangled mess too deep to untie.
The world tilted, buzzing loud in my ears.
“Glenn had one too.”
The second it left my mouth, I saw the punch land. Rick’s face crumpled—just for a second—before he caught himself.
“Libby—”
“And Glenn’s the only damn reason you even found yours!” I spat.
He opened his mouth again, but I wasn’t listening anymore.
I stepped in close, heat bouncing between us like a wildfire. Slammed my palms down against the table so hard the mugs rattled and the old wood groaned beneath the force. His eyes flared wide, body tensing like he half-expected me to swing at him.
“Shut up,” I snapped again. “Shut up and listen to me.”
The room thrummed with the fury burning off me.
“I’m going to get my man back,” I said, voice trembling from the force I barely kept contained. “You stay here and feed yourself whatever lies you gotta. But I’ll tell you one thing—”
I shoved off the table, chest heaving, stalking closer until I could see the tiny flecks of gray in his beard, the sunken lines around his eyes he didn’t even bother hiding anymore.
“Don’t you dare call him your brother again,” I said, voice dropping low enough it was barely more than a growl. “You hear me?” I jabbed my finger toward his chest, shaking with the force of everything I couldn’t say out loud. “Ever.”
For half a second, Rick looked like he might say something. Might throw it back at me.
But whatever he saw in my face kept him glued to the floor.
I ripped myself away before the tears burning behind my eyes could betray me, and snatched up my bag from where I dropped it by the door, slinging it over my shoulder.
Rick stayed frozen there, braced on the table, staring down at nothing, until he finally asked, “where you goin’?”
I didn’t bother turning around as I opened the door.
“Hilltop,” I said, fighting the tremor that threatned to echo in my voice. “Then to get Daryl.”
_____________
People were starting to wake up, quiet figures moving on front porches, the creak of screen doors opening, low voices threading across the street. I kept my head down, one hand brushing the strap of my bag as I moved, but halfway down the street, I heard a familiar voice stop me.
“Young lady,” Mr. Adler called from his porch, arms folded, face set in that same disapproving squint he wore like armor.
I stopped, turning toward him. His voice always had that particular snap to it, a little too sharp to ever be mistaken for affection — but it never stopped him from using it every time he talked to me.
“Everything okay?” I asked, stepping up onto the cracked stone path leading to his steps.
Mr. Adler — all scowl and hunched shoulders, the very picture of an old man who’d been mad at the world before it ended — shuffled down off the porch. He looked more serious than usual, almost… uneasy. A rare crack in that crusty exterior.
“That cat of yours,” he said, hitching up his pants. “He didn’t come over last night. Is he—?”
He broke off, eyes darting away, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, and for a second, I saw it — the sadness buried under all the bluster. It was the closest thing to worried I’d ever seen on his face.
Standing there, I quickly came to recall the moments in life before it went so horribly wrong. This — this little interaction seemed to be so innocent, so otherworldly.
A neighbor, checking in on a community pet of which he knew wasn’t doing so well at the moment.
Such a novel concept.
Even from Mr. Dennis Adler, the town’s grump, who had a tendency to complain about anything and everything possible, had an inkling of concern for the cat he supposedly ‘didn’t like’. From the moment we arrived in Alexandria, Soup had taken to visiting people pretty regularly — but Mr. Adler was his second home — even though the old man wouldn’t openly admit to that.
At first it was him calling from his front porch, telling me to keep a leash on my wild animal because he’s been clawing at his door first thing in the mornings. Which, as new residents, I did try to keep Soup contained.
Way easier said than done though.
I mean, even if Google still existed, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a designated guide on domesticating a bobcat.
But then Adler began stopping by Rick’s, claiming that we owed him a new throw blanket because apparently Soup decided he liked Mr. Adler’s current one, and was using it as a nap spot.
And when Daryl and I finally moved into our house, the very first morning, Mr. Adler was coming up our front steps — glasses pushed up, receded white hair, and a slight hunch — ordering Daryl to give Soup a bath or quit taking him outside the gates. Daryl had shot back something nasty, (a future old grump himself), only to take a hose and off-brand dish liquid to that very cat a few hours later.
I smiled, small. “He’s fine. Got him stitched up and on some medicine, but Olivia’s gonna keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”
Mr. Adler studied me a little too long, his mouth twitching. Like he wanted to ask more but didn’t know how without losing whatever battle he fought daily against being a softie. After a second, he grunted, the mask snapping back into place.
“Well, he needs to keep himself at his own house,” he grumbled, retreating up the steps. “Always in everybody’s business.”
“Yes, Mr. Adler,” I said, the faux apology slipping easy from the lopsided smile pulling at my mouth.
He waved a hand without looking at me and disappeared back onto the porch, muttering something under his breath. Probably didn’t matter. Soup was his favorite, and we both knew it.
I turned back toward the gate, half-regretting leaving Soup behind, but a little part of me was comforted that even the village grump was worried about him.
I thought about taking a car. It’d be faster — easier. But walking meant I could stay low, off the main roads, and not draw any extra attention on the off chance any Savior’s were coming through. It also gave me time to think — and maybe I needed that more than I wanted to admit.
“Libby!”
I turned. Carl was jogging toward me, one hand holding down his hat so it wouldn’t blow off.
I stopped and waited for him, already feeling the wrath of a teenager pressing in on me. Especially since I was trying to leave without telling anyone.
“I heard you and my dad yelling a little bit ago,” he said, a little out of breath.
“Yeah,” I muttered, looking away, bitter. “He’s not helping us.”
Judging from his face, Carl wasn’t surprised. “Then we do it alone.”
I stopped walking altogether, staring at him. For a second, I just stood there, taking him in. He was still so young…but there was this hardness to him now. Like the world had carved it into him, little by little.
“I’m leaving for Hilltop,” I said. “After I check on Maggie, see if she’s planning anything, I’m gonna find out where Negan lives.”
“Right now?”
“I’m not letting Daryl stay in that place one second longer than he has to.” I let out a slow breath, feeling the knot tighten in my stomach. “I don’t think I’m coming back for a while.”
Carl’s mouth pulled tight. “I thought you weren’t abandoning Alexandria. We need you.”
“I’m not,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to. I glanced around nervously, like Rick might come storming down the street at any second. I didn’t want to leave. But staying meant going in circles. Wasting time we didn’t have.
“I’m gonna work something out with Maggie,” I said. “I’ve got things I need to set up if we’re gonna take Negan down. If your dad wants to sit here and play pretend, let him. But I can’t plan a damn thing while Negan’s strolling through the front gate once a week.”
Carl’s face stayed stubborn, but he didn’t argue. Not out loud, anyway. He just stood there, seething under the surface.
“As far as Negan needs to know,” I added, softer, “I’m just out on a run.”
He hesitated, then blurted, “I can’t just stay here, Libby. And—” He flailed his arms, frustrated. “I haven’t even had a chance to talk to him. Or Michonne.”
“Carl,” I said, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. I squeezed it, feeling how tense he was under my hand. My heart twisted. “I’ll be at Hilltop. You think you can make it there by the end of the week?”
“Yeah?” he said, eyebrows bunching.
“It’s a decent walk,” I warned him. “Take a car until you hit Kroner Lane. Park it and cut northeast through the woods. Once you start seeing the red dirt, you’re close.” I gave his shoulder another squeeze. “I’ll give you a rundown when you get there.”
I turned to go, but his voice stopped me again.
“Libby?”
I turned halfway back.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to drive,” he said, almost sheepishly.
I huffed out a dry laugh. “Well, lucky for you,” I said, walking backward a few steps, “your dad’s the only sheriff left in these parts. You’ll be fine.” I turned for real this time, leaving Carl standing in the middle of the street, his hand falling away from his hat like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.
The closer I got to the gate, the heavier everything started to feel. The weight of it sat in my chest, deep and sour. I wasn’t abandoning Alexandria — I wasn’t. But it still felt like it. Like I was carving a line down the center of the place, separating myself from all the people still clinging to a normal they couldn’t have anymore.
Spencer was up on watch this morning. He gave me a lazy wave as I approached, probably assuming I was just heading out for supplies or scavenging.
“You want me to radio someone?” he asked, already leaning toward the walkie.
“No,” I said, adjusting my pack higher on my shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
It was easier to lie when you kept it simple.
Spencer didn’t argue. He pulled the lever, and the gate creaked open just wide enough for me to slip through.
Outside the walls, the world smelled different — damp earth and two-year-old-rot. It felt bigger too, like the sky suddenly opened up wider without those metal panels hemming it in. I was beginning to understand why Daryl liked it better out here.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me and started down the overgrown road.
For the first mile, I didn’t let myself think. I just moved. Left foot, right foot. Keep breathing. Keep moving. But the silence wasn’t kind. It pressed in, thick and waiting, and eventually my thoughts clawed their way back in.
Daryl.
I pictured him in some filthy cell, locked up like a goddamn dog. Bruised. Bloodied. Maybe worse.
Every step I took toward Hilltop felt like a thread pulling tighter through my ribs.
I didn’t have a map - not that I needed one. The way forward was stitched into my bones now — a straight line of anger, fear, and something deeper that I didn’t have a name for yet.
I wasn’t sure how long it’d take to get there.
I just knew I wasn’t coming back empty-handed.
Somewhere behind me, the gate clanged shut again.
I didn’t turn around.
I just kept walking, the road stretching out in front of me like it might never end.
_____________
The sun was beating down so hard, I could feel my skin cooking through my shirt. Every step fucking sucked. The sweat trickling down my back was enough to make me think I should’ve just taken a car after all. But I’d told myself I needed the time. Needed to think. Stealthier this way, too, I reasoned — even though it mostly felt like self-inflicted punishment now.
By the time I pushed through the thick underbrush on the edge of Hilltop, the sun was high enough to be even more painful without the shade of the trees, but I couldn’t remember when the hours had slipped by. My legs burned with every step, the muscles sore and tight from too many miles. My stomach cramped, gnawing at me from lack of real food — just a handful of snacks I’d tossed in my bag before leaving. But it wasn’t hunger that made the emptiness in my chest feel like a black hole. No, that was the ache in my heart — the heavy, unrelenting thud that made every breath feel like it was pulling me deeper into some suffocating pit, and I was tempted to puke all over the pine needles of the forest floor.
I hadn’t felt the weight of it until I started moving. It had been a while since I let myself truly feel anything. Glenn and Abraham. The brutal, finality of it — I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. The way that ache had a permanent place inside me now, a wound that would never quite heal. It was raw every time I tried to swallow, every time I thought about the people I’d never share a conversation with again.
I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Not really.
Best case scenario, Maggie already had something brewing. Worst case… well, I’d figure that out when I got there.
She’d lost her world in the blink of an eye, and the only thing that kept spinning was the hope that she could still fix things. But who the hell was she supposed to lean on when Rick wasn’t willing to fight?
And l hated how out of the loop I’d been. Hated that I hadn’t even laid eyes on Maggie or Sasha since the night everything fell apart and we left them at Hilltop. I didn’t know how the baby was doing. I didn’t know what Maggie was feeling, how she was holding up. Didn’t know shit about shit.
All I had was this gnawing sense of responsibility, and a half-baked plan to try and track down Negan’s base — because that was the best thing I could come up with. A place to start. A way to feel like I was doing something other than drowning in the compliance of Alexandria. I wasn’t sure where it would lead, but at least I knew what I was running toward.
A low thrum of exhaustion hummed in my veins, and the ache in my body grew with every step I took through the woods. The trees grew denser here, their trunks thick and dark like they had secrets of their own, and I was starting to think about the ground beneath me more than the direction I was headed. My legs wanted to collapse under me, my muscles were shot, but I pushed past it.
Just a little farther.
Then I broke through the treeline, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. The log fencing around Hilltop shimmered up ahead — and so did the black vests and rifles of the Saviors loitering around the front gate.
Figures.
A breath rushed out of me, more frustration than air. No surprise. The Saviors always seemed to have a way of making everything harder. Like they had some cosmic permission to ruin anything good that tried to grow in this world.
It was convenient though — after all — I was setting out to find out where Negan stayed.
Movement flickered at the corner of my vision. Voices too, low and urgent, just on the other side of a thick cluster of brush. My instincts kicked in before I had the chance to think. I dropped to a crouch and pulled my bow off my shoulder, fingers brushing the fletching of an arrow without even thinking about it. Quiet. Controlled. I was familiar with this feeling — the quiet hum of readiness, the quickening pulse in my throat.
I edged toward the sound, each step deliberate, heart thudding hard enough to rattle my ribs. My mouth was dry, nerves tight, but I wasn’t scared.
Then, through the thick leaves, I saw them. Carl and Enid.
I exhaled sharply, letting the arrow slide back into place, lowering the bow with a tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying. The sight of them hit me harder than I expected, sharp relief flooding my chest.
I pushed through the undergrowth, barely making a sound as I let myself be seen.
Carl spotted me first. “Are you just now getting here?” he asked, like he almost couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I caught myself staring at him for a long beat — his eyes wide, his jaw set, the boy who’d grown up too fast in a world that forced it.
“I took the long way,” I said, shrugging stiffly. My mouth felt like sandpaper. “Needed time to think. What’re you doing here?” I asked, specifically to Enid.
“I came to see Maggie,” Enid piped up, stepping closer.
She’d gotten so close with Maggie and Glenn over the last couple months, it made my heart ache thinking about her grieving by herself.
Glenn had told me one night — about how when the Wolves attacked, he and Enid got stuck together, and how bratty she’d been about helping him get back home to Maggie. But I couldn’t help but pick on him; it was such a perfect time to tell him that he was basically Enid’s Dale now.
Carl’s hand hovered awkwardly near his belt. His eyes kept darting past me toward the gate. “The Saviors are here.”
I snorted under my breath. “Yeah. I know.”
The three of us stood there in the heat, shoulder to shoulder, looking toward the cluster of men guarding the entrance of yet another territory they had free range over.
“I’m gonna sneak into one of the trucks,” Carl said, all casual, like he was just announcing he was gonna grab a snack or some shit.
“Absolutely the fuck not.” I turned on him so fast I damn near gave myself whiplash, looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “Carl, if you get caught, it screws everything up.”
“It won’t,” he said, shrugging one shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’ll just bring me to Negan—”
I literally stared at him, baffled, mouth half open. He was so casual about it, like he was just deciding his own fate and didn’t even give a shit. Like getting carted off to the most sadistic bastard we knew about was just another Tuesday. “And he’ll be pretty damn interested in how you know about the Hilltop,” I snapped, my voice coming out sharper than I meant it to.
Carl’s face didn’t change. He just stood there, steady as ever. “I won’t get caught.”
“Carl—”
“I’ve got this,” he cut me off, a little stubborn edge creeping into his tone. “You can track—”
“You want me to track on foot while you ride all cushy in a box truck?” I blinked at him, incredulous. “ Fuck off, asshole. I’m coming too. ”
We locked eyes then, the both of us too adamant for our own good. But there was a flash of something between us — a mutual understanding. We weren’t gonna talk the other out of this.
“I’m gonna go in the back and wait for the trucks to pull off,” Enid said quietly behind us.
I turned to look at her, something tightening low in my gut. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
Enid glanced between me and Carl like she wasn’t sure which one of us was the bigger idiot, but she nodded anyway. Brave kid. She pulled her jacket tighter and started slipping back into the woods, careful to stay low.
I watched her go, chewing the inside of my cheek, before turning back toward the trucks.
The Saviors were still loading up, tossing box after box into the back like it didn’t even matter where it came from. I couldn’t help but wonder just how much they were taking, how long it’d be before Hilltop was stripped clean. I crossed my fingers mentally, hoping Maggie stayed hidden, praying Gregory didn’t try any of his usual cowardly bullshit.
Two trucks pulled away from the clearing, engines growling low as they disappeared down the road.
Carl stepped closer. “The grass is high. If we’re careful, we can go down the hill and take cover behind the dirt mounds until we get close enough.”
I squinted, surveying the layout. It was risky. Hell, the whole plan was risky. Nothing about what we were about to do was exactly OSHA-approved — not unless OSHA suddenly started handing out certifications for ‘most batshit crazy infiltration mission.’
I exhaled through my nose, decision made. “I’ll go first. Once I make it to that first dirt hill, you start coming down.”
I narrowed my eyes, scanning the clearing. Two men stood near the trucks, but they weren’t really looking for threats. Their eyes were more on the boxes, lazy, half-assed, like they thought nobody would be stupid enough to try something today.
Wrong.
“If they see me, don’t play hero.” I turned my head, locking eyes with Carl, making damn sure he heard me. “Turn the fuck around.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, giving me a look like I was treating him like a baby — I didn’t give a single shit how he felt about it. If something happened to him — if something happened to either of them — I’d never forgive myself for even thinking about letting this happen.
“I’m serious,” I said, voice low and fierce.
“Okay,” he muttered.
I nodded once, tightened the straps of my gear, and started moving — low and slow. The grass brushing against my bare legs as I crept down the hill, knees half-bent, muscles straining. My heart damn near punched a hole through my chest once I was officially clear of the treeline, nothing but waist-high grass between me and the Saviors. No real cover, no second chances. If they turned around now and looked a little too hard, I was screwed .
I wasn’t even scared for myself. It was Carl I was thinking about — Carl seeing me get caught and doing something stupid, blowing everything to hell because he couldn’t sit still and let it happen.
Teenagers. I decided right then and there I didn’t like ‘em. They scared the living shit out of me.
The dirt mounds weren’t far, maybe twenty yards, but it felt like crossing an open battlefield. I kept my head down, shifting side to side to stay behind patches of thicker grass when I could. One of the Saviors let out a laugh and I froze.
Seconds dragged. Another bark of laughter, farther away.
They weren’t looking.
I pushed forward, faster now, almost sliding the last few feet until I slammed up against the first big pile of dirt. A shaky breath slipped out before I could stop it, my back pressed flat to the cool earth.
I flicked my eyes up toward the treeline, squinting through the stalks. Sure enough, Carl was already making his way down, bold as hell, like he thought he was some kind of ghost that couldn’t get caught. Daryl would lose his shit if he knew I was doing this. The thought hit me out of nowhere, sharp and almost painful. He’d lose it even worse if he knew I was doing it with the kid in tow. I gritted my teeth, shoved the thought down deep.
Ahead, the trucks rumbled in place, engines coughing and idling. I eased up just enough to peek around the edge of the dirt pile, pressing my palms into the dry, crumbling earth. The air smelled like diesel and dust, heavy and thick in my nose.
Another Savior truck rumbled to life a few yards away, belching smoke as it creaked forward, the engine groaning under the weight of whatever they’d loaded into it.
I sucked in a slow breath, forcing my heart to stay steady, and let out a real quiet sigh of relief as it rolled down the main drive, picking up speed and disappearing down the red dirt road.
One less truck. One less set of eyes. Marginally better odds. But still way too many ways for this to go sideways.
Boots scraped against the dirt behind me, and I turned my head just in time to see Carl slipping into place at my side, crouching low, his hat tipped forward like he thought it made him invisible.
“The last truck’s about to leave,” he muttered, jerking his chin toward it. His face was flushed from the short sprint, but his eyes were steady, locked on the target. “We have to make the last stretch in one go.”
I tensed, already shaking my head before he finished. “We can’t risk getting caught, Carl.”
He looked at me like I was the crazy one.
“We can’t risk missing our ride,” he shot back, fast and stubborn, like he’d already made up his damn mind.
Frustration curled hot in my gut, but I swallowed it down. This wasn’t the time to lose my cool. I dug my fingers into the dirt, feeling the grit scrape under my nails.
“I can still track,” I hissed. “We miss it, we follow it.”
“It’ll take too long.” Carl shifted, adjusting his weight like he was getting ready to bolt, his body coiled like a spring.
Panic scratched at the back of my throat. He was gonna blow this. Get himself caught. Get himself killed .
I moved quick, clamping a hand down on his shoulder, grounding him before he could do something even dumber. “Carl—” I tried to catch his eyes, tried to make him see how serious I was. How badly this could end.
But he just shook me off.
“We gotta go.”
And then he took off , breaking cover, sprinting across the open stretch like we didn’t have half a dozen armed assholes a hundred yards away.
“Goddamnit—” I snarled under my breath, and took off after him, my boots kicking up dirt, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else.
I fucking hated teenagers.
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Fence duty. That’s what they stuck me with.
Handed me a broken broom handle to shove through the links and told me to keep the dead from stackin’ too high. No weapon worth a damn. No food. No water. No real chance to breathe.
Felt about right.
I didn’t argue. Figured it was what I deserved after gettin’ Glenn killed. After gettin’ Maggie killed too. After standin’ there like a fuckin’ idiot, watchin’ everything I cared about fall apart.
I was the asshole who started it all. The idiot who swung when he should’ve just stayed down; no matter how many times I ran it through my head, no matter how I tried to tear it apart and stitch it back together with different choices — the ending never changed.
I still saw Glenn’s skull cave in under that bat. Still heard Maggie’s scream shreddin’ through the dark. Still felt that sick snap inside me, the one that’ll never heal.
I deserved this.
The sun beat down through the chain link, cookin’ the dirt until it curled up in dry cracks at the too big boots they gave me. The cuffs of the tracksuit stuck to my skin, soaked through with sweat and grime. Mouth drier than sand, stomach twisted up in knots so tight they burned straight through my spine. I hadn’t eaten in days. Didn’t want to. Last time I looked at food, bile clawed up my throat so fast I nearly choked on it.
The acid came every morning now. Burnin’ up my chest ’til it felt hollow.
Almost liked it — the tearing sensation, the rawness that scratched at my insides, and the way it burned comin’ up my throat… it almost felt good.
Like I deserved it.
Some part of me — the part that still remembered how to feel anything — wished I’d screw up out here. Walkers were thinnin’ out these days, but hell, if I just stopped carin’, maybe one’d slip through.
Wouldn’t fight it.
But even that was too easy.
Death would’ve been a kindness.
And I didn’t deserve kindness.
I deserved this: sweat stingin’ my eyes, wrists numb from slammin’ the stick through rotten skulls, knuckles split and bleedin’ from where the wire caught ‘em. My punishment was to rot slow under the same sun that cooked the dead into jerky, and remember every sick, wet sound of bat on bone. Every last breath they stole.
I dragged the broom handle across another walker’s mouth, shovin’ it back, watchin’ its teeth snap at air that should’ve been my throat.
Another.
Then another.
They kept comin’, smellin’ the livin’ through the fence. Dumb instincts. No real hate in ’em.
Hate belonged to the livin’.
Especially to me.
