Bubbly

by Not_So_Austen

Summary:

At the start of the outbreak, Daryl and Glenn accidentally acquire a baby. Coparenting with a stranger in the burgeoning apocalypse has its challenges. But, maybe, it also has its perks.

--

The sound took him to a trailer not far from the Dixon residence. Through the adrenaline and the throbbing headache, Daryl knew that there was something about this particular trailer that felt significant. He stepped over the short garden edging and onto the haphazardly arranged stone path. The ground cover crunched underfoot and it was only his gaze catching on the stroller folded up beside the door that made him realise. There was a baby here. Kid had cried so much since being brought home that Daryl’s old man had made a few threats about what he’d do to the baby and their momma if the noise didn’t cut out. The mom was young, a hell of a lot younger than she looked, but she hadn’t cowed down to Will Dixon. Too brave or too stupid. Those two often looked alike.

The baby was crying.

The baby was still alive.

Chapter 1

He couldn’t concentrate. He needed to figure out where his dipshit of a brother had gotten to, but he couldn’t concentrate with all the goddamned screaming. Daryl’s head throbbed. He might have had too much to drink the night before, but he’d needed it. He’d needed to drown out the memory of seeing his old man being eaten alive by one of the infected people who’d been all over the news the last few days. 

 

Because weird shit was happening. First the news had claimed some sort of new drug was to blame. Then it was some new strain of the flu. Whatever the case, the end result was mindless, violent cannibalism in the streets of the city. It sounded like something that would have come on TV for a halloween special of shitty B movies. And now, somehow they were not only living it, but it wasn’t confined to the inner city as reports had claimed. Whatever was going on had spread. Quickly. At least as far as the woods outside the city where they’d been hunting. Daryl just hoped whatever it was got squared away before it made it up into the mountains too. Though, that would mean the government doing its damn job for once.

 

Daryl might not have liked his father, but he’d loved him. He was family. And now he was gone. All Daryl had left was Merle and that son of a prick had gone and done a runner. With a grunt, Daryl stood from the recliner, a couple of empty beer cans clattering to the floor in the process. Daryl’s head swam for a moment, but he was staggering off-kilter to the door despite it. He was groggy, but clearly hadn’t slept long enough. If everyone could just pipe down outside, maybe he could pass out long enough to wake up on the other side of this hangover.

 

He pushed the door open and the sun hit his eyes with a blinding light that had him recoiling. Stepping backwards into the shadows of the trailer’s interior, Daryl squeezed his eyes closed against the light and the burst of pain that erupted inside his skull at the sight of it. When Daryl squinted his eyes open again he had to wait for the glare to settle. And, when his eyes adjusted, his entire body froze, taking in the scene before him.

 

Merle’s bike was gone. But a more pressing issue was the blood. Because the blood was everywhere. Daryl was far from a stranger to blood and guts and gore. He spent more days with blood on him than not. But he’d never seen so much in one damn place before. It was soaked into the dirt, the grass. It coated the asphalt. There were bodies, trails of viscera everywhere, and Daryl’s own blood-soaked neighbours hunched over on the ground eating intestines from the dirt, tearing organs from the open guts of bodies on the ground, rending flesh from bone with their bare teeth. Daryl had an iron-cast gut himself, but the squelching sounds turned his stomach, and the screams were enough to tell him that some of those bodies on the ground still had life in them, even as they were torn apart and devoured, piece by piece.

 

Daryl barely thought. There was a pounding inside his skull and the rush of blood inside his ears, and he reached beside the door to grab his crossbow. He cocked it, loaded it, and fired. Again and again. Body after blood-soaked body fell to the ground, unmoving. Daryl didn’t step away from the trailer doorway until he ran out of bolts. The quiver only held six, which was usually more than enough. But not now. 

 

Daryl moved swiftly and near-silently across the grass and dirt, dropping low to pry his bolts from the skulls of the dead. They looked so human, despite the odd shift of their limbs and the blatant cannibalism. But up close it was clear their bodies had been dead for a while. The skin was sallow and the early stages of rot had started to set in. Daryl paused. He yanked the bolt free from the last of the bodies he'd taken down and used it to poke at the man’s gaping chest cavity. Most of the interior was missing, but the guy had been on his feet and moving not only a minute earlier. Daryl had been going for headshots for efficiency, but it didn’t look like anything short of that did much to slow them down.

 

A rasping wail sounded from behind him, the sound alone raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and Daryl was on his feet and turning just in time to raise the crossbow and block his attacker. It was Joe from down the road. He used to go into town once a month, stock up on cartons of cigarettes, and sell the loosies to anyone in the park too lazy to make their own way into town. There was nothing left of him behind the cloudy eyes that seemed to stare right through Daryl. He was also goddamn strong all of a sudden, for a bony man pushing sixty. Daryl grunted with the effort of holding him at bay, teeth dripping with saliva snapped so hard they should have fractured. 

 

Hands were grabbing at him and Daryl raised the bolt in his hand and shoved it straight through the soft, sagging skin of Joe’s wrinkled neck. It did jack fucking shit. With a grunt, Daryl pulled the bolt free again and shoved Joe backwards hard enough to send him stumbling. It didn’t slow him much, but it slowed him enough that Daryl could drive the bolt through his eye instead, driving all the way through his brain until nothing but the fletching was protruding. Joe’s body crumpled to the ground. 

 

Movement on the road caught his eye and Daryl moved towards it, stepping over Joe and scanning his surroundings as he went. The body on the ground was covered in slick red blood, still pumping from wounds too numerous to count. The eyes that looked up at him were brown and clear and filled with desperation. Alive. But not for much longer. Daryl stared as their arm twitched towards his ankle, their throat making a gurgling sound as they choked on their own blood.

 

Slowly, Daryl crouched down on the blacktop. A slimy red hand flopped listlessly against the top of his boot and Daryl swallowed. Without a word, he raised the crossbow and fired. The bolt landed at point blank range, rocking the woman’s entire skull. The gurgling stopped. But the rasping groans hadn’t. Daryl got back to his feet and started making his way methodically through the scattered clusters of the dead and the dying until there was nothing left.

 

It should have been quiet. When there was nothing else moving nearby, it should have been quiet. But it wasn’t. The screams had stopped long ago, and so had the bone-chilling rattling groans. Somewhere, there was a wailing sound. And, with a sigh, Daryl followed it. He hadn’t found his brother yet, but he needed to be sure.

 

The sound took him to a trailer not far from the Dixon residence. Through the adrenaline and the throbbing headache, Daryl knew that there was something about this particular trailer that felt significant. He stepped over the short garden edging and onto the haphazardly arranged stone path. The ground cover crunched underfoot and it was only his gaze catching on the stroller folded up beside the door that made him realise. There was a baby here. Kid had cried so much since being brought home that Daryl’s old man had made a few threats about what he’d do to the baby and their momma if the noise didn’t cut out. The mom was young, a hell of a lot younger than she looked, but she hadn’t cowed down to Will Dixon. Too brave or too stupid. Those two often looked alike.

 

The baby was crying.

 

The baby was still alive.

 

Beyond the nasally wailing, Daryl could hear something else. Something like the pounding of open hands against a solid surface, and the rasping groans of the hungry dead. He didn’t think about it for longer than it took to step up on the cinder block and wood plank porch. He hooked his finger around the door handle and pulled. The door swung open without issue and Daryl moved inside, crossbow raised and ready. It was small inside. Smaller than his own trailer, which had had an annex added decades ago to maximise space and Daryl stepped carefully through the living area. There was clutter, but the floor was clear and clean, and he made his way around the kitchen to the long hallway with ease. 

 

There was a woman at the end of the long stretch of hall. Her hands slapped rhythmically against a closed door, hard enough and for long enough that the skin from her palms had broken and the painted wood was smeared with thick, trailing handprints of blood. Daryl stepped carefully, one foot over the other as he walked sideways down the hall. With one last, loud thump, the woman’s hand slid down the door and she turned. What colour she’d had in life was drained from her now: her skin was plaid and greying and her eyes were fogged over in death. A rattling groan rolled from her rotting throat as she moved towards him, bloody, skinless hands outstretched towards him.

 

The bow string made a warbling sound as it projected the bolt free, Daryl could hear the whistle as it cut through the air. It landed just as true as Daryl knew it would, rocking the woman’s body backward with the force of it. Her body turned as it fell, crumpling to the floor in a tangle of already-rotting limbs. Daryl stopped to pry the bolt free again before stepping over her remains.

 

The cries were louder the closer he got to the end of the hall and Daryl paused in front of the door. Blood dripped in thick lines down the white paint. With a slow inhale, Daryl gripped the grooved handle and pulled at the pocket door. It rattled on its track but didn’t budge. Daryl ran his fingers over the circular inset handle, clutching at the lock and turning it. There was a click and, when Daryl pulled the door to the side, this time it rolled open with ease.

 

He took one step into the bedroom and the smell that met him hard. It was strong enough that it made him jerk his head to the side, as if slapped, burying his nose in his own arm for a momentary reprieve. Then he stepped inside the room. There was a single bed pushed to one side, drawers and a dresser that were covered in lumps of clothing, and in the centre of the room was a crib. 

 

Daryl stepped closer, seeing first the shock of black hair sticking up around the baby’s head like they’d been charged by static electricity. The child wailed out a nasal pathetic cry, blinking up at him with wide eyes, such an intensely dark brown that they almost looked black. Red-faced and chubby-cheeked, skin glistening with tears and snot that dripped down onto a faded blue dress, she reached her weak arms out towards him and Daryl shouldered his crossbow, unable to stop the instinct to reach out and lift her from the crib. 

 

It was only as Daryl raised her up that he found the source of the smell. Her diaper was full to the point of sagging and her legs were coated in feces. Slowly, Daryl lowered her back down onto the stained mattress. She shrieked, louder than before and Daryl grunted out a sound of his own frustration with the situation. Carefully, he unclipped her diaper and let the foul thing fall to the mattress in a puddle of shit before lifting the baby out again. He grabbed a fresh diaper from the stack balanced on the drawers and carried the baby at arm's length down the hall, over the corpse of her dead momma and plonked her down on her in the sink.

 

“Christ, kid, quit squirmin’,” he griped. He knew she could sit up, but now that she was in the sink she was wriggling and twisting. “Keep this up, you’re gonna throw yourself onto the goddamn floor. Ain’t no one else dyin’ today. Less they’re already dead.”

 

His own head still throbbed painfully. With a huff, Daryl reached to the side and grabbed an empty baby bottle from the drying rack. It was a relief to know there was probably formula lying around somewhere. He filled it with water from the running faucet, intent to splash it around enough that he wouldn’t have to deal with the whole mess, but insistent hands snatched it from his grasp. She guzzled the water down like she hadn’t been fed in days. And, Daryl knew, she may not have been. 

 

“You even old enough to drink anythin’ that ain’t come straight from a tit?” he queried. But water couldn’t be too harmful, either way, he reasoned. Not worse than starving, anyway. It calmed her down enough that the running water did its job, washing away the mess. He hastily dried her off with a dish towel and only stuck the diaper to his own hand once while he figured out how to wrap it. 

 

All he had to do was make the bottle and the kid fed herself, eventually passing on a rug on the living room floor. It wasn’t a crib, but Daryl knew for a fact that he’d been left worse places as a child and he’d survived. Shit had clearly hit the fan, but there had to be someone a little more equipped to look after a baby than him. He looked at her, starfished out on the floor, a snot bubble forming from her left nostril, and it made his chest hurt.

 

“Ain’t cut out to play Mr Mom,” he murmured. He grabbed his crossbow and wrenched the front door open, closing it softly behind him. 

 

The world outside was bright and hot and filled with carnage. Flies had descended in droves, buzzing in thick swarms around the bodies and viscera. Daryl took a slow breath, tasting the rot in the back of his throat, and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. The wet sound of chewing brought him back to the present and he turned to see another one of the dead had arrived, digging its fingers into one of the open carcasses on the road. With a small sigh, Daryl loaded the crossbow.

 

He was fetching the bolt when he saw it. Fingers prying apart blinds on the trailer next to the kid’s. Daryl’s eyes narrowed and the blinds flicked shut. His nostrils flared and Daryl tore across the open space, landing on the doorstep, his fist slamming down on the door hard enough to make the whole frame rattle.

 

“Hector, you son of a bitch, open up!”

 

He pounded his fist harder and harder to no response.

 

“There’s a goddamn kid in there with a dead mom. You open this door right now you little shit!”

 

The door opened a fraction, barred by a chain lock and Hecter peered through the gap.

 

“I dunno what you want from me man, but I ain’t got it.”

 

“I seen you chattin’ with her. You two were friendly.”

 

“Me n’ Candy? I mean. She’s alright. We went to school together.”

 

"You left her in there with her kid?" Daryl snapped, his fast slamming down hard on the frame beside the door and startling Hector backwards inside his trailer. "That baby's been alone n' crying' for how goddamn long and you been sitting' on your ass!"

 

"Hey! Fuck you, man, what was I gonna do with all them rotters out there, huh? I weren't gonna die trying' to get over there. That baby's Candy's problem not mine."

 

Daryl was seething. His breath came in short, sharp bursts and his head was pounding. He slammed his fist against the frame one last time just see the panic in Hector's eyes.

 

"The kid got any other family?” he asked, finally, between grit teeth.

 

“The baby daddy is somewhere down in Vine City, that’s all I know man. It’s hell out there. You’d be better off takin’ her to one of them refugee centres.” Hector shook his head vehemently, pressing the door slowly towards closed. “Now I ain’t comin’ out and you ain’t comin’ in. Fuck off or I’ll fetch my shotgun. Don’t think I won’t.”

 

Daryl grunted but stepped away. He waved an arm dismissively in Hector’s direction and trudged back in the direction of his own trailer. There was still no sign of Merle and Daryl knew he’d have to go out looking anyway. Might be he could kill two birds with a single stone. He grabbed a bag and hastily stuffed some clothes and hunting gear inside before throwing it into the bed of his truck.

 

When returned to the trailer to check on the kid, she was fussing on the floor. Daryl traded the crossbow for the baby, lifting her up against his shoulder and rubbing at her back. She burped, a sound far louder than he thought had any right coming out of something so small, and he felt the warm, wet splash of sick-up running down his back. 

 

“Shirt’s seen far worse than you could manage,” he murmured, voice low and soft, he patted at her back, his body swaying as if on instinct, until she settled down, her body going lax with sleep.

 

Daryl rocked his way carefully around the trailer, rummaging through drawers and cabinets until he found it. An envelope with a sender’s address in Vine City. There was no name, but Daryl hardly needed it. He knew where to go. He just had to get some gear. He loaded up on food and formula, tipped a half dozen empty bottles and rubber nipples into a diaper bag and then headed for the bedroom. He grabbed the entire supply of diapers and turned, pausing, at the edge of the crib. 

 

Hanging over the side, somehow untouched by the explosion of feces on the mattress, a soft pink blanket was hanging. Daryl looked down at the embroidered name on the blanket. He could feel his face screwing up in distaste. 

 

“Champagne Starr?”

 

He looked down at the baby in his arms. “Good lord, girl. Your momma name you in a hospital or a liquor store?“

 

Little Champagne only breathed heavily, her face calm and soft in sleep.

 

“Guess you’re saddled with it now,” he said, taking the blanket for good measure. "Guess I'm saddled with you too. Least 'til we can track down your daddy."

Notes:

So, okay, I love the concept of this, but I'm not thrilled with the execution. But, I had it in my head, I wrote it, and I'll continue it if it vibes. At least hit some of the things I wanted to do.

Chapter 2

The windows were wound down and fresh air whipped through the open windows as Daryl carefully navigated the well-worn and potholed streets. He didn’t want to go too fast, with the baby sitting in a plastic crate on the passenger seat, the impromptu play pen secured by a series of old bungee cords. The kid was happy enough with the arrangement, a string of brightly coloured toys were clipped to the handle of the crate by one end, and stuffed between her gummy jaws at the other. She gurgled and gnawed away while music played low and grainy from the old cassette in the stereo. 

 

The radio, when Daryl had tried to turn it on, was nothing more than white noise on every station. The cassette he’d put on instead was the only one in the truck. He always said it was jammed in the player. But, even if that had been true, it wouldn’t have taken much work to remove it if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. Merle was the only other person who used the truck anyway, and he’d given Daryl a look the first few times he’d noticed, but it was, blessedly, one of the things he didn’t run his trap about. They usually listened to the radio, anyway. But now, Patsy Cline was playing smooth and strong through the speakers, despite the crackle of the old tape, and his only company was too busy trying to shove a stuffed giraffe into her mouth to care any which way about it.

 

The liquor store was a bust. The place was closed, the roller door shut and locked from the outside. Merle hadn’t headed home, that much Daryl knew, since there was only one road in and and in theri small, sorry excuse for a town.

 

“Dumbass son of a bitch’s headed down towards the city,” he confided to the kid. “Lucky for you, my no good brother’s headed in the same direction as your no good papa. Might be lucky enough enough to find one on the way to findin’ the other.”

 

Daryl didn’t hold out hope, though. There were more liquor stores between them and Vine City than he’d be inclined to try and count. Merle could have headed for any single one of them on whatever whim he was following. The highway was clear until they started passing turn off for the suburbs. He couldn’t see any of the infected, but vehicles were pulling onto the interstate from every on-ramp they passed, steadily congesting the road until they slowed to little more than a crawl.

 

Without wind streaming in, the heat quickly set in, and the baby began to fuss, her face going red and squirmed around. The plastic crate wobbled despite the attempts to anchor it, and Daryl shot out a hand to hold it steady. 

 

“Yeah, ‘s a waste of our goddamn time, ain’t it, Champ?” 

 

She spoke some incoherent gibberish before it cut off into a series of grunts that filled Daryl with resignation. The smell hit his nose quickly enough that he didn’t have time to doubt what was happening. The traffic wasn’t going anywhere, so Daryl cut the engine and got out. He picked Champ and the diaper bag up from the front seat and moved to the truck bed to lay her down and start the process of changing her. 

 

“You ain’t half bad company,” he told her, fussing with the wipes. The damn things seemed to stick together, making it impossible to grab any less than a stack of half a dozen at a time. “You keep shittin’ your pants and you still don’t smell half as bad as Merle does most of the time. You’ll like him, if we find him before we find your old man. More’n you like me.”

 

Daryl wiped his hands off with the extra wipes and tossed the diaper off the side of the road.

 

“Hey! That’s littering!” A woman in the car behind him yelled, leaning her head out the window. 

 

Scooping the baby up with one arm, Daryl held her to his chest and slammed the tailgate closed. As he turned he raised his middle finger to the woman. She was still staring at him with her head sticking out from the open window, her expression souring further at the gesture. 

 

“Mind your business or I’ll toss it through your window next time,” he snapped, with a sharp gesture of his arm. He started to turn away before reeling back again. “People out here eatin’ one another and you’re worried ‘bout a shitty diaper on the roadside, you dumb bitch? Get your head outta your damn ass.”

 

She stared at him, mortified and speechless for a moment. “This is how you speak in front of your child? That poor thing is going to grow up just as rough and pathetic as you. No hope for her.”

 

The words hit, but it was a glancing blow. Hardly far removed from any of the countless things he’d been told about himself a thousand times before. He curled around the baby, shushing and bouncing her as she squirmed. Daryl made his way back inside the truck. The vehicle creaked and groaned under his weight as he settled into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed after him. 

 

Chubby hands reached up and pulled at his hair and his ear. She’d settled briefly, once the clean diaper was on, but now she was fussing again, her burbles turning to nasally cries. Daryl dug out one of the bottles and the tin of formula from the diaper bag. He’d already pre-filled the bottles with water to save time, so all he had to do was scoop the formula in and mix it. 

 

“Sorry, can’t warm it up none” he said, pressing the silicone nipple to her mouth. She hadn’t minded the last time, when she was starving, and she didn’t seem to care now, either, snatching the bottle brom his hands and gulping it down like she was trying to inhale the damn thing. She leaned back, settling into the crook of Daryl’s arm and he sighed. 

 

The traffic still wasn’t moving, all of them seemingly stuck in a gridlock. Daryl grunted and reached over into the bag he’d tucked in the passenger side floor, careful not to disturb the kid. His fingers closed around a packet, the plastic crinkling as he prised it free. He raised it to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth so that he could remove a stick of jerky, biting into it. His stomach was twisting, still sick from the booze, but he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d consumed anything solid.

 

Wide, dark eyes stared up at him. She didn’t even blink, she wrenched the bottle from her mouth, sending it clattering to the floor, and reached up, trying to pry the jerky from his hand. 

 

“You even got teeth?” Daryl asked, holding the stick of jerky out of reach and squinting down at her. Tiny hands smacked at his cheeks, squeezing his skin painfully. Daryl grunted and tossed the jerky on the dashboard. He poked a finger into her mouth and powerful gums clamped down on the digit, pressing in like a vise until he had to pry his own finger free.

 

“Stick to liquids ‘til you grow some of them chompers in, kid.”

 

She looked patently unimpressed, and Daryl shuffled his feet, trying to feel where the bottle had rolled to. With a groan, he hefted the baby up and sat her back in the crate while he contorted himself enough to root around under the pedals for the missing bottle. His fingers had just closed around it when a scream rose in the distance. Daryl hit his head on the steering wheel in his hurry to get up. He winced, hissing at the pain, before passing the bottle to the kid and opening the door to get out and rubberneck. 

 

More screams rose, the sounds coming from farther up the road. There were too many people, too many vehicles stuck idling in the gridlock, to see anything, but you didn’t always need to see something to know it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Daryl put the truck into reverse. The rear of the tray hit the car behind him and the woman behind him laid on the horn. But Daryl was already turning off the road, the truck bouncing down the steep shoulder of the road. His arm reached out again to secure the baby as the entire cab rocked. The ground smoothed out and Daryl drove, heading back the way they’d come until he hit the turn off, the screams dying in the distance. 

 

–

 

The suburbs were less congested, but the closer they got to metro Atlanta, the more obvious it was that things weren’t right. There were vehicles on the roads, heading in one direction or another, but there were abandoned ones dotting the roadside, crashed into lamp posts or other vehicles, hazard lights blinking and doors hanging open. Blood stains were everywhere. On the vehicles, the blacktop, the pavement. And the blood-stained dead were shambling along the streets. Not enough to make Daryl reconsider the decision to track down whoever the hell had fathered the poor, unfortunately named Champagne Starr, but enough to keep a man on alert. 

 

The neighbourhood was more and more rundown the closer they got to the address Daryl had found. Daryl wondered if the baby’s father was paying any child support. This part of Vine City might have been a real shithole, but it was still a hell of a step up from the trailer park Candy had lived and died in. The same trailer park Daryl lived and would probably die in, too. But not this kid. Daryl looked down at her for a fleeting second, watching her twist herself until she could chew on her own foot. She was getting out. Even if there wasn’t much of a world left to escape to.