I shifted my stance, feelin’ the ache in my calves, the sore pull in my gut from days without food. My whole body screamin’ in silence, but I barely registered it anymore. Just kept movin’. Kept breathin’.
Wasn’t just the work that felt like punishment. It was seein’ her face again yesterday.
Looking at me like she had — like she could still see somethin’ good in me.
It made me sick.
Disgusted.
Made me wanna rip my own skin off.
I saw her kneelin’ for Negan, her hands shaking while she begged for that damn cat.
Begged after knockin’ that one Savior’s nose outta line, and being forced off by Negan.
And I couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing but stand there and watch — couldn’t even meet her eyes. Negan didn’t have to lift a hand to use her against me. Just the threat of — seein’ her like that — made me ready to fall apart.
If he ever laid a hand on her—
If he ever dragged her back to that shithole compound—
If he ever used her the way he used me—
I’d fold.
Wouldn’t even think twice.
Wouldn’t be no standin’ tall, no holdin’ my ground. I’d drop to my knees and stay there if it meant keepin’ her safe.
One of the last things I said to her was “Go home.” Called her a bitch. She was cryin’ and I still pushed her away like she meant nothin’. And she still — still took care of me when they shot me. Still screamed my name when they hauled me off.
The dust shifted in the distance, dragging me from the depths of my own mind. Gravel churned up, spitting into the air as a convoy rumbled down the road toward the front gate. Big boxy trucks, fat with supplies.
Looked like the Hilltop run was back.
My ribs tightened, a deep, low pressure under my sternum that made it hard to suck in a full breath.
I missed her.
So bad it hurt to breathe.
And she probably hated me now, wouldn’t blame her if she did. Glenn was her best friend.
Inseparable.
Back then, first time I met ‘em, thought maybe they were together, and it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit. It would’ve made more sense, the way she looked at him like he hung the fuckin’ moon.
She denied it quick though, cheeks all red, eyes flickerin’ everywhere but at me. Couldn’t even talk straight without flirtin’ with me by accident.
I missed those days.
When the biggest problem we had was runnin’ outta clean water, and the only thing that rattled me was a pretty redhead starin’ too long, smirkin’ like she knew all my damn secrets. When walkers were the worst thing out there.
Now the world was worse.
Now we were worse.
A crack of gunfire snapped me outta it.
Head snapped up fast. Sounded like it came from the east fence.
I tried to get a better view through the gaps in the fence, but it was damn near impossible. Walkers kept shufflin’ up, arms slappin’ against the chain link, jaws snappin’. I had to shove ’em back, keep ’em from piling too high, or risk ‘em breaking through altogether. My hands ached from it, my body screamin’ from no food, no water, no rest.
Punishment.
The punishment I deserved.
Didn’t stop me from lookin’, though. Stretchin’ my neck between the wire, searchin’ for what the hell was goin’ on out there. Didn’t take long before I saw it. Carl, thrown to the ground like he wasn’t nothin’. Dwight standin’ over him, and then Negan strollin’ up with that cocky-ass grin.
My heart slammed down into my gut.
I pressed myself against the fence without thinkin’, hands curlin’ around the metal, teeth grittin’ so hard it hurt. I wanted to tear through it, sprint across that yard, and plant myself between Negan and that kid. Take the beatin’. Take the punishment. Whatever it was. Just not him.
“C’mon, kid,” Negan said, real easy-like, holdin’ his hand out. “I’ll show you around. You know, you do the same damn stink eye as your dad, except it’s only half as good ‘cause… well, you know, you’re… missing an eye.”
Carl just stared at his hand like it was a live grenade.
I could feel it in my bones, the whole place holdin’ its breath. The other Saviors watchin’, waitin’ to see if the boy was stupid enough to refuse.
“Really?” Negan chuckled, leanin’ in closer. “You’re really not gonna take my hand? ‘Cause you’re lucky you even still have a hand. Same as your boy Daryl over here, now that I think about it.”
He jerked his chin toward me. And for the first time, his eyes pinned me straight through the damn fence. I didn’t move. Just kept my hands tight around the wire.
“How’s the job goin’, Daryl?” Negan smirked, like this was all some big joke. “Hot enough for you? Yeah, it’d be tough with one arm.”
If looks could kill, he woulda dropped dead right there. But they couldn’t. And he didn’t.
Carl must’ve figured by then that refusin’ was only gonna make it worse. I saw it in the set of his jaw, the stiff little nod he gave himself.
He favored Rick.
Negan’s grin spread wider when Carl finally shoved himself up and took his hand. “Ah, smart kid!” he barked, yankin’ him to his feet. “Now, come with me.”
My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might puke right there in the dirt.
“Dwighty boy!” Negan hollered, glancin’ back. “Why don’t you grab Daryl, take ’im to the kitchen, do a little grub prep.”
I didn’t hear the rest at first. Didn’t process it. My brain was stuck back on Carl.
On how small he looked walkin’ beside Negan.
On how easy it would be for Negan to hurt him.
“New plan, boys,” Negan said, turnin’ to the rest of his men. “Let’s burn the dead, unload the truck later.”
The trucks.
My stomach twisted again. I remembered—Hilltop. Wondered if that’s how Carl snuck in and if anyone else was with him. If they were plannin’ something.
“Damn, I am not gonna have time to screw any of my wives today,” Negan joked, lookin’ over at Dwight with a big shit-eatin’ grin. “I mean, maybe one…” Then Negan’s eyes cut back to me. Cold. “And who knows, maybe , when I bring the kid back, I might just screw yours.” He smiled real wide when he said it.
My blood ran cold.
Libby.
The image of her flashin’ behind my eyes so fast and brutal it nearly dropped me to my knees.
Her on her knees in that damn lineup, tears streakin’ her face.
I’d tear this whole place apart before I let Negan lay a hand on her.
Dwight grabbed my arm, yanking me back from the fence.
I glanced over one more time, at Carl—at the kid walkin’ into the belly of the beast—and every bone in my body screamed to move, to do somethin’ , but I didn’t. I really just couldn’t.
All I could do was let Dwight drag me off toward the kitchens, feelin’ like the biggest fuckin’ coward to ever breathe.
_____________
The halls of the Sanctuary reeked of rot and stale sweat. Every step felt heavier than the last, boots dragging slow across the cracked concrete, not cause I was tired — though I was — but because every nerve in my body screamed to turn around. To run. To get back to Carl.
But it wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Wouldn’t fix what was already broken.
Wouldn’t stop what was comin’.
I wasn’t stupid. Never had been, no matter what people liked to think. I knew exactly how Negan’s world worked — the ‘wives’, the fake smiles, the talk of “choices” offered at the barrel of a gun basically. They say yes, they survive a little longer. Sleep with him, play nice, and maybe their husbands or brothers or whoever gets treated a little better. Maybe they get a cushier job, more food. Maybe they just get to breathe a little longer.
It wasn’t mercy.
It was control.
I used to think Dwight was just another sad bastard caught up in it — a man who did what he had to do to protect the woman he loved. Thought maybe he hated himself for it. Thought maybe he carried that guilt around like a second skin.
Not anymore.
Now I knew better.
He handed Sherry over, just handed her to Negan like it was nothin’, and took himself a better spot in the peckin’ order for it.
Don’t matter if Sherry agreed or not.
Don’t matter if she smiled while she did it.
It was still a betrayal so deep it made my skin crawl — so fuckin’ wrong.
And it was the one thing I knew, with every busted-up piece of myself, I would never let happen to Libby.
Not for comfort. Not for safety. Not for breath in my lungs.
If Negan ever laid a hand on her— If he ever dragged her into this concrete tomb and offered her that same “choice”—
I would fall to my knees in a heartbeat. No hesitation. I’d beg. I’d claw at the ground if I had to. I’d lick his boots clean and be his little bitch if that’s what it took to keep her safe from that.
Didn’t matter if it made me a traitor, or if every soul left standing in Alexandria spat in my face for it.
I didn’t even care if she hated me after.
All I wanted is for her to be safe.
To be happy again.
To never have to beg or bleed or sell pieces of herself just to survive.
Even if she didn’t want a life with me no more.
Even if she looks at me like I’m the biggest mistake she ever made.
She probably already does.
The corridor kept going, grim and gray. Flickerin’ overhead lights buzzed and flickered, throwing sickly bands of yellow across the concrete. My head throbbed with every flicker. My hands itched for a fight I couldn’t win.
Dwight shoved me forward every so often, not hard, but just enough to remind me what I was. Who I was now. I could smell the stale cigarette smoke clingin’ to him. I could almost feel how easy it’d be to spin around, drive my elbow into his nose, make him bleed.
Wouldn’t fix nothin’.
Wouldn’t save Carl.
Wouldn’t bring Glenn back.
Wouldn’t earn Libby’s forgiveness.
All it’d do is buy me a slower death, maybe a few more bruises, maybe another few hours for Negan to decide how he wanted to break me next.
So I kept walkin’.
Kept my hands loose and my stare dead ahead, even though every fiber of my being was strung tight enough to snap.
My mind wouldn’t shut up, though.
I kept seeing her — the way she looked when they dragged me off that night. Her hair a mess, tears streakin’ dirt down her cheeks, her mouth open in a scream I couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears.
Daryl—!
That broken sound of it, the way her voice cracked right down the middle — it carved itself into my ribs and never let go.
I let them tear me outta her hands and didn’t even fight it. Didn’t even try. Cause deep down, maybe I figured it was what I deserved.
Now, in this piss-yellow corridor that stank of piss and surrender, I realized it wasn’t enough.
The punishment wasn’t enough.
The ache behind my ribs wasn’t enough.
The gnawing pit in my stomach, the bruises, the dry heaves that left me gasping on the concrete — none of it would ever be enough to pay for what I’d lost.
For what I’d practically thrown away.
Libby, Alexandria, our home, the little pale yellow room, the future I never thought I’d have three years ago.
Somewhere ahead, a door groaned open on rusted hinges. Light spilled out into the hall, harsh and cold. Dwight picked up his pace.
I didn’t.
I dragged my boots slower, one after the other, because whatever was waiting behind that door wasn’t freedom.
Wasn’t forgiveness.
Wasn’t even death.
It was just another day of surviving on my knees.
Another day of tryin’ not to remember what it felt like to be worth a damn.
Another day of hoping to hell that Libby never set foot in this hellhole. That she was safe behind those walls at Alexandria, even if she hated me.
At least she’d still be breathing.
______________
Libby POV
______________
I fucking hated teenagers. I genuinely don’t think I can stress that enough to myself, and as much as I’d fantasized about a family with Daryl — Carl Grimes was making me strongly reconsider committing to raising a human for eighteen years. From here on out, I’d decided that I’d trust Carl, as far as I could throw him, and my upper body strength was probably lacking these days.
We’d succeeded in hitching a secret ride in the last truck before it took off from Hilltop; managing to swiftly bury ourselves in between boxes and sacks of onions and tomatoes. Not two minutes after we pulled off though, we were joined by a familiar (and relieving) face.
Sasha had planted a seed of curiosity— a debt, really— in Jesus’ mind. A little nudge, lightly imploring him to set out in search of Negan’s residence. And much like Carl and I, he decided that this was honestly an opportune moment to do just that.
We rode together, and over the course of an hour or so, I was relieved to find out that Maggie, Sasha, and baby Rhee, were all perfectly healthy and doing about as good as I could expect considering everything going on. And just as I’d assumed, Maggie was waiting on Rick to give her a sign that he was ready to start fighting back. She was rallying her own little group of Hilltop residents (behind Gregory’s back of course), and encouraging them to take a stand as well.
After another hour of hiding from Saviors due to a herd in the road causing a pit stop, Jesus presumed we were getting close — and suggested we jump and roll.
It wasn’t the worst idea at the time, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Jesus went first, bailing out successfully. Then I went, encouraged by Carl so he could ‘see the right way to land’. But Carl — never came.
He stayed in the back of the truck, watching us as he drifted further and further down the road, like this was all part of his spur of the moment plan.
I stayed crouched a minute longer, heart punching my ribs like it hadn’t gotten the memo that Carl was long gone, and there was actually nothing I could do about it.
I shifted back against a broke-down car, feeling the hot metal through my jeans. My arms hung off my knees, heavy with frustration. “That little shit,” I muttered, shoving my hair behind my ears. “I can’t fucking believe him.”
Jesus stood nearby, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching the road like it might spit Carl back out if we stared hard enough. No such luck.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, the whole plan spinning out in my head faster than I could catch it. Carl was just a kid. A stubborn, suicidal dumbass kid who’d just hitched a ride straight into Negan’s hellhole without thinking twice about it. My gut twisted itself up tighter the longer I sat still.
Jesus cleared his throat. “We should follow the trail. Figure out—”
“Nah.” I cut him off, shaking my head and pulling myself up to stand. My knees cracked. “I’m gonna split off, go through the woods.”
He gave me a look, one eyebrow arching. “You might not make it through the gate.”
“Don’t need to,” I said, clapping my hands once like that settled it. The sound echoed sharper than I meant it to, slicing the stale, dusty air. “Cause from the sound of it, that’s what you’re gonna be doing.”
The wind picked up, pushing the smell of old asphalt and rotting leaves up my nose. I swallowed it down and started moving before I could overthink it anymore.
_____________
The back lot gave me a half-decent view of the Sanctuary, though not nearly as good as I wanted. Half the place was blocked by sunken machinery and old sheds, leaving me with a crooked, patchy line of sight. Still — it was enough to keep tabs without getting seen. I’d been trying to keep eyes on Jesus too, though the bastard was slipperier than black ice on a blind curve. Blink, and he was dust. Blink again, and he was standing somewhere you swore was empty.
Fifteen minutes ago, I’d seen a truck peel off, rumbling down the busted spine of road that snaked away from the compound, but from this distance, I couldn’t tell who it was.
And that pit deep in my gut twisted sharper, harder.
If I broke in — kicked this hornet’s nest wide open — and Daryl wasn’t even here?
I was gonna lose my fucking mind.
I shifted again, readjusting my squat at the tree-line, knees barking, body screaming at me to keep low. From here, Jesus looked like he was waiting — hunched low near the fence, patient and wired tight. Maybe waiting for a guard to swap out, maybe just waiting for an opening. Either way, he was damn near impossible to keep track of. Shadows loved him.
Still, I didn’t let myself relax.
I kept my jaw locked tight and scanned the yard again.
High towers. Crappy spotlights hanging from bent poles. Machinery half-drowned in mud, the frames rusting. The air carried the stink of diesel and wet rot, clinging to the inside of my nostrils like a second skin causing my nose to wrinkle.
Movement snagged my eye.
The guard pawed through his supply bag, pulled something out — a hunk of jerky or a protein bar, maybe, judging from how quick he started stuffing his face.
Instantly, my mouth watered in a way that made me hate myself. I wanted to pull out a little snack of my own, but couldn’t…because the son of a bitch started wandering away from his post, and I saw Jesus scrambling to move too.
I shifted around the side of the tree, creeping, trying to keep him in sight.
But lost him behind a rusted excavator.
Panic snapped at my nerves, white-hot and instant.
I edged forward, trying to figure out how to inch closer without getting spotted, when a sudden loud rev of a motorcycle engine shattered the air.
My whole body went stiff.
Jesus?
Or someone chasing his skinny ass?
I locked my gaze where I’d last seen him—and there—
A flash of movement, low to the ground. Then I caught sight of him. Them
Jesus—and Daryl .
My whole chest cinched up so fast I nearly forgot how to breathe.
Daryl was moving fast, a blur of filthy hair and worn denim, and even from here, even from this far , I could see how thin he looked.
My heart swelled so hard I thought it would punch straight through my ribcage. A sob clawed up my throat — almost — almost—
And then the world pitched sideways.
Three Saviors. Walking toward the exit. Talking about something, and beginning to look around —likely from the noise of the motorcycle. One of them reached for the gate, dragging it halfway shut behind him without a second thought.
They didn’t see Jesus and Daryl — just heard them.
But they were about to.
Another ten seconds, maybe fifteen, and this whole escape would go to shit in a hand basket.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t weigh it.
Didn’t wonder if it was smart.
My hand shot for my bow, the motion so fast and practiced it was instinct. I knocked an arrow, the rough scrape of the fletching against my callused fingertips grounding me just enough to breathe once. Only once.
Pick a target.
The first Savior — tall, broad, mouth still open mid-laugh, but beginning to look around for the noise.
I let the arrow fly, a sharp whisper cutting through the rotten air.
It punched into his throat with a sound I felt more than heard — a wet, crunching thud — and he collapsed without a sound, clutching at the shaft jutting from his neck.
The other two froze, stunned.
The boys spotted the other two. I could see Daryl duck Jesus lean back, trying to maneuver, but the Saviors already had guns drawn.
Shitshitshit.
I already had another arrow in my grip, fingers flying faster than thought. Drew. Released.
The second arrow buried itself into the gut of the next Savior, folding him over like a busted chair. He staggered backward, gasping, blood dark against his jeans.
One left.
My lungs were fire. My hands were a blur. I could feel the raw scrape of the bowstring against the pads of my fingers, the bruising draw across my shoulder blades.
Another arrow. Another shot.
This one caught the last Savior high in the shoulder, spinning him sideways just as he tried to lift his rifle.
He went down in a snarling heap just as Daryl and Jesus cut out the open lot.
“Go,” I rasped under my breath, heart hammering so loud I could barely hear.
I stayed low, eyes scanning, blood pounding, fingers already reaching for another arrow — ready, if another guard popped out, if an alarm started blaring. But at the same time, I tried searching for him.
My eyes darted to the noise of the engine, and in those few, scarce, glimpses, I caught both heads turning up into the trees, searching.
Jesus knew I was here — but had he told Daryl? Were they heading my way? I hoped they were. I hoped I was a few minutes away from wrapping my arms around the only place I could call home now.
.they could care less, as long as someone’ll bleed.
Notes:
yoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo~
this one goes hard, idc idc idc
i really love it and am so excited for the next few chapters. i’m obsessed w Libby loving Carl and having all the smoke w him at the same time. and the idea of Jesus, Libby, and Carl kind of going rogue together while Daryl is absolutely miserable — ✌🏼 love it for them.thoughts, comments, and concerns are appreciated 🩵
(if you want a visual of Mr. Adler, just look up William Daniels lol)
Chapter 71: hot, sticky, stupid tears
Summary:
“Hilltop will too.” Jesus interjected, his jaw set tight. “A lot of these people are tired of working so hard just to get it all taken away. If we can get the support of Alexandria, I think Hilltop would rally in.”
Sasha sighed as she handed me both plates of food and a jug of clean water. “We still won’t have the numbers. You saw how many people Negan has,”
Chapter Text
.leave it now, i am sky-bound.
The woods enveloped me as I sprinted, low and swift, weaving beneath tangled brush and darting past towering oak trees, each branch looming like a sentinel ready to snatch me back. I clung to the slope where gnarled roots twisted through a dense undergrowth—a chaotic tapestry Daryl had once explained made trails almost impossible to track. Every few strides, I doubled back, sweeping my footfalls clean with a splintered pine bough, altering my course just enough to create a labyrinth of hell for anyone trying to track me.
I couldn’t leave a trace.
Not now. Not with Daryl finally free.
The buzz of the motorcycle had faded a little ways off, its echo bouncing between the trees and gradually dissipating in the distance. I tried to use that fading sound like a compass, angling through the forest in the same direction the engine had gone, but still keeping my steps careful. Quiet. Clean. My heart was sprinting ahead of me, beating harder the longer I went without seeing him. But I didn’t pick up my pace. I couldn’t. Sloppy meant dangerous. And if I brought anyone back to him…
If I got him caught again…
I couldn’t let that happen.
So I did it the way he taught me. Step. Pause. Scan. Cover. One hand steady on my bow, the other dragging a branch behind me when the ground got soft. My boots pressed lightly into the damp earth, just enough to maintain balance without leaving an impression. Fallen leaves, soaked from the last rain, stuck to my laces, while a fresh breeze whispered through the canopy above, barely brushing my skin.
But all I could feel was the prickling of dread creeping up my spine.
Then—I heard it again.
The low rumble of the engine. It was closer now. Slower. The hum snaked in from behind me, swirling around the curve of the trail near the road. My heart leapt—and then dropped straight into my gut.
No reason it should’ve been the Saviors.
None.
It was Daryl. It had to be.
But that didn’t stop the fear from blooming fast and mean in my chest, coiling around my ribs like barbed wire. The sound of an engine out here still felt like an ominous warning.
I crouched low, my heart hammering against my ribs as if desperate to escape.
I sank behind the thick trunk of a decayed tree, its roots uprooted and fanned out like grotesque, whimsical fingers, thick with moss, dirt, and splintered bark. My knees sank into the damp undergrowth, and I held my bow close, breaths shallow and rapid, straining to catch any sound—voices, footsteps, the crack of branches.
But there was nothing but the engine’s hum. Then the idle.
Right at the treeline.
Right where I was headed.
I pressed my back against the bark, every muscle wound up and ready, pulse beating so loud it filled my ears. I told myself not to panic, not to jump at shadows.
“Hey,” a voice called. “We saw your hair through the leaves. Come on.”
Jesus.
Relief washed over me like a wave, making my knees weak as I exhaled a shaky breath. My hands quaked as I pressed against the damp, moss-covered bark of the tree and dared to peek up from my hidden crouch—
Daryl.
In an instant, every thought dissolved into a chaotic rush. My heart leaped into my throat, a heavy thrum that felt like it might burst from the sheer rush of emotion.
Our reunion was, in simple terms, nothing like I had envisioned.
I’m still unsure what I truly expected — perhaps an overflow of kisses, heartfelt “I love yous,” or even a shimmer of teary eyes, tight embraces, and a cascade of apologies that would bridge the gap of our time apart. Instead, it felt disappointingly anticlimactic, yet strangely, I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would.
I didn't spend a lot of my time studying his looks, just acknowledged how matted his hair was, and how sickly he looked — it didn't feel right staring at him. Not when he already looked so uncomfortable.
But I wasn't going to completely neglect the utter relief I felt in seeing him in the flesh with nothing stopping me from touching him. One second I was standing behind the fallen tree, and the next I was galloping over it and ducking myself underneath his arms —admittedly awkward since he was perched on his bike. I didn't even care how god awful he reeked of sweat, blood, and a mix of other foul things I didn't want to think about rubbing off on me.
And then the tiny bubble I’d drifted in for all of thirty seconds was popped; understandably so.
Jesus’s voice cut through the quiet with an urgency that clipped the edges of my relief. “We need to get back to the Hilltop,” he said. “Once they realize Daryl’s gone, they’ll come looking.”