 

Daryl turned onto the street he’d been looking for, but there were more and more of the dead stumbling out from between the gaps between apartment blocks and houses. Enough to start blocking them in from behind, and starting to fill the street ahead of him too. There were enough of the dead so close that the fetid stench of rot and decay filled the air and coated the back of his throat. 

 

They kept coming, walking corpses shambling towards the truck, and Daryl pressed his foot down on the accelerator, slamming into one of the dead hard enough for it to go careening over the hood and then rolling over the side of the windscreen for good measure. He swerved into the driveway of number 83, and cut the engine. It took seconds to grab his crossbow and the baby, cradling her tiny weight in his arm as he ran towards the door. 

 

His fist pounded on the door. The sound was drawing attention. The dead who’d followed after the truck were gaining, and the noise would only help them pinpoint their location. The curtains near the door flicked and Daryl’s eyes narrowed. 

 

“Open up asshole, I know you’re in there!” Daryl slammed his fist down against the door again several more times for good measure. “Open the goddamn door!”

 

The door opened a crack before catching on a chain lock, and someone peered through the gap at him, young and irritated. Black hair peeked out from under a baseball cap, and his eyes were a dark, deep brown. It gave Daryl pause for a second, a shock to his system that he couldn’t have expected.

 

“Hey, man, you trying to bring all the geeks in the city down on us?” 

 

“Got your kid here, you prick,” Daryl snapped, shaking off the strange feeling that had washed over him. Urgency returned like being doused in cold water and Daryl looked over his shoulder to check the progress of the dead. They were slow, but they were closing the distance far too quickly. “Might try bein’ a little more appreciative.”

 

“You’ve got a kid with you?” 

 

The door closed and, for a brief second Daryl felt a white hot burning rage. He was raising his fist again to pound on the door one last time, when there was the metallic sliding sound of the lock opening and the door swung open. 

 

“Oh shit,” the man on the other side said, blinking as he stared at the squirming baby. “You really do have a baby.”

 

“‘Course I do,” Daryl replied, all his agitation clear in his tone. “She’s your damn baby, asshole.”

 

“I’m sorry, my what?” the idiot asked, staring at him with a slack jaw and a face smooth from youth and lack of responsibility. There was a wooden baseball bat in his hand, but his grip grew limper on the handle with every passing second.

 

Daryl thrust Champagne against the man’s chest, letting go when the man’s arms reflexively moved to hold her. The bat clattered to the ground between their feet. “Sit tight, I'm gonna grab our shit.”

 

“Wait –” 

 

But Daryl didn't wait. He rushed back outside, slamming the butt of his crossbow into the skull of what once was a man in a tracksuit. Now he was grey-skinned and covered in blood that wasn’t his own. His body reeled backward and Daryl slammed the crossbow into his chest, following it up with a kick to the knees, bone snapped and the dead man fell to the ground. Torn and rotting arms reached for him still, and Daryl’s boots crushed down on bony fingers, before he drove the hard heel of his boot down onto the man’s skull again and again until the cement beneath him was thick with splattered brains. 

 

Reaching inside the truck, Daryl scooped up the diaper bag and the backpack and ran back inside the house. Champagne’s deadbeat dad slammed the door closed as Daryl threw himself over the threshold, clicking the locks into place just as hands started slamming against the hard wood of the door. 

 

“What the hell’s going on?” the guy asked, rounding on him, his face pale and drawn. The baby was held awkwardly in his arms like he didn’t know what to do with her. It spoke volumes for his involvement as a parent, and Daryl was judging him something fierce. That kid was his blood. Family meant something. Or, it was supposed to.

 

“What’s your name, kid?” Daryl asked, eyeing him over. He looked barely out of college, if that. Young and dumb and knocking up some poor girl from the trailer park. Not even sticking around to do right by her and the kid.

 

He made a face, but answered, “Glenn.”

 

“Alright, Glenn,” Daryl said, walking into the living room. He let the bags and his crossbow slide to the floor before he flopped down onto the threadbare couch, legs spread wide. “Candy’s dead.”

 

“Oh. Um. Sorry,” Glenn said. He looked more confused than sad, which only left Daryl more irritated than before. “Who’s Candy?”

 

“Christ, you knocked this poor girl up and you don’t even know her damn name?”

 

“I… what?”

 

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Glenn, and Glenn stared back at Daryl with wide, panicked eyes. Champagne squirmed and Glenn barely held onto her as threw herself bodily to one side.

 

“Jesus, man, you never held a baby before? Give her here before you drop the damn kid.” Daryl held his arms out, and Glenn looked cautious but moved closer until they could pass the baby between them. 

 

Glenn took a step back. Then another. Until the back of his calves hit the coffee table and he all but fell, his ass landing hard on the wooden surface. 

 

“She’s not your kid?” Glenn asked, watching Daryl settle the baby on his lap, letting her gum at one of his fingers to keep her entertained.

 

“No, she’s your kid,” Daryl said. “Pretty sure we covered this already.”

 

Glenn shook his head. He raised a hand to push his loose bangs back up under the faded orange brim of his ball cap.

 

“Why do you think she’s mine?”

 

“You live here, right?”

 

“Um, yeah?” 

 

There weren’t a lot of personal touches in the sparse and spartan decor, but there were a couple of small, framed pictures of Glenn with two women who looked enough like him to be family. Daryl spared a quick glance at the photographs, before returning his attention to the man in front of him. He stared at Glenn for a long moment, assessing. Finally, with a grunt, he shrugged his shoulder. “Neighbour said her daddy lived out in Vine City. Found your address on a letter in her mom’s things. And she looks enough like you. Got them eyes that’re all… y’know.” 

 

Daryl made a vague gesture towards his eyes and watched Glenn’s expression sour, his lips thinning out and his jaw tightening. 

 

“Wow. Okay.” 

 

“What? It ain’t offensive, it’s what y’all look like.”

 

“Please stop,” Glenn said, and Daryl did, with a huff, slumping down in his seat.

 

“Weren’t an insult,” he muttered. “Got cute eyes.”

 

Glenn blinked at him, his face going blank. 

 

“Not you asshole, the kid,” Daryl snapped. 

 

After a moment, Glenn shook his head. “RIght. Okay. Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway because she’s definitely not mine.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“I mean, pretty sure? I’m not a monk, but I’m not exactly Casanova, okay? And I’m not an idiot. I use protection. I don’t have any kids.”

 

“So why’s your address in her things, huh?”

 

Glenn shrugged, looking lost. “I’m subletting this place. Maybe it’s - maybe the guy I’m subletting from is her dad?”

 

Daryl made a face. He didn’t want to be driving around too much with the way things were going out there. It’d be just his luck to run out of gas somewhere he couldn’t get back from. Not with all the dead wandering around. 

 

“You know where he went?” Daryl asked. “Kid ain’t got nobody left.”

 

Glenn ran hand over his face, looking pained. “He moved to Tampa. Said he had family there.”

 

Daryl felt his chest constrict. “Her daddy’s in Florida?”

 

“I - I’m sorry,” Glenn said, awkward but sincere.

 

Daryl looked down at the baby falling asleep in his arms and felt an overwhelming pang of despair. “The hell’re we gonna do now,” he murmured. 

 

Across from him, Glenn shrugged, looking down at the floor. 

 

“There’s a refugee camp in the city,” Glenn said, slowly, after a minute. “Maybe they can help?”

 

“Why ain’t you there, then?” Daryl asked, jutting his chin as he spoke. He kept his voice low in deference to the baby sleeping on his chest.

 

“I tried,” Glenn said. “I’m fast, but the city’s overrun. I couldn’t get close to that part of the city in my car or on foot. I was working when things got bad, I was lucky to make it back home. There’s a lot of them, and they cluster.”

 

“Yeah? You couldn’t get in there, how d’you think I’m gonna get in there with a damn baby, huh?”

 

“Look, you can stay here until the streets clear, okay?” Glenn offered. “That’s been my plan, anyway. The military are supposed to be out, clearing the streets, setting up a safe zone. That’s what the reports on the TV keep saying.”

 

Daryl grunted, and settled back into the cushions. Neither of them moved, and Daryl let himself fall into the quiet discomfort of the situation.

Notes:

Wow! I can't believe so many of you liked the first chapter. Anyway, I hope it's going alright. Sorry that we had to get some casual racosm up in here, but needs must.

There's a few little things I wanted to hit with this fic so we'll see how it goes. <3

Chapter 3

The only sounds were their breathing and the thumping of dead hands against the door. More and more of the dead were gathering on the front stoop. Daryl didn’t need to see them to know. The thump, thump, thumping against the door was enough to tell him. Too many hands drumming against the wood, a growing, thunderous sound that drowned out the rushing pulse of blood he could feel throbbing inside his ears. 

 

“We should move upstairs,” Glenn said, staring at the door with such intensity it was almost as if he could see right through it to the horror waiting on the other side. “They move on eventually, but if they start going for the windows…”

 

“You got somethin’ to cover these windows?” Daryl asked, and Glenn’s head snapped up to look at him, panic in his eyes and his lips parting.

 

“No.” He shook his head, wringing his hands together between his spread knees.

 

Daryl grunted, eyes skimming over the sparse furniture. 

 

“Coffee table could do in a pinch.”

 

Glenn grimaced, meeting his eyes. “I don’t have any tools.”

 

“Not even a hammer n’ nails?”

 

Glenn shrugged, helplessly. “I’ve never needed them before. And… I don’t really have much in the way of, you know… stuff.”

 

That was true enough. Besides the couch, the coffee table and the old TV, the only other things in the living room were those two small, framed photographs. Glenn seemed young and stupid enough that if he’d had money to spare Daryl suspected it would have gone to some sort of gaming console before something practical like a basic tool kit. Daryl grunted again, looking down at Champ lying quiet and still in his arms. 

 

“We should go upstairs,” Glenn said again. He pulled the cap from his head and ran a hand through his hair. “If she wakes up and cries…”

 

Daryl didn’t reply, but he did get slowly to his feet. He supported the baby, holding her carefully to his chest, afraid to wake her prematurely and find out what would happen if the hungry dead outside were given more incentive to break through the flimsy walls separating them. Glenn rushed to his feet in Daryl’s wake, scooping up the bags Daryl had brought with him and leading them over to the thin staircase pressed against the wall. 

 

The downstairs was small: a boxy little living room and, presumably, some kind of kitchen beyond that. So he knew the upstairs wouldn’t exactly be spacious. He wasn’t wrong. There were two doors upstairs. One leading to a dinky little bathroom: the door was open and Daryl could see nothing but sickly green everything inside, as though someone had bought the cheapest, shittiest coloured paint on discount and applied it liberally to every available surface inside. 

 

The bedroom, when Glenn opened the door, was even more sparse than the living room downstairs. There was a twin mattress on the floor with a haphazard pile of bedding spilling onto the stained, frayed carpet. The only other thing in the room was a broken plastic hamper filled with clothes. Dim light filtered through a window on the far wall, illuminating the dust motes that were floating in the air.

 

“Sorry, I, uh, I wasn’t expecting company,” Glenn said, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

 

Daryl grunted, stepping past him and into the room. The sounds of the dead were more distant and barely noticeable anymore, though he knew they persisted. 

 

“Lived worse places than this,” Daryl said. The barren state of the room and minor disarray hardly seemed worth the breath used to apologise for, in his opinion. 

 

Glenn only frowned, before moving to gather up the bedding, bundling it in his arms. 

 

“I can at least get some clean sheets,” he said, already hurrying out of the bedroom and into the green horror of the bathroom. 

 

Daryl stood awkwardly in the space between the mattress and the wall. His body swayed, an instinctive reaction to the weight of the child in his arms. She was so small and yet, somehow, she felt larger than anything he’d ever held in his life. Then Glenn was rushing back into the room and hastily laying out fresh linen over the mattress. It was threadbare and looked like it had seen the last of its good days several dozen wash cycles ago.

 

Transferring Champ from his arms to the mattress was a slow process. Lowering her with a caution Daryl felt was entirely warranted, since her cries could bring about their near immediate demise. He slipped his arms out from under her with the kind of care and precision he might otherwise have only reserved for handling a live explosive. But, when his fingers slipped free from under her, Champagne’s head lolled on the mattress and she snuffled but didn’t wake. Daryl breathed out a sigh of relief. He looked up to see Glenn watching him from the doorway. Glenn tapped the doorframe lightly with his fingers and ducked his head before disappearing out into the small hallway. 

 

Daryl stayed a while, just watching the baby sleep. His chest felt painfully tight. He didn’t know what their next move was, but at least for the moment they were safe. When he finally dragged himself away, he found Glenn standing in the hall, looking lost in his own home.

 

“Kid’ll be sleepin’ a while,” Daryl said, moving past Glenn towards the packs Glenn had dropped in the hallway. He dropped down to a crouch, quickly checking over the contents, reassuring himself they’d have enough formula to get through at least another night after this one.

 

“What’s, uh, do you know her name?” 

 

Daryl looked up at him and Glenn’s eyes widened, his lips parting as he stared back at Daryl. “Oh, god, what’s your name? Things were - things were so crazy I didn't even think to ask…” 

 

“You just let strange men into your home all the time or somethin’?” Daryl asked, slowly rising to his feet again. “Don’t know shit about me. Could be a murderer.”

 

“Are you a murderer?”

 

Daryl shrugged. 

 

“Yeah, that’s a comforting response,” Glenn muttered, eyes still wide  

 

Daryl watched him with a growing amusement. He let out a huff to smother the hint of a laugh he could feel working its way out of his chest.

 

“Daryl,” he said.

 

“What?” Glenn looked at him with the sort of confused alarm that suggested his mind was running a few paces behind.

 

“‘S my name, dumbass,” Daryl said, fingers fiddling with the strap of his crossbow before slowly sliding it down his arm and leaving it to rest propped against the wall. He watched Glenn mouthing his name silently, like he was turning it over, committing it to memory.

 

“Kid’s momma named her Champagne Starr,” he added, just to watch his brain fry a little more.

 

Glenn made a small, strangled sound. He looked at Daryl with wide, disbelieving eyes, his mouth gaping open and closed. “Seriously?”

 

Daryl shrugged. “Trailer park.”

 

It was explanation enough, really, and Daryl watched Glenn’s face as he turned each new piece of information over in his head.

 

“You weren’t already in the city?”

 

It was a change of topic Daryl hadn't been expecting and he tilted his head to the side before answering. “Came down from outside Cartersville.”

 

“You came all that way?” Glenn asked, incredulous. “You know Atlanta’s in lockdown, right? There’s - they’re trying to contain the spread of the infection.”

 

“Shit ain’t contained,” Daryl replied. “Woke up to my neighbours eatin’ one another. Kid’s mom… Li’l Champ would’ve been gone by now if her momma hadn’t locked her in the bedroom ‘fore she turned.”

 

Glenn let out a shaky breath. He leaned back against the opposite wall, body hitting it with a dull thump. He tilted his head back, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. All Daryl could do was stare at him, a voyeur to this stranger’s pain.

 

“But you got her out,” Glenn said, after several long minutes had passed. Daryl was still staring at the spot on Glenn’s throat where his neck met his ear, when Glenn moved. Daryl’s gaze darted up to meet Glenn’s eyes instead.

 

“For all the good it did. Thought I’d find her dad. Deadbeat piece of shit or not. Least she’d have someone.”

 

“She has you. You’re good with her,” Glenn said. “I don’t… I don’t even know the first thing about babies. Haven’t been around any since I was a baby too.”

 

“Ain’t hardly rocket science,” Daryl said with a shrug. He leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “She cries it’s ‘cause she needs changin’ or she’s hungry. Or she wants attention. Easier to understand than most people.”

 

Glenn looked at him for a long moment, considering. “Do you have kids? Of your own, I mean.”

 

Daryl scoffed, his upper body jerking away from Glenn in surprise. “Nah, ain’t cut out for that shit. Gonna find her someone can look after. Raise her right n’ all.”

 

“You care about her.”

 

“She’s just a kid. Can’t… Shit, I can’t let anythin’...” His gaze turned to the opposite wall, the one that would have looked out onto the street below if there’s been so much as a single window on it. “Enough goddamn monsters in the world before all this shit started.”

 

“Yeah.” Glenn sighed, slumping against the wall until his back was sliding down. He curled around himself, hands resting on his knees. He stared at the wall beside Daryl’s knee until, eventually, Daryl slid down to join him.

 

–

 

If he thought it would be Champ waking from her sleep that urged him to his feet next, Daryl would have been wrong. It was the pounding on the door growing louder, spreading across the side of the house that spurred him into motion.

 

“They’re gonna break through them windows of yours,” Daryl said. “There another way outta here?”

 

There was fear in Glenn’s eyes, but he got to his feet, sparing a glance towards the stairway before looking towards the open bedroom door. 

 

“No,” Glenn said, then shook his head. “I mean, yeah, there’s a back door. But the streets are crawling with geeks. If we had a car…”

 

Daryl’s jaw tightened. There was no way they’d make it past the horde gathering at the front of the house to reach the truck. Not without losing a few chunks of themselves in the process. Making his way out on foot might have been something he’d chance if not for the baby. 

 

“Could… Could make a run for one of the other houses,” Daryl suggested. They’d like as not have to leave things behind, and the process of breaking in would make noise enough that it might attract more of the geeks. And then they’d be in the same situation but with a door or window that was already broken. 

 

“They’re attracted to noise,” Glenn said, moving already. Daryl followed him into the bedroom, where Glenn cautiously made his way past the sleeping infant to grab something jammed between the head of the mattress and the wall. A small, analogue alarm clock. 

 

“Give me a minute,” Glenn said. 

 

Daryl didn’t quite know what to think, but Glenn was already moving. He was clambering out the window so quickly Daryl had a moment of panic that he was doing something stupid like jumping. Daryl was across the room and reaching out the open window, when he realised Glenn was climbing up, not throwing himself down. His hands went straight to Glenn’s thighs, trying to steady him as he reached for purchase on the guttering overhead. Daryl realised immediately it was the wrong thing to do: in his surprise at the unexpected touch, Glenn’s hands slipped on the guttering, making his whole body slip. Daryl held him tighter while Glenn scrabbled for purchase, and then Glenn was up, disappearing somewhere on the rooftop.

 

Daryl looked over at Champ. Her tiny chest was rising and falling at a steady, if rapid, pace, arms and legs starfished out in sleep. He gave it all of a second of thought before Daryl followed Glenn out the window. The old guttering groaned and creaked as Daryl pulled himself up onto the tiles.

 

He was just in time to see Glenn finish setting the alarm and take careful aim. Glenn’s form looked like the players he’d seen on TV, or the kids whose parents had shelled out for little league, though Daryl had only ever seen them in passing. His arm swung, and the alarm went flying, cutting a beautiful arc through the air and Daryl was certain, then, that the baseball bat lying in the entryway downstairs wasn’t just for show. The alarm let out a shrill cry as it descended from its apex, still ringing noisily as it landed with a crash on one of the cars parked farther down the street. It smashed into a showering spray of metal pieces as the car alarm went off, beeping and wailing. 

 

Daryl moved carefully across the slippery tiles to peer down at the street. Dozens of the dead were clustered in front of the house and, slowly, they turned. One moved and, steadily, the others followed. Dishevelled corpses staggered down the street, their rattling groans filling the air, a rising sound loud enough to compete with the blare of the car alarm. 

 

“Give them a few minutes,” Glenn said, stopping beside him and staring down at the crowd of shambling corpses below. 

 

“Sound does it?” Daryl asked, watching them carefully.

 

“Sound. Smell. Movement,” Glenn confirmed. “I’ve seen them up close. They’re dead. Their eyes are… I don’t know how their senses still work but they do.”

 

Daryl grunted, a sound that was so quiet it was almost lost  beneath the cacophony below. 

 

“It was that flu?” Daryl asked after a minute. He hadn’t paid a hell of a lot of attention to the news. Nothing reported on there was ever anything he could do shit about. It never seemed worth paying it much mind. “They got sick. Turned into… this.” Daryl gestured vaguely in the direction of the dead.

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, his voice quiet. “It was the flu that infected the first of them.”

 

Daryl’s head turned sharply at that, staring intently at Glenn’s profile.

 

“If they bite you,” Glenn said, slowly. “If one of those geeks bites you, you turn too.”

 

Daryl felt something similar to fear crawling up the length of his spine. It took a moment to let it seep down into his muscles and bones, settling there.

 

“When the phone lines and the cell towers went down I thought maybe it was localised, you know?” Glenn wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the slow procession of corpses shambling along the street. “I knew my parents wouldn’t take my calls. But my sisters would have. I thought, even if things got worse here, at least they were safe. If this isn’t just Atlanta... If it’s spreading… Then… I don’t know what to do.”

 

Daryl made a small, non-committal sound, shifting his weight between his feet. 

 

“Got a brother,” he said, after a minute. He wasn’t looking at Glenn anymore, staring out at the city skyline in the near distance instead. “He’s all the family I got left.”

 

“Is he back in Cartersville?”

 

Daryl snorted. “If he knew what’s good for him he would be.” Daryl’s mouth set into a grim line and he shook his head. “He went out on a beer run. Never came back. I’ve left him a message, but... Asshole could’ve gone anywhere by now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Glenn said, voice quiet and so soft it cut something deep inside of Daryl, opening an old wound he couldn’t see, let alone remember.

 

“Sorry don’t do shit,” Daryl said, turning away. “Gotta go check on the kid.”

 

He lowered himself carefully, his arm muscles straining as he hung from the gutter and swung his legs through the window. The ache it left in his arms felt good, grounding, and Daryl rolled his shoulders as he stared at the still-sleeping child on the mattress. It was lucky in some ways, he supposed, being raised in the trailer park. The kid had grown used to loud and unusual noises. He turned and, when Glenn started lowering himself, Daryl reached out and gripped him around the thigh and the waist, guiding his lower body through the window. When Glenn let go of his grip on the guttering above, Daryl held him tight, easing him inside until Glenn’s sneakers were firmly planted on the carpet.

 

Their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, and Glenn’s palms were burning a comfortable heat into Daryl’s shoulders. Glenn’s eyes were wide and Daryl’s eyes dropped to his lips when he made a small gasp, watching Glenn’s lips part. 

 

“Uh,” Glenn said, the sound dousing Daryl like a bucket of ice water. He let go of Glenn, realising only as he wrenched his hands away that, while one hand had been gripping Glenn’s hip, the other had somehow ended up on Glenn’s ass. Daryl took a step away, then another, putting much needed space between himself and the awkward situation. 

 

“Are you hungry?” Glenn asked, the words rushing out of him with a desperation Daryl could feel reflected in his own need to erase the last few minutes from memory.