Of course they would. Of course Negan would send all his men sniffing through the woods and trucks rumbling down every side road in the immediate fifty miles. My fingers twitched at my sides, already itchy with the need to move again, to keep moving. I nodded slowly and turned toward the bike, trying to keep my head from spinning as I studied the space we were working with.
It wasn't roomy by any means. Not like Merle’s old bike we’d lost at the prison. The back of it was cramped. Too cramped for three people undoubtedly.
There was no way in hell all three of us were getting on without slowing down or tipping weight. Daryl was still perched awkwardly near the front, shoulders hunched, arms curled a little tighter than they should’ve been. His frame didn’t take up as much room as it used to, and that fact alone made my gut twist, but even still — we were pushing it.
Daryl needed safety. Not just from the Saviors. From everything. The road. The wind. I wondered when he’d eaten last — slept last.
I could walk if I had to. Would walk.
But before I could even make a call, something else scratched up from the back of my mind.
I swallowed hard, and tried to keep my voice from shaking when I spoke. “Did you see Carl?” The words came out soft, too soft, like I was afraid of what the answer might do.
If he said no — if he hadn’t — and this was how he found out Carl was inside? I wasn’t sure what the hell he’d do. The kind of loyalty he had wasn’t the gentle kind, it burned hot. And if he thought for a second that Carl was still in that compound, he wouldn't care that we were almost out.
He’d turn the bike around and ride straight back through the gates — probably get himself killed this time.
I stood there, eyes locked on him, heartbeat crawling up my throat, and waited for the fallout. Part of me hoped Jesus would jump in and have a valid explanation on how he’d saw Carl sneak out too.
To my fortune, both Daryl and Jesus saw him. I didn't love the idea of Negan bringing him back to Alexandria, and a piece of me wanted to go back there — I was sick of my community being invaded — but I knew it wouldn't be a good idea, not once Negan found out about his escaped prisoner. I was safer almost anywhere else, including the woods, to which Daryl promptly turned down.
“Ain’t leavin’ you out here.” Daryl wasn’t even looking at me when he said it, just gripping the handlebar tighter like the conversation was already settled in his head. Like that was that.
I squared my jaw. “Ain’t your decision.”
His eyes finally met mine. They were tired, hollow in a way that made my heart stutter, but still stubborn under all that exhaustion. The kind of look that said he’d carry me over his damn shoulder if I didn’t cooperate, no matter how much I fought him on it.
“Get on the back,” he muttered, nodding toward the bike, voice flat. “It ain’t up for discussion.”
I stiffened, biting down hard on the flare of frustration climbing up my chest. “Daryl—”
But Jesus cut in before I could get the rest out. “You won’t make it back to Hilltop by dark. And by then, they’ll probably be out looking.”
I hated how much sense that made.
I hated that they both had a point.
But more than anything, I hated the way I suddenly felt boxed in. Like I didn’t get a say. Like they were both standing on either side of me, closing the trap. It wasn’t on purpose — I knew that. I knew they were trying to help, trying to protect me, whatever the hell that meant anymore — but it still made something curl tight in my stomach.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, not saying anything for a beat. The silence stretched too long, pulled taut between us.
But then I glanced at him again and all that bristling independence went a little soft around the edges.
He looked like shit. He looked… older. Not in a physical way, but something about the way his shoulders drooped, the way he avoided eye contact unless forced. He hadn’t really come back yet. Not all the way. I could feel that just standing near him — and I figured it’d take a lot longer than a few minutes of freedom for that to happen.
And as much as my pride screamed at me to keep pushing, the rest of me didn’t want to spend another night apart. Not when I’d just gotten him back. I mean, I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a dream I was gonna wake up from with my guts twisted and empty.
“Fine,” I muttered, the fight draining out of me with a sigh. I stepped closer to the bike, brushing past him. “Just don’t throw me off,” I added under my breath, tone a little dry. “I’m not trying to get road rash on top of everything else.”
I swung my leg over the seat and settled in behind Jesus, my thighs sticking a little to the worn leather. My shorts — dumb choice, I knew that now — rode up even further as I shifted, and if this were any other time, if we were alone, I knew damn well Daryl would’ve said something. Something teasing around the edges. He always got flustered when I dressed like this. Not mad. Not slut-shamey. Just… hot under the collar in the way that made me heat up too.
But this wasn’t that.
This wasn’t private.
This was what he could offer me — a ride back, his silence, his stubborn care — and I’d take it, because it was still him . Still Daryl. Somewhere in there.
“Yes ma’am,” he murmured, barely audible, almost hesitant, like the words felt foreign in his mouth now.
_____________
The ride to Hilltop wasn't comfortable by any means. Pressed tight against Jesus’ back, I held on for dear life as we sped down off-beaten roads and pavement for nearly an hour. I longed for the days when this bike was all Daryl could talk about — when hopping on the back was just an afternoon leisure, and not a means of escaping a hostage situation.
When we rolled through the gates, the sun was sunk low, and Kal didn’t put up any kind of fight letting us in this time.
And there were many things to be happy about: eventually having privacy with Daryl, maybe sleeping through the night, seeing Maggie just as she came around the corner — but I was most excited about feeling in my left butt cheek coming back after the long, awkward drive.
Maggie though — she was a close second.
I wasn’t real sure whether I wanted to follow Jesus and Daryl in stashing the bike, or run straight into Maggie’s outstretched arms.
Logically, I knew I’d be enveloped by her arms any second now, but my mind nagged to turn around and follow Daryl. There wasn’t even the slightest part of me that didn’t yearn to tangle myself around him and never let go. The mere thought of sinking into his bones — attaching to his very soul — was appealing in every single sense.
I loved him so much.
But there was no time to pine, not when Maggie was around me, arms tight and eyes wet against my shoulder. “What’re you doin’ here?” she asked, pulling away just enough to see my face.
My eyes drifted over her face, one, two, three times, before I finally responded.
“I came this morning,” I explained, fighting back my own years now. “But saw the Saviors and followed them with Jesus,”
I chose to leave Carl out — though, I’m pretty sure Enid had already mentioned him at some point. I knew I’d have a lot of explaining to do to Daryl in the next few hours, and neglecting to mention that little detail to Maggie seemed like it was innocent enough.
“You what?”
“It’s a lot to explain, but—“
I paused, second guessing the words. They, for some reason, seemed so hard to get out. I felt guilty and gross — and it was the oddest thing. I’d been so excited. As a matter of fact, my situation right now, was a dream. Carl was back in Alexandria, Daryl was away from the Savior’s, and I’d just been reunited with the closest thing to my best friend as possible. So I just couldn’t understand, at first, why I felt bad saying it.
But I knew - I knew why.
It was the same reason, I was sure, that Daryl would avoid Maggie as much as possible.
Because I felt guilty.
I hadn’t slept properly in a week; it was for a multitude of reasons, but the biggest one being that I was alone and I knew Daryl was being tortured. He was locked away in a foreign place as a prisoner of war and I was miserable without him. I would rather have gotten myself captured as well than go to sleep another night without at least trying to break him out.
And I had.
I could confidently say that if I wanted to - if I really wanted to - I could find him in five minutes and force him to hold me.
And she couldn’t do the same.
Glenn wasn’t coming back.
No amount of crying, hoping, praying, or howling at the moon would bring the love of her life back. The father of her child.
She’d mourn him longer than she’d known him, and nothing would ever fill that cavity.
So yeah — the guilt was real, and raw, and it hurt to tell her that I got Daryl back. But somehow, it didn't even seem to bother her. Her eyes just widened even more, and somehow — somehow her smile grew as she began looking around.
Seeing her excitement didn’t make me feel any better, especially since I couldn’t even produce the one she was eagerly looking around for. Instead I had to explain that he’d gone to hide his bike with Jesus, but that he’d probably be around soon.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d likely avoid her like the plague for the foreseeable future, fleeing from the guilt he was undoubtedly carrying on his back.
“How’d you?” Her voice trailed off into a melodic whisper, filled with wonder and uncertainty.
It proved difficult for me to explain that it was merely a right place, right time kind of situation— because honestly — what are the odds? Especially this day and age.
I was more than just lucky.
“How’s the baby?” I asked, my gaze drifting down to Maggie’s belly before I could stop it. It was smaller than I expected somehow, but unmistakable now, a soft little swell just beginning to press against her shirt.
“He’s fine,” she said, and her voice had this calm strength to it, like she was clinging to something good. “He’s doing great.”
My head snapped up at the revelation. “He?” I blinked at her, then back down to her belly. “ He ?”
A playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, a flicker of joy brightening her expression. “He.”
I let out a breath that morphed into a laugh, and crouched down to gently rest my hand over the bump, fingers splayed delicately as if I were afraid he might stir beneath my touch. “You and I are gonna have so much fun,” I whispered, my heart soaring. “We’re gonna be best friends, you hear that?”
Maggie’s smile blossomed for real, warmth flooding her features, but there lingered a trace of something soft and sad tucked away behind her eyes. “How is Daryl?” she asked, her tone shifting the atmosphere around us.
The warmth in my chest cooled almost instantly. I straightened up, gave her a tight-lipped smile that felt stiff on my face. “He’s barely looked at me,” I admitted, my voice lower. “I touched his hand when we got off the bike and he jerked it away.” I swallowed, unsure why it hurt as much as it did. “I think… I think we just need some time.”
She nodded, her understanding palpable in the air between us, then added, “There’s a spare room at Barrington House. Jesus has been tryin’ to get me to stay there, but I don’t think I’m ready to be alone yet. Why don’t I get Bertie, and you and Daryl stay there tonight?”
The offer was an enticing notion. A room. Privacy. A door we could shut. It would’ve been smart. Would’ve given us a chance to talk, or at least breathe without the rest of the Hilltop watching us.
But the Rick-related fiasco stirred in the back of my mind—too sharp to ignore. She deserved to know he wasn’t going to challenge Negan, and we needed to get the ball rolling a lot sooner than later.
“Can we talk later?” I asked, more serious now. “It’s important.”
“In the morning—”
“No,” I cut in, shaking my head. “It needs to be as soon as possible.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, just quiet suspicion. But after a second, she nodded. “Alright.”
_____________
It took some convincing — gentle, sweet, coaxing to get Daryl to comply with taking up the offer of Barrington House as a small retreat from the outside world. His love language was acts of service, so selfishly, I tested his boundary in front of Jesus; a delicate touch to his chest, and a whisper of “Please, I haven’t slept, I need you.” He gave in. Not stubbornly either — but I suspected it had something to do with our company.
Now that we were alone, behind closed doors, and with a pile of clothes and bath items, I could tell he was looking for an opportunity to escape. And, admittedly, I felt ashamed for pushing him.
His chin was tucked down, avoiding eye contact with me — I hated it.
Just two weeks ago we’d been living a dream. Soft touches, open mouthed kisses to the most private places, talking about babies, and now we were more than a few steps back. We were…well, it seemed like we were further back than we were before we ever met.
I’d never seen Daryl so ready to tuck tail and run.
I wondered if this was how he looked when he was just a little boy — after his father put his hands on him and ruined his childhood. That’s what he reminded me of right now: a little kid. Timid, shy, scared.
“Dar,” I croaked, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him. “Hey, why don’t you go get a quick bath?”
He was so much better at this than I was; the whole comforting thing. Truthfully, he reminded me of my sister in the way that he chose to keep me company. It was hardly ever sweet, syrupy words, or a lot of touchy feely shit. But he did keep me company — quiet mostly. And he’d listen to me talk for hours on end while he toyed with my hair.
He tucked both hands deep into his pockets, chin still tipped to the floor. “Nah. I’m gon’ go on out Libby. I don’t need all—“
“Please,”
I was so selfish.
“Please don’t make me sleep alone,”
_____________
Daryl POV
_____________
Fuck.
I ain’t even wanna look at her — nah — I did, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel good about doin’ it. Ever since that day in Alexandria, after finally getting eyes on her to make sure she was alive and breathin’, I decided I didn’t feel worth enough to actually lay eyes on her again.
“Daryl, honey,” her tone was so soft, sounded almost like what she called me: honey. I loved it.
Missed it.
But I still didn’t look at her.
“Alright.”
That one little word seemed to appease her enough to stop staring at me — waiting, or expecting something. She just turned to the pile of clothes that some woman had handed her a couple minutes ago, and began unfolding them, inspecting them closely.
It made me feel like a coward, but it was a lot easier to look at her when she wasn’t looking at me.
And she looked…different. Physically the same, but still — off. Her hair was that same shade of red, not quite ginger, but not quite auburn either; her skin was allotted with the typical amount of bruises I could expect without being worried; she definitely lost a couple pounds judging by the way her shorts rested on her hips; but there was something I couldn’t put my finger on, and it was driving me crazy.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so attentive to everything going on around her I could’ve summed it up to that disassociation thing she does sometimes, but that definitely wasn’t it. I’d grown pretty familiar with her when she did that. This was something else completely.
Pity, or it could’ve been hate, or a mix of both. I don’t think she’d ever hated me before, so maybe that’s what it was. Anytime she got mad, she made sure I knew, hate was different though —
“Go wash up. I’ll have everything ready when you get out,” she said, turning back to me.
Immediately, I diverted my eyes before giving her a quick nod and turning away.
_____________
As much as I wanted to stay submerged in the warm water, I didn’t. I didn’t deserve to. I just needed to spend enough time to get clean, which, frankly, I enjoyed more than I’d ever admit to anyone — including myself.
It’d been well over a week since I’d gotten even a little clean. Normally I wouldn’t have minded it. My hygiene wutn’t nothin’ to brag about — just another thing to hate about myself. Ain’t no kid likes to take a bath, and nobody ever made sure I got one, so not showering for days on end wutn’t nothin’ new. At Negan’s compound though: The Sanctuary; I don’t think I’d ever felt so disgusting.
Even out on the road I could take a piss far enough away from where I was sleepin’ that it didn’t bother me. But not there; I was probably three feet away from the shit filled corner that was supposed to be my toilet. Didn’t have no clothes, no shoes, just completely bare, tucked as far away from other people’s shit as I could.
That wasn’t so efficient after -
After Glenn’s picture.
Nothin’ added up after that.
I cried.
Threw up.
Didn’t eat.
Laid there in my own vomit for hours on end, a fuck ass song playing, and wishing I was dead.
In forty-two — no, forty-three — in forty-three years, I can honestly say that I’ve never genuinely wanted to be dead until then. So as short as the soak was, it was the first time I felt like I could breathe.
But getting out gave me more than enough problems. It physically hurt for starters. I hadn’t realized how sore and beat up I actually was until now. And looking at myself in the small mirror over the sink disgusted me.
Bruises covered my chest from where I was shot; some were yellowed, some still pink and purple. They didn’t stop there though, they trailed down my stomach, smaller, but still extremely noticeable. My arms and legs looked like they’d been lashed with a belt buckle over and over and over again.
I could’ve thrown up.
The last time I looked like this I was fifteen — twenty what? seven? eight years ago. I’s about three inches shorter and probably weighed a whole hundred pounds.
My ol’ man didn’t have shit on the beatings I been taking.
I looked at myself in the mirror again, then at the door knob. Libby was gonna see me like this. Weak, bruised, uglier than I was before. Maybe that look she gave me earlier was pity and I just read it wrong.
Turning the door handle, I tried to just poke my head out and ask for some clothes, but that damn red head was sitting on the floor, fiddling with a pair of shoes four sizes to big for her, looking confused until she looked up at me.
Her face softened from confusion, and those brown eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning — but it didn’t make no sense to me.
“Hey,” she said, pushing herself up from the floor. Her eyes scanned my face briefly before a smile formed on her lips. “Your pajamas are on that side,” she pointed to the far side of the large bed we’d be sleeping in tonight. “Get dressed, and wait for me.”
With dirt smudged on every inch of her body it seemed, she padded so softly over to me, and every inch of me wanted to tuck that one out of place curl back into place. I didn’t though.
But it didn’t stop her.
Her fingers glided through my dripping hair, twisting a few strands away from my eyes with a practiced ease. “I’ll cut a few pieces so it’s not in your eyes anymore when I’m out,” she declared, her tone simple and matter-of-fact, leaving no room for argument, and I just stood there — naked, save for a towel around my waist, until she disappeared into the bathroom.
I don’t think I could tell you how long she’d been gone, or how long I stood there in silence before everything caught up with me and tears started coming down my face like a little bitch. All I knew was everything fucking hurt.
It should’a been me.
Abraham could’a done more than I ever could’a. Hell, he’d made it from Texas all the way to Virginia fueled by sheer determination, driven to find a cure for a virus that threatened humanity. And he’d have probably made it by himself too — he didn’t need us, we needed him. If we would’ve traded places, I doubt Negan would’a tried taking him as a prisoner.
And when I stepped outta line — took a swing at Negan — I knew what I’s doin’, and I’s okay with it. I’d already called Libby a bitch, already fucked up our relationship. It was my fault most of them was out in the woods anyways. I was too worried about revenge to give a shit about anyone else’s safety. Rosita, Michonne, Libby, and Glenn. Ain’t none of them would’a been out there if it wouldn’t have been for me.
Glenn would’ve been in Alexandria with Maggie and his unborn baby. He wouldn’t be buried six feet under the dirt. Libby’d still have her best friend.
If it would’a just been me, things could’ve been different.
Libby would’a moved on. Everyone would’a. But ain’t nobody gonna move on from Glenn. Ain’t nobody ever gonna get the image of that barbed wire sticking to his skull.
I doubled over without even realizin’. My arms snaking around myself, trying to hold everything together. My chest hurt. Not like a punch or a break—deeper. Like somethin’ was pressin’ down on my ribs from the inside, and my lungs forgot how to work. I coughed, choked, and spit something thick on the floor.
Tears wouldn’t stop. Hot, sticky, stupid tears that burned my face on the way down and left snot trailing from my nose I didn’t wipe. My breath hitched so hard my whole body jerked with it, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek till I tasted blood, tryin’ not to sob like a goddamn pussy.
I was naked. Still naked. Shaking. Half-dry.
My fingers curled into fists against ribs, knuckles whitening, then loosening again like I didn’t even have the strength to hold on to the rage anymore. My hair clung to my face, damp with water and tears, stickin’ to the salt on my skin.
And it just kept loopin’ in my head.
The sound.
The crack.
The gurgling.
His voice.
The way his skull caved in like a dropped pumpkin. That one eye swollen out, lookin’ at nothin’. Still tryin’ to talk.
My stomach twisted and I retched, leanin’ to the side just in time to keep from pukin’ on my knees. Nothin’ came up—just spit and bile and more sobs I couldn’t swallow down. My spine curled in on itself like I could somehow crawl inside the floor and disappear.
I wanted to.
I wanted to bash my own head into the wall until I stopped thinkin’.
I wanted someone to come in here and put a bullet in me like I deserved.
I wanted her to come in and scream at me. Hit me. Hate me.
I didn’t deserve her pity. Didn’t deserve her touch. Didn’t deserve to be forgiven or held or told it wasn’t my fault.
Because it was.
All of it was.
And now I was stuck here. Naked. Weak. Cryin’ like a fuckin’ coward in a room I didn’t recognize.
My breath kept catching, chest still heaving in these short, pathetic gasps like I’d forgotten how to breathe unless it hurt. My hands were still curled around me like claws, nails pressing half-moons into my sides. I couldn’t lift my head.
So when I felt arms around me—soft, clean, familiar—I flinched like I’d been branded.
“Nah—” I jerked, tried to shove away from her, my back hittin’ the edge of the bed frame hard enough to knock the air outta me. “Don’t - don’t touch me.”
But she didn’t move.
Just sank closer to me,, arms wrapping back around my chest like she was tryin’ to hold me together. Her cheek pressed to the top of my spine, damp hair cool against my fevered skin. She smelled like lavender soap and fresh water and everything I didn’t deserve.
“I said—” My voice cracked so hard I barely got the words out. I tried to pull away again, but my strength was gone. Spent on grief, on guilt, on every moment I should’ve done something different. I thrashed once, weak, but her grip didn’t loosen. She just held on tighter.
And that broke me worse than anything.
“I can’t—Libby, I can’t —”
My voice disappeared into a sob I couldn’t catch in time. My body collapsed back against hers, ribs shudderin’, snot trailin’ from my nose, tears falling again like I hadn’t cried every last one already.
She didn’t tell me to stop — not even when we hit the floor and I was propped against her like a child.
She didn’t try to hush me or say I was okay.
Just held me.
Like she’d crawl into my skin if she could, or if she held me tight enough, maybe it’d suck the poison out.
I hated her for it.
And I loved her so much I thought it might kill me.
My fingers found her arm. Gripped it. Not to push her away this time—but to keep her there. Just a little longer. Just until I could remember what it felt like to be a person again.
_____________
Libby POV
_____________
His entire body shuddered against mine, for hours it felt like, until he finally stopped shaking, and his breath came in even spurts. Walking in on him like that — naked, sobbing, panicking — it ruined me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
I loved him so much. I thought the world of him. Daryl Dixon was all I could’ve ever wanted and then some. The way he loved me was the taste of adoration I could’ve soaked in forever.
To see the man who’d killed people with his bare hands, who’d pummeled men half a size bigger than him, who’d torn open walkers and gutted animals with enough aggression it sometimes terrified me — to see him in a puddle of vomit and tears, unable to even hold his body upright — it tore more open and bled me dry.
I’d spend the rest of my life attempting to fix everything that broke in him over the last eight days. “Daryl, sweetheart,” I rubbed my thumb in slow circles against his chest.
He didn’t respond. But he did move into my touch, and that was enough for me to feel confident in sliding around and wrapping myself against his chest. It was soaked with tears, and probably vomit and snot, but I didn’t care. Especially not when he wrapped his arms loosely around me too.
“M’ sorry, Libs,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to… to end up like this.” A small step back, his hands fell from around me as he gestured to the plethora of sticky tears rubbed between our chests.
Heartache swelled heavy in my chest. “There’s rags and water in the bathroom,” I said unbothered, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible despite how much I just wanted to cry with him. “Sit down. I’ll take care of everything.”
Another slow and gentle touch, nothing too fast, I pushed on his chest until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sat. I knew he didn’t want me to pity him — and I wasn’t quite sure it was pity — but I felt horrible for him. I used to feel this way about patients that I shadowed, the ones with tragic backstories in desperate need of therapy. But never had I felt such sheer and utter despair for someone until now. Because this was Daryl.
My Daryl. Broken — shattered into a million tiny little pieces and probably blaming himself for all of it. Probably thinking he deserved every bit of the punishments they’d given him.