 

Daryl’s stomach rumbled loudly at the mere suggestion of food. Glenn’s lips twitched into a small, lopsided smile. 

 

“You like ramen?” Glenn raised his eyebrows at Daryl, and gestured for him to head out of the room. “I’m asking, but it’s pretty much all I’ve got.”

 

“‘S fine,” he said. In truth, he was hungry enough that he would’ve eaten just about anything that could have been set in front of him. “Just gonna get her stuff ready. For when she wakes."

 

“I’ll get it ready,” Glenn said. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

 

Daryl nodded, looking down at Champ, breathing heavily in quiet puffs of air. He didn’t know how to do this. He could keep himself alive, but he’d never had to keep anything else alive, too. No part of his life had built him for love or parenthood, either. But he knew that if anything happened to this baby, it would eat him alive far worse than the geeks outside could. At least that would have an end.

 

He set out the wipes, the fresh diaper, a bottle and the tin of formula near the mattress. The faster he could get her changed and fed the less chance of her cries growing long or loud enough to draw the dead back to their door.

 

It was with a strange reluctance that he left her there to sleep in peace. The stairs creaked under his weight, and he could only hear the faintest sounds of movement as Glenn moved around the kitchen, getting their food ready. Glenn looked up at him as Daryl entered the kitchen. Two bowls clutched in his hands, he set them down on the small table jammed into the corner of the boxy small room. 

 

Daryl’s stomach was rumbling noisily as he sat in one of the two chairs in the kitchen, Glenn doing the same on the opposite side. They ate in silence, Glen with a pair of chopsticks and Daryl with the fork Glenn had laid out for him. He didn’t know if the difference in silverware was a consideration or a slight, but Daryl had never used chopsticks in his life, so he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Whatever Glenn’s reasoning had been, he was right about it. Daryl could hardly dispute that.

 

“Thanks,” Daryl said, after a minute. He shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable and off-balance. Glenn looked at him, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “For the food. For lettin’ us stay. Didn’t have to. After…”

 

“After you burst through my door accusing me of being a deadbeat?” Glenn looked at him, his face so open that the hint of humour was visible in the slight curve of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. 

 

Daryl grunted, shrugging a shoulder. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw, looking down at the faded and scratched lino before glancing up at Glenn again.

 

“We’ve got to look out for each other, right? “ Glenn said, giving him a tight smile that only highlighted the softness in his eyes. “You’re the first living person I've seen in days. It’s us against… all of that.”

 

Daryl swallowed, and bowed his head, staring down at his bowl, almost empty already. 

 

“Sorry,” he rasped out, his voice rough and aching. “‘Bout your sisters.”

 

Glenn’s face twitched in an expression that was both brief and heartbreaking to see. 

 

“Thanks,” he said, so quietly that Daryl almost missed it.

 

It felt like something between them broke, in that short moment. Daryl nodded his head and, slowly, they finished their meal in a silence that felt unerringly companionable.

Notes:

I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this fic! Thank you so much, and I hope it continues to be interesting <3

Chapter 4

A half an hour. That’s how long they had in the comfort of silence. Glenn was still eating at a sedentary pace and Daryl had barely finished slurping down the last of the liquid from his bowl when the nasally sounds of Champagne rousing from sleep, cranky and discontent, carried on the air. Daryl was already out of his seat before he could even give it conscious thought, seeing noodles fall from Glenn’s mouth and landing back inside the bowl, sending broth sloshing over the sides. 

 

Daryl was elbow deep in the diaper bag, his other hand trying to hold the squalling baby still when he heard Glenn’s footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Daryl tossed the old, wet diaper aside and struggled to secure the new one around Champ as she wriggled and squirmed away from him, her cries increasing in volume by the second. 

 

“She’s loud,” Glenn snapped. His eyes widened, and he shot another nervous look over his shoulder before lowering his voice to speak again. “You’ve got to keep her quiet.”

 

“The hell you think I’m tryin’ to do, huh?” Daryl snapped  back. “I sure ain’t knittin’ no goddamn sweater here.”

 

Glenn was quiet for a moment and, as one of the fastening tabs finally secured one goddam leg, Daryl shot an aggrieved look over his shoulder to see Glenn hovering in the doorway, twitchy and jumpy, looking over his own shoulder down the short hallway. 

 

“Good lord, you’re jitterin’ more than a man in withdrawal. You think them dead bastards’ll knock that door down any second, come runnin’ up them stairs n’ eat your intestines from your belly ‘fore you can so much as utter a ‘by your goddamn please’?” Daryl grumbled, shifting Champ into his other arm, as if the change in direction might settle her any more. 

 

“She’s loud,” Glenn repeated, his voice tinged with panic. “They’ll swarm the house again. It won’t take much to break the windows, man. We can’t outrun a - a herd of these geeks.”

 

“So quit standin’ around bitchin’ about it and do somethin’ useful,” Daryl snapped. “I got the diaper, start makin’ the bottle. She’ll settle when she’s clean n’ fed, same as most.”

 

Glenn took a few hurried steps into the room, falling to his knees by the diaper bag. Daryl finally got the last fastener closed, picking Champ up and holding her squirming body to his chest.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Glenn said, his voice higher with his rising panic, a battle of pre-boiled water in one hand and the tin of formula in the other.

 

“You can goddamn read, can’t you?” 

 

Glenn gaped at him for a moment and Daryl rolled his eyes, rocking Champ in his arms, desperately urging her to settle.

 

“Instructions are on the tin, genius.”

 

Glenn gaped at him for a moment before looking down at the tin in his hands, turning it over to read the back of the label. It took mere seconds for him to rip off the lid and tip the hastily measured formula into the bottle. He’d barely twisted the collar into place before Daryl was leaning forward and snatching the bottle from his hands. And, in turn, Daryl had barely grasped the bottle before Champ was yanking it towards her with surprising strength. The nipple fell into her open mouth and her cries cut off immediately. They sat in silence for several long minutes, just watching the baby demolish the milk in her bottle.

 

“Sorry,” Glenn said, sitting cross-legged on the old, frayed carpet. His elbows rested on his knees, his head in his hands as he hunched over himself. “It’s just. I’ve seen –” he cut himself off, swallowing thickly. “I don’t wanna go out like that. I’m fast, but I can’t outrun being surrounded.”

 

Daryl grunted. He could at least understand that. He certainly had no desire to go out the way his neighbours had: still alive as dead-eyed faces ate his intestines fresh and warm from his body. And it was harder to hold onto his agitation now that the stressors were gone.

 

“Said we gotta look out for each other, right?” Daryl asked, with a shoulder shrug. “Unless you’re backin’ out on that, we got a kid here. Everythin’s faster with more hands. You want we can get outta your hair soon as we can get a clear path to another house.”

 

“No. No! I mean, yeah, I still mean it,” Glenn said, letting out a shaky breath and running a hand through his hair. “I’ve just. I’ve never really had to look after anyone except myself. I don’t know anything about looking after a baby.”

 

Daryl huffed out an amused sound. “I look like I know how to raise a damn kid, either?” 

 

Glenn blinked at him for a moment, Before shaking his head. “Yeah, man, you kinda do.”

 

Daryl snorted, looking down at Champ and finding her large brown eyes staring up at him in return. He could feel his lips tugging upwards, couldn’t help but fuss and coo at her for a moment. 

 

“You’re a goddamn bottomless pit,” he murmured, as she sucked the bottle dry. Nothing but milk bubbles clinging to the inside of the plastic. He had to pry the bottle from her hands and set it aside, but she didn’t put up more than a token gurgle of complaint. It was easy enough, then, to lift her to his shoulder, his body rocking as he patted her back.

 

“Ain’t ever held a baby ‘fore today,” he admitted, voice low, turning his head to look at the back of Champ’s head as she clung to his shoulder, her little legs kicking against his ribs.

 

“Well, you look like you know what you’re doing,” Glenn said.

 

Daryl let out a small scoff. “‘S ‘cause I read the tin,” he said, the corner of his lips twitching again. 

 

“It’s not just the formula,” Glenn said, with a shake of his head. 

 

There was something about those words that made Daryl feel at once pleased and pained. The hurt won out, and he felt his body tense with it, his jaw ticcing. Seconds later Champagne let out a belch so loud it sounded disproportionate coming from her small body, and Daryl’s back was splashed with something warm and wet. A  sickly sour scent hit his nostrils, and Daryl’s nose wrinkled. He lifted Champagne from his shoulder and held her up in front of him, eyes narrowed. 

 

“You upchuck all over me, kid?” he asked, and Champ burpled cheerfully, reaching out to squeeze his cheeks and his nose. She let out a peal of delighted laughter, her entire body shaking with it, and Daryl didn’t even try to conceal the smile that fought its way onto his lips. He leaned in and bumped his nose against her cheek before setting her on the floor again. She crawled her way over to her toy, plonking herself on her backside to sit and gnaw at it, content for the time being. 

 

“I’ll get you a clean shirt,” Glenn said, already on his feet and heading for the closet. 

 

“Don’t need shit,” Daryl said, his head turning to watch Glenn lean inside, rummaging through a plastic basket on the floor.

 

Glenn sat back on his haunches and turned his head to look at Daryl, exasperated for a moment, raising his arms at his sides before letting them drop again. “Maybe you’re cool with smelling like old milk rotting in the sun, but I’ve gotta smell you too, man, and I’m not a huge fan.”

 

Daryl grunted, and waved a hand for Glenn to continue. Glenn turned back to digging through his laundry while Daryl got to his feet. He gave a full body stretch before ripping his soiled shirt over his head and tossing towards the doorway. It landed in a rumpled ball in the hallway and, when Daryl turned back to face Glenn he found him standing in the open doorway to the closet. There was a faded black shirt in his hands and he was staring, lips parted, right at Daryl.

 

Daryl bristled, rolling his shoulders and taking an awkward step to the side, before moving back again, fingers fidgeting at his sides. “The hell you lookin’ at?” he snapped.

 

Glenn’s eyes widened and his mouth clicked shut. His entire head jerked as his gaze snapped sharply upwards to meet Daryl’s eyes. 

 

“Nothing!” he said, with more urgency than the situation really warranted, and that alone set Daryl even more on edge. 

 

Daryl grit his teeth, eyes narrowing. His teeth dug into the soft flesh inside his cheek, biting down hard enough to make his eyes sting. 

 

“I was just gonna give you your shirt,” Glenn said, taking a half step forward, his arm outstretched like he was afraid Daryl might bite it clean off, like one of the geeks outside. Daryl felt a pang of remorse, and ducked his head, looking away as he reached out, feeling subdued as he took the proffered shirt from Glenn’s hands. The kid pulled back so quickly, it made Daryl feel like a jackass.

 

He didn’t know what to do about though, so all he did was a mumble a, “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Glenn said, wiping his palms on his thighs. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Daryl felt, and Daryl turned his attention to the shirt just to have something else to focus on. 

 

There was a logo on the front that could have been a band or a store. Daryl squinted at it, as though that action might bring some clarity, but Daryl didn’t have a clue to work with. He pulled it over his head instead, fighting against the tight confines and yanking it down hard. He shifted. The material was soft. Softer than anything Daryl owned that wasn’t so worn down it was near falling apart at the seams. But it was noticeably at least one size too small for him. Probably more. The shirt had some elasticity, but not enough to make him feel comfortable with the way it clung to his body, the way any small movement had the hem riding up higher than the waistband of his pants, baring a strip of his skin. And the sleeves…

 

Daryl flexed, rolling his shoulders against the discomfort, hoping to loosen it a bit. The motion was met with the sound of tearing fabric. Daryl paused, feeling the sleeves droop where they were still half-attached to the seams underneath his arms. It felt better, though, and with a grunt he crossed his arms over his chest, gripping the flagging material in each fist and pulled until they tore clean off, leaving nothing but frayed edges behind.

 

“Sorry,” he said, awkwardly, holding the sleeves out towards Glenn. “‘Bout the…” he trailed off, gesturing with the material in his hands.

 

“Yeah, uh, no, it’s fine,” Glenn said, staring at Daryl’s arms for a long moment before finally seeming to notice the proffered material. His hand darted out to accept the tattered strips of fabric from Daryl. “I wasn’t expecting to get this shirt back anyway. Besides, most of my clothes are from Goodwill. It's not like it’s a big deal.”

 

Daryl grunted, shifting his weight between his feet. He shot a quick look at Champ who was still happily playing with the damned stuffed giraffe. When he turned his attention back to Glenn he found him staring at the torn sleeves where they revealed Daryl’s bare arms, an odd look on his face.

 

“What?” he snapped, shifting again, taking a step back before swaying forward. “You said it don’t matter.”

 

Glenn’s eyes snapped up to meet his, wide and startled, before his gaze darted away just as quickly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. I wasn’t - “

 

Daryl scoffed. He turned away, ducking his head and looking for Champ instead. She didn’t have a care in the world, still sat there gumming at her toy giraffe, the tabs hanging from it clicking as circles of plastic knocked together. Behind him, Glenn let out an exasperated sigh. 

 

“Daryl, I’m really not upset about the shirt,” he said, and Daryl turned again, facing him side-on, watching him carefully from half-lidded eyes. 

 

“What’s your deal then?” he asked. The words were harsh, but his tone was soft enough he hoped it took some of the bite from them. “Why’re you bein’ all…” He made a vague gesture, at a loss for words, but Glenn seemed to understand the gist.

 

“I’m not upset about the sleeves. It’s - I,” Glenn ran a hand through his hair again, looking frantic and miserable. “I was just - you know, your arms are really big.”

 

Daryl snorted, rearing back a little, frowning. “Yeah, ‘s why I ripped your shirt.”

 

“Yeah, no, I mean, they’re… Your arms are really… defined. And I was just. You know, appreciating that.”

 

Daryl’s brow somehow furrowed even further. “You were appreciatin’ my arms ruinin’ your shirt,” he said, slowly, not quite certain he was hearing things right.

 

“I - no. I mean, kind of? It’s, you know, kinda sexy the way you just - “ Glenn took a breath and he paused, his brain finally seeming to catch up with his mouth because his jaw snapped shut and he took a sharp inhale before shaking his head vigorously. 

 

“You’re… sayin’ I’m… sexy?” Daryl made a face, nose wrinkling at the word.

 

“No! Well, kinda. I mean, in a very objective kind of way. It’s just very impressive, the kinda thing that’s hot, you know? Not like - not like I want to have sex with you. Right now. Or - or ever. Unless you -” Glenn cut himself off with a choking sound. He had already been looking everywhere but Daryl’s, and then he paused.

 

Daryl blinked. “What?”

 

Glenn let out a sharp exhale. “Right,” he said, as if confirming something. Like maybe he was involved in an entirely different exchange to the one Daryl was presently in. Daryl wouldn’t know. Daryl couldn’t even keep up. “Of course you don’t. Me either. Totally. That would be… weird.”

 

Daryl’s frown deepened. “This whole damn day is weird,” he said, and Glenn laughed, breathy and exhausted. But he was smiling again and some of the strange tension in the air seemed to ebb away. Daryl looked down at his boots for a moment, but he couldn't’ resist the urge to flick his gaze back up to Glenn, seeing him start to relax again.

 

–

 

They set up a production line. They laid out all the supplies they might conceivably need along the edge of the mattress, ready to go at the next baby-related emergency. Daryl talked him through the process of a diaper change and the ratios for the formula. And Glenn listened keenly, as if it were something actually important to him, and not the basic care needs of a stranger’s child. 

 

It was nice, in a way. Daryl didn’t talk to a whole lot of people who didn’t already know him as Merle’s little brother or Will Dixon’s youngest. And the few encounters he had with true strangers, well, they didn’t need to know his kin to know he wasn’t worth spitting on. Daryl wasn’t blind, but he wouldn’t need to see them to know how they looked at him. He could hear their opinions in their tone of voice alone if they had cause to speak to him. 

 

And then, here was Glenn. Inviting him and a baby into his home, sharing all his shit, looking at Daryl like he had something useful to say. Trying - and failing - to dissuade the baby from stealing the playing cards right from his hand.

 

“No, no no,” Glenn said, gentle but urgent, bending the cards as he tried to prevent them from being shoved directly into Champ’s mouth. But Champ wasn’t having any of it, pushing against him, all the more eager to clamp her sharp little gums down on something she wasn’t supposed to have.

 

“She’s handin’ your ass to you,” Daryl said, amused and hiding his smile behind the cards fanned out in his hand.

 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Glenn replied, sounding strained as wiggled his fingers, bending the cards away from Champ’s mouth and trying to worm them from her iron grip. “Is there a trick to this? How is she so strong.”

 

“She ain’t. You’re just too scared of hurtin’ her to try hard,” Daryl replied. He lowered his cards, setting them face-down on the mattress beside him, before reaching across the space between them. His hands found Champs side and he wiggled his fingers until he found where she was ticklish. With a shriek that had both Daryl and Glenn panicking for a brief second, she let the cards go, falling to the mattress on her side, giggling. 

 

“Huh,” Glenn mused, looking down at Champ as he squirmed, Daryl still tickling for another few moments before picking her up. He blew a raspberry on her cheek and set her off laughing again. 

 

“Say sorry to Glenn,” Daryl said, turning her around.

 

Champ had absolutely no idea what was going on, Daryl knew that much, but she reached her arms out anyway and, after a moment, Glenn extended his own arms to take her. He held her cautiously, like she was a bomb that might go off at the slightest wrong move. Champ’s hands smacked against each side of his face and Glenn’s eyes opened wide as she lunged, face-first at him.

 

“Ppbbffft.”

 

The sound was loud and distinctly wet and Glenn let out a startled laugh as Champ let out a laugh of her own before smacking her lips against Glenn’s cheek again and blowing another raspberry there. 

 

“Gross,” Glenn said, still smiling. 

 

Champ was already distracted, smacking at Glenn’s arms until he let her down to investigate the edge of the mattress. Daryl’s eyes followed her for a moment to make sure she was alright, before looking at Glenn again, catching him scrubbing at the wet patch of spit Champ had left on his face.

 

“You taught her that,” Glenn said. It wasn’t a question, and it might have even been accusatory, if not for the humour in his tone.

 

Daryl shrugged. “Might’ve done.”

 

“Gross,” Glenn repeated, though there was no heat in it, no trace of irritation, only some small sliver of something that might even be happiness. 

 

They resumed their game, but Daryl’s head wasn’t entirely screwed on. He’d lost what concentration he’d had, finding himself unfocused and distracted for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Glenn won. Throwing his hands in the air and crowing about it. Daryl found himself huffing out a small sound of amusement, unable and unwilling to begrudge him his victory. Daryl only picked up the cards and shuffled them again, watching the joy settle over Glenn’s features.

Notes:

Thank you so much for your kudos and comments. I hope this chapter was alright? If you've ver read one of my fics before you know I usually update like mad, but things aren't going so well rn. A lot of things are happening all at once, and the biggest of them is a spinal injury that's impacting my dominant hand. It's making everything in life harder, and a multitude of problem related to that are making it more difficult to write. But I intend to finish everything I've started, even if the updates are a little slower <3

Chapter 5

It wasn’t strange, sleeping next to someone he didn’t know. Daryl had crashed out at far too many places to count, dragged along by Merle more often than not, and waking up on mattresses or the floor, whatever was available, beside far too many faces to accurately recall. Half of them he’d never seen before, and even more of them he’d never learnt their names. Merle knew most of them, or at least, he had the connections that found them in the first place. It never mattered: getting high was getting high, and crashing out was crashing out, no matter where it was or who it was with.

 

But somehow this felt different.

 

The baby, for one, was a new and unprecedented development. 

 

Glenn was a whole other ball game. 

 

Daryl could say why that was the case. It’s not like there was anything special or different about him. Except maybe his willingness to let a complete stranger walk right on into his home. To feed him and clothe him and put up with him and this random kid, both of whom could be a threat to his survival, albeit in different ways. Daryl might have said that kind of naive earnesty was a sign of some kind of mental deficiency, if not for the fact that Glenn had clearly had some capacity for rudimentary strategy, what with having worked out how to draw the dead away on his own, without even needing to get his hands dirty. He was physically capable, as well, Daryl knew. He also knew now how soft his face looked in sleep…

 

Sitting up, Daryl ran a hand through his hair, swiping down over his face and finally stopping to scratch at his jaw. He stretched his arms. He’d had to rip into the seams to stop the fabric from bunching uncomfortably under his arms. It wasn’t like Glenn was much smaller than him, but Daryl’s shoulders were just that small amount broader. He didn’t know how Glenn put up with a shirt so damn snug. Daryl still felt minutely guilty about ripping it half to shreds. But Glenn had said he didn’t want the shirt back, and he definitely wouldn't be getting it back. Not now. It was a little tight over his chest, but that didn’t bother him the way it did having his arms trapped. 

 

Daryl got to his feet and peered out the bedroom window. There wasn’t much to see, except the handful of swaying shapes visible in the gaps between houses. He looked back at the mattress to see Glenn curled up on one edge, with Champ starfished out in the middle, her legs pressed against Glenn’s back just as surely as her arms had been pressed against Daryl before he’d woken. She was so small and yet she managed to take up more than half the mattress herself.

 

The carpet was rough and frayed under his bare feet as Daryl padded silently out of the room and downstairs to check the situation out the front of the house. It wasn’t crowded outside. The hordes that had clustered around the door and windows the previous day hadn’t returned, but the street was still dotted with too many of the dead, shambling aimlessly around, waiting for the next sound or sign of movement to draw them, ravenous and putrid, to whoever was left alive.

 

Daryl closed the curtain. He made his way to the kitchen, putting a pot of water on one of the burners to boil. The bottles were clean and sitting at the side of the sink. It was better to be prepared. Daryl checked the fridge while he was waiting. The seals stuck for a moment before finally peeling open with a sound that Daryl could feel in his molars. There wasn’t much inside except for a few cans of soda. But, more notably, the light was out an the temperature inside the refrigerator was decidedly warmer than it was outside. 

 

Daryl closed the door and went to the light switch. Flicking it on did nothing. It still did nothing the next three times he flipped the switch. Walking into the living room, he tried the lights there, finding them just as useless. Walking back into the kitchen, Daryl downed a glass of water as he waited for the water to boil, poking through Glenn’s sparse cupboards in the hope of finding some kind of breakfast. All he found were pot ramen and an unopened box of store brand granola bars that had been shoved to the back of an otherwise empty shelf. Daryl pulled them out,wiping the layer of dust off the packet with the side of his hand. They looked decidedly sad, but Daryl hadn’t ever had the luxury of being a fussy eater.

 

He tore open the box and ripped the plastic packaging off one of the bars with his teeth before taking a bite so large he wound up with half the bar in his mouth. There was fruit in it, sparse pieces that gave it a small pop of sweetness, and nuts that added a little crunch. But the rest had the taste and consistency of cardboard flakes. Daryl scarfed it down in record time before taking a second. He chewed while he took the pot of water off the burner, carefully filling the clean bottles of water, ready to go at the drop of a hat.

 

His mouth felt dry as he made his way up the stairs, the bottles burning against his arms, leaving his skin an angry red. Stepping inside the bedroom he found Glenn still curled into a ball, and Champ blinking up at him. He set the bottles down on the floor and sat down on the mattress, reaching out to tickle her side with his index finger, listening to her delighted laughter. When he withdrew his hand, Champagne gurgled, raising a foot to her mouth and biting down on it before her entire body was rocked with a sneeze. She blinked, startled, and then let out a small, pitiful wail. The cry was short-lived and she looked at Daryl with wide, questioning eyes, as if uncertain as to whether or not it deserved her getting upset about it. 

 

“You better not be gettin’ sick,” Daryl murmured, scooping her up into his arms. He pressed his palm to her forehead, then tried again with the back of his hand. It didn’t tell him anything. Chubby hands reached up to grab his hand where it rested against her forehead and Champ brought it down to bite, gnawing at his fingers with her gums. Beside them on the mattress, Glenn yawned. He stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up. 

 

“It’s probably all the dust,” Glenn said, groaning as he sat up, pulling his legs to his chest and leaning his chin on his knees. “I kinda haven’t been doing any of the domestic stuff. There never seemed like much point, before. Definitely hasn’t felt important since the lockdown.”

 

“I ain’t been sneezin’. Neither ‘ve you,” Daryl pointed out, looking Glenn over before turning his concern back to Champ. “If it was dust we’d all be blowin’ snot bubbles.”

 

“She’s closer to the ground. I don’t know if these carpets have been cleaned since before I even moved in,” Glenn said, his voice soft and a little groggy. “It’s just a sneeze.”

 

“Yeah, and what if it ain’t?” Daryl pushed back. His chest felt painful for a moment, like it hurt to breathe.  “What if it’s somethin’ worse. You got baby Tylenol in your cupboards with whatever’s left of the ramen?”

 

“Can babies even have Tylenol?” Glenn asked, running a hand through his hair. Daryl tracked the movement, oddly mesmerised by the way it sat, ruffled and mussed, when Glenn dropped his hand again.

 

Daryl frowned. “Pretty sure I’ve seen commercials for that shit.”

 

“It’s not like the pharmacy’s open to go ask,” Glenn said. His teeth sunk into his lower lip and he looked up at Daryl, eyes wide and his face far too earnest. “You really wanna go out into that mess out there?”

 

Glenn made a sweeping gesture to encompass the broad scale shitshow that was going on outside the precarious safety of the apartment.

 

“Gonna run outta baby supplies soon anyway,” Daryl said, his frown deepening.

 

“I mean, you’ve got formula, a whole bag of diapers. What else does a baby need?” Glenn blinked at him, wide eyed and looking just as clueless as Daryl felt inside. “Except the Tylenol, I guess.”

 

“More formula, more diapers,” Daryl answered. “The way this kid eats n’ shits, what I’ve got’ll be lucky to last another day.”

 

“It’s a lockdown. Everyone living is supposed to stay inside until the streets are cleared.”

 

“So, what,” Daryl asked, voice low and gravelly. “Your plan is just to sit tight n’ wait on the military?”

 

Glenn shrugged. “I couldn’t get into the refugee camp, and it’s what they keep saying on the TV bulletin.” 

 

“There ain’t no TV bulletin anymore,” Daryl said. “Power’s out.”

 

He could hear it when Glenn swallowed. 

 

“It could be the breaker,” Glenn said, though sounded as doubtful of that as Daryl felt.

 

“There ain’t no power,” Daryl said, voice quiet, almost contemplative, “no sign of the cavalry showin’ up any time soon. If they’re gonna show at all.  You really sure it’ll even be safer in there at that refugee camp? Shit’s a mess out here, ‘s gotta be worse further in the city limits.”

 

Glenn sighed, raking a hand through his already dishevelled hair. 

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, looking lost. “It’s what they said to do.”

 

“You always do what you’re told?” Daryl asked and Glenn looked at him, unimpressed.

 

“If it seems like the best option, yeah,” Glenn said. 

 

“Sittin’ tight might’ve been the best option for a while. But shit ain’t gettin’ better. ‘S gettin’ worse. Gonna keep gettin’ worse while we wait here for a rescue that’s probably been eaten already.”

 

“You’ve seen what it’s like out there, Daryl,” he said, quiet but firm. “You’ve been out in it. So have I. You have to be quick and silent, and even then you’re not guaranteed to make it out in one piece. They’re not fast, but they swarm. One bite. One tooth breaks the skin, man, and you’re done. You really wanna do that, you wanna take a baby out into that?”

 

“It’s gonna have to happen sometime,” Daryl said. “You’re almost out of food. The power’s gone and it won’t be long before the water and gas are cut too.”

 

Glenn’s gaze trailed from Daryl to the window, where the clear blue sky was visible.

 

“Alright.”

 

–

 

Champ was a heavy weight against his chest and with every step Daryl was terrified that the makeshift sling would give way and she’d fall ass-first to the ground between his feet. It’s not like the repurposed bed linen was made for this task. And even if it had been, its best days were long since gone.  They kept low, climbing over the low fences that marked the property borders: all of them chain link or broken wood palings, and none of them taller than five feet. It was a small blessing and they made their way through the small backyards of three other properties before Glenn stopped, motioning towards the fence at the back of the yard with a tilt of his head.

 

“That one,” he said, voice quiet. “There’s - a family lived there. I’m pretty sure they have a new baby.”

 

Daryl looked at Glenn’s face, seeing him wince minutely at his own words. He knew what that meant. There was a decent chance they’d have diapers and formula. There was also a not-small chance that there’d be kids in that house. Living or dead, neither of them knew just yet.

 

Champ gurgled, her face turned to one side and mashed against Daryl’s chest as she gnawed on the toy giraffe he’d tied to the sling. It had kept her quiet for the most part. Daryl pressed a hand to her back and jiggled on the spot, bouncing her while he shushed. Glenn’s head was already whipping around to make sure nothing had heard them, that none of the dead so close on the nearby street would be drawn to them while they were out in the open.

 

“I told you we shouldn’t have brought her,” Glenn said, voice quiet but tense. 

 

“She’s fine,” Daryl almost snapped back, trying to rein himself in to keep his own voice close to a whisper despite his agitation. “Would you rather have left her back at your place? Screamin' when she had no one to answer cries. Those things out there beatin' down the door.

 

“You didn't have to come with me. I would’ve been faster on my own, quieter too.”

 

But Glenn was already clambering over the fence and holding his hand out to help Daryl over. His body was far more cumbersome now, with the baby strapped to his chest and the crossbow in his hand. 

 

“Ain't no way I was gonna sit on my ass n’ let you risk your life for us. ‘Sides, we're here now. Let's get this done and get gone.”

 

Glenn nodded, clapping a hand on Daryl’s arm, lingering for a moment before sliding down his bicep and away. Daryl’s skin felt strange in its wake: too warm and too sensitive in strangest way. He shrugged, rolling his shoulder like it would shake off the lingering effects of that touch. 

 

“In and out,” Glenn said, and it took Daryl a moment for his own brain to catch up. “We’ll be home before her dinner time.”

 

A bright green bucket swing was hanging from a similarly garish green metal frame. The chains clanked and the fasteners groaned as the swing rocked in the breeze, the sound somehow amplifying how quiet it was otherwise. Leaves rustled gently and, somewhere in the near distance, the familiar low groans of the dead carried on the wind. Other than his own heartbeat and the sound of Champ chewing on the plastic rings hanging from the giraffe, there were no other sounds of life. Not even birdsong or the buzzing of insects.

 

Dead grass softened their footsteps as they made their way to the cracked cement stairs at the back of the small, squat house. Glenn moved up first and Daryl paused to cock and load the crossbow, a trickier process with Champ obstructing his arms. Daryl nodded when he was ready and Glenn raised a hand to knock at the door. They waited in the silence, sharing a look before Glenn knocked again.

 

Daryl didn’t know whether he wanted the family to be alive and well, possibly unwilling to share whatever resources they had, or if he was hoping for their deaths if it made it easier for Champ to survive. The life of the baby he’d known so short a time was more important to him than an entire family he didn’t know. He wondered what Glenn hoped for. What Glenn might think of Daryl if he knew that he was hoping.

 

“Any luck they might’ve left before the quarantine,” Glenn said quietly. And, as if it had been waiting for the perfect cue, something slammed against the otherside of the wooden door, hitting it with a loud,jarring thud. Glenn jumped back, startled, his reflexes kicking in before conscious thought. Smaller, more rhythmic thumps sounded and Glenn shared a look with Daryl. Readjusting his crossbow, Daryl slipped easily into stance, aiming towards the door. He gave Glenn a short nod, and Glenn reached out, not hesitating for even a second, to wrap his hand around the doorknob and turn it.

 

The handle rattled, but it didn’t open. Glenn tried it again, with more force, but it made no difference. Carefully, Daryl lowered into a squat, setting his crossbow aside as he reached for the potted plant beside the stairs. He rummaged through the handful of decorative stones looking for a plastic one with a hidden compartment.

 

He could sense Glenn moving and spared a quick glance up to see him running his fingers over the top of the door frame. With a breathless, jubilant sound, Glenn held the key up in the air in triumph. Daryl rolled his eyes but got steadily back to his feet, his knees starting to protest. Wordlessly, they took up position again and, when Glenn unlocked the door and yanked it open, the mangled corpse of someone barely recognisable as human tumbled out, barely making it one step before a bolt rocked their body, piercing through the forehead and sending them sprawling. 

 

But before the lifeless, rotting body had even hit the ground, another was staggering out in its wake. Daryl drew another bolt, but he hardly had time to set it in the arrow track when, from his position beside the door, Glenn swung his bat. It slammed into the geek’s face with a suckening, wet crunch of old cartilage and blood sprayed in a wide arch, most of it decorating the barrel. Glenn pulled the bat back and swung again. The hit landed hard enough to rock the geek back on its feet, and the third, final stroke saw the entire skull caving under the force of Glenn’s arm. 

 

Silence fell over them. 

 

Daryl could hear Glenn’s heavy breathing, could hear each drop of blood as it dripped from the tip of the bat to the cold concrete at his feet. They waited, but nothing else came. Readjusting his grip on the bat, Glenn stepped over the bodies in the doorway and led the way inside. Daryl followed, handing the bodies with less care, pushing them with his boot until they were fully outside so that he could close the door behind them. It wouldn’t do any good for the dead outside to corner them.

 

Ahead of him, Glenn coughed, raising his arm to bury his nose in his elbow. It only took Daryl a couple of paces into the house to understand why. The stench of putrefaction hit him hard as he made his way down the narrow hallway. Champ squirmed against Daryl’s chest, letting out a whine. Glenn shot them an anxious look over his shoulder at the noise, but there was little Daryl could do except move in a rocking motion and try to redirect Champ’s attention to the toy giraffe.

 

Glenn came to an abrupt stop in front of an open doorway. The tense grasp he’d had on the handle of the bat slackened as his arm lowered. Daryl approached, both wary of what had brought Glenn up short and relieved in the knowledge it must not be an immediate danger. He heard the flies before he saw anything else. Their buzzing filled the air, almost competing with the stench for prominence. Over Glenn’s shoulder he could see it.

 

“‘S just a dog,” Daryl said, placing a settling hand over Champ’s back. He’d seen death. Caused a hell of a lot of it himself. He’d seen animals freshly killed and completely decayed and a good portion of those had become his meals. But there was something about the golden tufts of fur peeking around the soft pink collar, all of it tinged with dark, ruddy brown blood, that left him uneasy and off-kilter.

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, quietly, seemingly unable to look away from the blood-soaked carpet of the small, otherwise orderly living room.

 

“C’mon,” Daryl said, placing a hand on Glenn’s back in a brief touch before pulling awkwardly away. “Let’s get what we came for.”

 

Glenn was quiet for a moment, unmoving.

 

“They have a baby.”

 

Daryl swallowed, rocking on the spot as Champ started fussing again.

 

“Can’t do a damn thing about it,” Daryl said, his voice coming out too ragged and far too soft. “But we’re still here.”

 

Glenn let out a long, low breath and turned, the two of them moving to check the other rooms. 

 

The rest of the house was relatively clean. Almost untouched. Until they reached the nursery. The smell met them before they even reached the open doorway and Daryl his stomach roiling as they crossed the threshold, knowing with every step exactly what awaited them inside. The very same thing that could have happened to Champ if her mother hadn’t had the foresight to lock her away. If Daryl hadn’t found her. Champ let out a pitiful cry, her face turning red with it, her fists grasping at the bedsheet that was wrapped around her, holding her in place.

 

“Shh,” Daryl hushed, but it didn’t seem to do much. Glenn was already dropping his backpack to the floor and fishing out the bottle they’d pre-made just for this occasion. It was some small relief to be distracted by an impromptu diaper change in the hallway. 

 

“You wanna do this and I’ll check the room?” Glenn offered.

 

Daryl’s gaze was fixed on Champ, trying to avoid her kicking legs as he clipped her diaper. He felt sick and oddly vulnerable in a way he didn’t even know how to begin to understand. 

 

“Nah,” Daryl said, dropping the wet diaper to the side. “I got it.”

 

“Are you sure?” Glenn asked, and Daryl could feel the concern rolling off of him in waves. It made Daryl’s hackles raise even further and set his teeth on edge. 

 

“Ain’t no goddamn pansy,” Daryl snapped, arm waving between them like he couldn’t control it. “Ain’t losin’ my shit. Not like you lookin’ at that damn mutt out there.”

 

A sharp, piercing cry split the air and Daryl’s attention was drawn back to Champ on the floor. She was red-faced and teary eyes and Daryl felt like an ass. 

 

“Alright,” Glenn conceded.

 

Daryl's breath was punched from his lungs. He couldn’t even find the words to speak. And Glenn was already scooping Champ awkwardly up into his arms, visibly unaccustomed to children, and pressing the bottle to her mouth.

 

Daryl got to his feet feeling clumsy. His skin was hot and his eyes felt itchy. He looked down at Champ and Glenn, but the pity he saw in Glenn’s expression had him turning away. He picked up his crossbow, as if he’d need it, and stepped into the nursery. It was bright, the windows catching the morning sunshine, and the room was decorated in white and pale blue. Stuffed toys adorned the shelves along with small, brightly coloured books made from thick cardboard and snapshot photos of a smiling, round-cheeked baby. Daryl checked everywhere, even the closet. But there were no geeks. Only signs that this family had been a loving one.

 

Daryl had tried to avoid looking at the blood-stained bassinet, the once pristine white ruffles and blue ribbons decorating the outside of it were now stained a dark shade of red. But now he stepped closer, peering over the edge. Some part of him had to know for sure. There was a fist, tiny and chubby, the skin puffy and discoloured in death. It was surrounded by red, the blood so thick that it was still glossy and vivid, not having fully dried.

 

The itch behind Daryl’s eyes grew more intense and he let out a pained cry, swinging out with his arm as he turned away, knocking over the changing table and sending it crashing to the floor, diapers and wipes and creams spilling everywhere. 

 

“Goddamn bullshit.”

 

Daryl kicked at the scattered debris, doing little other than working out some of his pent up frustration.

 

“Daryl?”

 

Glenn was standing in the doorway, Champ still chugging away at her bottle like Merle with a beer. It was only when Daryl looked at them that he realised his eyes were wet. He could barely see for the tears obscuring his vision. 

 

“The hell’re you lookin’ at, huh?” he asked, taking a step forward, arm rolling, before swaying half a step back again. He was leaning forward, looming, but if he thought Glenn was going to back down and back off and leave him alone, he was sorely mistaken.

 

“It’s okay,” Glenn said, calm, placating.

 

Daryl let out a frustrated sound, high and reedy. 

 

“You think anythin’s okay with this?” he cried, pacing, back and forth like a trapped animal testing the length of its cage. “Ain’t nothin’s ever gonna be okay again. Them soldiers ain’t comin’ and you ain’t never gonna see your sister, your parents again. I ain’t never gonna find my dumbass brother. Champ ain’t gonna see her momma, sure as shit ain’t never gonna find her daddy. Ain’t a one of us got a goddamn soul left in this world no more.”

 

“We’ve got each other,” Glenn said, sincere, like he actually meant it and Daryl drew up short, looking him over as if he’d find some answer in doing so, some explanation that would make sense to him. He couldn’t find it.

 

Daryl made a noncommittal noise, turning his head away to stare down at the mess he’d made. 

 

“You saved her,” Glenn said, pushing forward. “You got her all the way down into the city trying to help her.”

 

“Fat lotta good that did,” Daryl muttered. “Fryin’ pan to fire.”

 

“No,” Glenn said, shaking head. “Because we’re gonna figure it out together.”

 

Daryl couldn’t help but look at him again, then. Glenn’s face was firm and earnest and Daryl’s stomach flipped just at the sight of him. 

 

“You and me,” Glenn said, taking a small, measured step closer, carefully balancing Champ in his arms. “We’re gonna get her someplace safe.”

 

“Yeah well, thought that refugee camp’d be a safe place,” Daryl countered. “You got some place in mind?”

 

Glenn shrugged a shoulder. “Away from the city has to be better, right? Less people, less infected.”

 

Daryl grunted, but tilted his head to the side in concession of the point. 

 

“We’ll figure it out,” Glenn said, again. He looked down at Champ in his arms.  “I think she;s going to sleep.”

 

“Found diapers,” Daryl muttered, toeing at a small wicker basket on the ground and seeing tubes of cream and bottles of medicine underneath. “Might’ve got that Tylenol covered. Should check if they got any food left in this place.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, his voice going hushed, still looking down at the baby in his arms. He looked small, and lost, the way Daryl felt far too often now. 

 

“C’mon then,” Daryl said, clearing his throat. “Wastin’ daylight.”

 

He waited until Glenn’s back was turned to scrub the tear tracks from his cheeks.

Notes:

Thank you to everyone still reading this. I hope you're still enjoying it! Please know I am still working on my fics but there will be longer delays in writing as I'm just not able to churn them out so rapidly atm.

Chapter 6

The kitchen had food. More food than Daryl had ever had in his own home for a single day in his entire life. But the biggest relief was finding the formula. One fresh tin, still sealed, another tin half empty, and a bulk box of liquid formula in neat little ready-to-use travel packs. It wasn’t a lot, but it’d get Champ through another week, at the very least. Maybe two if she slowed down a little. 

 

“The power’s out here, too,” Glenn said, and Daryl turned to see him hastily closing the refrigerator door. It took a couple of seconds for the smell of decay to waft across the room in its wake. Daryl’s nose wrinkled in response.

 

“Shit ain’t gettin’ fixed,” he said, feeling suddenly antsy about it. “Can’t stay here.”

 

“I know,” Glenn said, leaning against the closed door of the refrigerator. “We need a plan.”

 

“We need wheels,” Daryl added. “Gettin’ to the truck’s gonna be a pain in the ass. Gettin’ it outta that street’s gonna be harder.”

 

Glenn sighed. “At least there’s food. The formula Champ needs.” 

 

Daryl grunted, rummaging through the next cupboard. He pulled everything useful out and added it to the haphazard pile of food on the countertop. He could hear the ticking of the clock, loud in the silence, drowning out even the distant buzzing of flies from the next room.

 

“You were an ass,” Glenn said, out of seemingly nowhere.

 

Daryl couldn’t restrain the way he visibly flinched at the words, fingers slipping on the box of cereal in his hands. He grimaced, setting the cereal aside and scratching at his neck. “Yeah.” 

 

“I get it,” Glenn said, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted down as though his sneakers were a source of infinite intrigue. “I do. But you were an ass. We’ve got a baby here and she… You’re loud, man, when you’re angry. That’s bad enough. But if she gets scared? If she cries too long or too loud? ”

 

Daryl had been feeling the prickle of his anger rising again like a heat under his skin, but those last words doused him like a bucket of ice water. He’d seen the anger of his own parents more times than he could count. And he’d never lay his hands on someone the way his own father did to him, to Merle, to their momma. Daryl wouldn’t ever hurt Champ, wouldn’t hurt Glenn, either. But the notion that Glenn or Champ might ever think Daryl could do that, that in his anger he might take a swing at one of them instead of a diaper stand… 

 

“Weren’t tryin’ to scare her,” he said, feeling should shoulders tighten. He rolled his arms to shake off the feeling. It didn’t help. 

 

“No, I - I didn’t think you were trying to scare anyone,” Glenn hastened to clarify. “I mean, you did, a little.”

 

Daryl grimaced, turning away. His fingers dug into the counter, his knuckles going white. 

 

“But I’m more worried,” Glenn continued. “We don’t know each other. But we need to work together. We need each other to survive now. We need to work together to keep that baby alive.”

 

Daryl swallowed. It felt, suddenly, like the air was too thin. His head spun, dizzy and disorientated.   

 

“Daryl?”

 

“I gotta get outta here,” he said, pushing away from the counter and turning. He crossed the kitchen in a few quick steps, brushing past Glenn who hastened to follow him towards the back door.

 

“You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice going high with panic.

 

But Daryl couldn’t answer. Heneeded to get out of there. The house felt too small, too enclosed. There wasn’t enough air to get a full breath and he was starting to struggle. His hand closed around the door handle and he wrenched it open, all but falling out into the backyard. The sun hit his skin, hot and so bright he had to close his eyes against the glare. He took several heaving, gulping breaths, hanging in the open doorway until slowly, slowly, the world came back into focus.

 

“Are you okay?” Glenn asked from behind him. A hand landed on Daryl’s shoulder and he flinched away, shaking him off and staggering out onto the grass as he turned to face Glenn. And he looked hurt, standing in the open doorway, framed by shadows.

 

“Daryl?” 

 

Daryl rolled his shoulders again, shaking his arms out. “I’m fine,” he bit out. “‘S just a - just a dog. Just a baby. Just some dumbass people who wouldn’t’ve given me the time of day if they met me when they were alive. The hell should they matter to me?”

 

Glenn shrugged. There was something in his eyes that Daryl could feel cutting right through him, slicing down to the bone. It was unsettling. 

 

“Because they could have been me. Or you. Or Champ.” Glenn took a small step closer, his white sneakers almost glowing in the direct sunlight. “And even if you didn’t know them… They’re still people. Maybe they were nice. Maybe they weren’t. But they were people. And they died. Their baby died.”

 

But their baby didn’t just die. They both knew that. They killed their baby. They ate their baby alive. 