Softly, with a careful hand, I stroked his cheek, once again moving his hair from sticking there. I tipped his chin up to look at me for the first time since he and Jesus found me in the woods. “Don’t move, okay?” I coaxed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll be right back.”
To my delight, he didn’t.
When I reentered the room, he sat exactly as I’d left him, but his eyes met mine again, and to me, that was progress. He wasn’t avoiding me entirely.
I could take that little token and nurture it until he’d be ready to build something with me again. Maybe in our little house by the lake again — or maybe here at the hilltop. I wasn’t too sure where we’d settle down, or when that would ever be, but for now, I’d take all the gentleness he could give to me and treat it like a treasure.
With that, I brought the damp rag up to his face and smoothed little circles around until his cheeks and nose were clear of tears and snot, and then I worked lower. Swept away the remnants of his breakdown from his chest, and then the floor.
I didn’t mind doing it.
Not in the slightest.
He would’ve done the exact same thing for me, and then some.
“Libs, y’ain’t gotta --“
“I’m about to cut your hair,” I interrupted, diverting completely away from the topic and into a new one. Pushing up from the floor, I ran a finger through his hair again, tucking some of it behind his ear.
His gaze followed me as I tossed the rag into the pile of dirty clothes, then to the other side of the bed where our pajamas were neatly folded. It was nice knowing that he was looking — that he felt safe enough to do so. When I stepped back in front of him though, his eyes drifted away, refusing to watch me get dressed, which I found as particularly odd, but opted out of pestering him about it.
It wasn’t as if the chemise was doing much to cover anything — it was a glorified negligee, but it was what was given to me to sleep in, and I wasn’t the type to complain.
“Do you wanna?” I asked, holding out the clean pair of underwear that sat atop the cotton sleep pants.
Tucking his chin, he agreed, silently taking them from me and turning around to change. Another thing I’d found as strange.
For almost three years his back was a sacred thing. I knew what was there. All the horrible, no good, awful memories. We’d gotten more than just a little comfortable with each other, and slowly he’d begun taking off his clothes, stripping completely naked, but we rarely spoke about the scars. They just…were. And if at all possible, he never openly allowed them to show, nor did he flaunt them in my face freely. If he was shirtless and knew I was looking, I’d always be shown his chest.
Be it habitual, or a small comfort of his — I rarely had the luxury to admire his toned shoulders, or the little dimples that barely showed. But now…that was exactly what I was given.
It was just another thing I had to bite my tongue about though. Another thing I wouldn’t press him on.
Not now.
So I waited for him to slide into his pants, then resume his sitting position on the bed. I reached onto the bedside table for my knife, before delicately straddling his lap, craving the physical closeness and selfishly taking it where I could. “Just around your eyes, right?” I asked, fiddling with a few pieces that had twisted close to his chin.
“Whatever y’want.”
Biting my bottom lip, I nodded, taking the chance to lean close to his cheek and smooth a kiss there. “I like it long. So just around the eyes,” I whispered, and began working the blade through the brown locks.
It didn’t take but maybe five minutes — and I cherished all of it. The slight touches, the closeness, feeling his breath on my skin. All. Of. It. If we stayed just like that for eternity, I may have never complained again. Piece by piece, little semi-dry chunks fell between us, tickling my thighs until I finally put the knife back down.
Then we just sat there.
A thousand questions swirling through my brain as I stared at his pretty blue eyes. I still needed to talk to Maggie, tell her everything going on. And I needed to give Daryl some time to be by himself. It was a necessary evil that I wanted no part of.
Unfortunately that wasn’t how things worked anymore.
Reluctantly, I slid from his lap. “I gotta go talk to Maggie,” I said. “It won’t be long. I’ll bring back supper.”
“You gotta?” The question was immediate, and quite frankly, it took me by surprise.
I straightened up from where I’d bent to grab the pair of shorts Bertie had given me, and looked at him. Fuck, he looked so small.
I had a responsibility to both him, and Alexandria.
He needed me — asked for me to stay with him — but I couldn’t. Because this wasn’t over. He was safe now, but for how long? Rick wouldn’t sell Hilltop out, that was something I was certain of. That didn’t mean Negan wouldn’t find one of us here though.
I had to put priorities together, and safety was my number one.
They’d be looking for Daryl — probably already were — I couldn’t waste anytime. Postponing the inevitable was pointless.
“I won’t be long, baby,” I promised. My heart fell just as quick as his face did. “It’s important,”
He didn’t respond to that. Not with a nod, or words, or even a grunt.
I pulled the soft, active shorts up, and discarded the chemise, not bothering to replace it with a shirt yet. Instead, I stepped toward him, pushing his shoulders lightly, lulling him to lay back onto the soft mattress, before climbing beside him. Even though I was trying to comfort him, I felt like I was getting more comfort than he was from this. It was just so soothing to be pressed right against his skin, tucked perfectly under his arm like it’s where I’d belonged my entire life.
I could tell he was pent up by the way he held me so stiffly, and I wanted nothing more than to massage his shoulders and ease all the tension built inside his body. There was no telling how much sleep he’d lost out on, or if he’d gotten any at all.
Which is why it pained me so much to roll onto my side and hammer a nail into his already bleeding heart. “Please don’t leave, Dar. I’ll be back in half an hour, I swear.” It was so contradictory to beg him not to leave, when I was doing that very thing. But I had every intention of coming back — something I doubted he’d be doing if he walked out the door. “Just, don’t go anywhere. I need you here, please,”
Selfish. Begging. Pleading.
He’d just been kept prisoner, and yet here he was again, slowly nodding, and whispering that he’d stay, despite how much I knew he wanted to do the opposite.
_____________
“What do you mean Rick ain’t gonna fight?” Her hands slammed on the table hard enough to cause the dinner plates to clink together.
I chewed the inner part of my lip.
This was exactly as I’d expected it to go.
Maggie didn’t have a plan — not really. She was just building a good reputation with the people of Hilltop, hoping that if the day came where they had a choice to fight, they’d choose to take a stand. For the most part she’d been waiting on some kind of signal from Alexandria. A sign to let her know what the plan was.
I simply was the bearer of bad news.
“I told him I was coming here, and that I was gonna get Daryl out soon,” I explained, leaning against the open door of the trailer. “Negan’s gonna check Alexandria first. Rick’s gonna find out a lot sooner than later that even though I didn’t technically break him out, I still mean business.”
“You think Daryl being out is gonna kick his ass into gear?” Sasha asked, folding aluminum foil over a second plate of food. I’d told them I couldn’t stay long. I was only there long enough to fill them in on everything. So our dinner was promptly packed away.
“It’s gonna force him to do something,” Maggie said harshly. “What about the others?”
“Olivia’s on our side, so is Aaron, and apparently Eric. Olivia said Alexandria would stand with me, and—“
“Hilltop will too.” Jesus interjected, his jaw set tight. “A lot of these people are tired of working so hard just to get it all taken away. If we can get the support of Alexandria, I think Hilltop would rally in.”
Sasha sighed as she handed me both plates of food and a jug of clean water. “We still won’t have the numbers. You saw how many people Negan has,”
Frustration burned inside of me, hot and furious. It seemed like everywhere we turned our numbers just kept dwindling. From the minute the prison fell, our group hadn’t gone four months without losing multiple people.
Hershel, Bob, Beth, and Tyreese directly after the attack.
Noah, Aiden, and Reg within a month of arriving at Alexandria.
About twenty Alexandrian’s when the Wolves attacked — Deanna unfortunately included.
Denise, Abraham, and Glenn within two days of each other.
It was nonstop, and our numbers weren’t growing by any means. If you took a step back and looked, we had a little over a hundred people between Hilltop and Alexandria — but what was that compared to six or seven hundred Saviors?
“We give Rick a chance,” I mumbled, a little unsure if I even liked what I had to say. “He’s…he’s a force to be reckoned with whenever his ass is willing. Satan himself is gonna hate to see him coming. We give him enough time to find out about Daryl.”
I’d known Rick long enough to know not to count him out completely. Not ever.
He pissed me off. I hated him. And maybe if he showed up to Hilltop and decided it was time to start a fight, I’d rock his jaw…But I believed in him.
I’d doubted myself for a while — nervous and scared of not being good enough. I was past that now though. Even still, I wasn’t blind to my weakness’.
I could get people to listen. Rally people together. Persuade the masses if need be. But Rick Grimes was a different breed. If anyone was going to take a hundred people and make an army out of them, I wholeheartedly believed it would be him.
Yes, I could get people listening.
But he could take those people and wage war.
_____________
My return to the bedroom in Barrington House was quiet, and I half thought Daryl had gone back on his word and disappeared into the night until I saw him stepping from the en-suite.
With a gentle clinking of glass, I sat the dishes I’d brought back onto the desk as soft as I could. They’d prepared a feast compared to what I’d been having for dinner lately — a whole lot of not shit.
But this plate was loaded with huge spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, carrots, and the little green peas that my uncle used to shoot at me across the dinner table. Aunt Bea would always get on to us, nag for us to quit, but we never did. I twisted the cap off the jug of water and poured two plastic cups to the brim, not skimping on any of the ‘little things’.
I peeled the foil back on both plates, steam curling into the air and softening the edge of the room’s chill. The scent hit first — salt, butter, something roasted. It filled my lungs and knotted somewhere behind my ribs. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that first breath made my mouth water.
Daryl hovered near the dresser, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, damp from where he’d definitely splashed water on his face. He didn’t look at me, just nodded a little and moved toward the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight as he sank down at the edge. His hair still hung in his eyes, not nearly as bad as before.
I stayed standing for a minute, peeling the shorts down and stepping out one foot at a time. The skin of my thighs was still pink from the bath, warm and scrubbed clean. I slipped off the too big shirt next, letting it fall beside the spandex material on the floor. The chemise I’d discarded earlier was soft, something between silk and cotton — sky-colored and too delicate for me, really, but I pulled it over my head anyway. Let it drape.
When I turned around, Daryl was already cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees like he wasn’t sure how to sit still. I joined him slowly, the mattress dipping under me, then bouncing once as I settled in across from him. I passed over a plate and one of the plastic forks they’d stuck between napkins like it was some kind of formal setup. He took it wordlessly, his fingers brushing mine for just a second — and even that small touch sent something skittering across my chest like a moth chasing light.
Neither of us spoke.
We just sat there, cross-legged, knees barely brushing, and started eating like it was the most natural thing in the world — like today hadn’t been a monumental step in the rest of our lives.
I took a bite of the mashed potatoes and nearly groaned. Creamy. Buttery. The kind of taste that made you remember you were still alive. Daryl dug in too, not looking at me, but not pulling away either.
“Dar,” I whispered softly, taking another bite of the mashed potatoes. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
His eyes met mine, and there was a long flicker of sorrow that I’d never seen before — not anger, or frustration, or even grief — and it was miles beyond the look he had when Merle died. I reached forward, bridging the small gap between us with my hand, brushing his stubble with the pad of my thumb. “She okay?” he asked, blinking some tears away. “They said she was dead. I saw her grave—“
“Her and the baby are fine,” I did my best to ease his mind, but little salt streaks were trickling down his cheeks, curving around where my hand still rested. “She’s glad you’re here — been worried about you ever since they took you away.”
“It’s my fault,” he sniffled, finally leaning into my touch. “Glenn -- he’s dead, and s’ my fault. His kid ain’t never gon’ know it’s dad, you ain’t gon’ see your best friend again, and s’ cause’a me.”
Technically: yes, it was because of him. I knew that. Maggie knew that. Everyone knew that. But Glenn being dead wasn’t his fault. If Negan would’ve acted as we expected him to, it would’ve been Daryl. I’d done my very best to mentally prepare myself for it to be him — even looked at Glenn in an attempt to keep me tethered to earth when Negan brought the bat up. I remember Rick crying his name out, confirming his assumption that we were losing Daryl.
Glenn was out of left field.
Glenn’s death was technically caused by Daryl, but nobody faulted him.
But he wouldn’t care to hear that.
“I’m not mad at you, Dar,” I said solemnly, wiping away the mess of tears. He went from leaning into me, to pulling back, shaking his head in the process. “Daryl, I’m not—“
“Why?” That gravelly southern accent broke through, louder than a question, but not quite a shout either. Quickly, he unfolded his legs and shifted from the bed, forgetting both me, and the plate of food in front of him. “Ya should be. Cause now ya gotta live the rest ‘a your life without him, and that’s on me! ‘S my fault!”
Now it was yelling.
All I could do was sit and watch him pace back and forth from the opening to the bathroom, all the way back to the far side of the room. Running his hands up and down his face, he looked like a caged animal thirty seconds away from bolting, and part of me feared that he would.
I watched him like you’d watch a wildfire you couldn’t stop — eyes wide, heart thumping with every stomp of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards. He was still damp, flushed from the heat of his own anger, a raw edge of grief cutting through every movement like his skin couldn’t contain it. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his jaw clenched hard enough I could almost hear the grind of his teeth each time he ran a hand down his face.
He passed me again, heading toward the dresser — then doubled back without touching anything. My plate was still on my lap, but I wasn’t eating anymore.
I waited for him to slow down. He didn’t.
I let the quiet wrap around us like smoke. He couldn’t sit in it — couldn’t sit at all. Just kept pacing, again and again, circling the room like he was trying to outrun what was in his head. The third time he passed me, I rose from the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden movement that might spook him worse.
I don’t think he noticed me stepping off the mattress. Not until I was standing there, in the middle of his path. He turned to double back again and stopped just shy of bumping into me, his eyes still red-rimmed and glinting in the low light.
But he wouldn’t look at me.
His arms dropped back to his sides, hands flexing open like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. He turned his head as if to keep pacing, and I let him pass me once more — watched the way his shoulders tensed like every muscle in his body was on the verge of snapping.
When he came around again, I was ready.
I reached out, slow and sure, and caught his hand in both of mine.
His skin was hot — like all that grief was burning him from the inside out. He flinched, like he expected me to slap him or scream or shove him away.
But I didn’t.
I just held his hand.
Let my thumbs brush over the calluses on his knuckles, the dirt still embedded in the creases of his palm no matter how much he must’ve scrubbed. His fingers twitched, unsure whether to pull back or hang on. So I gave him a choice. I looked up at him, calm but steady, the way you might look at a wounded animal that could bolt or collapse. “I’m not mad at you. I love you. Please come eat, Dar,”
His eyes stayed on mine, glassy and wet and wounded, like he was trying to make sense of something that didn’t. His whole body was trembling, like the fight had gone out of him but left the wreckage behind. I felt it in his hand — the slight hitch in his grip, the hesitation.
“I love you,” I whispered again, softer now. “Please come eat.”
His jaw worked. No words came out. Just a sharp breath through his nose, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out how to start. His head dipped after a second — not a nod, exactly, but close enough. Like surrender.
He let me guide him back to the bed, hand still loosely wrapped in mine, footsteps slow and heavy like each one cost him something.
The mattress dipped as he sat, cross-legged again, mirroring me like we were picking up exactly where we left off. Like maybe, if we acted normal long enough, things might feel normal again. He took the plate when I passed it to him — didn’t thank me, didn’t need to — just looked down at the food like he didn’t deserve it and then took a bite anyway.
Mashed potatoes. A little piece of carrot. Then another. Each forkful was quiet. No rush. No pressure. Just breathing. Just eating.
I watched him chew with that familiar furrow in his brow, like he was still halfway between here and somewhere darker. But at least he was eating.
.if you need to, darling, lean your weight on me.
Notes:
ahh!
i LOVE this chapter so very much! i just want to put it between my teeth and shake it around like a piece of cardboard. our sweet baby darnell is free, but him is just a wittle sad boy. and libby is balancing the weight of everything on her shoulders. i, carrion by Hozier is such a vibe for this chapter.if y’all ever want to connect with me or get more up to date info on this story (as well as fun little mood boards), feel free to check out my tumblr! it’s the same as here, just a lower case L 🩵
Chapter 72: aren’t going so good
Summary:
I was stuck in a cycle of it. Imprisoned by my own ambitions turned stagnant.
A paperweight.
And then, “I wanna go, Libs,” his chest rumbled beneath my cheek.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.thought i caught lightening in a bottle, oh, but it’s gone again.
Sleep came in small, fragmented spurts and never for very long. Fifteen minutes here, an hour there, but every time Daryl shifted beside me, I jolted awake, anxiety clawing at my chest. I couldn’t help but worry he’d up and leave in the middle of the night, or worse, that Negan would somehow find out this is where he was hiding and come looking for him.
Neither of those things were true though.
Daryl was still right next to me, turned on his side and facing the door — a silent sentinel. He hadn’t managed to catch even a wink.
I could tell because of just how much he tossed and turned throughout the night. Normally, when Daryl slept, he was completely still. It often unnerved me to the point that I had to check his chest for the gentle rise and fall of breath, just to reassure myself he was alive.
Talk about a rude wake up call if he’d died in his sleep and began mauling me.
I stayed laying there for what felt like hours, eyes on the cracked plaster ceiling, listening to the creaks of the old house and the occasional voices chattering down the hallway. Daryl hadn’t moved in a while, but I could still feel the heat rolling off his body in waves — taut, rigid heat.
I shifted onto my side, watching the line of his back, the gentle dip of his waist barely concealed by the sheet. His shoulder blades pressed tight beneath his skin like coiled wire. Every so often, he’d twitch — a quick jerk in his fingers or a shallow flinch in his shoulders, like ghosts were still clawing at him.
My hand traversed the small space between us, just a whisper of touch, the tips of my fingers brushing over the warm expanse of his lower back. I let them rest there, waiting, testing the silence. When he didn’t pull away, I inched closer— slow, cautious — until my knees bumped the backs of his thighs. I pressed my chest to his spine and felt the barest hitch in his breath.
Still, he didn’t move.
I wrapped one arm over his waist, fingers splayed against the warmth of his stomach, and pressed my face between his shoulder blades. He was all salt and soap and sweat, like the day before hadn’t quite let him go yet. My lips brushed naked skin as I breathed him in.
You’re still here, I thought. Still warm. Still breathing.
I didn’t know what made me do it — probably some desperate part of me that needed to feel him relax, to make him relax — but I started to pull gently, guiding him backwards toward me. My hand on his stomach tightened just slightly, and my knee nudged under the crook of his legs like a lever.
And again, he let me.
Bit by bit, Daryl complied, shifting onto his back, his shoulder grazing mine, his face still turned toward the door like he couldn’t stop watching it. But I slipped in closer, molding myself into the curve of his side, allowing my head to rest against his chest.
That’s when I finally heard the steady thump of his heart, a rhythmic reassurance in the quiet of the room.
My arm draped over him like a protective blanket, and I hooked my fingers into the fabric of the quilt near his ribs. I felt the uneven rise and fall of his breathing beneath me, gradually evening out.
Finally, he let his hand rest on my back—a tentative gesture, not quite pulling me in, but not pushing me away either. A half-hearted sign of acceptance. Maybe even a thank you.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” I murmured into his chest, nuzzling closer, yearning to bridge the gap of tension between us.
“Nah,” he grunted, not bothering to add anything on.
This was so far from our normal mornings — before all the horrible, nasty things happened.
I wanted to look at the sky and plead for the clock to go backwards, to reclaim moments that now seemed like dreams slipping through my fingers. My future was supposed to be so much sweeter than this; good morning kisses, and sweet, sloppy wake up sex. Breakfast downstairs with the smell of coffee and the clatter of dishes as we exchanged small talk over the kitchen island, mapping out the week ahead: hunting, meetings, the thrill of building a life together. That pale yellow room.
Was this my fate? Full of almosts.
Almost getting my degree.
Almost moving into my own place.
Almost having a successful future.
Almost having a fresh start on the farm.
Almost having a fresh start at the prison.
Almost embracing a new life in Alexandria.
Almost.
I was stuck in a cycle of it. Imprisoned by my own ambitions turned stagnant.
A paperweight.
And then, “I wanna go, Libs,” his chest rumbled beneath my cheek.
Naturally. Why wouldn’t he? He blamed himself for all of the awful things that happened, so it wasn’t exactly a shock that he’d want to disappear. Briefly — just so briefly — I almost asked where he’d go. Not as an argument, but as a genuine question.
Back to Georgia? My heart fluttered at the thought. If so…I wondered if he’d take me too.
Maybe if it was just him and I we could find somewhere to call our own. An abandoned cabin, or some rundown community. We could check out the farm again, see just how much survived the fire. It was far enough away that maybe it hadn’t been destroyed entirely.
Again though, that was just a fleeting thought. Instead I responded: “Please stay,”
“I ain’t s’pose to be here,” this time he shifted, moving me off his chest so he could set up on his elbows.
“And where are you supposed to be?” I asked, my question a lot sharper than it had any right being.
Judging by the way he looked at me, I could tell he wouldn’t be answering that; just swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand over his face like he could scrub off everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I reached for him, fingers grazing his arm, hoping maybe if I could just get him to look at me again, he’d see how much I needed him to stay. But he pulled away before I could get a good hold, like my touch burned.
“Daryl,” I said, softer this time. A plea, not a warning.
He stood. Shoulders hunched, hands on his hips. That haunted, far-off stare setting in again like he was already halfway out the door. His boots were still on the floor, but the way he looked at them made me think they were calling to him louder than I ever could.
“Daryl, don’t—”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance back.
I scrambled up, the sheet dragging behind me, twisting around my legs until I shoved it off with a frustrated grunt. My bare feet hit the cold floor, and I nearly tripped trying to grab the shirt I’d tossed aside last night. The fabric caught in my hair as I yanked it down over my chest, then went for the shorts.
Every movement felt clumsy — too rushed, too loud, like if I wasn’t fast enough, he’d vanish before I had the chance to stop him.
He stood there, not even a step away from the door, yet it felt like he was a million miles away. He might as well have left, because he was completely ignoring me, and that sting was the hardest part. I'd poured myself into this relationship—into him—for nearly three long years, but here he was, just ignoring me completely.
Nearly three years, of raw history, and he chose to turn a cold shoulder to me when I desperately needed him. No matter how pissy or temperamental he got, I stuck it through with him. All the bad shit. All the hard times. And I never asked him for much of anything. Ever. But now that I finally decided to want something from him he’d decided to pull away.
It wasn’t fair.
“Daryl—“
“Ya should’a just left me there!” he whirled around, jabbing a finger at me. I was pretty sure all of Barrington House could hear him. “S’ what I deserved! Didn’t need you to come—“
“I’m sorry, but I’m not the one who snuck in and handed you the key,” key,” I fired back, cutting him off. “You wanted out of there just as much as I wanted to get you out, so don’t you dare try to spin this around like it’s my fault.”