 

Daryl breathed out heavily through his nose. 

 

“And the same could happen to us. To Champ.”

 

“Don’t,” Daryl warned. But his voice was closer to breaking than it was firm. 

 

“That’s not gonna be us, Daryl. We’re not letting that happen.” Glenn took another couple of slow, careful steps and Daryl could do nothing but stand, his own feet frozen in place, and watch as the distance between them slowly closed. “We’re getting out of here, the three of us. We can make it. But we can only make it together.

 

Daryl’s thumb found its way to his mouth and he bit down hard on the knuckle. It stung, but not half as much as he felt inside. When he finally let go, the pain turned to a dull throb that shot all the way to his wrist. 

 

“Should stay here the night,” Daryl said, though he didn’t want to linger in that house. “Easier to lug our shit here than get those supplies back to yours.”

 

“I’ll go,” Glenn said, so gently it hurt more than the bite Daryl had just given himself. “Pack our things, bring them back.”

 

Daryl shook his head. Champ was in there, sleeping on the floor and Daryl… Daryl couldn’t step inside again. Not yet. 

 

“I got it,” he said, swallowing around a lump in his throat. 

 

Glenn was quiet for so long that Daryl looked up at him again, finding too much concern on his face.

 

“No risks,” Glenn said, giving him a look that was somehow both firm and pleading all at once. “I can’t - I don’t know how to look after her on my own.”

 

Daryl looked at him for a long minute, unable to tear his eyes away. He swallowed, eventually, finally managing to duck his head, breaking contact.

 

“Champ’s had enough people die on her,” Daryl said, his voice coming out rougher than he meant it. “I ain’t gonna be the next one.”

 

Glenn nodded, stepping forward, his arm raising slightly as if seeking comfort, only to drop back listlessly to his side again.

 

Daryl nodded back and left, making a straight shot for the fence and hopping it. Somehow, confronting the possibility of the dead over there was less harrowing than looking into Glenn’s eyes. Less terrifying than what lay in the bassinet.

 

-

 

Daryl took too long. He knew he did. He’d lingered, poking around the cabinets and closets, dragging time out that he could have to himself. Then he packed what little food and clothing he could find. He even grabbed the photos from the living room. He ripped them out of the frames to save space, but he took them. Daryl didn’t have anything left from his family save the scars on his skin, but Glenn could have this, at least.

 

And then he made the slow journey back to that house. Back to Glenn and Champ. 

 

When he returned, Daryl went straight for the master bedroom, hearing noises the closer he got. Champ was whining and, when Daryl opened the door, he found Glenn making shushing sounds, a wet diaper beside him and Champ on his knees in an awkwardly clipped new diaper.

 

“What’re you wearin’?” Darly asked, and both heads turned to look at him. 

 

“You’re back,” Glenn said, looking relieved. Champ’s entire face lit up and she let out a high pitched squeal, almost throwing herself off of Glenn’s lap before he hastily caught her. She met the carpet with enthusiasm, squirming and crawling across the space between them until Daryl knelt down and scooped her up. 

 

“What, this little demon put you through the ringer while I was gone?” 

 

Champ cooed, smacking her face to Daryl’s cheek blowing a loud, wet raspberry there. 

 

“Hey, she’s your - “ Glenn started, then cut himself off with a shake of his head. “Sorry. I just meant: she likes you better.”

 

“She’s just known me longer,” Daryl said, his body rocking slowly side to side, bouncing a little as Champ clung to him. Looking at Glenn again, the pop of bright colour around his neck drew Daryl’s attention again. “What’re you wearin’?”

 

Glenn looked down at himself, his fingers moving to pick at the long plastic necklace. It was a chain, made from interlocking plastic ovals in every shade of bright Daryl could imagine. 

 

“I thought maybe it’d keep her entertained,” Glenn said, getting to his feet. He started to raise the necklace over his head. “It’d probably work better for you anyway.”

 

“Nah.” Daryl leaned in, reaching out to rest his hand against one of Glenn’s, making his pause. “Looks good on you.”

 

Glenn huffed out a breath. “You’re making fun of me.”

 

“Could be. A little,” Daryl conceded. “Might be it’ll work for you next time. ‘S like any other animal. Give her time to get used to you n’ she’ll warm up.”

 

“You think so?” Glenn asked, looking doubtful.

 

Daryl shrugged. “She got used to me, didn’t she? Didn’t know me from the dead when I found her. Now she knows where her food comes from.”

 

Glenn shook his head, looking at Daryl with something soft in his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s just ‘cause you feed her, man. You’re good with her. She likes you.”

 

Daryl frowned, looking down at the baby in his arms. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t know where it had even come from. He’d never given a second thought to kids in his entire life; never thought a kid would have any place in his life. Never even entertained the possibility. And now… Now he felt too attached. Champ was his responsibility by happenstance. But he cared. He cared far more than he should and he wanted to be the good kind of parent he never had, the kind he didn’t have any idea how to be. The best he could offer her was to try and keep her alive. And Glenn…

 

Tilting his head to the side, he gave Glenn a scrutinising look. “You’re worried the baby you just met don’t like you?”

 

“I…” Glenn bit at his lip. He dropped his head, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair for a moment before his arms dropped to his sides again. Glenn looked to the ceiling as if it could offer some divine wisdom in its streaky white paint job. “God, I’m trying to win a popularity contest with a baby I just met.”

 

“Does sound pathetic when you put it like that,” he said, knowing full well that if Glenn was pathetic for it then Daryl was even moreso.

 

“I can’t help it; I’m a people pleaser.” Glenn took a few steps backwards until his knees hit the mattress and he let himself tumble down, his body bouncing when it landed.

 

“Yeah, you please a lotta people, huh?” Daryl closed the distance between them, knocking at Glenn’s knees as he passed, before collapsing onto the bed beside him. Champ let out a shriek of delight as they dropped before clambering away, crawling across the mattress to smack at the pillows. 

 

“I’m gonna please you in a second, if you give me the chance,” Glenn said.

 

Daryl’s eyes slid half closed and he watched Glenn with a cautious curiosity.

 

“Yeah? What’ve you got, then?” he asked. “Lay it on me.”

 

“I’ve got us a car,” Glenn said. 

 

Daryl’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. “A car?”

 

“A car,” Glenn confirmed, rolling onto his side and adding with enthusiasm, “with a car seat.”

 

As much as Daryl hated to leave his truck behind, he knew the rig he’d set up with the plastic crate and the bungee cords wasn’t safe enough for Champ. And, ignoring that, there wouldn’t be room for Glenn in the cab with them. 

 

“You been scopin’ out the garage,” Daryl surmised. “The car any decent?”

 

Glenn shrugged. “Kind of a soccer mom deal, but it’s got a carseat, the tank’s more than half full and we’ve got the keys.”

 

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement. “It’ll get us out of the city.”

 

“And then some,” Glenn agreed. “We just need to pick a direction.”

 

“My brother’s still out here somewhere,” Daryl said.

 

“You want to look for him?” Glenn asked. “Where would he go?”

 

“He’s a dumb son of a bitch, but he’s smart,” Daryl said, tucking his hands under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “Might’ve gone lookin’ for a score, but he’d hit the wind once he saw what shit’s gone down out here.”

 

But even Daryl wasn’t confident of his assessment. If Merle had found his way to a liquor store or a dealer, then there was no knowing what he might have done. The drugs made him wildly unpredictable at the best of times, and these times were far from the best. But he had to believe his brother was out there somewhere. Maybe looking for him. 

 

“So where do you want to go?” Glenn asked.

 

Daryl gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Beside him, Champ was babbling away. Nonsense sounds that meant nothing more than that she was alive. But it hit Daryl that he was burdened with the weight of new responsibility. He couldn’t drag Glenn and Champ around the city in the hopes of running into his brother. Not when he didn’t have any clue where to start.

 

“North,” Daryl said, after a minute of indecision. “North-west.”

 

“Towards Cartersville?” Glenn asked. “Where you’re from?”

 

“Not goin’ back,” Daryl said. “Shit’s shit out there. Always was. ‘S just worse now that this… virus or whatever’s spread up that way. But I know a few places. Out in the woods. Cabins n’ campin’ grounds. Remote enough these assholes shouldn’t be swarmin’ around like flies to crap. Huntin’ out that way too. Fresh water.”

 

“Places you know,” Glenn said, slowly. “Maybe your brother headed out that way too.”

 

Daryl didn’t want to hope, but he couldn’t lie: if Merle was still alive and ambulatory, he’d head somewhere familiar. It was Daryl’s best bet of finding him by chance. 

 

“Might’ve done,” Daryl hedged. And, after a moment of thought, added, “Might make a stop some place on the way. Check he didn’t go visit an old friend.”

 

The old friend in question may have been a meth cooker, though Daryl was reluctant to voice it. To Glenn at least. 

 

“Alright,” Glenn agreed easily.

 

Daryl grunted, turning his head to look at him. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn agreed.

 

Daryl felt himself settle, his entire body going still as their eyes stayed locked. It was somehow both calming and exhilarating at once and Daryl didn’t know how to begin processing that. He got to his feet instead, groaning at the stretch of his muscles. 

 

“Gonna take the bodies outside,” Daryl said, already walking towards the bedroom door, 

 

“Oh,” Glenn said. Even Champ turned her head, looking at him with wide eyes and letting out another string of nonsense sounds.

 

“If we’re gonna stay the night don’t want Champ crawlin’ over no bodies.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Glenn said, already shuffling over on the mattress to stop Champ from throwing herself off the side of the bed. “Do you want any help?”

 

Daryl looked away. “Can move a body on my own.”

 

–

 

“I got some baby things from the room while you were gone,” Glenn explained when Daryl was surveying the trunk space in the minivan. Or, what was left of the trunk space in the minivan. 

 

“You leave anythin’ behind?” Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow in Glenn’s direction.

 

Glenn shrugged, looking sheepish as Champ bit down on the plastic chain necklace he was still sporting. “I don’t know what babies need. It’s better to have too much than not enough right?”

 

“You got a whole box of books in here,” Daryl pointed out.

 

“Well, yeah, I mean. She needs to be read to, right? For… language development or something?”

 

“People’re eatin’ one another out there,” Daryl reminded him.

 

“I mean, yeah, but that doesn’t mean she should go without when we’ve got the option available, right?” Glenn shrugged. “And it might keep her quiet out there. Like… bedtime stories. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

 

Daryl shrugged, looking down at the brightly coloured cardboard spines. “I dunno. Ain’t nobody ever read a damn book to me.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t really remember when I was that little. But my sisters used to read to me, when I was a kid. You know, before I got too old for it,” Glenn said. “It’s… I mean. I never really thought about having a kid, and I probably won’t get the chance to have my own now, the way things are… But I think I’d want them to have those memories, you know? And she should have that, too.”

 

Glenn rubbed at Champagne’s back, rocking her in a mirror of the way Daryl often did, though a little more stiltedly. 

 

Daryl grunted out a non-committal response. “And the… baby cardigans?” he asked, picking one up between his thumb and forefinger. It looked like the miniature version of something an uppity old grandpa might wear.

 

“I grabbed some winter clothes, too. I mean, it’s warm now, but it won’t be long before winter comes…”

 

Glenn trailed off but Daryl could hear the unspoken ends to his sentence. And what if we still have her? What if this shit’s just the way the world is now? What if there’s no going back?

 

“C’mon,” Daryl said, closing the trunk. “We got all the shit we can fit in there.”

 

“Dinner and an early night?” Glenn asked, leading the way out of the garage and into the living room. There was still a dark patch of brownish red where the dog had been, but most of the smell had been aired out. 

 

“Might as well get an early mornin’,” Daryl said. “Get as far as we can while we got the daylight.”

 

Dinner was quiet and far more filling than either Daryl or Glenn had had in days, if not years. And then Champ was asleep, starfished out in the Pack and Play that Glenn had dragged into the master bedroom for her. It was just him and Glenn, going over the supplies they’d packed into the back of the minivan. 

 

“At least we got the baby Tylenol you wanted,” Glenn said. “And some medicine and first aid supplies.”

 

Daryl grunted. The first aid supplies consisted of a half-empty packet of band-aids, a handful of aspirin, and a tube of antiseptic cream. But it was more than the nothing they’d had before.

 

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can use,” Glenn said, biting at his lip as they walked through the main rooms of the house, assessing. 

 

Daryl moved to the small bar in the living room. He trailed his fingers over the bottles on the cart, listening to the light clinking as it wobbled in its wheels. He’d never wanted a drink more in his life. But although no one had ever accused him of smarts, Daryl knew there was no worse time to get hammered than right then. He had to stay alive and he had to stay sober enough to keep that baby alive. Maybe Glenn too. The kid seemed capable enough, but Daryl could see he was out of his depth even more than Daryl felt, no matter how well he seemed to work under pressure.

 

“It feels too big, doesn’t it?” Glenn asked, seemingly out of nowhere. When Daryl turned around, he found Glenn hunched over on the couch, looking far more exhausted than he ought to. 

 

Daryl made a small, questioning noise. 

 

“This whole thing. The… you know. The whole venture we’re going on tomorrow. We’re strangers with a baby trying to outrun a virus.” Glenn sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It’s too big, you know?”

 

Daryl frowned, turning back to look at the colourful assortment of glass bottles. “Can’t change any of that. Can only do what we can.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, his voice quiet. “That’s kind of the worst part, isn’t it?”

 

Daryl shrugged. He shifted his weight between his feet, reaching for the bottles again, just to feel the smooth, cool glass under his fingers. A moment of temptation before he stepped away. He found himself falling down onto the couch beside Glenn, their arms and thighs pressed together. Their faces turned towards one another, so close that Daryl could feel Glenn’s breath on his skin.

 

“You want somethin’ to take the edge off?” Daryl asked, turning just a little into Glenn’s space.

 

Glenn’s breath hitched, his eyes dropping to Daryl’s lips as he spoke. “What. Uh… What did you have in mind?”

 

Daryl made a small sound from the back of his throat, rumbling and soft. “Found some playin’ cards in one of the drawers.”

 

“Oh.” Glenn’s head fell back against the backrest, seemingly disappointed. 

 

Daryl frowned. “Found some benzos in the medicine cabinet, if that’s more your speed.”

 

Glenn laughed, a quiet, breathy sound that didn’t seem happy at all. He ran a hand over this face and shook his head. “No. Thanks, but I guess I should probably sleep.”

 

Daryl shrugged, feeling thrown off balance but trying desperately to regain his footing. “Alright.”

 

Glenn hesitated, before dripping a hand to Daryl’s thigh. He gave it a squeeze and then a pat before pushing up to his feet. Daryl was left sitting there, staring at the place Glenn’s hand had been, feeling like the earth had shifted off its axis for far too long before getting to his own feet. 

 

He killed time checking the doors and looking out the windows, before he made his way towards the master bedroom. When he peered down into the Pack and Play, Champ was still breathing evenly, her ting chest rising and falling in the rapid pattern of her resting state. He turned towards the bed, kicking off his boots before settling onto the mattress beside Glenn. The sheets were cold and there was space between them, but Daryl was convinced he could feel Glenn’s body heat all the same.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for bearing with me over this busy time! <3

Chapter 7

The sounds of Champ whining, nasally and rapidly rising in volume, slammed Daryl into wakefulness. The sun wasn’t even up yet; he didn’t need to see the sky outside to know, he could feel it in his bones, his internal clock knowing instinctively that they were still solidly in the pre-dawn hours. Glenn was curled up beside him, the two feet of space between them on the mattress looking as large and glaringly obvious as a gaping chasm would have been. So close, but the distance between them was so treacherously steep.

 

“It’s my turn,” Glenn mumbled, his voice rough and husky from sleep. Daryl could feel it vibrating through him like a strange thrill.

 

“Nah.” Daryl was already up and climbing across Glenn’s body to reach the Pack and Play. Glenn grunted, his body rocking Daryl’s legs knocked him, but he only let his face press into the pillow one last time before pushing himself up to sit. Sheets pooled across his lap and he ran a head through his sleep rumpled hair as Daryl reached down to raise Champ from the confines of the Pack and Play.

 

“Hey there baby girl,” he murmured, and Champ’s cries seemed to soften the instant she was in his arms. He breathed in and his nose wrinkled. “Don’t gotta ask what woke you up.”

 

Glenn groaned again, making a gagging sound. “Oh God, I can smell it from here.”

 

“Said I’d take care of it,” Daryl said. It came out defensive. It wasn’t even his turn and Champ wasn’t any more his responsibility than she was Glenn’s. But for some reason he felt like she was. She wasn’t Daryl’s baby, but he was committed to her nonetheless. She was his responsibility and Glenn was… Well, he wasn’t quite sure what exactly Glenn was.

 

“I know,” Glenn said. “And I’m not gonna fight you for that honour. But I’ll mix the bottle while you take care of… that whole situation.”

 

Daryl grunted, the closest thing he’d give to an acknowledgement, and laid Champ down on the carpet, already reaching for a clean diaper sitting in a stack against the wall. He unclasped the dirty diaper and recoiled, turning his head, nose tucking towards his shoulder to bury the stench. A few feet away, Glenn made a hacking sound as he tightened the collar on the bottle and started shaking.

 

“Damn, girl,” he murmured, grabbing for the wipes and cleaning her off as quickly as he could. 

 

“I’d ask what she’s been eating, but it’s not like we can change her diet,” Glenn said.

 

Daryl grunted in agreement and wrapped up the offending diaper in a plastic bag, tossing it as far away into the corner as it could go. 

 

“Hey now,” he said, reaching for the baby as she rolled onto her stomach and started crawling away. He picked her up and placed her down again, making quick work of the diaper. She was squirming and whining again, letting out small cries that were far more needy than distressed. Her hands grabbed at his shirt, clinging as she voiced her complaints and Daryl rocked her trying to get them both somewhat comfortable.

 

Glenn rested a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and, when he looked up, Glenn held out the bottle in his other hand. 

 

“I’ll make breakfast,” Glenn said. Daryl looked at him for a second before taking the proffered bottle. He nodded and Glenn squeezed his shoulder, giving it a small pat before he made his way to the door. Daryl’s eyes tracked him as he left and he didn’t realise how long he’d been staring until Champ made a disgruntled sound and snatched the bottle from his hands, shoving the nipple into her mouth and looking up at him with pure irritation. 

 

There was a profound fondness that swept through him, looking down into the seething depths of her large, irate brown eyes. It was a taste of something he never thought he’d have. Parenthood. Meaning something to someone. Knowing it would matter if he was gone. Because her survival depended on him now and Daryl wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. Not while there was still life in him. 

 

When Champ was done, he took her out to the kitchen where Glenn was making some watery pancakes on the gas cooktop. 

 

“I dunno how good these are gonna be,” Glenn said, flipping one with a spatula. “No milk, no eggs. I improvised.”

 

Daryl grunted, brushing his knuckles against the back of Glenn’s shoulder as he passed, leaning in to get a better look. 

 

“Look alright,” Daryl said, his gaze flicking across the countertop. “If they’re shit we’ll drown ‘em in syrup.”

 

Glenn laughed. “Yeah. Food’s food, huh?”

 

Datyl made a sound of agreement, shifting Champ to one arm so he could reach out and snag a pancake from the top of the small stack Glenn had started to amass. 

 

Glenn huffed, giving him a look before rolling his eyes and going back to flipping his pancake.

 

“Any good?” he asked, eyes still on the pan, his head bowed over it.

 

Daryl swallowed. “Fine enough without syrup,” he said.

 

Champ leaned back, staring at the food before reaching out, her hands trying to pry his mouth open as if to steal the food he’d already started chewing. She swung, suddenly, realising there was more held in Daryl's hand and he twisted, jamming the rest of the pancake into his mouth before she could get it. He chewed around the too-large mouthful. It seemed to take forever, and it hurt when he swallowed, but the pain of it was a relief when the food hit his empty stomach. 

 

When he looked up, Glenn was watching him. 

 

“Is she old enough to eat normal food?” he asked.

 

Daryl frowned. “Dunno. Ain’t got any teeth. How old do babies gotta be before they eat normal?”

 

Glenn’s brow furrowed and he sighed, titling his head to the side. “I wish we still had Google.” 

 

“Wish we weren’t in half the shit we’re in right now,” Daryl said. “‘S what we got.”

 

Glenn sighed again. The smell of something burning filled the air and Glenn jolted, returning to the frying pan and hastily moving the pancake to the plate on the side. He turned off the burner and tossed the spatula aside. 

 

Champ sat on the floor with a handful of toys while Daryl and Glenn sat at the kitchen table. It was small and Daryl’s eyes landed on the highchair, a knot forming in his stomach. But he could hardly turn down food. They ate off the same plate, picking up pancakes and drenching them in golden syrup. It was sticky and sweet and they filled Daryl’s stomach until he felt full to bursting. Still, he licked his fingers clean, sucking the syrup from them with wet sounds. 

 

He caught Glenn staring at him and his shoulders tensed. He was accustomed to judgement, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He licked between his fingers before sucking them into his mouth again, eyeing Glenn’s wide eyes and parted lips with caution. But Glenn didn’t say anything and neither did Daryl, letting whatever it was pass between them in unacknowledged silence.

 

“We, uh.” Glenn cleared his throat, looking down at the empty plate, at the blobs of syrup staining the table top, anywhere but at Daryl. “We should get going, right? We need to find somewhere safe before night.”

 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, pushing away from the table. He looked down, dipping his finger in one of the globs of syrup and raising it to his lips. “Gonna get the rest of our shit.”

 

“I’ll wash and refill that bottle,” Glenn said. The legs of his chair sqeaked against the floor tiles. “Probably won’t be long before the water’s out too.”

 

Daryl grunted. “Gotta find someplace with its own water source. ‘S the plan.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said. “And, uh, brush our teeth, bathroom trip before we go. 

 

Daryl rolled his eyes and made his way back to the bedroom, Glenn trailing behind.  

 

It didn’t take long to pack up the rest of the formula and diapers, shoving them into the back of the car. It wasn’t even long enough for Champ to get upset,  content to play with the toys scattered around her on the kitchen floor. 

 

“We got everything?” Glenn asked, once the bottle was clean and filled with boiled water, ready to go.

 

Daryl eyes the back of the car. “Don’t think there’s much left in this house to take.”

 

It shouldn’t have been a complicated team effort to get Champ buckled into her seat. But after placing her in the seat he stared at the twisting assortment of straps. He plucked at one, pushing at it. Glenn pressed in close, his body warm against Daryl’s as he peered around Daryl’s arms to frown down at the contraption himself.

 

“So… that’s gotta be the buckle,” Glenn offered in an attempt to help.

 

“No shit,” Daryl muttered, poking at it again. “‘S the other bits that’re…”

 

Champ squirmed, writhing on the seat like she was possessed. Daryl pressed a firm hand down over her chest. “Christ’s sake, kid, you’re gonna throw yourself outta here.”