His silence was louder than any argument, a reminder of the tense distance growing between us.
I hadn’t wanted to yell at him. Really, I didn’t. He’d been yelled at enough lately.
“Daryl—“
But he cut me off again. “M’ gonna go see if there’s anything I can do.”
Fear was in the top of my throat again. “Please don’t leave,” I begged
“Ain’t gonna,” he muttered, slipping out of his sleep pants with a frustrated energy. “Just can’t stay in this room right now. Can’t argue with ya like this,”
That last comment felt like a punch to the gut. I never wanted him to feel he had to walk away from me. All I wanted was my boyfriend back—that’s it. Just him, by my side, after all this time apart.
He didn’t say another word. Just turned back around and went for the pile of clothes folded at the end of the dresser — the same ones I’d laid out for him last night. It was stupid, but I’d taken the time to smooth every wrinkle out of that navy blue button-up when Bertie handed it to me yesterday.
He stepped into the cargo pants one leg at a time, tugging them up over his hips and zipping the fly in one smooth motion. His back was to me the whole time, like I wasn’t even there. Then came the shirt — sleeves shoved up his forearms in practiced muscle memory, buttons fastened with mechanical, thoughtless precision.
No hesitation.
No second glance.
He sat at the edge of the bed to lace his boots, fingers working the knots like he’d done it a thousand times — like this was just another morning, another day to get through. But it wasn’t. Not to me.
This was supposed to be the day that things started to mend and we were able to talk. I was supposed to feel just a little safer wrapped in his arms.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there frozen in the middle of the room, my arms folded over my chest as he stood up.
Grabbed a knife.
Walked to the door.
Still no words. Still no glance.
The knob turned. The hinges creaked just a little. And then the door clicked shut behind him.
I didn’t cry right away. Not until I was sure he was gone. Then my throat clenched up, and my eyes stung, and the tears came silent and angry, tracing hot little paths down my cheeks as I curled forward and let my shoulders shake under the weight of it all.
He hadn’t even looked back.
I tried so hard to come to terms with it. Things were just hard right now. He’d gone through a lot. Things that I probably couldn’t even imagine. Yelling at him, pleading with him, trying to pry things out of him; none of that was going to get me any further in figuring out what all had gone down in that place. He’d suffered at the hands of the same man who killed two of our own.
But did that make my own suffering any less important?
My best friend had died.
My little life had fallen apart.
My significant other was ripped away from me.
My cat was shot.
The man who seemed to have an answer for everything turned his back on me.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as Maggie had it, and I could safely assume it wasn’t as bad as Daryl either — but it still mattered didn’t it? Everything I was carrying was just as important, right?
I couldn’t expect it to go back to the dreamland that it was before. Our lives were throughly fucked up. But I didn’t think spending the morning wrapped in Daryl’s arms would’ve been too much to hope for.
_____________
Half an hour to reset the bedroom and pull on some clothes, then another half an hour to actually maneuver my way through the bustling morning crowd of Hilltop. It hadn’t been all that long ago that the community of Alexandria moved about their day in a similar rhythm—people hurrying off to work, children filtering into the garage that had transformed into a makeshift schoolhouse, life cascading along like a familiar melody.
When I trotted up the steps of the trailer, the door pulled open almost instantly. Maggie stood there, a radiant smile breaking across her face as if she hadn’t seen me just eight hours prior. Wordlessly, she ushered me inside and leaned against the counter, popping a piece of golden-brown sausage into her mouth, that same smile never faltering.
My brows knitted together in confusion as I scanned the cramped space, intrigued and a bit bewildered by her exuberance.
Nobody else was here — at least, not that I could see — and she was just staring at me, her eyes wide with delight as she chewed. It was honestly kind of terrifying until she finally broke the silence. “Jesus knows about another community,”
A breath of fresh air after drowning for eight days. Or nine days now, I suppose.
Jesus knows about another community.
The words hung in the air like smoke after a spark, and I could feel the oxygen rush back into my lungs for the first time in over a week. I didn’t even try to hide the way my eyes widened, instinctively straightening a little taller. It felt like a door cracking open where there hadn’t been any walls left.
“Another community?” I repeated almost in awe.
Maggie nodded, still chewing, still smiling. “He hasn’t told us much, but he says they’re established. Organized. Got their own system going.”
I hadn’t even realized I was edging toward the table until my hand brushed the edge of it. In front of us lay a half-eaten breakfast spread—scrambled eggs, golden sausage links, and a thick hunk of bread slashed into generous slices. I didn’t ask. I just reached out and plucked up a sausage, chewing it slowly as I leaned my hip against the table, my mind already running in a hundred directions.
Another fucking community.
Did they know Negan? Were they one of the ones paying tribute to him? Or had they managed to stay off his radar entirely? If so, maybe they had numbers. Weapons. Hell, maybe they had hope; something I hadn’t been able to get my hands on in days.
I grabbed a few eggs and nudged them onto a plate, my appetite finally rearing its head now that the pressure in my chest had started to ease. They were delicious—distinctly buttery with just the right amount of pepper, and I relished every bite as I hurriedly consumed them, each mouthful providing a surge of energy to push me through the next few minutes. “You seen Daryl this morning?” I managed to ask between bites, casting a glance toward the window.
Maggie shook her head. “I know he’s out working with Jesus. He wouldn’t come in. Not even to get a plate of food.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, voice quieter than I meant it to be. “He left early. Things aren’t going so good.”
She didn’t press, just gave a knowing little nod and sipped from her tin mug like she’d already figured out most of what I wasn’t saying.
Turning back to the counter, I reached for a second plate. I didn’t want Daryl’s first real meal in over a week to be cold or just a few bites of something stale— not when I could at least do this much. I piled two sausages, a scoop of eggs, and a hunk of bread onto the plate, wrapping it all neatly in a paper napkin from a corner bin. “I’m gonna try to get him to at least take a few bites,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder as I moved toward the door.
“I’m gonna go keep watch with Kal for a little bit. Let me know if y’all need anything,” Maggie replied, and I gave her a soft nod before pulling open the screen.
The sounds of work beginning all over Hilltop echoed in the air and I stepped down onto the wooden stairs, the plate pressed close to my chest, the napkin already starting to wilt a little with the heat off the eggs. I stepped down into the dirt and started weaving through the trailers that made up Hilltop’s sprawl. The sun was already high enough to bake the ground and send that heavy, sticky kind of heat crawling up my legs. I was thankful for the shorts given to me versus a pair of pants I was liable to be sweating through by now.
People moved around me with purpose; stringing wire, hammering supports into old fencing, checking crops. For a second, it almost felt like a normal neighborhood, just a little more sunburned and reminiscent of the 1800s. One of the kids ran past, chasing another with a stick sword and laughing like the world hadn’t ended. I didn’t smile, but I did watch them for a second.
That pale yellow room in the front of my mind.
Then I started toward the hill.
I hadn’t been trying to go anywhere specific, just… wandering, hoping I’d find him. The hill sloped gently at first, just enough to stretch the backs of my calves, and by the time I reached the top, the sun was hitting hard — the kind of heat that made your eyes squint no matter how open the sky was. I shielded my face with the edge of the plate, scanning below.
That’s where I saw him.
Down past the clothes lines, where the crops were thickest — long rows of green with tall cornstalks casting uneven shadows — Daryl was crouched in the dirt beside Jesus, both of them elbow-deep in soil. Looked like they were digging out a patch that had gone overripe or maybe clearing a root system. I wasn’t close enough to tell.
But I could see the sweat soaking through the back of Daryl’s shirt, making it cling to his spine. His hair was pulled back in a half-assed knot, dark and damp. His face was red. His hands were filthy. And I knew he hadn’t had a single sip of water since walking out of our room earlier.
It made something sink in my chest. Not the anger from earlier. Not even disappointment. Just… sadness.
I adjusted the plate in my grip and started down the hill. Jesus spotted me first, his gaze flicking up from the dirt. He said something I couldn’t hear — maybe a warning, maybe just Daryl’s name — because Daryl didn’t look up right away.
Not until I was just a step or two away.
“Ain’t hungry,” he said, eyes looking at the plate instead of me.
Whatever warmth in me dissipated. “Yes you are,”
Brushing his hands off on his pants, he shook his head. “Nah. I’ma just wait for dinner—“
“No you’re not, you’re gonna eat now.” I snapped firmly, taking another step toward him.
“Libby,”
Just my name. A plead. Or a bargain. Or— I don’t even know. Truly, I was just looking for any excuse for the tone he said it in to be anything except shooing me away.
I could feign harshness. Portray myself as a strong, confident individual. But his approval was everything to me. It made me feel so shallow, like I was just some silly girl waiting in the wings for her crushes acknowledgment. I couldn’t help it though.
“Please, Daryl. Please come and eat,” I tried again. “It’s just a couple of bites.”
Something shifted, and for the first time in a long time I felt like the man I loved with all my heart was hardly more than a stranger. As he walked toward me, he didn’t sneak a glance to look any further than the plate in my hands; and when he took it from me, it was with such intensity I could practically label it as a snatch.
But despite all the harshness and obvious avoidance — I followed him as he sauntered off toward the far side of a trailer, escaping the sun.
The dirt was dry and cracked as bits of loose soil stuck to the sweat cascading down the back of my knees. Daryl didn’t glance back — not once. Just kept walking like he was on autopilot, like the plate of food I’d just shoved into his hands came with no accompanying emotions — not a hint of care, nor a spark of concern, and certainly not me.
By the time he rounded the corner, I could already see the shadow he’d chosen to disappear into. He moved fast, or maybe I was just walking slow, because by the time I caught up, he’d already dropped down onto the ground, his back pressed against the aluminum siding. He sat with one knee bent, the plate resting across it, his eyes locked on something in the middle distance that I couldn’t see.
I stood there for a second, stupidly, waiting for… something. Some acknowledgement. A nod. A breath. A look . But none came.
So I slid down beside him.
The side of my arm brushed his for a moment as I settled in, not on purpose, not fully accidental. He shifted the plate slightly to keep it level and kept staring ahead.
The silence between us was louder than anything else around.
My chest tightened, hot and sharp, and I turned my head just enough to look at him. To try and find something left in his face, something familiar in his expression, but all I faced was the hard, unforgiving line of his jaw, clenched tight like he didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.
Like if he did, something ugly might come out.
With all of the tension hanging like a noose, naturally I decided to take the chance instead.“I’m sorry for making a big argument earlier,” I murmured, throwing him a line, hoping he’d bite it.
He stiffened, pausing mid-chew, the sausage he was consuming caught harshly in his throat, before finally looking over at me, his brows knitting together just enough to give me a peek into his inner turmoil. “Y’ain’t gotta be sorry, Libs,”
“You walked out,” I pressed, the words slipping out with an unintentional whine. “And you’ve barely looked at me, and I get it,” I sighed, feeling the heat of my own frustration. “You’re trying to punish yourself for all the awful things that’ve happened, but what about me?”
Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.
I didn’t blame him for not answering.
No matter how close we were, or how much we’d been through, that didn’t eliminate who he was at his core. Skittish and burdened by the belief that he was the source of all the problems — and here I was, unwittingly suggesting he was the one at fault. I might as well have told him that all of my ‘big emotions’ were directly his fault and I needed him to forget all the bad shit he went through so he could take care of me.
That wasn't my intention, but I knew he would likely interpret it that way.
I remembered very clearly how quick he walked out on me back at the prison whenever I thought it was a great idea to trick that girl into walking in on us.
“Jesus said Rick wutn’t gon’ fight,” Daryl interjected suddenly, seemingly veering away from the course we’d been on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I froze. He wasn’t ignoring it — he was placing an accusation on me. “When did you give me an opportunity?” I shot back, feeling the heat rise in my chest.
“It’s been a damn day, Liberty!” he exclaimed harshly, abruptly setting the half-eaten breakfast aside as if it had soured in his mouth. “You ain’t gotta start hiding shit from me!”
My mouth fell open — his audacity. So much bubbled inside me, desperately wanting to lash out and make him feel as horrible as he was making me, but I caught myself, some sprinkle of my past life creeping in, reminding me that we were both just seeking validation.
I should really scavenge for some psychology books.
Especially now. After everything that had happened, a little makeshift therapy would probably do us all some good. I mean, I wasn’t a licensed professional, and I knew psychology didn’t always translate into effective therapy, but it was better than winging the emotions like we were doing right now.
Deep breath in, deep breath out — the stupid shit that I didn’t believe worked until I started trying it. I moved to sit on my knees in front of Daryl. “I’m not trying to keep anything from you, Dar. I’m not really sure what I’m trying to do. I’m just—“ I paused, inhaling again as I fought against the lump that had formed in my throat. “A lot’s been happening, and I lost my best friend. I’ve been alone with nobody to talk to, and I know, I know, you’ve had a shitty week too, so I just wanted to have the time to tell you everything, but—“ I had to stop myself. The tears were already breaking through, and at that point all my words were just vomit, spilling out my mouth in no particular fashion.
Maybe we were too far gone.
Maybe that first hit with Negan’s bat had sealed our fate.
All I knew was when he responded with, “I didn’t ask you to carry all that. Don’t put that on me.” My heart shattered. He stood up abruptly, and walked away, leaving me all alone, in front of some random trailer, only accompanied by the food he hadn’t even wanted.
_____________
Later in the day I found Bertie, really just to ask if Daryl and I could stay another night in Barrington House, but somehow ended up offering up my services in organizing her classroom for her. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, and it kept my mind off the fraying rope that tied Daryl and I together.
Somehow seeing the little construction paper artwork that the children of Hilltop crafted, made my chest a smidge less tight. It gave me hope that we’d pull through this — in every sense. Me and Daryl. Our communities. All the people. We were already at rock bottom, so there wasn’t much lower we could go.
The plastic pull-out bins lined the bottom shelf beneath the window, labeled in thick, black marker with each kid’s name. I crouched down and began filing away their worksheets one by one, sorting the alphabetized stacks into the right slots. “Kylie, Lucas, Noah…” I murmured under my breath, sliding a packet of math problems into the fourth bin from the left. “Riley, Tasha, Wren.”
There were still a few stray drawings taped to the backs of chairs — stick figures and glitter-glued stars — and I carefully peeled them off and tucked them into the bins too. One kid had drawn a huge blue tiger in crayon, teeth bared and tail coiled like a spring. I didn’t know who it belonged to, so I set it beside Bertie’s mug on the desk, figuring she’d know.
Once everything was off the floor and packed away, I turned to the whiteboard. The spelling words from last week were still written across the top in green marker — mystery, signal, weather — all smudged from little fingers. I picked up the eraser and started at the top left corner, sweeping my arm back and forth until the board was clear. It squeaked against the surface, leaving faint shadows of each word behind like ghosts.
Dust clung to my socks as I grabbed the broom and started sweeping from the far wall inward. I worked slow, careful not to knock over the row of folding chairs. The room was small, but it collected grime fast, especially with little kids running in and out. I brushed the pile of dirt toward the open door and nudged it onto the porch with one last push.
“My aunt used to say that sweeping the dirt out took the bad energy with it,” I muttered mostly to myself, squinting against the orange light as it spilled in across the floor. “God knows we need some of that gone.” I leaned the broom back in the corner behind Bertie’s desk and stretched out my back, rolling my shoulders until they popped. “I can come by tomorrow,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Help out some more if you need it.”
Bertie looked up from the papers she’d been grading and smiled. “I’d love that. And I’ll see if we can get some more clothes sent up to you — stuff that actually fits.”
That made me huff out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a thank you considering the shirt I was given hung mid-thigh. “You don’t have to, but Daryl and I really appreciate it.”
I grabbed my shoes from where I left them beside her desk, quickly pulling them on before pushing the screen door open, stepping outside just as the last of the sunlight started to dip behind the wooden gates. The air had cooled, soft with evening wind, and the sky was a wash of deep purple and gold — it must’ve been August by now. I took the steps slow, and let the quiet settle.
I think that was my favorite thing about the era that Hilltop gave off.
Everyone was always up in the morning — some before the sun was — getting their work in for the day. Be it going on watch, tending to the crops or the animals, keeping stock of supplies; it was all in a days work. Simple as that. I liked simple sometimes.
Now especially.
I made my way down the dusty path slowly, absentmindedly looking for a small rock to kick just to keep me preoccupied. The school trailer shrank behind me as I crossed the yard, and the handful of lanterns strung above flickered in the growing dusk.
The soft sounds of evening were settling in — the rustle of leaves in the breeze, someone hammering something two plots over, a laugh from the other side of the stables; my favorite being the mourning dove. I thought about heading toward Maggie’s, maybe checking in, asking about tomorrow’s game plan. But truth be told, I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to plan or put on a brave face or answer any more questions with hollow optimism.
I just needed a damn minute to really figure out what I wanted, because at that moment, I didn’t have a definite answer for myself.
As I edged the steps of Barrington House, I found myself scanning the terrain like a fool. Darting my eyes between the trailer rows and the walkways, checking the corners of the muddy yard. Just looking for a flash of dirty hair. Anything that might’ve meant he was nearby.
But he wasn’t.
Of course he wasn’t.
The ache that had stayed tucked behind my ribs all day gave another twist. It made everything feel heavier again — my limbs, my breath, my guilt.
I climbed the short stairs and pushed the front fancy door open, murmuring a few soft hellos to the people I passed in the hallway — a young girl balancing a basket of vegetables, an older man wiping sweat from his neck. I gave them both tired smiles, enough to stay polite. But not enough to invite conversation.
I took the steps two at a time, fingers whispering over the railing for balance. At the top of the landing, I turned toward the far room — the one Daryl and I had stayed in the night before. The door was closed, but not latched, and I nudged it open with my knuckles, careful not to let the hinges squeal.
The room was exactly how I left it — neat in a way only temporary spaces ever were. The bed made, the blankets still tucked in tight. A few of our things lay on the small dresser, mostly mine. I stood in the doorway for a second longer than I needed to, just listening to the silence. Then I stepped inside, shut the door quietly behind me, and bent to untie my shoes. My fingers fumbled with the laces, but eventually I got them off, nudging them to the side with my heel. And then I slid down the edge of the bed frame until I was sitting on the floor. Back against the wooden footboard. Legs pulled up just enough to hook my arms around. Chin resting on my knees.
That was all it took.
The weight of everything I’d spent all day holding in — the argument, the distance between us, the feeling that I was trying to stitch up a sinking ship with dental floss — came crashing down in the quiet of that room.
Things were so fucking bad. Worse than I could’ve ever imagined.
Daryl and I had technically only been together for about four months, but everyone knew it’d been longer than that. Our history traced back three years at this point. It was never particularly serious at the quarry, or the CDC, or even the farm; but those seven months we spent on the road before the prison, that had altered everything. In fragmented pieces, we revealed things about ourselves that nobody else really knew. I’d discovered so many things about the man who’d once just been a silly crush of mine —things I never could’ve imagined knowing. Both insignificant little tidbits of information and things I can confidently say you probably couldn’t waterboard out of him again.
Like one of the only foods he hates — hates — are olives. And the texture of fuzz makes him physically recoil (a huge bummer for winter months and cozy sleep pants). He’s never been claustrophobic because when he was little he used to pretend he was invisible and hide into one of the crawl spaces in his house whenever his dad would drink, just in case it got out of hand and he went looking for Daryl; he got used to falling asleep cramped up on those floorboards more often than not. His left eye looks smaller than his right because his dad (probably) busted part of his eye socket when he was nine and he never got it looked at — he just put a frozen spoon on it and hoped the swelling would go down (it never did).
Over the course of knowing one another, we’d emptied some of the skeletons in our closets, and I was horrified of losing someone who knew so much about me.
I stayed there for a long time, arms looped tight around my legs, nails pressed into the skin of my thighs, and my ass cheeks basically going numb. My tears came quiet. Hot and steady. They rolled down my cheeks and then down my wrists until they dissolved. I didn’t even bother wiping them at first.
I kept thinking about those quiet nights on the road. The little rituals we fell into. The safety of him. I kept thinking about how he’d press his arm against mine under the stars when it got cold, like he didn’t want to make it a thing, but couldn’t help it either. About how he used to save me the last bite of his food, no matter how hungry he probably was. About how when I told him about the first time my oldest sister OD’d and how I never forgave myself for not answering the phone, he hadn’t said anything — just leaned over and touched his forehead to mine and stayed there, steady as stone.
I was losing that.
The door opened behind me with a soft creak.
I stiffened, swiped at my face with the back of my arm and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the salt from my lashes. I glanced toward the door — just a flick of my eyes.
Then I looked back to the wall across from me, not saying anything to him in fear of sobbing.
I heard him shift against the floor, then set something soft and heavy on the bed before the sound of his steps got closer to me, slow and uneven, like he didn’t want to spook me.
I saw his legs first and then felt the dip in the floorboards beside me as he sank down to the floor. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat off his arm.
“Ain’t right, you sittin’ here by yourself,” he mumbled, barely nudging me with his shoulder.
I didn’t have it in me to argue with him again, or else I may have pointed out that he’d been the one to leave me sitting by the trailer alone earlier, so I just brushed it off, humming in response.
His arm brushed against mine, more intentional this time. A second later, his fingers slid under my elbow and tugged me just a little, enough to make it clear I wasn’t staying on my own.
I didn’t resist.
I let myself lean into him, slowly, like I was afraid I might break apart on contact. My head came to rest against his shoulder, the weight of it fitting like it had before everything went to shit. His hand moved around my back — not pressing, just there — and then he tilted his head to mine. I felt the faintest press of his lips against the top of my hair, warm and steady, before he let his forehead rest there.
The sentiment was nice, calming almost, but it didn’t make me feel much better. The emotional whiplash of yesterday and today had taken its toll.
Daryl was so easy to love. He had difficulties, and there were things about him that took patience, but loving him was not something that came hard. That didn’t negate my fears though.
I didn’t want to lose him.
Yes, I understood he was going through things, deep things that I probably couldn’t comprehend. But how long would that last? Would it be forever? Would I constantly be walking a tight rope of emotions with him?
.and it was written, i got cursed like Eve got bitten.
Notes:
so like… remember when i said to enjoy the fluffy #Liryl? yeah…. cause it’s a lot of angst for a WHILE. sowwy.
Chapter 73: Ashton Kutcher
Summary:
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared—red-eyed, overwhelmed, searching my face.“You’re okay,” he said, nodding a little.
I swallowed. “You too.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
.i’d shoot the sunshine into my veins.
It was weird that night. I fell asleep almost instantly, sitting upright on the floor, my body resting against Daryl’s, stomach practically empty, and the moon not entirely out. Even when he gently stirred me awake to move me to the bed, I remained in a dreamy haze, caught somewhere between consciousness and slumber. The moment my body sank into the mattress, it was as if all my worries melted away, and sleep enveloped me completely.
And I hadn’t slept so good in over a week.
When morning light filtered through the window, I found Daryl curled protectively around me. I took that as a small victory. The moment wasn’t without its flaws—he still hadn’t offered an apology for his earlier asshole-ish behavior, and we were far from stitching the fractures in our relationship. But despite the unresolved tension, the warmth of his body provided a much-needed sense of relief.
I stiffened when I felt him begin unfurling. It wasn’t uncommon that he somehow always sensed whenever I was awake, and I often times wondered if he just laid still until he knew my breathing changed. His arm shifted first, the muscles flexing slightly against my ribs as he adjusted his hold. Then his body pulled back just enough to make space between us. I felt the mattress dip and heard the rustle of fabric as he resettled behind me, propping himself slightly so that his cheek rested against the pillow, facing me.
I didn’t open my eyes right away.
But I felt the strength of his gaze, warm and lingering.
Then I felt his fingers brush lightly against my forehead, gentle as they tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The pads of his fingers trailed down, slow, tracing the line of my temple and then the curve of my cheek. Just a whisper of contact. His thumb hovered for a second longer than necessary, finally triggering me to open my eyes.
If I pretended hard enough — really thought about it — I could almost picture us back in our bed, waking up together, eye-fucking each other before actually fucking each other.
But instead of raspy morning sweet talking, his voice was lower than normal. “Ain’t mean to hurt ya, Libs,” he mumbled, blinking slowly. “And I ain’t really know how to fix it neither. M’ just fuckin’ things up.”
As the words left his mouth I was busy bracing myself for something else vague and half-measured. I tried not to build myself up for an apology or more tears, but the quiet way he said it had me thinking he hated himself more than I ever cared to hold a grudge.
I stared at him for a few beats, trying to gauge how deep it went this time, and if it was real, or if he just wanted the weight of my hurt off his chest so he could breathe easier.
But he wasn’t looking away — or walking away this time, or trying to ignore the mess that had been made in his wake from yesterday.
I rolled slowly onto my back, the tension in my ribs still tender from holding in too many sobs the night before. For a moment, I just watched the ceiling. Counted the little cracks in the plaster. Let the silence settle between us for just a little longer. Then I whispered, “You don’t have to fix it. I just needed you not to make it worse.”
I felt him stiffen beside me — not like he was angry. At least, I didn’t think he was.
“And you did,” I added, voice breaking a little. “You made it worse.”
Another beat passed.
Then the mattress shifted under his weight. The blanket pulled slightly tighter. I didn’t move when I felt his hand on my stomach, just resting there, a soft, uncertain contact, like he was asking for permission without saying a word.
I just could bring myself to look at him. Everything felt wrong.
“You scared me,” I said, quieter now. “When you hit Negan. And then they took you. When you came back I thought it was going to make it easier to breathe, but you’ve pulled away completely.”
I don’t think he had the right words for that, but I felt his hand tighten just slightly. I finally turned to face him again, met his eyes, and saw it: the ache, the guilt, the helplessness that always turned his mouth into a straight line and his shoulders into stone.
His jaw worked like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust it wouldn’t come out wrong, so he just stayed quiet, and that quiet hurt almost worse than any words might have. But his thumb started moving—slow circles against my stomach, soft and repetitive, like it was the only thing he could offer.
I watched his eyes. How heavy they looked.
“You don’t have to say it,” I murmured. “Not if you don’t mean it.”
His brows knit together. “I do,” he muttered hoarsely. “I just… I don’t know how. I’m still… in it.”
“In what?”
He looked away. Jaw clenched. Then, after a long second: “All of it.”
I swallowed hard, throat aching as he offered me an explanation for what happened after they took him. Sanctuary. The cell. The silence. The shame.
Dog food sandwiches, and being stripped down to nothing.
I shifted just enough to reach for his hand, the one resting on my stomach, and slid my fingers into his. His knuckles were bruised. Raw. Probably from punching walls. Or himself, metaphorically.
We laid there like that, hands tangled together on my stomach, neither of us saying much, the space between us finally, * finally* , softening.
“I’m sorry, Daryl,” I whispered. “I love you.”
The words had barely left my mouth before I felt the heat rise up again. Not at him. Not anymore.
But at him .
Negan.
I was mad about Abraham’s death. Heartbroken over Glenn’s. But knowing that Daryl was physically and psychologically tortured just to try and prove a point to Rick was the cherry on top. I was going to kill that Bugs Bunny teeth having ass bitch.
And yes, a chunk of that anger was fueled by the need to defend my significant other — but the other chunk was the fire blazing over the idea of Daryl Dixon being abused.
That sounds weird. I know.
My significant other is Daryl Dixon. But Daryl Dixon isn’t my significant other.
Daryl Dixon is who confidently murdered countless men with his bare hands. Daryl Dixon is who fell down a cliff twice, was shot in the head, and out of pure stubbornness was back on his feet within three days. Daryl Dixon was roughly shaped, brutal when necessary, and had the temper of a bull.
But my significant other,
Oh,
He was gentle, and soft, and every bit of awkward when dancing beneath the sheets with me. The hands that peppered kisses from the crown of my head to the most sensitive regions of my body were the furthest thing from brutal.
And Negan had hurt both the strongest and the softest person I knew.
“You shouldn’t have gone through that,” I said, voice flat. “You shouldn’t have been there. ” My throat tightened.
His eyes flicked to me, worry creeping in.
“What they did to you—” I shook my head, face twisting. “That wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve any of that. You’re a good person, Dar. *Such* a good person, and you could break my heart and I’d still go to the grave saying that.”
I sat up slowly, ignoring the sting in my ribs, letting the sheet fall away as I moved to sit against the headboard. My chest heaved, shallow and fast. “Taking your clothes. Starving you. Locking you in a fucking closet—” I bit down, hard. “I’m going to kill him.”
Daryl stayed quiet, but his gaze stayed locked on me now. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, like I could keep the rage from spilling out if I just held on tight enough.
“I hate him,” I whispered. “He broke you.”
Daryl’s voice was low. “He didn’t.”
I looked at him.
He reached for me again. Fingers brushing my ankle, tentative. “Messed me up. But he ain’t win. I’m still here.”
Nothing I could say would undo all the hurt he went through. I knew that. And no matter how much I wanted things to resume normally between us, that wouldn’t happen for a while either. Negan may not have broken him, but he did a number on him that couldn’t be undone from a brief conversation.
My problems were exactly that — mine. He had too much going on to carry anything I had.
For now, I would place myself on the back burner and give him the opportunity to work through the trauma. Instead, I could focus on taking out the source of his misery.
_____________
Neither of us ate that morning — a selfish thing in the middle of the apocalypse. Instead, we opted to go about our day with work in mind, doing our best to keep busy and our thoughts forward moving. He worked in the crops with Jesus again, still avoiding Maggie, but helping in any way Hilltop could need. I spent the early afternoon with Bertie; a cushier position that beat working in the heat.
She allowed me to get one on one time with some of the kids, a kindness I didn’t know I needed.
Conversing with a child was an easy way to bring your spirits up. They had so much hope and any flaw or worry that etched its way onto me physically was overlooked by such innocent eyes. All they wanted to know were simple things; why my hair was so curly, and whether or not I liked school when I was little. Nothing deep or personal. Answers that took so little from me.
These kids were mostly pushing seven — unlike Carl when I met him who had already been twelve. Their whimsy was still locked in place, not yet tainted by the bad stuff.
One of the little girls, Matty, had been glued to my side all afternoon. Big brown eyes, gap-toothed grin, fingers stained from the berries she and the others had picked earlier with Bertie.
She leaned her cheek against my arm while I tried to tie a ribbon into another girl’s hair. Her voice was soft, a little slurred from the front teeth she’d just lost. “Did your dad ever make you sandwiches too?”
It was so innocent. So simple. She didn’t look up when she said it—she just kept playing with the hem of my sleeve like it was the most natural question in the world.
And for a moment, my body didn’t move.
The knot in the ribbon went slack. My lips parted, but no sound came out. There was this awful pressure in my throat, like my windpipe had been crushed from the inside out.
I forced a smile. Too quick. It hurt.
“Not really,” I said. “He wasn’t much of a cook. But my sister did. She made the best cheese sandwiches ever,” A half-lie.
My sister rarely used cheese on anything. It was one of my moms ‘special foods’ and if we ran out she’d go into a rage — but I wasn’t going to tell this sweet girl anything that wasn’t sunshine and daisies.
Matty gave a little hum of approval and went back to playing with my sleeve, none the wiser. But something in me had already cracked.
I tied the ribbon tighter than I meant to, muttering an apology as the other girl winced, and then I stood. “I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick,” I told Bertie, not waiting for a response. My smile stayed frozen in place until I turned my back.
Once outside, I walked. Nowhere in particular—just away. Past the chickens, the half-tilled rows of sweet potatoes, the clang of tools on fencing. I ducked between two of the trailers behind the house and kept going until I was behind the shed. Out of sight.
And I stopped.
I crouched low, arms braced on my knees, and stared at the dirt. It was cracked and dry in places. A line of ants was making its way across a buried root, busy, focused, going about their tiny little lives like nothing had ever happened. My stomach twisted. My throat did that thing again—the pressure, the rising heat, the threat of something crawling up and out.
Did your dad ever make you sandwiches too?
Not unless you count the time he slapped together two slices of white bread with a smear of mustard and said it was dinner.
Not unless you count the times I locked myself in my bedroom pretending I wasn’t hungry just to avoid seeing him at the kitchen table, drunk and mean, waiting for an excuse.
Not unless—
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, hard. I didn’t want to cry. I’d done a lot of crying and hurting and screaming over a billion things recently, and it felt stupid to break down over something that happened so long ago.
But it wasn’t just the memories that were holding me, squeezing my ribs until they stung, it was the fact that my father was a horrible man, and Negan had tried to turn Daryl into that kind of man too. Into a monster. Tried to strip everything human from him and mold him into some kind of broken dog.
But he didn’t break.
He came back, and I was so goddamn proud of him I could barely breathe.
I stayed there for a while—long enough for it to not be considered a bathroom break anymore. A few leaves rustled in the grass nearby, and the careful footsteps alerted me of the presence of one of two people: Daryl or Jesus.
“You okay?” Daryl.
The first thing I did was swipe my fingers beneath my eyes. Quick, practiced. I didn’t look at him at first, just dragged in a breath and blew it out slow through my nose, like that might steady the little sparks crawling under my skin.
Then I turned.
Daryl stood a few feet away, his expression not entirely unreadable. He didn’t say anything else right away—just gave me that look. The one that wasn’t quite soft, but wasn’t hard either, like he was still figuring out what kind of pain I was sitting in before he opened his mouth.
I pushed up from the crouch, knees stiff from how long I’d been there. Brushed some dirt off my knees and nodded once.
He hesitated, weight shifting between his legs like he didn’t know if he should get closer or give me more time. Then he finally took a step toward me and gave a small jerk of his chin back the way he came. “C’mon,” he said. Voice rough but low. “S’food at Jesus’ place.”
My brows pulled together a little. Not in protest—just surprise. That wasn’t usually something he’d go out of his way to suggest. But he cleared his throat and added, “Enid won’t quit botherin’ us about eating. Said to come get you too.” There was a pause. Just enough time for him to look at me again, eyes flickering over my face, and then he spoke quieter, like the words were caught in his throat before he could finish swallowing them. “M’ here, Libs. If ya need me.”
I nodded again, this time slower, while walking toward him. He waited until I was close enough for our arms to brush before he started leading the way, not reaching for my hand, but not walking ahead either.
The path around the trailers felt quieter than usual—like even the chickens had gone still. My feet dragged slightly in the dirt, but Daryl didn’t say anything about it. He kept close, just a step or two to my right, arms brushing when the path narrowed between two hitch stairs and a sagging fencepost. By the time we reached the side of Jesus’ trailer, I could already smell something cooking—garlicky, familiar. Someone had gone through the trouble of lighting the little propane stove again. Daryl nudged the door open, letting me step in first.
Inside, the air was warmer. Dim, but not gloomy. Jesus stood near the kitchenette, stirring something in a small pot. He gave a short nod of welcome—respectful, not prying.
We barely had a second to register the calm when the door suddenly rattled open, bursting through the sound wave it seemed. “You need to come,” Enid said, voice sharper than I’d heard in days. She wasn’t panicked—but there was urgency in her face. “Now.”
My heart jumped. “What?”
Daryl and Jesus had spun around at this point, but I was too focused on the breathlessness and redness of Enid to gather how they were taking in the interruption.
“No time. Just come on.”
Everything inside me recoiled. The blood in my arms went cold. Negan?
Daryl stepped beside me, already alert. “What is it?”
Enid didn’t answer. She just turned and pushed open the door, not waiting to see if we followed.
I froze for half a second longer, then followed her out on instinct. It was an out of body experience filled with panic and for some reason, the sky outside seemed a lot brighter than it should have. As we rounded the bend at the edge of the main house, my chest locked up.
Rick. Michonne. Carl. Tara. Rosita.
They were all standing just inside gate. Carl had dirt on his face, Michonne’s eyes were glassy, and Tara looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Rosita’s arm was bleeding through a wrap on her arm, no telling where it came from.
And in the center of it—Rick.
For a split second, everything in me tensed—ready for the worst. Ready for blood, for more bodies, for some awful new shape to grief. But then Rick’s eyes landed on us.
On Daryl.
And I felt my knees nearly give out from the rush of relief that followed.
It wasn’t okay—none of them looked okay—but it was them . Alive. Breathing. Moving on their own two feet. And I knew that was more than anyone had dared to hope for.
Rick’s expression shifted as he moved. Just a flicker in his brow, a tremor at the edge of his mouth. His eyes wet and burning. And for a second, they just stared at each other— Daryl and Rick. No one moved. The silence stretched so taut I thought it might snap. Then—
Rick crossed the distance and pulled him in.
Daryl didn’t move away like he normally might have. He just pressed his forehead into Rick’s shoulder, and the breath that left his lungs was barely a sound, but I saw the instant relief. The way his shoulders dropped and the tension in him unraveled all at once.
It lasted longer than I expected.
I blinked hard, swallowing against the burn behind my own eyes. That pressure had returned to my throat, different this time—not grief, or panic. Just the ache of relief.
Rick finally pulled back, his hand lingering on Daryl’s shoulder before he turned to look at me.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared—red-eyed, overwhelmed, searching my face.“You’re okay,” he said, nodding a little.
I swallowed. “You too.”
“I should’ve listened to you before,” he tucked his chin, inching closer to me. “We might not win, but people want to fight anyways, and they will—behind you.”
It wasn’t an ‘I’m sorry’, but it was close enough. An olive branch. Rick had pulled through just as I’d hoped, and after everything we’d been through, I could offer him a nod and accept the tender hug that he held out for me.
Warm arms enveloped me, pulling me in and holding me there for what could have been years for all I’d known. So much still left to explain, but I was in no hurry to let go. In three years of knowing him, I finally felt respected by Rick Grimes. And maybe that wasn’t a feat so highly regarded; to me though, it meant the moon.
_____________
Olivia was dead.
Spencer was dead.
They took Eugene.
Three more losses.
Three more hits.
Time to grieve over the new hits would be put off, or not done at all — except maybe late at night when everyone else was sleeping and sons couldn’t be heard through thick walls. Olivia knew death was knocking at the door, but had still chose to show her alliance with Alexandria. Spencer wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box — his death would be an evident reminder of that — but he was still one of us. The last remaining Monroe. We’d been involved with Alexandria for less than a year and the fall of the founding family had inevitably taken place.
And it was a bittersweet realization.
My mentor’s bloodline was no more. Her legacy would continue with just the ghost of her name. Deanna Monroe.
I leaned into Daryl’s touch. We were waiting in Gregory’s office for the little slime ball to show up, all of us, holding our breath to plead our case.
Something must have softened in Daryl after our talk this morning, or maybe it was just the fact that Rick was here now; but he slid an arm behind me, quietly pulling me closer, giving me a small fragment of comfort as we played the waiting game.
It took us another eleven or twelve minutes before the door pulled open again, Gregory revealing himself like he was some sort of hit commodity. So cocky, he dropped into his chair, clasped his fingers together and sighed. “More company,” he said with a grunt. “Back to thank me for taking in some stowaways — or to apologize for putting me in such a dangerous situation, maybe?”
I rolled my eyes. Never thought I’d want to punch someone in the face so badly.
He gave a half-hearted smile, propping his elbows on the desk. “Look; I’ve given refuge, fed, and clothed them.” He scanned over our ragtag group, a look of slimy disgust on his features. “Is that not enough?” Gregory fiddled haphazardly with a pen, so obviously trying to fill in the lack of energy in the room. None of us were over enthusiastic about any of this.
My eyes misted as I thought about Alexandria falling — all of Deanna’s work destroyed — we needed Hilltop’s support. “Gregory, the future of the area is dependent on people stepping up. If it keeps going on like it is right now, there won’t be enough resources to keep going around.”
“Because you’re suddenly a professional in agriculture now?” A rhetorical question that didn’t bother me nearly as much as would have a few years ago. “I had one arrangement with you people,” he managed to tear his eyes away from me and zero’d in on Rick. “One. That’s it. So what else could you want from me?” Another clap of his hands together as if they were some sort of authority in the room.
“We need Hilltop to fight.” I didn’t mean to say it as loud as I did, but my voice caused all eyes to turn to Daryl and I, instantly resulting in Daryl inching away from me in a quick jerk.
He’d spent an entire five minutes in the room, and we were apparently working his nerves enough for him to get up and begin pacing between each of the two windows overlooking Hilltop. “No,” Gregory refused. "No way in hell. That was not the deal. You people swore you could take the Saviors out, and you failed. So any arrangement we had is now done — null and void. We aren't trade partners, we aren't friends, and we never met. Hmm?” The chair pillowed out, the leather deflating as he sat back down. “We don't know each other."
I physically felt my face drop in dissatisfaction. Throughly disappointed, but not at all surprised. “It’d be a shame if we ratted you out to Negan. Ya know, how you were the one who put a hit out on him.”
"I owe you nothing," Gregory said, shifting forward to place both hands on his desk. "In fact, you owe me for taking in the refugees, at great personal risk."
"Oh, you were very brave staying in here while Maggie and Sasha saved this place," Jesus commented. "Your courage was inspiring." His tone was covered in such a thick coat of sass that I was a bit surprised Gregory said anything back to him.
"Hey, don't you work for me?" Gregory looked at him, stricken by the not so sudden shift of alliance. "Aren't we friends?"
Rick, seemingly tired of hearing him talk, finally took a step forward. "Gregory, we already started this.”
"You started it!"
" We did," Rick cut in. "And we're gonna win."
"These are killers!" He said it as though he hadn’t literally put a hit out on those exact killers.
“No due respect,” taking a step forward, I decided it was my turn to have a word. “But so are we. And do you really want to keep living under the same thumb of the people killing your people?”
"Sometimes we don't get to choose what our life looks like," Gregory argued back. "Sometimes, Lily, you have to count the blessings you have."
"How many people can we spare?" Maggie took a few steps forward until she was standing next to me. "How many people here can fight?"
"We?" Gregory repeated, looking astonished at Maggie’s boldness. I don’t know why he looked so stunned — it wasn’t like Maggie had ever been anything less than ahead of herself when it came to Gregory. "I don't even know how many people we have, Margaret. And does it even matter? I mean, what — what are you gonna do? Start a platoon of sorghum farmers? Cause that's what we got. They grow things. They're not gonna wanna fight."
After a quick back and forth with Tara and turning down three offers to help train Hilltop, Gregory began fiddling with a pen at his desk. I couldn’t quite understand why he wouldn’t allow the lot of us to gather who wanted to fight and train them. Tara had been right after all. When a group of people are promoted, they’ll typically make the right decision rather than the other way around. I knew he was a coward — a snake of sorts — but I genuinely thought everyone had a breaking point.
It wasn’t like Negan had gone any easier on them than they had us. At least not by much. They still showed up weekly, still took half their stuff, and still terrified the people enough to not have much push back. Gregory had no real loyalty to them. If staying alive was his biggest worry, we were probably his best chance at that too. Sooner or later the people would get tired of him. Or Negan would.
There was nothing about him that stood out.
I mean,
Except his cowardice.
"What the hell, man? "You're either with us or you ain't,” Daryl hollered, causing Gregory to shift uncomfortably when he moved away from the bookshelf. “You're sittin' over there talkin' outta both sides of your mouth."
Fuck.
It was so ridiculously inappropriate, but I couldn’t stop my thighs from clenching together. Thick and honeyed, his voice did unnatural things to me and it’d been almost two weeks since he’d last laid me down.
I probably should’ve been more locked in on the fact that Daryl had openly asserted himself in ways that weren’t entirely normal to him. Up until so recently he’d taken the role of the quiet but vaguely intimidating type — but he had his limits. After all, it’d only been a few days since he made it out of the hell hole that would become our lives if we didn’t fight back.
Gregory continued to ramble on about not seeing us today, and making our way out the back; a deflection from taking any real responsibility for his actions or the role he had technically played in everything.
I didn’t feel the least bit bad for him anymore, and doubted I ever would.
As a matter of fact; if the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t completely dismiss the thought of selling the slime ball out.
Into the entryway we all slowly moved.
“Walking ballsack,” Rosita seethed, marching to the far side of the foyer table.
“Wanna knock that idiot’s teeth out,” Sasha added quietly, her frustration boiling just beneath the surface.
Both women's words were exactly what we were all thinking. The only good thing about him turning us down, was the blow not being quite ‘a blow’. It was honestly expected. But it wasn’t like he could’ve told us anything worse than what he already had.
He wasn’t going to back us.
“Yeah, well, we don’t need him anyway,” Daryl said, his shoulders rolling back and glistening with sweat.
Rick nodded in agreement, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “Yeah, that’s right. ‘Cause we have Maggie and Sasha and Jesus here -- and the two of you.”
“And… Enid,” Maggie chimed in just as the front door swung open, framing her in a halo of sunlight. She beamed at us, though a hint of nervousness danced in her eyes.
“Hey,” she called out, waving shyly as we all turned our attention her way. “Um…”
“What’s wrong?” Sasha’s instincts kicked in, her gaze sharpening as she moved closer to the doorway, muscles tensed.
“Nothing,” Enid hurried to reassure her, holding her hands up to calm the rising tension. “It’s good. Just… come outside.”