 

Daryl yanked at one of the other straps. “Arm hole?”

 

Glenn leaned more heavily against him and Daryl turned his head, his nose close enough to brush Glenn’s ear.

 

“I mean, I guess?” he said, teeth sinking into his lip. He turned his head towards Daryl, their noses brushing until Glenn leaned back a fraction. “I’m gonna look for instructions.”

 

Glenn pulled away and Daryl felt strange for a moment, cold despite the heat and humidity inside that cramped garage. Glenn went around to the other side of the car, climingin tino the back seat and checking over the carseat. Daryl eased Champ’s arms inside the arm straps. She continued to squirm, making sounds of complaint, but he held her in place with his hand. 

 

“These things don’t even reach,” he said, tugging the clips on the arm strap down towards the buckle. They weren’t even close. “How d’you loosen these damn things?”

 

He kept on hand on Champ and the other tugged harder on the straps, but they didn’t budge. 

 

“Aha!” Glenn cried, holding up a little plastic booklet in triumph. “Let’s figure this out.”

 

It was aggravatingly simple, once they figured out where the button was to readjust the strap length and figured out how to twist the buckles around. But it grated. When they were down, Champ was strapped securely into the carseat, looking up at them with disdain. 

 

“Here,” Glenn said, wiggling the stuffed giraffe in front of Champ’s face and making some strange high-pitched goo-goo talk. Daryl made a face at the spectacle and, when Glenn looked up at him he paused, lips parting. “What?”

 

Daryl snorted. “Nothin’.”

 

Champ cooed back up at Glenn, grabbing her favoured giraffe and yanking it free from Glenn’s hold. She stuffed its head straight into her mouth, gnawing at it with her gums. There was a warmth in Daryl’s chest that seemed to stretch inside of him, pushing at the edges until it was barely contained by the hard confines of his ribs.

 

“We’ll find somewhere safe,” Glenn said. He was attempting to be reassuring, but it was undercut by the nerves in his tone and the slight tension in his hands where they gripped the side of the carseat just a little more tightly than necessary. “Or safe enough.”

 

Daryl was still looking down at Champ, wide brown eyes shining back at him. “Gotta find someone who can take care of her. Find her a real family.”

 

“We will,” Glenn assured “There’s got to be more people out of the city. More living people, I mean. Less of those geeks, too. That’s what you said, right?”

 

Daryl grunted, shifting back to grip his hands on the roof. Glenn shot a questioning look at him and Daryl grunted again. 

 

“If there’s anyone livin’ they’d have the best shot further out. Less people around to get infected.”

 

“Right.” Glenn nodded, ducking his head down before turning to look over the assortment of supplies filling the trunk. 

 

“So… You ready to go?” Glenn asked, raising a questioning brow. 

 

Daryl looked down at Champ and hesitated. 

 

“Gonna take one last look around,” Daryl said. “Make sure we didn’t forget anythin’.”

 

Glenn nodded. “Okay. We’ll be ready when you get back.”

 

Daryl patted the roof of the car before stepping back and closing the door. He could hear the sound of Glenn talking nonsense to Champ, distracting her with a cheery voice and familiar face. He did a quick circuit of the house, poking through the cupboards and the closets, but Glenn had been surprisingly thorough in his packing.

 

Daryl stopped outside the nursery. As much as he didn’t want to open that door, the truth was that this was the main reason he’d come back inside the house. He felt a sharp twisting of self-loathing at how pathetically difficult it was to reach up and turn the handle. How hard it was to push that door open and step inside. 

 

The smell was worse. It hit him like running face-first into a brick wall. His eyes went unerringly to the bassinet. Glenn must have covered it with a blanket when he was packing up the baby’s things, because there was one, soft and fuzzy and blue, draped over it, what little remained of the child no longer visible to view. 

 

But there was movement. 

 

Maggots wriggled out from under the blanket where it draped over the sides and dropped to the floor, squirming across the carpet. Daryl looked down and found the squirming and putrid around his boots. He took a step, squishing the wriggling masses underfoot, until he reached the shelves. There were empty spaces where Glenn had taken toys and books already. Daryl’s eyes skimmed over them, taking them in. 

 

He didn’t know much about babies. He didn’t know how to look after them or what they liked. But his eyes landed on a series of books at the end of the shelf. Their golden spines were familiar and Daryl pulled one out. He recognised it from his own childhood and was lost for a moment in the memory of a much more weather-worn copy at his grandparents’ house, sitting on his grandma’s lap as she read it and, later, after she passed, Merle reading it to him instead. 

 

He pulled them all from the shelf. The two he remembered and several more, all new to him and they’d be new to Champ too. When he got back to the car, he tossed them in the trunk without a word, moving to the roller door. He looked at Glenn who nodded, and then he leaned down to raise the door. It rattled noisily and Daryl could hear the sounds of the dead somewhere outside. But he got it open and ran back to the car, throwing himself into the passenger seat.

 

The car started and, seconds later, so did the music. It was bright and bouncy and so painfully inane that it had clearly been designed specifically to entertain small children and drive everyone else in hearing range to the brink of insanity.

 

Glenn was already pulling out onto the street as he reached for the dial, but he only turned the volume down to a less ear-piercing and geek-attracting level. Daryl scowled, reaching out to switch it off entirely, only for Glenn to swat his hand away with a slap that landed harder than either of them expected.

 

“The hell,” Daryl complained, shaking his hand out.

 

“Come on, man,” Glenn implored, guiding the car between the shambling dead before they could converge on the vehicle. “It’s good for her to listen to music that’s been made with someone under sixty in mind. And it’s got counting, that’s probably good for development, right? Set her up for the best?”

 

“I never listened to this bullshit growin’ up,” Daryl said. “You sayin’ I didn’t turn out fine?”

 

“I - I’m not saying that,” Glenn said, awkward and stilted, his cheeks darkening. “I’d never say - I mean, you’re definitely fine.”

 

Daryl huffed, leaning back in his seat. He leaned his elbow against the window and let his fingers rest against his chin as he watched the dead pass by outside. The terrible music drowned out the horrific sounds of their hungry cries and, in the backseat, Champ was gurgling away. Daryl could hardly complain about that.

 

It was slow going until they hit the interstate. The side heading into the city was gridlocked with abandoned vehicles, but the exit was entirely clear. Glenn leaned down on the accelerator, letting out a whoop of joy as they sped away from Atlanta and towards the greater unknown.

 

They took the backroads after that, heading away from the towns, stopping only  to feed and change Champ and stretch their legs at midday. Getting Champ back into the car seat became more and more of a battle each time. And, by the early afternoon they found themselves turning onto a driveway towards a low-seat wooden house. There were no cars outside, none of the dead, either. Just an eerie silence. 

 

Glenn left the car running while Daryl checked the house. And, when Daryl returned, he made a sharp gesture to Glenn and the ignition cut. 

 

“Looks like they left in a hurry,” Daryl said, reaching into the backseat to unbuckle a squirming, irritated Champ. 

 

“That’s good,” Glenn said. “I know we’re looking for people, but what if they’re not as happy to see us as we are to see them, you know?”

 

Daryl grunted, hefting the baby and shouldering the bag of baby supplies alongside his crossbow. It was a relief to have somewhere new to settle. Where they didn’t have to clear out bodies or scrub blood from the floor for Champ to play.

 

It was only after dinner, when Champ was asleep in the Pack and Play they’d brought with them, that a low tension seemed to build again. But it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Just different. 

 

Glenn had been shooting glances at him all evening, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite give voice to it. It had Daryl more than a little jittery in his own skin, wondering what it could possibly be. But Daryl distracted himself by keeping watch out the bedroom window while Glenn checked over their supplies. He was rummaging through his backpack when he paused, his entire body going still.

 

“What?” Daryl asked. 

 

Glenn was quiet for a moment before turning his head to look at him over his shoulder. “You packed my photos,” he said, his voice hushed with awe.

 

Daryl shifted his weight between his feet and shot a quick glance to the door, then the window. He shrugged, rolling one shoulder, his arm swinging with the motion of it. 

 

“Figured you’d want ‘em,” Daryl said, his arm swinging again. He’d started pacing without even realising it and his voice was coming out harsh, like he was readying for a fight.  “Ain’t worth makin’ a fuss over.”

 

Glenn watched him for a long minute before turning back to the small photographs in his hands. 

 

“Thank you,” Glenn said, small and earnest. 

 

Daryl swallowed. Some muddled mixture of emotion washed over him and left him lightheaded and disoriented. He couldn’t stop moving, his body pacing, shoulders rolling, but he nodded, once, short and sharp, before heading towards the door.

 

“Gonna walk the perimeter,” he said. He didn’t wait for a response, just left. His feet came to an abrupt halt once he was out of the bedroom, the door closed between them. The world seemed to swim around him before snapping back into stark focus. Daryl took a breath and started making his way through the house, checking the windows and doors.

Notes:

<3
Your nice comments help me make it through the seemingly endless shifts at work<3

Chapter 8

They stayed in that house for three days. They cleared a safe space for Champagne to crawl around in the living room, took turns scavenging the nearby houses, and the three of them locked themselves in the master bedroom every night. It was almost strange how easy it was to fall into a rhythm together, passing Champ between them and working together until they climbed into bed together at the end of the day. They didn’t talk about most of it; they didn’t need to. They fell into step like it was as easy as and thoughtless as breathing.

 

“Can’t stay here,” Daryl said, that night, peering out the corner of the lace curtains. The streets were no longer quiet. Geeks had started roaming in slowly increasing numbers. It had started with one and now clusters of three or four would wander along the street outside, their unnerving groans filling the air. 

 

“We need more formula if we’re going further out,” Glenn said, as though Daryl needed reminding. As though the rapidly dwindling supply of formula wasn’t constantly on his mind. “None of the houses around here have any. The way Champ eats we’ll need to hit a store before we head out into the wilderness or we’ll have to come right back into town.”

 

Daryl let out a small, frustrated breath, his eyes locked on the shambling figures outside. They needed to get out. More geeks meant more risk. And Champ wasn’t quiet. She’d make noise and draw them closer. One day there’d be too many to divert or dispatch easily on their own. 

 

“So we hit a store,” Daryl said, like it would be easy. Like it would be simple. “You get out here much doin’ deliveries?”

 

He turned away from the window to look at Glenn, standing with Champ in his arms, shaking the plastic links he was wearing around his neck again. 

 

“Yeah, I know a place,” Glenn said. He shifted Champ onto one hip and laid his free hand on Daryl’s arm. 

 

“Want me to take her?” Daryl asked. 

 

“I’ve got to get dinner ready,” Glenn said, which was answer enough. 

 

Daryl slid his hand between Champ and Glenn’s chest, pulling her into his own arms. Champ let out a small sound of protest, her fingers clutching the red link tightly, not wanting to let go. Daryl and Glenn reached out at the same time, their fingers brushing as they both tried to unclasp the links. The necklace fell into a single chain, and Champ raised it to her mouth, biting down on the hard plastic and gurgling in delight. 

 

“Alright,” Glenn said, one hand on Champ’s back, the other still resting on Daryl’s arm. “I’ll let you know when it's ready.”

 

The warmth faded from Daryl’s arm too quickly with the absence of Glenn’s touch. His entire arm twitched and he shuffled his feet trying to resist the urge to roll his shoulder out as he watched Glenn’s retreating back until he was gone. The sound of things moving around in the next room filled the air, and Dary looked down at Champ, still gnawing at the plastic links and smiling up at him, drool  dripping down her chin and soaking into Daryl’s shirt. 

 

“He’s growin’ on you, huh?” he asked, hiking her up a little higher to get a better hold. “He ain’t so bad. Think maybe he likes you alright too.”

 

Champ only let out a bright burble of sounds as she bit down on the plastic with vigor, more drool sliding down her chin. Daryl turned his attention back to the dead lumbering around outside, holding onto Champ and listening to the sounds of Glenn attempting to light the wood burner stove.

 

After several long minutes, Daryl let the lace curtain fall back into place. He shifted Champ in his arms and she looked up at him. With a wide grin and too-big too-bright eyes she reached up and smacked at his cheek. Daryl took a breath, puffing his cheeks out and, when Champ smacked him again he let out the burst of breath with a wet raspberry sound that had Champ laughing in delight, her entire body shaking with the effort.

 

Her chest was still rocking with a low chortle when Daryl walked them into the open kitchen and living space. They found Glenn standing in front of the wood-burner, poking a spoon into the pot that was resting on top of it.

 

“Why’re you lookin’ at that pot like you don’t know whether to scratch your watch or wind your ass?”

 

“What?” Glenn looked up, even more perplexed for a moment, his brows drawing together. He shook his head as if to clear it, then added, as if it made even a lick of sense, “I found some rice while I was out today.”

 

Daryl’s frown turned into a grimace as Champ grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged. 

 

“So what’s the problem?” he asked, prying his hair from Champ’s clutches with a grunt of effort.

 

“Does this look right to you?” Glenn asked, poking a spoon into the pot, cautious as if it were potentially explosive.

 

Daryl leaned forward, holding Champ as far away from the burner as he could as he peered over at the rice sitting in the pot, surrounded by milky-looking water. He frowned. “Dunno. Shouldn’t you know?”

 

Glenn looked at him, his face open and visibly confused. “Why would I know? 

 

Champ gurgled out a string of sounds, twisting in Daryl’s arms to grab a handful of his cheek and pull. Daryl winced, grunting in pain before prying her fingers apart again. 

 

“You’re, y’know,” Daryl grunted again, leaning his head backwards out of Champ’s reach. “Bein’ Chinese n’ all. Don’t your people eat this all the time?”

 

Glenn was quiet for too long. And Daryl could feel it, the change in the air around them. He pried his attention away from Champ long enough to look at Glenn’s face, slack with disbelief.

 

“Seriously, man? We’ve been living together for a week and now you’re gonna be a racist?” Glenn asked, the incredulity slowly seeping over into anger as he spoke. “What if I said that because you’re a redneck you probably eat roadkill? That’s not - I’m not even Chinese.”

 

“I’ve eaten roadkill. Few times,” Daryl said. There was a sick feeling inside him, hot and putrid. It wasn’t quite anger, but it bubbled under his skin with the same heat. “What’s that make me, huh?”

 

“Oh.” Glenn’s voice was small, almost shocked, and Daryl reeled back as if that one small sound had landed like a slap. He shoved Champ at Glenn so suddenly that Glenn dropped the spoon he’d been holding just to grab her. Daryl stepped back, putting more and more space between them. He couldn’t meet Glenn’s eyes, couldn’t look anywhere near the man. He just kept moving, away, away, as far away as he could until he found himself backing up against the front door.

 

“Gonna sort out these goddamn poxy-faced pricks,” Daryl said, picking up his crossbow from where he’d hung it on the coat rack. And then he was stepping outside into the cooling evening air. 

 

Rotting faces with soulless eyes turned towards him. Mouths filled with yellowing teeth dropped open, rasping cries falling out into the air, filling it with a sound that settled like a chill in Daryl’s bones. He lowered the crossbow, bracing his foot down on the cocking stirrup and pulled the string back, cocking it in one swift, practiced motion. He pulled a bolt from the quiver as he raised the bow. He fired three bolts in quick succession, each shot finding a new home inside a skull, leaving bodies to fall lifeless to the ground. The fourth missed and Daryl let out a seething hiss of a noise from between his teeth. 

 

The nearest geek was too close by then and instead of cocking the bow a fifth time he swung it around, slamming it into the geek’s face. The dead man staggered under the brunt force, momentarily pushed back but not incapacitated. It lurched forward, and Daryl slammed the butt of the crossbow into its face. A shout wrenched itself from the depths of his chest and kicked. Bone snapped under his boot and the geek fell. Daryl leaned over the body, its hands reaching, fingers scrabbling, nails digging at Daryl’s flesh, but he raised the bow high over head and brought the butt down. Its face crumbled inwards as cartilage snapped wetly under the force. Again and again he slammed the bow down until sprays of old, putrid blood were coating its dead face and had sprayed over Daryl’s shirt in a thick pattern of dark red. 

 

Daryl’s breathing was ragged and he looked up to see one final geek stumbling towards him. He got unsteadily to his feet and ran at it, slamming into it and tackling it to the ground. He’d left his crossbow behind so he slammed down with his fists instead. Blow after blow. The geek groaned, unphased, teeth still gnashing, hands still clutching at him, trying to rend flesh from his very bones. He felt its face breaking under his fists as much as he witnessed it with his eyes. He could feel his own skin splitting with each punch and still all he could think about as the blind rage subsided, the pains of the flesh somehow falling to the pain inside of him, was Glenn. How he’d fucked it up again. How Glenn wouldn’t look at him like he was more than the sum of his background again. Blood flew through the air, hot and rancid, spattering across his face. He thought about how he’d insulted Glenn in a way he both didn’t fully understand but also knew intimately well. He didn’t know how to fix it, so he slammed his fist into the gooey, wet mess in front of him and, slowly, realised the geek underneath him had stopped moving some time ago.

 

With a gasp of a breath, Daryl sat back on his haunches. The once-man’s head was no longer recognisable as human. It was nothing but a stain spread across the asphalt. He kicked himself away from the corpse, the rough ground scraping at his skin through his pants. His knees were raised to his chest and Daryl wrapped his arms around them, holding them tight. The air stank of rot and decay and death. But it was a woefully familiar stench.

 

His every muscle ached when he got to his feet again. Daryl moved slowly, his joints protesting, staggering towards the house like one of the very dead himself. His hand dropped to his waist, feeling the sheath hanging there. Somehow he’d forgotten that he’d had a knife there the whole time. He pried his spent bolts from the corpses as he went, collected his bow from the street and found himself standing outside the front door of the house they were staying in.

 

But he couldn’t bring himself to turn the handle. 

 

Daryl titled forward until his head hit the wood. The simple act of breathing seemed to hurt in ways it shouldn’t. He’d known a long time that his life didn’t mean shit. But in the short time he and Glenn had fallen together, he’d felt like he mattered. To Glenn, to Champ. And he didn’t want to go inside and face the way Glenn would look at him now. Daryl didn’t know if it was worth going in at all, if maybe Glenn and Champ would be better off without him.

 

The door pushed open, sending Daryl stumbling backwards.

 

“Shit,” Glenn said. “Sorry.”

 

There was silence for a long, protracted moment. Daryl couldn’t look up, his gaze locked on his own feet, fingers fiddling with the strap of his crossbow. He knew what he must look like and he didn’t want to see the disgust souring Glenn’s face.

 

“Daryl, man, what the hell?” 

 

Daryl twitched, a motion so strong it had his entire upper body moving with it and he had to take a half a step back with one foot to keep himself balanced. Daryl didn’t care what he looked like. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him. With Glenn standing there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, that lie was suddenly harder to sell to himself.

 

“C’mon, get inside,” Glenn said. 

 

Glenn placed a hand on Daryl’s arm, despite the gore coating Daryl’s skin and, somehow, that’s all it took for Daryl to go plaint, being led inside. It lasted until the door closed behind them and then Daryl rolled his arm, shaking off Glenn’s touch. He could still feel the heat of Glenn’s hand on his skin afterwards, warm and fading.

 

“What happened out there? I tried to check on you from the window but I couldn’t see you,” Glenn said, with concern.

 

There was a shriek and Champ started rocking on the floor, a back and forth motion until she threw herself forward, crawling towards them with a speed that didn’t look quite human. When she got closer, Glenn scooped her up into his arms before she could reach out and lay a hand on Daryl’s blood-stained boots. 

 

Daryl shrugged, slowly reaching up to hang his crossbow on the coat rack once more. “Cleared the street.”

 

“Yeah? ‘Cause you look like you showered in blood,” Glenn said. 

 

Daryl shrugged again. His gaze travelled across the room, looking everywhere but at Glenn standing right in front of him. 

 

Glenn sighed, shifting Champ in his arms. She was reaching for Daryl but he couldn’t take her. Not like this.

 

“I know we’re kind of having a fight right now,” Glenn said, tired and strained. “But dinner’s almost ready and I think she’s getting hungry too. Could you just… Go get cleaned up?”

 

Daryl grunted and moved past Glenn and Champ, giving them a wide berth to avoid sullying them the gore he was coated in. Taking some of the water they’d salvaged, Daryl headed to the bathroom. It felt strange, peeling his bloodied clothes from his body. It wasn’t something new: he’d done the same thing more times than he’d care to try and count in his lifetime. But it felt strange, there, in a foreign bathroom with Glenn somewhere outside, the child they were caring for waiting for him to come back. 

 

The water was tepid from the heat of the air and Daryl hated knowing with every wipe of the damp towel across his body that he was wasting water they needed for drinking, water that Champ needed for her bottles. Daryl was costing them again and again. Finding a clean water source was always going to be a high priority, but it was getting higher and higher on that list of needs the more he wasted scrubbing blood from between his fingers and under his nails. 

 

He left his face for last and, when he caught his reflection in the mirror, the sight was jarring. There was more blood than visible skin and his bangs were stuck together in red-stained strands. Daryl put the plug into the bathroom basin and filled it partway, scooping the water up to was his face, scrubbing with his hands. The water turned red far too quickly, but it removed enough from his skin that scrubbing it with a towel became easier. 

 

Finally finished, he looked down at where his hands were gripping the white porcelain. With a pained sigh, he washed his hands again, removing the new traces of blood coating them. He hadn’t exactly been scrubbed raw, but he knew he was far cleaner than he’d been in a long damn time. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Daryl stepped out into the hall and ran straight into Glenn. 

 

Their bodies bumped together and Daryl reached out instinctively to steady himself with his hands. His hands landed on Glenn’s waist and Glenn’s hands gripped at Daryl’s forearms. Without Daryl holding it up, the towel dropped to the ground and Glenn’s gaze dropped with it.

 

“Uh,” Glenn said. He stared down at the scant space between them for a moment, both of them brought to an unexpected standstill. “I…”

 

Glenn’s fingers were biting into the flesh of Daryl's arms almost as hard as the geeks outside had done. His gaze travelled slowly upwards, trailing up the length of Daryl’s bare body until he finally met Daryl’s eyes with his own, absurdly wide eyes. Glenn’s mouth was open and he looked about as dumbstruck as Daryl felt.

 

“Dinner’s ready,” Glenn said, the words spilling out of him in a rush so fast it took Daryl a moment to untangle the sounds into something comprehensible. 

 

“What?” Daryl asked, but Glenn was already stepping away, and Daryl’s hands dropped to his own sides. He didn’t know why his hands suddenly felt empty. Glenn backed up a step and Daryl leaned down to collect his towel from the floor. 

 

A cry from the other room pierced through the strange tension in the air between them and Glenn took another step back. Daryl adjusted his hold on the towel and watched Glenn’s eyes track the movement before darting away to look at the boring blank walls instead. 

 

“I’ll check on Champ,” Glenn said. “You, uh…”

 

Daryl grunted. “I’ll find some clothes.”

 

“Yeah, that’s…” Glenn nodded, swallowing audibly, his fingers raising in an aborted motion, as if aiming to adjust the brim of a cap that was lying on the bedroom floor instead of his head. “That’s a great idea, man.”

 

Daryl watched him leave until Glenn was out of sight, murmuring soothing sounds to Champ, and Daryl was still standing, silent and useless in the hallway. Slowly, he turned and made his way to the bedroom, rummaging around for some clothing that fit.

 

When he made his way out to the kitchen, just the smell of food had his stomach rumbling. Somehow, he’d been eating far better at the end of the world than he usually managed. His body had started expecting the regular, filling meals. Daryl knew this wouldn’t last, though, It couldn’t.

 

“Looks good,” Daryl said, cautiously moving closer. There were bowls set out at the table, a large pot in the centre. 

 

Glenn looked up as Daryl approached, Champ held in his arms, drinking her way to the bottom of a bottle. 

 

“You look g- like a lumberjack,” Glenn said, awkwardly, his sentence ending with a wince.

 

Daryl grunted and looked down, pinching at the fabric of the shirt he’d found. He sat in one of the rigid, wooden chairs and poked at the bowl of food set out for him.

 

“Sorry,” Glenn said, his voice hushed in deference to the baby. “I tried.”

 

“‘S good,” Daryl said, though he hadn’t eaten any. He didn’t need to taste it to say with some confidence that he’d definitely eaten worse. The rice was soggy, like a lumpy pudding, and it was mixed with vegetables from a can. It didn’t look the most appetising, but Daryl shovelled it into his mouth anyway. 

 

“I guess my family ate rice a lot. I’ve never cooked it like this before, though. I mean I can use a rice cooker,” Glenn said, after a minute. It felt like an olive branch and Daryl was relieved to take it. “But the most cooking I’ve done is heating up hot pockets. My mom… My mom used to spend so much time in the kitchen, but I never really paid attention to what she was doing.”

 

Daryl chewed his mouthful of food and swallowed, feeling it travel down his throat in one thick lump. 

 

“My mom used to make the best tinned spaghetti,” Daryl said, offering up his own memory in response. “Cold, straight from the can. Half the time it’d been sittin’ at the back of someone's pantry so long before they donated it that it’d come out still stuck in the shape of the tin. Kinda like it better that way, now.”

 

Champ drained the bottle dry, still trying to pull milk from an empty vessel for a moment before giving up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her limbs weren’t faring much better. Glenn took the bottle from her lax finger and set it on the table.

 

“Here,” Daryl said, setting his spoon back in the bowl and holding his open hands out towards Glenn.

 

“You sure?”

 

Daryl grunted. “I’m done. You might as well get to eat before it goes cold.”

 

Glenn didn’t argue, just leaned closer. Daryl got half out of his seat to lean the rest of the way, taking Champ’s sleepy form from Glenn’s arms. He held her over his shoulder and patted her back until she let out a belch so loud it could have come from a grown man and been impressive. She was already asleep when he lowered her, cradling her in the crook of her arm. There was something about the heavy weight of her that felt real. Solid in a way most things in his life had never been. He let his eyes wander to Glenn, where he was eating so quickly it might have been a choking hazard. 

 

“What… What’re you?” Daryl asked, quiet and subdued. He waited in tense silence, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth. He was expecting a rebuttal or offense, maybe a fight he didn’t know the steps to. Daryl felt like a man trying to drink water he was drowning in.

 

“What?” Glenn looked at him, his brow furrowed and rice falling from his mouth. There was something about it that made Daryl’s lip twitch and his chest warm inside.

 

Daryl coughed, looking down. “You said you ain’t… Ain’t a Chinaman, so. Just was wonderin’ what…”

 

There was a tic in Glenn’s jaw when Daryl spoke. It made his stomach sink like he'd swallowed a boulder instead of a spoonful of rice. The heavy feeling crushing his insides. He knew he'd said the wrong thing again.

 

“Oh, uh, I’m Korean.” Glenn’s fingers tapped at the wood of the table top in a nervous dance.

 

The only thing Daryl knew about Korea was the war and he had at least enough sense to consider that he didn’t want to risk spouting off something else he didn’t know yet was offensive, but might hurt even more for his ignorance.

 

“Look, I… I didn’t mean to insult you before. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean to offend me either,” Glenn said, slowly. “I’m not gonna act like it doesn’t suck, because this crap sucks, dude. I’ve dealt with - it doesn’t matter. Stereotypes hurt, you know? But we’re here together and we like each other, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, his voice a low rasp, when it seemed like Glenn was waiting for an answer. “You’re alright.”

 

Glenn looked at him, his hurt and annoyance turning to something longsuffering when he saw the faintest hint of a smile on Daryl’s lips. Mindful of the baby sleeping in his arms, Daryl stretched out one arm and flicked Glenn’s shoulder. Glenn shook his head and Daryl looked down at Champ, her breathing like a steady metronome against his chest.

 

“You do the whole… Mr Mom thing really well, man.”

 

Daryl swallowed. He looked down at Champ’s face. He wanted so absurdly, needily for that to be true. To have this chance for as long as it lasted, to give Champ even a fraction of the life she deserved before they found someone who could do it far better.

 

“You’re growin’ on her,” Daryl said.

 

Glenn laughed, so quiet it was barely audible. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t have much choice.”

 

“She’s smarter’n that,” Daryl said, looking up to meet Glenn’s eyes. “Kid’s a good judge of character.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, with something soft and inscrutable in his eyes. “I think she might be.”

Chapter 9

Sweat beaded across Daryl’s forehead, dripping down his reddened face. He wiped it away with the back of his arm. Every breath felt heavy, the air too thick with humidity. Daryl let his eyes scan around the open area before landing on Glenn again. His hair was plastered to his skin where it poked out from beneath his cap.

 

“I should go in,” Glenn said, leaning in towards Daryl, his voice hushed.

 

“Glenn,” Daryl said, his own voice barely more than a rasp.

 

“She’s calmer with you,” Glenn said, reaching up to press a hand over the back of the baby carrier strapped to Daryl’s chest. Champ burbled out a cheerful sound making a bouncing motion at the touch. “And I’ll be faster and quieter on my own.”

 

Daryl felt his lips tighten, pulling down harshly at the corners. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

 

Glenn exhaled, an audible sound that was all exhausted frustration. “All the more reason to make this quick. If it’s dicey I can bail, but either way I’ll be in and out faster on my own.”

 

Daryl let out a sigh of his own, ducking his head down, chin to his chest. Champ cooed at him, flailing an arm up to pat at his cheek.  

 

“Besides,” Glenn added. “It’d be a good idea to have someone keeping watch out here, make sure we’ve got a clear exit, you know?”

 

Glenn’s hand came to rest on Daryl’s arm and Daryl looked up, meeting his eyes over the carrier. 

 

“Fine,” Daryl conceded, the word coming out sharp and pained. He reached down, unclasping his sheath from his belt. “You get in, find the formula, get out.” 

 

Glenn nodded, taking a step back, but Daryl followed him. Reaching out, Daryl hooked a finger through the belt loop on Glenn’s jeans, reeling him back in.

 

“Wha-” Glenn started, looking down at Daryl’s hand. Slowly, Daryl threaded the sheath through Glenn’s belt and secured it.

 

“Just in case,” Daryl said. 

 

Glenn swallowed thickly, the apple of his throat bobbing with it, and Daryl couldn’t help but track the motion with his eyes. 

 

“I’ll be quick,” Glenn promised. He clapped his hand against Daryl’s arm, the touch lingering long enough for him to give it a gentle squeeze, and then he took off at a jog, darting over to the back entrance.

 

Daryl watched until the door closed softly behind him. Turning, Daryl scanned the back of the lot. There wasn’t much to see at the back of the store except the dilapidated chain link fence and a stretch of concrete that widened near the loading bay. Daryl checked his crossbow then reached up, giving Champ his finger to hold onto as he started walking, doing a full perimeter of the building. It was just as vacant as it had been when they’d arrived. They’d taken out the one geek who’d gotten tangled in the broken wires of the front fence, and its rotting corpse was still there, now unmoving. 

 

He passed their car, parked at the side of the building, trunk open in anticipation. The keys were still sitting in the ignition in case they needed to make a hasty getaway. The front door to the store was glass, covered by an accordion door and locked with a padlock. But the back door had been left unlocked, and the deadbolt had been tampered with. It seemed like a bad sign to Daryl, but they’d made enough noise at the front of the store that anyone living or dead still inside should have come to investigate.

 

Champ made a string of sounds, her mouth working around them as she kicked her legs emphatically, rocking like she was trying to push herself out of the carrier. Daryl raised a hand to support the back of it and added a rhythmic bounce to his step to help quell her. The heat of the day had to be worse inside of that carrier; Daryl’s own chest was sweat-soaked from it. He looked down at her and considered they might need to waste some water on a bath for her soon to cool her down. He frowned, considering. Should they have been bathing her?

 

“Shh. Ain’t gonna be long,” he murmured. “Glenn’s quick and he ain’t as stupid as looks sometimes. ‘S gonna be fine.”

 

With a frustrated cry, Champ kicked out again, pushing with her hands against Daryl’s chest hard enough to hurt. Her face was screwed up, skin reddening with the effort. 

 

“Christ’s sake, kid, the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

 

And then, she seemed to go still, her cries turning to a familiar grunt. Daryl groaned quietly to himself before the smell had time to travel to his nostrils.

 

“You sure know how to pick the worst goddamn time to take a shit,” he informed her, turning and heading back to the car. 

 

There wasn’t much room in the trunk: they’d packed all their gear, planning to move on whether their scavenging trip was successful or not. Daryl pushed their supplies out of the way, laid Champ down, and got to work. Daryl was used to messy work long before Champ had come along, this wasn’t a huge adjustment to get used to. Still, it wasn’t a fun one, especially when she wouldn’t stop squirming and rolling.

 

“You wanna be covered in your own shit?” Daryl asked, pinning her squirming body with one hand and grabbing a fistful of wet wipes in the other. “‘Cause that’s where you’re headed and I ain’t goin’ down with you.”

 

Champ grunted and kicked, and Daryl had to run some fresh wipes down her legs. It was a relief to finally toss the diaper and wet wipes out into the carpark, cutting the smell down immediately. By the time he’d gotten her diaper clipped she’d settled enough to sit still and let him fix her rumpled dress without complaint. Her hands had found the bottle filled with water and waiting to be mixed with formula. She stuffed it into her mouth, took a large gulp and her face screwed up. Looking up at Daryl with wide eyes filled with hurt and betrayal, she grunted and held the offending bottle up.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl said, taking it from her with one hand and reaching for the formula tin with the other. “You couldn’t’ve found the ready-to-go ones first?”

 

He added the formula, affixed the nipple and shook it up. Champ crawled toward him at the edge of the trunk, her hands gripping at his shirt as she forcibly pulled herself up to stand on wobbling feet for the first time. She stretched, her hand reaching desperately for the bottle and Daryl had to pick her up with his free arm to stop her from toppling out of the trunk altogether. 

 

It was just as she was jamming the nipple into her mouth that Daryl heard a sound in the distance. The crunch of tyres over rocks and loose asphalt had Daryl turning towards the sliver of road he could see from his vantage point. Holding Champ in one arm, Daryl slung his crossbow over the other shoulder and reached up to close the trunk as gently as he could. Dropping slowly to the ground Daryl moved in a crouch around the side of the car, Champ grunting in annoyed confusion at the motion. 

 

Pressing his back to the smooth metal of the vehicle, Daryl peered cautiously over the hood. A car was pulling into the parking lot, driving past the few abandoned cars with little regard. It drove past the other side of the building, a small blessing for Daryl’s barely concealed hiding place, but sounded like it came to a stop at the loading dock at the rear of the building. Where the only available entrance or exit to the store was located

 

The only way Glenn had to get out.

 

There was the creak of metal and the sound of a door opening and closing. Daryl laid the crossbow carefully on the asphalt beside him and eased Champagne back into her carrier. She made a disgruntled sound when he had to move again, rocking forward as he got to his feet, and she knocked the end of the bottle into his chin hard enough to leave a bruise. He cocked the crossbow, sliding a bolt along the track, armed and ready, and made his way cautiously to the back of the building. 

 

He peered around the side of the building, contorting his body to keep Champ out of sight. But there was no one to see them. Whoever had arrived in that car had already made their way inside the store. Whoever it was clearly knew the place far too well for Daryl’s comfort. His feet moved slow and silently over the rocky ground, taking careful steps towards the door. He looked down at Champ, still chugging away at her bottle without a single care in the world and settled his hand around the door handle. Taking a deep breath to steal himself, Daryl flexed his fingers around the metal handle before wrenching the door open and stepping inside, crossbow raised. 

 

It was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the distant front door and a row of windows that were too high and too small to be of much functional use. Daryl took a step and inside and paused, his head whipping to the side as a clatter sounded, several somethings tumbling from the shelves and hitting the floor en masse. It was followed by raised voices and Daryl moved more quickly, keeping his bow trained ahead and checking each aisle before finally the voices became clearer. 

 

“Please,” he heard Glenn’s voice say. Daryl edged around the corner, keeping his back to the rear wall, his body turned to try and protect Champ from any potential gunfire. “I just want the formula. You can take everything else.”

 

“Are you alone?” a man’s voice responded, raised and tinged with a panic that set Daryl’s nerves on edge. 

 

The area was open, too open. The aisles were yards apart, short displays dotting the space in between. Glenn was standing, a tin of formula in his hand, a half-stocked cart on one side and a depleted pyramid of formula tins in front of him. The man standing opposite was middle-aged and greying, his jaw set and a handgun raised and pointed right at Glenn. Daryl trained the crossbow on him as he took a careful step out into the aisle, his boots soundless on the floor. 

 

The bottle slipped from Champ’s fingers, lax with sleep, and clattered to the ground. Suddenly that gun was whipping around to point in Daryl’s direction. In Champ’s direction. Daryl’s finger hovered by the trigger, his heart hammering so loud he could barely hear over the rush of blood inside his ears.

 

“You have a baby,” the man said, surprised enough that he lowered the gun ever so slightly. 

 

“We just want the formula,” Glenn said, again, and the gun swung back around to point at Glenn.

 

“We don’t want any trouble, old man” Daryl said, over the soft sounds of Champ’s breathing. 

 

“You don’t want to hurt a baby,” Glenn emphasised, his voice too calm for someone who had a gun trained on him. But Daryl could see the tension in his body, the lilt to his voice where his nerves leaked through. “We just need her formula and then we’ll go. The rest is yours. Please.”

 

The man was still looking at Daryl but his gun was still trained on Glenn who was standing with his palms raised in surrender. No, he wasn’t looking at Daryl, he realised. The man was staring at the carrier strapped to Daryl’s chest, Champ’s arms hanging free from the sides. 

 

“The baby,” the man said, slowly. “Where’s her mom? Did you -”

 

Daryl tore his eyes away from Glenn. He didn’t let the man finish whatever thought he had about Daryl and Glenn might have done to Champ’s mom. What that sort of man might want with a goddamn infant after the fact. His teeth clenched as he spat out a harsh, “You’re lookin’ at her damn mom.”

 

The words shocked the man enough that he lowered the gun further, his gaze darting from Daryl to Glenn then back Daryl again. He looked Daryl over before doing the same to Glenn, gaze roaming over them as if he’d see something in their appearances that would confirm his inner thoughts. 

 

“Please,” Glenn said, again, imploring. “We just want the formula.”

 

Finally, the man lowered his gun to his side, though he didn’t holster it. 

 

“You two,” he said, his eyes still darting between Daryl and Glenn. “You’re her… parents?”

 

“‘S what I just said,” Daryl bit out, still fixing for a fight. He almost wanted the man to start raising that gun again so that Daryl would have a reason to shoot him. The implication of what the old man had started saying still stung like a fresh and salted wound.

 

“We’re all she’s got,” Glenn added, so earnestly that any sucker would be drawn in by it. And Daryl was realising that he might be the biggest sucker of them all.

 

“Sorry,” the man said, into the tense silence. “I’ve run into too many looters who’d rather take out the competition. I’ve got a family I need to look after, just like you two. Girls I’ve got to protect.”

 

He sounded genuine enough that, slowly, Daryl lowered his crossbow. He could raise it quickly enough if the man’s trigger finger started getting itchy. 

 

“You’re only after the formula?”

 

Glenn let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Yeah, man. We can get by with what we’ve got, hit another place later when we need it. But the baby… She needs to eat, you know?”

 

“I know,” the man said, sounding weary. Daryl stepped closer and suddenly the man appeared older than he had at first glance. “Have you got somewhere to go? A house nearby?”

 

Daryl’s teeth were clenched so tight his jaw ached. It wasn’t any of this old man’s business where they were from or where they were going. 

 

“No,” Glenn said, with a shake of his head, clearly not having the same internal struggle Daryl was enduring. “We’re coming from Atlanta. Just getting away from the city, trying to find someplace safe, you know?”

 

The man let out a low breath. “Saw the city on the news, when we still had it. Most places have got to be safer than there.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn agreed. He placed the formula tin he was holding into the cart with the others. 

 

“I take it the quarantine didn’t hold,” the man said, relaxing further. Daryl watched him holster the gun. It was the first true sign that he might no longer be a real threat. Still, Daryl held the crossbow loosely in his hand, not willing to let his guard down entirely. 

 

Daryl scoffed, and Glenn gave him a look, lips pursed. 

 

“It’s pretty bad,” Glenn said, turning his attention back to the man. “We ran out of supplies, figured we’d be better off finding someplace a little less densely populated.”

 

“But your little lady needs to eat,” the old man said, his voice softening. “Look. If you two don’t have anywhere safe to spend the night… You help me load up the car, we’ll split some supplies, we’ve got a spare room. Get you back on your feet to travel.”

 

Glenn shared a look with Daryl. Daryl didn’t know what showed on his face. He didn’t exactly want to walk into a stranger’s home, not knowing what might be waiting for them. But clearly there were more people alive out there in the suburbs and it sounded like not all of them would meet Daryl and Glenn so warmly.

 

“That’d be great, yeah,” Glenn said. And that was that, Daryl supposed. Glenn finished taking the formula and Daryl started helping the old man to fill a cart with non-perishable food products.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said as they walked down the aisle. The wheels on the cart squeaked, a grating sound that somehow didn’t rouse Champ from her nap. 

 

“I get it,” Daryl said. And he did. He’d reacted the same way. It was a quick and simple realisation that he’d be willing to take a human life if it spared Glenn and Champ. It was only surprising how little that concept weighed on his conscience.

 

“Name’s Neil,” the man said. “Probably a little late in the game for introductions.”

 

Daryl snorted. “Kinda what happens when you’re in a standoff.”

 

Neil made a small sound of amusement. “Suppose it is.”

 

“‘M Daryl,” Daryl finally said. He tilted his head vaguely in the direction they’d left Glenn. “That’s Glenn.”

 

“Well, it’s nice to put names to the faces,” Neil said. “Makes things a mite less confusing if y’all’re staying the night.”

 

Daryl grunted, reaching for a few tins of vegetables. Nutrition was probably important to a family, he guessed, dropping them into the cart.

 

“She’s sweet,” Neil said, looking down at Champ passed out in the carrier, still snoring lightly. “What’s her name?”

 

“We call her Champ,” Glenn said, appearing at the end of the aisle. Daryl shot him a look, frowning. 

 

“Cute nickname.”

 

“Name’s Champagne Starr,” Daryl said.

 

“Oh. That’s… interesting.”

 

“‘S a family name,” Daryl said, hackles rising, feeling suddenly defensive. He’d had enough thoughts about the name itself, but he didn’t like hearing it now. Not from someone who didn’t even know her, didn’t even know any of them.

 

“That, uh,” Neil floundered for a moment, clearly choosing his words. “Any name that honours family is a mighty fine one.”

 

Daryl grunted, not entirely appeased by the answer. 

 

Glenn’s hand landed on his arm, pulling at him. Daryl turned into the touch, leaning into Glenn’s space with curiosity.

 

“‘S goin’ on?” he asked, voice low, even though there was not even the slightest chance that Neill wouldn’t hear them. 

 

“There’s baby food,” Glenn said, biting at his lip. “I was thinking…”

 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, his brow furrowed. He shrugged one shoulder. “Might as well.”

 

He didn’t know if Champ could eat normal food yet, but if it came down to it, he and Glenn could make a meal of it.

 

“Alright,” Glenn said, raising his other hand to rest over the back of the carrier for a moment, his fingers brushing Daryl’s. “I’ll grab what I can from the baby section.”

 

Daryl grunted in ascent. Neither he nor Glenn had much idea what Champ might need in the coming weeks, or months. However long she was in their care. It wouldn’t hurt to be over-prepared. 

 

“Diapers,” Daryl said, to Glenn’s retreating back. 

 

Glenn did him the courtesy of turning around, walking backwards as he spoke. “Like I’m gonna risk running out of those.”

 

They resumed making their way through the store, steadily filling the cart with supplies. 

 

“You two been together long?” Neil asked. His tone was light and conversational, but there was something about the way he was pointedly looking at the boxes on the shelf instead of at Daryl that set Daryl’s teeth on edge. Daryl had almost been able to forget that his declaration earlier might have been interpreted a little differently than reality. The thought of him and Glenn being together the way Neil was implying had his stomach flipping in a way that was both awful and strangely hopeful. 

 

“Long enough,” Daryl replied, evasive and annoyed. Though he couldn’t have said who or what exactly he was annoyed by.

 

Neil made a small sound of understanding. “Long enough to start a family. Adoption isn’t easy. My sister did the same. Wife and I have been together for going on thirty years now, with two girls of our own. Kids are a gift, but they’ll make or break you.”

 

Daryl huffed, looking down at Champ, her chubby cheek mashed against the side of the carrier. “She ain’t breakin’ a damn thing.”

 

“No, she isn’t,” Neil said, like he was certain. Like he had any idea what he was talking about. He didn’t even know the first thing about any of them. “It’s good you’ve kept together. These aren’t easy times. We need to keep the people who are important to us.”

 

Neil was quiet for a long while and Daryl was hardly going to interrupt the blessed silence. Still, it didn’t last long.

 

“My sister and her partner… They live out in Ohio. I haven’t heard from them since the phones went dead. It’s hard, not knowing.”

 

Daryl bit back a scoff. But something about those words tugged at him. 