As we stepped out into the warm sunshine, we found at least a dozen Hilltoppers gathered on the front lawn, their faces a mix of anticipation and camaraderie. Familiar ones greeted us: Eddie, sporting a healed arm thanks to Daryl’s, shall we say, ‘unique’ approach, and Bertie, her smile radiating hope like a beacon.
“Hey,” she greeted. “So, if you don’t remember, I’m Bertie. And I owe my life to you all, twice over. A bunch of us do. Enid says that you want Gregory to get us to fight the Saviors with you. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Maggie nodded.
“Do you think we can win, that we really could beat them? Us?”
I glanced around. We had worked with so much less before. Given, it wasn't against such a large threat, but just half a dozen of us took the prison initially. And fragments of us survived on the road when it fell — surviving only on scraps of hope that we’d find someone else familiar.
These people around us, though few and weary, were bursting with determination. They ached to reclaim what was stolen from them, to stand up against the group that threatened their livelihood.
“I do.” Maggie’s tone didn't lack an ounce of conviction. It reminded me of her father.
And while we moved through the growing crowd, we gave reassurances that we’d train them. It wouldn’t be perfect, or remotely close to military grade, but we’d take what we could get. We’d turn crop farmers and school teachers into soldiers — just like a veterinarian became an obstetrician.
The Saviors had the numbers. Probably a lot more than we could fully realize. A couple hundred easy at the Sanctuary according to Daryl. That’s not counting the other outposts they may have, wherever they may be. And I wasn’t sure there was any possible strategy we could come up with to fight them with little to no ammo.
Unless of course we took Daryl’s suggestion of somehow stumbling across another rocket launcher and blowing them up instead — which even if the opportunity presented itself, Tara pointed out the loophole.
Not everyone was a Savior.
Some of them -- many of them -- were like Daryl. Workers. Captives. People genuinely just trying to get by.
Could we really take so many innocent lives? I’d yet to even delve into the question about children and families. We couldn’t be the ones who busted down the gates and blew their lives to hell all over again. There was too much at stake. The situation in itself proved to be a complex mixup of innocent and guilty.
Rick shook his head before finalling speaking. “We gotta get back,” We were all spiraling at this point, throwing out half-assed ideas on how we might defeat the Saviors, and it was leading us nowhere. “If they come looking for Daryl, we need to be there.”
“You don’t have to get back,” Jesus interjected, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he reached into the depths of his long coat. “Not yet.”
With a flourish, he produced a walkie-talkie — a piece of equipment belonging to the Saviors. “Long range — we can listen in. Keep track of them.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he added that so far, nobody had noticed Daryl missing quite yet.
Michonne’s entire demeanor relaxed. “So, if we’re not going back, what are we doing, then?” she asked, curiosity ignited.
_____________
A kingdom apparently — the Kingdom.
Led by non-other than a king himself: Ezekiel.
It sounded quite biblical and otherworldly. What would Glenn think of it? We used to swap The Hobbit book back and forth in the RV to take a step back from the horrors of this world, and instead submerse ourselves into kings, and elves, and dragons. Never did we think dead people would be walking around, but we were both pretty willing to bet that an orc wouldn’t come running through.
Piled in the back of the suburban, half of my body squished against Tara and the other half pressed onto Daryl’s lap, the anticipation of seeing if this ‘Kingdom’ lived up to the fairytales.
My hopes weren’t exactly high. I mean — unless this place very much had multiple barbicans, walls of thick stone, and a platoon of knights — what were the chances it wasn’t just some semi-protected apartment complex with a man whose first name was King? The inner child in me was kicking her feet and grinning though, and I was doing my best to appease that tiny little whimsical redhead who dreamed of meeting an elven prince.
The suburban rattled over a pothole, pitching us all a few inches sky‑ward before the shocks caught. My hip jammed into Tara’s and my shoulder rolled across Daryl’s chest. He steadied me without a word—one broad palm on the small of my back, fingers flexing once, twice, like he was testing for cracks. I muttered a breathless “thanks” and tried to wedge myself into a less precarious angle, bracing one hand on the grimy side window.
Hot air funneled through the half‑open glass, whipping strands of hair across my face. Outside, the scenery blurred past: empty strip‑malls half collapsed under kudzu, parking lots sun‑bleached and buckling, light poles ghosted with flyers that had long since lost their ink. Plastic grocery bags cart‑wheeled across cracked asphalt, snagging on dented bumpers and skeletal shopping carts. More newspaper sheets than I’d seen in one place since the world went sideways skittered along the curb, slapping against the weeds like restless fish—front pages frozen on headlines that didn’t matter anymore.
Up front, Jesus leaned between the seats, peering through the windshield. “Rick—slow it down,” he called, calm but definite. “We’re close.”
The engine’s hum dipped as Rick eased off the gas; the sudden deceleration rocked us forward. I pressed a palm to the ceiling for balance and stole a look ahead through the side window. To the left, a gap in a chain‑link fence revealed a broad service road choked with debris; to the right, the cracked blacktop opened into what must’ve been a distribution lot—trailers flipped on their sides, loading docks gaping like broken teeth.
Jesus tapped two knuckles against the dash. “Here. Pull in.”
Rick guided the SUV between toppled concrete barriers and rolled to a crawl. The tires crunched over glass. We passed a sun‑warped sign—letters long peeled away—then stopped in the lee of a rust‑striped shipping container.
I shifted, careful not to knee Tara, and studied the lot. Newspaper sheets fluttered against a collapsed pallet stack, and wind sent dust devils spiraling around broken plastic crates. It looked useless, empty—a forgotten corner of someone’s warehouse empire, long dead. My pulse jittered—equal parts nerves and that stubborn flicker of childhood wonder. I felt Daryl’s hand leave my back, settle briefly on my knee—steady, grounding—then retract as he reached for the door handle.
Show‑time for the fairy‑tale. Or whatever passed for one now.
But he didn’t push it open immediately. Instead, he waited a few beats, examining the surroundings more in depth, scanning every which way before finally shoving his shoulder against the door, only leaning out half way to speak to Jesus and Rick (the only two who had left the vehicle so far). “Hey,” he hollered, “what the hell we waitin’ on?”
“Waiting for them,” I heard Jesus respond, though I couldn’t quite see him.
His response was followed by the growing, unmistakable sound, of hoofbeats. The closer they got, the more I wanted to slide out of the other side of the suburban and get a better view of the approaching animals. In my mind I’d already begun picturing them all clad in armor, being ridden by knights with swords.
But, to my surprise, as Daryl slid out of the vehicle and stepped onto the pavement, giving me a slightly better view, I found my imagination wasn’t entirely off. The armor on both the men and the horses weren’t exactly ‘medieval’, but the vibes were there. And so was the off-centuried tone of the older man’s voice when he announced himself. “Who dares to trespass on the sovereign land of the -- oh, shit.”
I stretched my neck as far as I could after Michonne stepped in front of the windshield, blocking the approaching men’s entire silhouettes, but matching faces with voices proved difficult until — after what felt like ages — the rest of us still in the vehicle were prompted to move out.
Whether intentional or not, the way Daryl instantly angled himself in front of me as if he were a physical shield, made my chest warm.
“You say they’re a…like-minded community,” Richard inquired, his gaze fixed on Jesus. “Like-minded how?”
Jesus didn't actually move, but it seemed like he should have shrugged, judging by his unassuming tone. “We live, we trade, we fight the dead. Sometimes others,”
Richard nodded, scanning our group. He didn’t exactly exude cruelty, but rather a weary detachment marked by the deep bags under his eyes and a pallor that made him appear older than his years — much like Daryl if I’m being honest. The younger man, Richard’s companion, was less harsh. A boy-ish grin and bright eyes that sparkled with an ease that would have had me swooning before the world ended.
“Line up,” Richard commanded sharply, gesturing for us to fall in.
The panic that clawed up my throat so suddenly made me physically retract a step back to the vehicle.
“Okay, this is a waste of time,” Daryl snapped, his frustration palpable as he made to turn and usher me into the suburban. “C’mon, let’s go.”
I trusted Jesus and whatever intentions he may have had introducing us to this new community. Still — that didn’t erase the trauma from lining up for a man who turned around and bashed my best friend’s skull in, so I was quick to follow Daryl’s lead. This man in particular wasn’t exactly making me comfortable anyhow.
"Maybe you're right," Richard said abruptly, earning a pause in both mine and Daryl’s movements. "The King is a busy man. And it's a dangerous world. We don't usually allow a pack of strangers to waltz through our door."
There were too many questions I wanted to pepper him with. Who did they usually allow to waltz through their front doors? Was there an audition like Deanna implemented at Alexandria? If this ‘King’ was so busy, then why did Jesus feel so inclined to interrupt him? I avoided the man’s eyes, but turned to look anyways. It was either leave or stay with the possibility that maybe these people could be allies — despite the apprehensiveness of Richard. Most of us weren’t the most forthcoming people either after all.
"We want to make the world less dangerous," Michonne said, almost extending a cordial truce. "And we are all here to show-" she paused, stuttering her words a bit. "The King — how serious we are about that."
He was considering it.
His eyes drifted between all of us, measuring us in a way that reminded me of Shane whenever new people entered the quarry group. Finally, Richard spoke with slight agreement. “The car stays outside. You gotta hand over your guns."
"We only have two," Rick nodded, looking at a Carl before holding out his revolver.
"Okay. Follow me."
We moved in a slow column, guided by Richard and his younger companion through a narrow alley split between two worn-down brick buildings that probably used to house HVAC units or loading docks before the world cracked open. Moss and ivy had swallowed half the walls, curling into broken windows and spilling down into the street like veins. We passed an old bike rack overtaken by weeds and a rusted-out vending machine, the glass long since shattered.
I hung close to Daryl, close enough that our arms brushed every few steps. At one point, our hands grazed—just a light touch, skin to skin—and my fingers instinctively lingered, not quite linking with his but not pulling away either. He didn’t say anything. Just let it happen.
Jesus walked ahead of us with Michonne and Rick, quietly murmuring to them. Tara kept to Carl’s side, and I caught her checking out a rooftop, probably noting sniper perches. Old habits.
The alley emptied into a wider lot—the remains of a service yard, maybe—and then wound us past a gate made from two sliding semi-truck doors that had been ripped from their trailers and fused together with rebar and barbed wire. Beyond it was a wide plaza, or maybe it had once been a cul-de-sac that’d been reinforced into something else.
The entrance was massive. It reminded me of a military base I’d been to before—grim concrete, heavy gates, looming guard towers. But here, vines were wrapped around the corners, and someone had painted a faded mural of sunflowers on one rusted panel. It was surreal, almost beautiful in a wrong-time, wrong-place kind of way.
I slowed my steps a little, letting the group drift half a beat ahead so I could hear Richard mutter something low to the man at the post. Couldn’t catch all of it—just “new people” and “King’s call.” The gatekeeper nodded, reached for something behind the wall, and a low grinding noise kicked up as the doors began to part.
The world opened up.
As we crossed into the Kingdom, the air changed—fresher, greener, like the first time we walked into Alexandria so many months ago. Burn barrels that had once held fire now overflowed with soil and marigolds. Tall planters lined the edges of the main street, bursting with vines, herbs, tomatoes. A row of kids darted past us, chasing a soccer ball through the middle of it all, their laughter peeling off the concrete like birdsong.
And there were people. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of them. Way more than Hilltop. Some were tending garden beds along the edge of a walkway. Others carried baskets of fresh produce toward what looked like an old cafeteria that had been repurposed into a commissary. They weren’t all smiling, but they were living .
I turned instinctively, grin already blooming across my face, not even concerned with Richard slipping off into some shaded building. Daryl was a few steps back, hands on his hips, taking it all in the way he always did—quiet, guarded, ready to bolt or fight if he had to. But his eyes were wide, flicking between people and plants and structures with a sort of quiet awe he’d never say out loud.
“Can you believe this?” I whispered, not sure if I was asking him or myself.
He didn’t answer, just gave me a small grunt and the barest raise of one brow.
The Kingdom was alive. That was the only word I had for it.
A young guy with locs pushed a wheelbarrow alongside us full of squash and sunflowers, nodding politely like we weren’t just some random strangers about to petition for him to take part of a fight. Two little girls raced each other barefoot down the path between raised beds, one of them shrieking with laughter when the other tackled her into a pile of straw. The guards stationed along the inner walls didn’t have their guard down, but they also didn’t seem to be suspicious of newcomers in the slightest .
Further in, there was a half-covered pavilion near the center of the lot—what used to be a type of outdoor community center maybe. It had been turned into an open-air classroom, chalkboard hanging from one support beam, wooden benches lined with kids ranging from toddlers to early teens. A young woman stood at the front, pointing to a messy diagram of a tomato plant, and every head was locked in.
I caught Daryl watching them for a beat too long. His mouth didn’t move, but I saw the twitch at the corner of it. The almost-smile he didn’t know was there.
That pale yellow room flickered in the back of my mind.
Most of the young adults and middle-aged wore mismatched armor—lacrosse pads, duct-taped shin guards, pieces of painted leather. Not uniform, but close enough. You could tell which ones were training to fight and which ones were just trying to be useful.
A group of armed guards passed us next—more organized than the rest, clearly on a shift rotation, and it’s the first time I’d felt awkward not having Richard chauffeuring us. One of them was a woman with a scar across her mouth who nodded at Jesus, then gave a brief, curious glance to the rest of us.
I could hear the smile in Michonne’s voice when she spoke. "They have the numbers."
"But can they fight?" Rosita asked, her brow creased, half amused.
"Oh, they can fight," Jesus assured, not a hint of hesitation. Judging by what I could see, I wasn’t necessarily at liberty to argue with him.
I shrugged. “Better than what we got now,”
"Maybe," Daryl muttered.
No. It was.
He was so cautious, so protective of his family, that even with hard evidence in his face that this community could change the game in our fight against the Saviors, Daryl still didn’t let the sense of relief ever fully wash over him. Not until we got a complete, explicit guarantee that they were on our side.
"Morgan?" Tara blurted, turning her full attention to the covered awning, followed by the rest of us.
My gut filled with…a lot of different things. More than I liked all at one time. Dread. Hope. Regret. Longing.
A few moved forward to embrace him, but I just stood there, frozen, but not quite in a state of shock. After that night in the woods — after Abraham, and Glenn, and Daryl — when we returned to Alexandria as a broken troop, Rick and I had both made an agreement not to go after Carol or Morgan out of hope that maybe they survived and were possibly holed up somewhere together.
We didn’t speak about them after that.
I’d be lying if I said that either of them crossed my mind much.
There was a billion and one things going on since they ran off that it was easy to assume them nonexistent anymore. Matter of fact, it was easier. Not having to spend more grief on them, or resources out looking. If we could just pretend they hadn’t ever crossed paths with us — it was probably a better thing for them if they had survived anyways.
But that flame of guilt licked up my spine seeing Morgan alive and well.
Then worry. Where was Carol?
My eyes flicked to Daryl just as Rick explained exactly how we knew Morgan. If Carol didn’t make it… oh, Daryl.
"Well, the King is ready to see you," Richard announced, clearing his throat.
Fear caused me to stay back. Fear of the confirmation of a loss. Fear that I wouldn’t be the closest thing to Daryl when the news broke. Fear that this could be the final nail in the coffin for him. Fear that he’d hate me for not looking for her.
I was nauseous.
"Did you find Carol?" Rick asked the question that I so dreaded to ask.
"I did, yeah." Morgan dipped his chin softly.
I could hear my pulse drumming in my ear as Daryl asked where she was. If she was okay. Rick must’ve told him in their few stints alone together back at Hilltop. Anxiety tripled. Daryl probably knew that I knew and hadn’t told him.
"She was here and then she left," Morgan said so annoyingly simple-like. "You know, she wasn't too happy, me following her. She wanted to get away from us, from everyone. But when I found her, she was shot.” Daryl shifted uncomfortably, not going unnoticed by Morgan. “It was just a graze, I got her back here, they got doctors. They're good."
"Was it them?" Daryl asked.
"It was. She had crossed with some of them and one of 'em followed her, tried to kill her, but I stopped him,” he looked to Rick, jaw clenched softly. “I killed him. I had to. Carol was here. She got help. Now she's gone."
Gone.
She was here, but now she isn’t.
The thought of her willingly abandoning us didn’t taste right to me, so I couldn’t imagine the bile that was probably forming in Daryl’s throat. Carol was all about being a team player — never giving up on the people she loved. Even if our relationship was rocky, it didn’t mean that she didn’t matter anymore, or that I wished her away. She’d been around since the start — grown so much since the start.
I lingered near the archway, one boot just barely crossing over the threshold as the rest of the group filed inside. The space was dark at first, cooler than I expected, and wide open in a way that made my nerves flicker like static. The faint echo of footsteps bounced off old theater walls, and I took one involuntary step back—
Only to feel the weight of Daryl’s palm press steady and firm at the small of my back.
Not harsh. Just there .
A silent boundary. A reminder that I wasn’t backing out of this.
My spine straightened under the heat of it, and I swallowed whatever reflex had me trying to blend into the shadows. He didn’t say a word, just kept his hand where it was long enough to coax me forward, then dropped it the moment I took another step. But the ghost of that touch still lingered as I crossed deeper into the auditorium.
And then I saw—
A massive, muscled beast pacing slow, deliberate circles atop the old wooden stage. Orange and black, with a body built like a nightmare and eyes like molten coin. I blinked, then blinked again—because no way. No fucking way.
A tiger.
An actual , real-life, walking-around tiger.
The kind you only ever saw in zoos or dusty pages of some kid’s jungle book, now existing in front of me like it had just strolled out of a hallucination.
I gawked, every coherent thought wiped clean from my brain. I mean—look, I know Soup is impressive. A bobcat with a domesticated temper and too much personality, sure. But a tiger? A fucking tiger ?
Where the hell were the cameras? The laugh track? Ashton Kutcher popping out with a mic and a smug grin? Because this had to be some kind of elaborate fever dream episode of Punk’d.
I didn’t even realize I’d taken another step closer until I heard Rick softly clear his throat in warning, like yeah, don’t get any closer to the apex predator on stage, Libby . But all I could do was stare, slack-jawed, wondering what the hell kind of kingdom we had just walked into.
“Jesus!” A voice echoed, roaring from the center of the stage, pulling my attention away from the imposing tiger prowling nearby. I found my gaze drawn to a man seated regally in a tall wooden theatre-esq throne. He showcased an infectious, glistening smile, and was draped in layers of vibrant fabrics that flowed around him like a royal tapestry. His dreadlocks even looked regal in a certain kind of way. “It pleases me to see you, old friend.”
Beside him, a taller, heavyset man gestured widely over the theater, his voice rich with enthusiasm. “It pleases him indeed!”
“Jerry,” the king replied with a hint of dry amusement. Then, in a smooth transition, he returned to his magnificently theatrical tone. “Tell me, what news do you bring, good King Ezekiel? Are these new allies you’ve brought me?”
“Indeed they are, Your Majesty,” Jesus said with confidence, gliding through his words. But then he paused, his expression shifting as he noticed we lingered in the doorway—shocked and hesitant. “Oh, right,” he said, backtracking a few steps towards us. “I forgot to mention that—”
“Yeah, a tiger,” Rick interjected, still fixated on the enormous feline, which responded with a deep, resonant roar that sent ripples of tension through the air.
My hand instinctively shot back, searching for Daryl’s, hoping for some sort of reassurance or comfort — not that he could actually protect me from the beast — but it was the principle of the matter.
“This is Rick Grimes and Libby,” he trailed off a little, not privy of my surname, “the leaders of Alexandria, and these are some of their people,” Jesus continued.
“I welcome you all to the Kingdom, good travelers,” King Ezekiel proclaimed with an inviting smile as we ventured down the theatre aisle, dispersing into various rows, each trying to find some semblance of comfort in such a bizarre setting.
Daryl and I gravitated towards the far right, my grip on his wrist still firm. He seemed to be unfazed by the tiger and the eccentricity of our surroundings, his posture relaxed—which didn’t provide me any type of comfort. He led me m down the row, his focus unwavering on the majestic creature, like his dream pet had always been a tiger.
“What brings you to our fair land?” the King asked, his voice cheerful and welcoming. “Why do you seek an audience with the King?”
Such a strange man — yet — I did feel oddly comfortable and happy to be in his presence. He didn’t give me greasy car salesman, or peaked in high school energy; both of which I was grateful. But there was something exceptionally soft about him, that didn’t quite match the world beyond. Not in an ignorant way like Deanna’s own welcoming had, but something, well, otherworldly and kind.
“Ezekiel,” Rick began (much to my delight), his tone shifting. “King… Ezekiel. Alexandria, the Hilltop, and the Kingdom—all three of our communities have something in common. We all serve the Saviors.”
In an instant, the King’s face warped into something sharp as he sent a piercing glare at Jesus.
Like some sort of hopeful bandage, I picked up where Rick left off in an attempt to shift the heat from Jesus. “We thought we took them out. But we didn’t know they had multiple outposts. We only beat one,” I paused, my confidence rising an inch. Just enough for me to take a step closer to the aisle again, and away from Daryl. “We know you have a deal with them — that you know them. You know they rule through violence, and through fear.”
“Your Majesty, I only told them of the --”
“Our deal with the Saviors is not known among my people,” said the King, cutting Jesus off swiftly. “For good cause. We made you a party to that secret when you told us of the Hilltop’s own travails, but we did not expect you to share --”
“We can help each other,” Jesus tried again.
“Don’t interrupt the King!” The leaner guard ordered.
“We brought you into our confidence,” Ezekiel leveled Jesus. “Why did you break it?”
“Because I want you to hear their plans.” Jesus didn’t waver under the demanding pressure from the King — not like I would have after being yelled at. Why wasn’t he Hilltop’s leader?
“And what plans have you, Rick Grimes and,” Ezekiel paused, much like Jesus had a few minutes ago when saying my name. “Libby, of Alexandria?”
One. Two. Three. Four. All eyes on us. Expectant looks. Curious looks from the three men on the stage. I turned to Rick, but didn’t wait for him to start.
It was my turn to take the initiative.
“We came to ask the Kingdom — to ask you, King Ezekiel — to join us in our fight with the Saviors. To help us fight for freedom, and for all of our communities.”
The King’s chin dipped. “What you are asking is very serious,” he said.
“Several of our people -- good people,” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “The best people, were killed by the Saviors, brutally.”
“Who?” A question not from Ezekiel, but from Morgan in the sidelines.
I looked at him, but the glaze in my eyes was too heavy to speak their names. It wasn’t fair, though I was still thankful for Rosita speaking up to answer his question, however bitter her tone may have been. When Daryl being a target was mentioned, I side stepped back to him, scared that he might have disappeared all of a sudden. “You gonna say you were right?” Rosita spat, crossing her arms.
“No,” Morgan mumbled, “I’m - I’m just real sorry they’re gone.”
I didn’t care to talk much more on the matter. It was too fresh. Too close. My best friend was dead. And yeah, I understood there were bigger losses. Rosita and Sasha lost their soul mate. Maggie too. But - but I still loved Glenn, and I needed Negan to pay for everything; all the hurt and betrayal he was causing us. All the death. So while Rick and the others laid out in more detail about what happened in the woods that night and ever since, I chewed on the bitterness in my mouth.
If the Kingdom wouldn’t help, we were screwed.
But somehow, someway, I was gonna get my revenge.
.i can’t remember the good old days.
Notes:
I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW! it’s been a hundred years. initially it was only delayed due to being out of town for Mother’s Day…but then I got into a car crash…and then my daughter got admitted to the hospital for RSV…
it’s just been a LOT lately and i haven’t had much time to slow down and update/edit.
that being said~ summer is probably going to be a little crazy, so my plan is to update twice weekly if i can meet my word count! i’m shooting for those days to be Wednesday and Sunday starting the first week of June! i highly recommend checking my Tumblr for regular updates though!
BUT~ all that aside! i hope y’all really loved this chapter! i hope it wasn’t too jumbled up and there aren’t a ton of editing issues! ily!
Chapter 74: stop hoping
Summary:
I waited there a beat longer, my chest tight.
I’d hurt him.
Maybe not deeply. Maybe not even intentionally. But I could feel it. That small ache that slid into the space between us and the silence now wasn’t still—it was stiff.
Notes:
heyyyyyy~
so death after death happened in my life. and then summer. and then a super busy schedule. and zero time for writing!
but~ am aiming for 1,200 words a day from here on out! i an striving for this to be complete!
so sorry for the long wait.
Chapter Text
.former heroes.
For now, we were still in the fight alone. The King wouldn’t tell us his decision until after breakfast in the morning. We’d been lucky so far — no noise on the radio about Daryl. I didn’t like the idea of everyone staying, my anxiety at an all time high due to Alexandria being severely under protected, but we needed this deal to work out. We needed to stay. Just until the morning.
Dining with the King was, surprisingly, uneventful. He asked for each of us to tell him of our travels, and a few extra details about who we were, but it was extraordinarily casual.
I mean—
There was a tiger, but…
It was kind of nice to talk about things that didn’t matter much anymore: where I was from, how I ended up with my group, and little wisps of my life before. The King was the first person I’d met in a long time who knew the city where I was born. He apparently used to pass through it quite often on his way to Johnson City — preferred taking the cuts through town over the interstate.
By the time we finished eating, one of the King’s soldiers, Jerry, introduced us to a woman who kept up the guest rooms before handing us off to her. Winona, she said her name was, and she’d been at the Kingdom since the very early part of the apocalypse. King Ezekiel was a good, fair, and honest man in her opinion, and she was more than happy to welcome any of his guests with open arms.
That little tid bit of information made my heart swell. At the very least, King Ezekiel had the respect and love of his people, which was saying a lot these days.
The room Daryl and I were given wasn’t much smaller than our room at Barrington house. A bed in the middle of the room, two small dressers (accompanied with mirrors on top of them) pressed against either wall, and a large window that let in a glorious amount of moonlight. No bathroom attached, but it was a quick shuffle down the hall. It was perfect for a one night stay.
Daryl didn’t say much as we stepped inside, just gave the room a slow once-over before moving like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do with himself — stiff shoulders, jaw working, eyes everywhere but on me.
I eased the door shut behind us and lingered there a second, watching Daryl drift toward the window, peaking outside, examining the rest of our surroundings. “He’s… different,” I finally said, peeling off my backpack. “The King.”
Daryl snorted softly. “Ain’t a real king.”
“I know that,” I said, rolling my eyes a little as I stepped further in, “but it’s working for him. For them.”
He didn’t argue. Just sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, that thoughtful scowl of his settled deep. “He’s put together somethin’ decent. Gotta give ‘im that. People seem… alright here. Don’t get why Carol didn’t stay.”
I paused in front of the dresser, my reflection catching as I passed, forcing me to finally look at myself.
The girl in the mirror looked tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix though. It was a deeper type, one that lived behind the eyes and curled around the bones. There were lines I didn’t remember earning. A sadness I couldn’t seem to blink away.
I couldn’t respond to Daryl. Too scared that he was going to lash out at me about not even telling him Carol was missing. I didn’t want to get into it. Silence wasn’t always the answer — but that was all I could give him for now.
And as I pulled my hair back in the mirror, twisting it loosely in my hands just to get it out of my face, my eyes roamed the reflection like they were trying to place me—really place me—for the first time in a while.
The scars had crept in slow. Like rust, or moss, or things that didn’t belong until one day they just did.
My gaze dropped to my thigh, and I shifted my weight so the fabric stretched tighter against it. That long, narrow scar from the ravine. Him and I had gone over together—the horse bucking us off and dropping us forty-some-odd feet. I’d slammed into a rock edge hard enough, along with some unsecured arrows that had likely been the culprit of the crime committed to my thigh.
I trailed my fingers to the side of my neck where that stupid little crescent scar lingered just under my jawline. Faded, but still there. The bullet had ricocheted so fast I hadn’t even felt it at first—just blood suddenly pooling in my collar. Merle’s mess. That whole hellish stint at Woodbury still left a cold in my bones sometimes. I didn’t like thinking about it.
But then my eyes fell on my upper arm, where the skin didn’t match the rest. Pale and pulled tight where the explosion had torn it open. Aiden’s death had been a blur of heat and fire and screaming, but the pain after had come in waves. I’d been lucky not to lose the whole limb. Eugene had helped keep pressure on it. I hadn’t thought about that part in months.
I exhaled, slow.
None of them had been there before.
It was vanity—it was that I cared about being pretty. I didn’t recognize this version of me. The girl I used to be had gotten lost somewhere between bullet fire and bad choices, and now I was patched together from someone else’s nightmares.
I pressed my lips together and looked back at my face. The softest parts were a little harder now. There were thin, barely there, lines around my mouth, and I saw my sister in myself briefly. We didn’t favor each other completely; my eyes were bigger, her hair was more blonde than red, and she was a sharp kind of beautiful. But right now, I could see our relation.
I hadn’t really looked at myself in a while. Not like this. I’d been too preoccupied with Negan and hoping to get back the only man that I felt like looking pretty for.
And just over my shoulder, in the mirror, he was sitting there, still staring out the window from the bed, half in shadow, arms crossed.
I watched him quietly.
He looked the same in so many ways—same slouched posture, same tight jaw, same furrow between his brows that never quite went away. But something about the way he sat there made my chest tighten.
I still loved him.
That wasn’t a question. Not even close. I loved him with everything I had left.
But something had shifted.
It wasn’t a break—not really. Just a bend. A drift. We were still in it, still together, still tethered to each other through blood and grit and choice. But whatever sweetness we used to share had been stripped back to something harder. Leaner. Not worse, just… changed.
I wasn’t ready to mourn that soft part of us. The part that used to wake up curled together under too many blankets in that perfect house in Alexandria, with the sun painting his face in gold and my feet tangled with his under the sheets. The quiet mornings. The easy laughter. How he used to press his nose into my hair like he could breathe better that way, or how he’d brush his fingers over my stomach without saying a word, just holding the moment like it was a sacred poem.
I missed that.
I missed our community, too—with the white fences and the porch swings and our friends three houses down. I missed the future I’d let myself believe in. A gentle one. A possible one.
I didn’t want to say goodbye to that version of us. Not yet.
We weren’t broken beyond repair. I didn’t believe that. Not entirely. But we were both light years away from the people we’d been just a few weeks ago. And now, we were orbiting around each other in such a cautious and hesitant way. Like we were waiting for the other to be the first to crack.
Maybe we both had too much grief sitting between our ribs to let that softness back in yet.
But I wasn’t ready to stop hoping.
I turned around in what felt like slow motion, letting my fingers fall from the edge of the mirror.
He was still on the bed, this time he had one leg drawn up, elbow resting on his knee. Chewing at his thumbnail absently like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. His other hand fumbled with the worn leather of his belt, tugging it loose with slow, tired movements. The whole room was quiet except for the soft rasp of the buckle and the faint creaking springs of the mattress under his weight.
I watched him for a moment longer than I should’ve. It wasn’t about lust, or even affection really. Just… study. The way his shoulders rolled when he shifted. The way his knuckles looked pale against the dark strap of his belt. The way his eyes flicked up at me once, then just as quickly dropped away.
I started undressing, slowly and without ceremony. Jacket first, slipping it off my arms and draping it over the nearest chair. My shirt came next—fabric sticking to my back a little from the sweat of the day. I didn’t bother looking in any drawers or poking around for pajamas.
One night.
That’s all we were staying.
He finished peeling off his jeans and socks, shirt still on, half-buttoned. I reached behind me to unhook my bra, tossing it down with the rest of my clothes.
That’s when his shirt landed on my shoulder.
I caught it without looking, fingers tightening on the worn cotton automatically. He didn’t say anything, just stood now beside the bed in nothing but boxers, rubbing a hand over his face. I held his shirt to my chest for a second before slipping it on. It smelled like him. Dirt and smoke and whatever soap Hilltop had used in their laundry room. I let the hem fall over my hips and walked toward the bed.
He was already pulling the covers back, climbing in on his side. I climbed in on mine.
For a second, it was awkward. The stone of everything sat between us like a third body. I shifted to get comfortable, knees brushing his under the thin blanket.
We didn’t speak.
But we didn’t turn away from each other either.
He rested one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. I laid on my side, facing him, watching the way the moonlight caught the faint scar that traced just above his collarbone.
I wanted to ask him if he’d thought about that little house recently. About the porch swing, or the way he used to make coffee without measuring. I wanted to ask if he missed the soft parts of us, too. But I didn’t.
I wouldn’t have liked his answer.
In the silence, he whispered, “Why didn’t’ya tell me about Carol?”
My eyes flicked to his. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. It’s hard to file everything.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
A lot had been on my mind, and between grief, anxiety, fear, and travel, I hadn’t much time to talk about every little thing that had occurred whilst Daryl’d been away. Admittedly, I could’ve considered the fact that Carol wasn’t just a ‘little thing’, but if I’m being honest…I was scared he would’ve tried to go find her. The shape he’d been in when we first got to Hilltop — flighty and defensive — I wouldn’t have put it past him to up and leave.
He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a low grunt—barely a sound, more breath than voice—as he turned his face away from mine again. Like maybe that was all he had the energy to give. Or maybe that sound meant more than I knew how to interpret.
But it didn’t feel good.
I waited there a beat longer, my chest tight.
I’d hurt him.
Maybe not deeply. Maybe not even intentionally. But I could feel it. That small ache that slid into the space between us and the silence now wasn’t still—it was stiff.
I didn’t apologize. I didn’t have it in me to unpack all the reasons why I hadn’t told him, or to defend the choice, or to start a fight we wouldn’t finish. So I sat up instead. Scooted closer and tucked my legs beneath me, folding small beside him. Then I leaned into his shoulder—slow, tentative. Just enough that he knew I was still here, still trying.
His skin was warm.
I stayed there, cheek resting against the curve of his arm. I didn’t say anything, and neither did he.
But he didn’t pull away.
_____________
By the break of dawn, the other side of the bed had grown cold. Daryl had left hours before my mind even considered stirring awake to start the day. The warmth he’d left behind was long gone, replaced by stiff linens and the faint scent of sun-dried mud. I reached across the mattress anyway, my fingers curling around a ghost.
The Kingdom had its charms; the lush gardens, the children’s laughter, the air of ease that hung just a little too conveniently over everything, but none of that disguised what this morning really was. Not to me. Not to any of us from Alexandria or the Hilltop.
A stone-on-the-scale kind of morning. One that would tip us either closer to resistance, or retreat. One that could fracture everything, or pull it tighter.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood slowly, letting my feet adjust to the wood floor. The room felt warmer than expected (much warmed than Barrington house shockingly), lit softly by thin ribbons of light seeping in through the windows. The quiet here and now wasn’t my favorite, especially not when I had so much running laps through my mind.
So, I did what a well-mannered guest ought to. I stripped the bed, folded the blankets, and placed the sheets in a neat stack by the doorway. Daryl’s borrowed grease rag from Hilltop still lay on the dresser at the end of the bed. I folded that too, pressing my thumb against the faint smear of some stain along the hem. Just another breadcrumb trail of where he’d gone over the last few days.
I gathered up what little we had and stepped out into the hallway.
The morning was just starting to stretch its limbs. The corridor echoed with the sounds of footsteps and chatter, residents moving through their routines, none of them carrying what we were all drowning in. They smiled as they passed, offered polite nods or half-hearted greetings — I gave the same in return, quiet and courteous, unsure how much of me could be spared right now.
Then came the faintest shuffle of boots and a welcome scene as Jesus emerged from a side hall, his presence as casual as a sunrise, but his eyes were already clocking me.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hey,” I murmured back, tightening my grip on the strap of the small bag slung over my shoulder.
His smile was quiet — not full, but present. A reassurance without the effort. “You’re up bright and early.”
“Not as early as him,” I said, my voice softer, glancing toward the window. I didn’t need to say who he was. Jesus tilted his head knowingly, the weight of that understanding sitting between us like a pause.
“I think Daryl’s outside,” he offered gently. “Rick’s been up since before dawn too, pacing the courtyard. Tara and Rosita might’ve gone downstairs already. Or back to snoop around the stables.” He arched a brow.
I huffed through my nose, one of those not-laughs that still lived under the surface. “Sounds about right.”
There was a brief silence, and then Jesus stepped forward, motioning slightly with his hand as he turned toward the stairwell. “Come on. I’ll walk you down.”
I didn’t argue.
We moved together down the long, echoing hall, his footsteps matching mine in rhythm. I watched the stone walls as we passed, their surfaces cool and clean, dotted with old sconces and draped with colorful tapestries that reminded me of theater curtains. Things meant to give the illusion of comfort — the illusion of control. A kingdom dressed in calm, while the rest of the world burned outside its walls.
The stairs came into view and Jesus slowed, letting me take the lead without making it obvious. The morning air filtering in through a cracked window was just sharp enough to make my skin prickle, and as we descended, the hum of activity below grew louder — not chaotic, but steady. Life moving forward whether we were ready for it or not.
And somewhere down there, past the burn barrels and the armor-clad guards, Rick was pacing. Daryl was brooding. And a decision was looming, heavy in the marrow of it all.
“You wanna grab breakfast, or look for Daryl first?” Jesus asked in sync with our feet hitting the bottom step.
The corners of my lips fought to hold back an embarrassed, girl-ish smile. Of course I wanted to go find the absolute love of my life.
“Breakfast, or I don’t think I’ll be making it through the day,” I said instead, as nonchalant as one could possibly be when they were not so secretly aching for the company of their lover.
The dining hall was tucked into one of the rear courtyards, half-open to the morning air with tall archways where overgrown vines crept in like nature hadn’t quite made up its mind whether to reclaim the place or not (or maybe they had actual landscapers who thought it looked neat). Sunlight draped through the stone gaps in long, golden streaks that glowed upon the floor. A few families were already seated at wooden tables, some in conversation, others quietly eating like it was just another Tuesday. You’d never know the world was ending outside these walls.
It felt like a typical episode of Game of Thrones — minus the dragons.
Jesus led the way without needing to announce himself, and I followed with that same wide-eyed wariness I carried into any place that seemed too good to be true. But the longer I looked, the more my shoulders loosened. It smelled like real food in here — not human barbecue like terminus or the raw veggies that most of Hilltop enjoyed. Everything was nice and roasted and golden brown.
I felt my stomach pull tight with deep hunger.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath, half to Jesus and half to myself as we joined the short line at the buffet-style counter. “Y’all hiding a five-star chef back here or what?”
Jesus chuckled as he reached for a ceramic plate. “You’d be surprised. Ezekiel has a few folks in his ranks who used to work in kitchens. Restaurants. One of the women used to run a catering company in Richmond.” He passed a plate to me. “Food’s become part of the morale system. Keeps people grounded.”
It made sense. What better way to keep a community feeling human than through warm meals and soft music humming in the background?
We moved along slowly, letting the line thin out as we went. I scooped up a roasted vegetable medley — carrots, bell peppers, zucchini sliced thin and still glistening from the oil. The scent of rosemary clung to it, savory and deep. There were also small loaves of what looked like freshly baked bread, golden-brown and warm to the touch. I grabbed one without hesitation, pressing my thumb into the soft center. Jesus reached for a hard-boiled egg and some sautéed greens, then added a generous spoonful of sweet potato mash.
“Don’t hold back,” he said as I hesitated before the final tray, which contained some kind of cheese-and-onion tart. “You’re not gonna offend anyone. They made extra for us this morning.”
I let out a small laugh and added a slice to my plate. “Honestly, I think my body’s gonna go into shock. It’s been… I don’t even remember the last time we ate like this. We only had a week or two to enjoy the stuff from Hilltop before…” I trailed, not wanting to dampen the mood with the utterances of the Saviors.
“You get used to it here,” he said, his tone gentle. “Eventually. I stayed for two weeks my first visit.”
We found a table near the outer archway where the breeze came in. My knees bumped the underside as I sat, the wood creaking slightly beneath me. Jesus took the seat across from me. The chatter of others surrounded us: people talking about crops, supplies, what jobs needed filling for the day. No fear. No panic. Just living.
I bit into the bread first. It was still warm. Flaky. Salty in just the right way. It hit the back of my throat and melted like butter, and I closed my eyes for a second too long, just to hold the moment.
Jesus didn’t say anything. He just smiled, like he’d seen that exact look of silent gratitude on a dozen other newcomers’ faces.
“You okay?” he asked eventually.
I nodded, swallowing the bite down and reaching for a roasted carrot. “Yeah. Just forgot what normal felt like for a minute.”
We ate mostly in quiet after that, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Every now and then he’d point out someone across the room — that’s Nadia, she works the stables. That’s Kevin, he’s the best scavenger they’ve got. It reminded me of the early days in Alexandria, how I used to do the same thing with Rick when he wasn’t sure who to trust yet. Funny how familiarity softened everything, even fear.
By the time we were scraping the last bites off our plates, the sunlight had crept across the floor and a new buzz of conversation rose from the hallway nearby — someone was coming.
I turned toward the sound, chewing slowly. It was Rick.
“The King’s ready to talk,”
_____________
Plates were cleared. Thank-yous were murmured. And just like that, we were walking single file across the outer walkways of the Kingdom, sunlight bright on our backs as we cut through the courtyard dirt.
The space was alive with morning routine — people hauling hay toward the stables, others weaving ropes through scaffolds that held up what looked like vegetable trellises. It wasn’t loud, but there was a steady hum. A rhythm. And we moved through it like a strange parade: Rick, his expression as unreadable as ever; Jesus, still somehow casual despite the tension; and the rest of us trailing in step. Daryl had already been outside, pacing like Rick had earlier as he waited for us to discard our plates, but he’d fallen in behind us without saying a word.
We passed a training yard where a half-dozen archers stood at attention, practicing in pairs. They were lined up in front of wooden targets, thick hay bales stacked behind them. I found myself slowing down without realizing it, drawn to the sound of arrows slicing through the air and thudding into bullseyes. The fluidity of it — the precision — it scratched an itch I hadn’t felt in a while.
One of the archers, a younger woman with her hair tied back in a tight braid, loosed an arrow so clean it sang. She barely blinked before nocking another.
Daryl stepped slightly closer beside me, his elbow brushing mine. I could feel the warmth off his skin. Had he noticed me watching?
We rounded the corner just past the archery yard, where a cluster of stone columns rose up beside an open courtyard. The King was there — Ezekiel — standing tall, hands folded behind his back, watching his archers with a kind of reverence.
Richard stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw locked like he was biting back commentary. A handful of other Kingdom guards lingered around Ezekiel, their presence a reminder of the authority that propped up his throne. They stood like shadows along the path, spears in hand, eyes flicking between us and the king. The weight of watchfulness pressed against my skin.
Ezekiel didn’t turn toward us at first. His gaze stayed fixed on the archers lined up in the yard, watching as they practiced their form, bows rising and falling in a fluid, measured rhythm. When he did finally speak, his voice carried the steady cadence of a man who had practiced speeches, but I caught the tremor beneath it, the exhaustion curling through the edges. “This is life here. Every day.” His chin lifted, his eyes settling back on us. “But it came at a cost. And I wanted more of this. I wanted to expand, to create more places like this. Men and women lost their limbs. Children lost their parents because I sent them into battle against the wasted when I did not need to—”
“This is different.” Rick cut in before he could finish, his tone hard, clipped with urgency.
But Ezekiel wasn’t swayed. His head tilted, his jaw tightening, the refusal already burning in his eyes before the words even left his mouth. He denied Rick’s claim with calmness that stung more than anger might have. To him, this was final. The Kingdom would not take up arms, not now, not for us.
Their back-and-forth went on like that, Rick trying to hammer at the cracks in the king’s logic, Ezekiel standing firm behind the wall he’d built around his people. It was a polite war of words, but no matter how sharp Rick pushed, no matter my interjections of sense, Ezekiel’s answer didn’t shift. He was immovable, a man who thought he was protecting his people, even if it meant letting others suffer.
The only thing that came out of the discussion that could even be counted as remotely good was safe harbor for Daryl. A courtesy, Ezekiel called it, and one we unfortunately couldn’t afford to ignore. Apparently the Saviors didn’t bleed this place dry the way they did back home, and the king swore Daryl would be safe under his roof. That promise was enough to keep Daryl hidden, to keep him breathing a little longer. But to me, it felt like a consolation prize handed out after a loss.
I couldn’t say I completely blamed the king. His fears weren’t wrong. But disappointment clawed at me all the same.
By the time the conversation broke apart, the air between us was heavy with defeat. We walked away from that throne room—away from the safety of those walls—short one man and dragging our spirits low. Mine especially. The idea of leaving Daryl behind cut deeper than I expected, like something had been pried loose inside me. No amount of reassurance from Rick, from Jesus, even from Michonne—none of their words could make that knot in my gut untangle. It didn’t matter how many times they told me it was safer this way, that it was necessary. All I felt was the ache of turning my back on him, stepping out of that community while he stayed behind.
I had just got him back.
.who quit too late.
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chowder18 on Chapter 1 Wed 09 Oct 2024 07:29AM UTC
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