 

“Lost m’brother,” Daryl found himself admitting. “He’s out here, somewhere. Don’t got the first clue how to find him. If I’ll ever…”

 

Daryl trailed off, his throat too tight to continue.

 

“I’m sorry,” Neil said.

 

“Yeah, well, sorry don’t do shit,” Darly said, rolling his shoulders. Champ was a warm weight against his chest, her breathing more reassuring than anything Daryl had ever heard in his life. “Gotta take care of what you got.”

 

“That we do,” Neil agreed. 

 

It wasn’t long before both cars were full and Neil was giving them instructions to follow him out. Daryl transferred Champ carefully into the car seat, holding his breath and expecting her to wake up cranky. But she didn’t. She shifted, stretching her little limbs before resuming her light snoring. Daryl shut the door and got into the passenger seat. He and Glenn shared a long look.

 

“You realise he thinks we’re -”

 

“I got that,” Daryl cut him off. His tone was terse and his body felt twitchy. He didn’t want to examine it too closely. Didn’t want Glenn doing so either. 

 

“You’re Champ’s mom, huh?”

 

There was amusement in Glenn’s voice, light and gently teasing. Daryl hunched down in his seat. His skin itched under Glenn’s gaze.

 

“You said I was Mr Mom,” Daryl said. “‘S your own fault.”

 

“Uh, I said that last night,” Glenn said. “It was a - it was a compliment to your baby-whispering skills. I didn’t announce your parentage to a stranger.”

 

“Weren’t like you were protestin’,” Daryl grumbled.

 

“Yeah, well, you called yourself her mom, Daryl, and he assumed that meant we were both her parents,” Glenn pointed out. “I didn’t exactly want to say anything that might have a gun pointed at my face again.”

 

“You got a problem with him thinkin’ we’re a couple of -” Daryl cut himself off. He could see Glenn’s expression darkening and he knew, he knew from the previous night that the word about to fall off his tongue was going to cause Glenn to look at him with hurt and disappointment again. More than that, he knew, suddenly, that some part of this was personal to Glenn. As personal as his ethnicity, as personal as something that made up core parts of who he was. Daryl didn't know what to do with that, with the fear he could see in Glenn's eyes and feel reflected inside his own chest.

 

“You got a problem with him thinking' we're a couple of guys raisin’ a baby together?” Daryl finished, feeling off-kilter and foolish. His skin was too warm, all of a sudden and he knew it would be turning visibly red.

 

Glenn sighed, the tension in his body suddenly releasing. He shook his head. “I just…. I wasn’t expecting it.”

 

“Yeah well,” Daryl muttered, scratching at his cheek. “I wasn’t either. Just happened.”

 

“We’re just a couple of guys raising a baby,” Glenn said, starting the ignition. “I guess that much is true.”

 

“Don’t matter if some old man thinks we’re screwin’,” Daryl said, though it felt more like he was trying to convince himself of that than Glenn. 

 

“There’s got to be worse things, right?” Glenn asked. He was jittery, Daryl noticed, his voice just slightly too loud, too high. Daryl eyed him up and down for a long moment until Glenn turned his head away from the road ahead of them to look at Daryl, an unexpected nervousness in his eyes.

 

“Could do worse, I s’pose,” Daryl said. “If everyone thinks I’m suckin’ cock, I guess it might as well be yours.”

 

Glenn’s mouth opened and closed. 

 

“Uh, thanks?” Glenn said, shooting him a wide-eyed look.

 

Daryl snorted out a laugh. 

 

“Oh, great. Thanks, man,” Glenn said, shaking his head. “You’re not funny.”

 

“Your face is funny,” Daryl countered. 

 

Glenn gave him an unimpressed look. 

 

“Could do worse,” Daryl said, looking out the window. Something washed through him, a mixture of emotions he couldn’t untangle enough to try and put a name to. They left him feeling tired and subdued.

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, quietly. “I guess I don’t mind if it’s you, either.”

 

Daryl chanced a look at him, finding Glenn watching him in return. There was something there in his open expression that had Daryl’s stomach flipping again and a hot itch rising under his skin. Then Glenn looked away, his attention turning to the road and following Neil’s car. Whatever had passed between them snapped like a string pulled too tight and while Glenn seemed unaffected, Daryl was floundering for a moment before everything inside him settled again. He shot a look to Champ's car seat before settling down into his seat again, keeping an eye on the route they were taking, just in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

Notes:

Okay, I know, two chapters in two days. Please don't expect another update anywhere near so soon and please don't ask when the next chapter will be. I don't know. I'm heading into a very busy three months and I don't know when or if I'll have time to work on any of my fics. I hope you've enjoyed this, though, and hopefully there will be more in a little while <3

Chapter 10

Once they broke through the tree line, they could see that the house they were arriving at was a one-storey, sprawling farmhouse. The dirt path to the front of the house was long and if Daryl squinted, he could just make out the neighbouring house, barely more than a glimmer of light reflecting off a tin roof, in the far distance. It was nice. Well-kept. Not so much as a single patch of peeling paint as far as Daryl could see. It was far nicer than any home Daryl had ever received an invitation to.

 

“This is weird, right?” Glenn asked as he steered their car up the winding drive behind Neil.

 

Daryl snorted, sliding his eyes to the side to watch Glenn from the corners. “Hard pressed to find somethin’ that ain’t weird, last few days.”

 

Glenn let out a breathy sound that might have been a laugh, if it had only been a little lighter. “You know what I mean. It’s weird following a guy we just met back to his house, right?”

 

Daryl turned his head then, giving Glenn an arch look. “Handful of days ago, you let a guy you ain’t never met walk right on inside your own house.”

 

“I -” Glenn cut himself off, his mouth closing with an audible sound. He shook his head and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I mean, yeah. But you were…”

 

Daryl frowned, his brows drawing together. His shoulders tensed, ready, suddenly, as if to take a hit or to throw one. “I was what?”

 

Glenn darted a look at him before snapping his head forward to keep an eye on their progress up the seemingly endless driveway. Daryl watched the apple of Glenn’s throat bob as he swallowed.

 

“God, I’ve got no self-preservation instincts, do I?”

 

“Not nearly enough,” Daryl said, shifting and resettling against his seat. 

 

“You were good back there,” Glenn said, his gaze fixed resolutely on the path ahead.

 

Daryl made a small sound, borne of curiosity. His eyes slid to the side, watching Glenn with interest.

 

“In the standoff, I mean,” Glenn clarified. “You were so focused and calm. You didn’t even flinch, man. I was freaking out.”

 

Daryl flicked his thumb against the corner of his lip, shifting in his seat again. 

 

“Couldn’t hardly tell from lookin’,” he said. “Didn’t even have a weapon on you ‘sides that knife and you were talkin’ him down on your own.”

 

“Yeah, well, I thought was gonna die,” Glenn said, with so much feeling Daryl could feel a ripple of sympathy wash through him. Daryl had thought the same thing when he’d seen that gun pointed in Glenn’s direction. He could still feel the memory of his own fear like a pit in his stomach. The terror in the thought of losing Glenn, as much as they’d been strangers only a handful of days ago.

 

“And then I thought he was gonna shoot you and Champ, too,” Glenn continued. His gaze was steady as he focused on what lay outside of the windshield ahead of them, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the wheel. His mouth opened again, then closed firmly, lips setting in a tight line.

 

“Could’ve lost -” Daryl murmured, his voice low. He cut himself off when his brain caught up with his words. 

 

Glenn turned his head away from the path ahead to look at him, his eyes widened and searching. Daryl swallowed, turning his head away.

 

“He seems okay,” Glenn said, breaking the small silence. “Neil, I mean. You know, after he put the gun down… You don’t think this was a mistake, right?”

 

Daryl grunted, shrugging a shoulder. He wouldn’t have agreed to come, wouldn’t have let Champ and Glenn wander on into it, if he hadn’t felt reasonably assured that they weren’t driving to their untimely deaths. 

 

“Find out soon enough, any old how,” he said instead.

 

“Great,” Glenn muttered. “That’s reassuring.” 

 

They were drawing close to the house, finally, when Champagne let out a noise of complaint from the backseat. Glenn whipped his head around to look, though they couldn’t see her with the carrier facing the back.

 

“Shh,” Glenn hushed, his fingers gripping the wheel tighter. “We’ll be there in less than a minute.”

 

There was always a tension that shot through them at the sound of Champ unsettled. There was an urgency wired so deeply into them already to get her calm, to get her quiet again. Daryl had already unbuckled his seatbelt at the first sound she’d made, and by the time Glenn had finished speaking, Daryl was already clambering over the console and into the backseat.

 

“Daryl,” Glenn said, the vehicle veering for a moment, startled at the sudden motion, but he righted the vehicle before Daryl could fully climb through into the back of the car.

 

“Ain’t no reason to leave her cryin’,” he said, reaching for one of the travel bottles of liquid formula. He gave it a quick shake and held it out for Champ to take. But even as she started drinking with noisy enthusiasm, the car rolled to a gentle stop. Glenn pulled the handbrake, cut the engine, and the world felt suddenly still, but not the comfortable kind. It was far too anticipatory, like they were teetering on the edge of some high precipice, and their next blind steps could lead them to safe land or they could plummet into free fall. 

 

Champ looked up at him, her eyes struggling to stay open even as she chugged away at her bottle. Daryl raised a hand, his fingers brushing the side of her arm. She watched him, her deep brown eyes staring drowsily into his own. He felt it so sharply, the need to keep her alive. And not simply alive but loved. Though, he didn’t have much experience with that. Daryl rested his hand on the headrest of the car seat, and Champ tilted her head to the side, pressing the side of her head against his fingertips. One hand let go of the bottle, the entire thing slipping from her lips as she reached out to grab at his arm, smacking her way down to grip his fingers like a vice. Daryl stared into her eyes and felt his entire heart clench. Champ let go after a moment, picking her bottle back up and resuming her meal.

 

He could feel Glenn’s gaze on him and, slowly, Daryl turned his head to see Glenn, turned in his seat, his expression soft. Daryl’s chest felt tight, like everything inside of him was suddenly two sizes too large and bursting at the confines of his skin. Daryl darted his gaze away, his eyes catching on Neil ahead of them, already out of his car and heading towards them.

 

“Should get movin’,” Daryl said, his voice rasping out.

 

“What?” Glenn frowned at him before turning towards the front of the car. “Oh, right. Yeah. We should get out. See what’s going on. You want me to take her?”

 

Glenn looked at him from the front seat, nodding his head towards the car seat. Daryl’s lip pulled downwards, and his head twitched to the side, looking down at Champ who was still watching him through the slim slits of her sleep-heavy eyelids. There was a part of him that unreasonably didn’t want to let her out his arm’s reach. Even though he knew, in the more rational part of his mind, that wouldn’t be the strategic move. He could see, plain as day on Glenn’s face, that he knew it, too.

 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, the word barely more than a grunt. 

 

He pulled his hand away from the Champ’s car seat and reached for his crossbow instead. Clambering gracelessly out the back door, he landed heavily on the ground, his boots crunching against the stones lining the driveway. The front door swung open beside him, and Glenn stepped out, passing so close by, that his body brushed up against the full length of Daryl as he moved by, circling around the back of the vehicle to get Champ. Daryl kept an ear on them, but his gaze wandered. He raked his eyes over the low rows of greenery growing in neat lines to one side of the homestead. They gave a clear line of sight to the distant property border in the distance, but out beyond the rear of the house were tall lines of corn stalks that could have obscured anything.

 

Neil had parked nearer to the front of the house, and he was standing near the porch steps, waiting, keeping a watchful eye on them. The car door shut, and Daryl lurched into motion, moving around the front of the vehicle to take point. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against Glenn’s biceps before patting gently at the back of Champ’s carrier, a small reassurance that they were alright, before he stepped in front of them, crossbow at his side, but ready to go at the first sign of trouble.

 

“Doin’ alright there?” Neil called out, waving them over as he turned and started up the front steps. 

 

“We’re fine,” Glenn called back. 

 

Daryl felt his head twitch, wanting to turn towards the sound of Glenn’s voice, but he kept his eyes up front. Stone crunched underfoot until they reached the packed earth at the bottom of the porch steps. A curtain twitched in one of the front windows even as Neil stopped at the front door. Daryl slowed, his hackles raising. Just as Neil pulled open the flyscreen door, the interior wooden door was wrenched open violently and a woman stepped into view, floral dress waving around her legs in the breeze and a shotgun raised in Daryl and Glenn’s direction. Daryl had a bolt in his hand before he could so much as blink.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” she shouted, her gaze fixed down the barrel of the gun. 

 

Daryl’s hand paused. He could hear Glenn’s sharp breath, could imagine he felt the shaky exhale against the back of his neck, though Glenn was too far behind him for that to be true.

 

“They’re safe, Jean,” Neil said, reaching out to wrap a hand around the barrel of the shotgun, slowly lowering it. “A gay couple. Family men. They’ve got a baby to take care of.”

 

Daryl could feel his arm twitch. It wasn’t even the shotgun aimed at him. It wasn’t the thought of the blast tearing through him, the shrapnel that would cut into Glenn and Champ behind him, his own body hardly enough protection at that range. Or it wasn’t entirely that. It was hearing the way they’d been described and knowing, as far off base as Neil was about them being gay, he was hitting too close to home when it came to them being a family. Or close to what Daryl wanted. Even if they’d each come into one another’s lives by accident and circumstance, only a short few days earlier. Daryl twitched again, his body wanting to turn towards Glenn and Champ, but his eyes stayed locked on the weapon and the finger sitting too close to the trigger for comfort.

 

“You’re certain?” Jean stood still, her entire body tense as she looked them over more carefully. 

 

“They’ve got their baby right there,” Neil said, firm but gentle. “They were only looking for formula for the little one. I’d never invite them back if I thought they were a threat to you or the girls.”

 

Slowly Jean relaxed her grip, and Neil took the gun from her hands, flicking the safety back on. 

 

“That bow stays at the door,” she said, eyeing Daryl. Her voice was firm, but the bravado she’d carried was gone with the absence of the shotgun. 

 

Daryl felt his own expression harden in response to her command, but Glenn’s hand came to settle on his shoulder. He turned bodily into the touch, blocking Glenn further from the view of the couple watching them from the front door. Glenn’s expression and the burble of sound from Champ’s carrier had the fight draining out of him. He could feel it in his chest, a warmth so large it felt like it could crack his ribs for trying to contain it. The strange bond he felt for the two of them. The kind of family he’d longed for as a kid. The kind of family he’d never thought he’d be able to have. And maybe he couldn’t. What would Glenn think if Daryl put that thought into the world between them? Daryl grunted and rolled his shoulders, stepping away from Glenn to head up the stairs, the wood creaking under his weight.

 

“‘S your house,” he said, capitulating to Joan’s request. 

 

Jean gave him a nod that was both curt and shaky. She met Neil’s eyes for a long moment, before turning and walking back inside the house. 

 

“Sorry about that,” Neil said. He wiped his boots on the doormat before stepping inside. With a small huff, Daryl followed suit, Glenn behind him. “We’ve had a few bad run-ins with other survivors, looters. In a crisis some people lose all sense of themselves, of their humanity.”

 

“Yeah, uh. We haven’t seen any other living people since the city locked down,” Glenn shrugged, sharing a quick look with Daryl as he hung his crossbow on the hat rack as they passed. He felt twitchier without it, naked and unprotected.

 

Neil sighed, nodding despite his frown. “Hard to say if that’s better or worse.”

 

“It’s better,” Jean said. She was standing in the kitchen, well-lit from the sun streaming through the long line of windows behind her. Her arms were crossed over her chest where she stood between the table and a row of cabinets that lined the wall. 

 

Neil’s own face was grim, and Daryl could tell from the look Neil and Jean shared that there was something there, unspoken but serious, passing between them. He didn't care t weigh in on the matter, but for a split second all he could think about was what was left of that baby in the bassinet of the house they'd stayed in, only a few days prior. For a split second he could still smell the stench of decay clogging his nostrils and cloying at his throat. 

 

“There are still good people out there,” Neil said.

 

Jean turned her head, looking away. Daryl turned some of his own attention to Glenn and Champ, finally able to reach out. HIs hand brushed against Glenn’s arm and came to settle on the back of Champ’s carrier, feeling the movement of her wriggling place. The memory of the dead finally fading in favour of the living, and some of the tightness in his chest shook loose. Floorboards in the hallway creaked and Daryl moved on instinct, putting Glenn and Champ behind him just as a lanky teen stepped into the open doorway of the kitchen, dark hair falling over her face and entirely obscuring one of her eyes.

 

“What’s going on?” she asked, her one visible eye catching sight of Daryl with Glenn behind him, her gaze roving over the both of them.

 

“We’ve got visitors,” Jean said, her voice still terse.

 

“Two men and their baby,” Neil clarified. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

 

That one inscrutable eye narrowed, flicking across the length of Daryl’s body again in a way that made his muscle tense up. The need to snap out some kind of response rose up from inside his chest, pushing up into his throat, and it was quelled only with the firm touch of Glenn’s hand against his bicep.

 

“Urgh,” she declared, already stepping away. “Like I care.”

 

Neil watched her leave; his lips thinned into a straight line and his eyes looking unaccountably tired. He turned to face Daryl and Glenn. “She’s not a homophobe,” he assured them, looking fatigued. “She’s just a teenager.”

 

“She misses her friends,” Jean said. Something in her tone suggested it was a topic that had been raised too many times. Not that Daryl had a lick of interest in that, one way or another.

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, awkwardly into the silence that followed. “That’s… We get it.”

 

“I’m going to go check on the girls,” Jean said, not waiting for an acknowledgement as she left, striding quickly out of the kitchen and away into the hallway. 

 

The pain and exhaustion were plain on Neil’s face for a long moment. He dropped his head, giving it a small shake, before looking up at Daryl and Glenn again.

 

“We get a couple of farmhands during harvesting season. Mostly kids from the area looking for extra money,” he explained. Daryl’s brow furrowed as he listened to the change in topic. We have accommodation on the property for when they’re out of towners. It’s not much. Just a couple of converted camper vans, but they’re clean. Electricity’s down out there, but it’s hooked up to the plumbing and the well-water supply, so the bathrooms should work fine. If I can get a hand unloading the supplies first, we’ll take you boys out there, get you settled in.”

 

Daryl looked at Glenn and when their gazes locked, Daryl found Glenn’s eyes searching his own, as if either of them could find answers there.

 

“That’s fine,” Glenn said, answering Neil’s question, but not looking away from Daryl. There was another question there, in Glenn’s eyes, unspoken but audible to Daryl all the same. He swallowed, turning his head slightly and breaking eye contact with Glenn to huddle in close and press a kiss to the crown of Champ’s head. She let out a burble of delight, reaching her arms up to grab at his hair and hold him there. One of Glenn’s hands came to rest on Daryl’s shoulder, and Daryl hated himself for how much he wanted to flinch away from the touch and lean into it all at once. Before his body could even decide whether to flee or fight, Glenn’s hand was gone, moving to help pry Daryl’s hair from Champ’s tight grip instead. 

 

“Only be a few minutes,” Daryl said, his voice a low rumble. He dropped his hand to Glenn’s waist, fingers skimming along the waistband of Glenn’s jeans and stopping at the place where Daryl’s knife was still clipped there. He tapped his finger against it, the sheath pressing into Glenn’s thigh, a reminder of the knife’s presence, in case it became necessary.

 

Glenn caught his eye and gave a small nod. Champ garbled out some sounds, body trying to twist inside the carrier to follow after Daryl, and Glenn pressed a supporting hand to the back of the character as he started to rock on the spot, a motion Daryl had found himself falling into when he wanted to calm Champ down. Daryl gave them one last, long look before following Neil outside to help him unload the supplies.

 

–

 

The campers were about the size Daryl had expected. There were three of them spread out across an empty plot of land on the far end of the property near the first rows of corn husks and an old barn. Each of them was tiny and self-contained. Neil produced a key from his pocket as they approached the closest one, unlocking the door before passing the key into Glenn’s hand. The carrier was still strapped to Glenn’s chest, but Champ was in Daryl’s arms, holding onto him as her head swivelled every which way, wide brown eyes taking in everything around them. Daryl was half concerned she’d snap her own little neck with the way she was twisting it around.

 

“How old is she?” Jean asked, voice quiet as she laid out some fresh linen on the table inside the door.

 

Glenn shot a panicked look at Daryl who frowned. He looked down at Champ and tried to think back to when his old man had first started going off about the baby keeping him awake all damn night. Daryl had kept scarce, retreating to his room or camping out in the bed of his truck just to avoid the shitstorm his father was raging in the trailer.

 

“‘Bout seven months now,” he answered.

 

“That’s a good age,” Jean said, her eyes on Champ, looking wistful. “Don’t take it for granted. You never get this time back, you know.”

 

Daryl’s throat tightened and his chest constricted, though he couldn’t place why. He bounced in place, making a rocking motion, reaching a finger out for Champ to grab. She immediately jammed it into her mouth and bit down hard with her gums.

 

“We won’t,” Glenn said, his voice almost startling Daryl. He brushed past. Body sliding against Daryl’s through the cramped space to reach the table, dropping off the diaper bad from the car.

 

“She’ll be teething soon, if she hasn’t started already,” Jean said, giving them a small look of commiseration. “If we’d kept any of Essie’s teethers I’d offer them to you. She’s our youngest. But we knew we were stopping at two, so we never kept them.”

 

“No, that’s - that’s fine,” Glenn said, with a shake of his head. “We, uh, kind of cleaned out the baby aisle while we were out. We’ve gotta have something in there for teething, right?”

 

It was only the silence after his words that had Daryl looking up, seeing both faces looking at him. He shot another look down at Champ, her chubby cheeks puffing out as she gnawed at his finger. 

 

“Should have somethin’,” Daryl said, agreeably. It must have been what the others were waiting for, because the odd tension in the air seemed to dissipate with his words. Jean took a step away from the table and Daryl shifted, crowding into Glenn’s space so that she could have an unobstructed path to the door.

 

“Dinner’s at six,” Jean said, stopping just outside, her hand resting on the door frame. “I’ll cook extra. You’re welcome to join us. I’ll make a puree for the little one, so she won’t miss out.”

 

She took another step down onto the ground and paused, looking at them over her shoulder. “You seem like decent people. Neil trusts you. Don’t you dare make us regret it.”

 

They watched through the open door as Jean started the long walk back towards the farmhouse. Champ squirmed in Daryl’s arms, finally releasing his finger in favour of trying to worm her way over his shoulder towards Glenn. Daryl took a step back and he felt Glenn’s hands on his shoulder, against his neck as he took Champ into his own arms.

 

“So, you do like me, huh?” he said, twisting his neck just to try and make eye contact with her.

 

Champ let out a high-pitched shriek and grabbed the string of interlocking plastic ovals still hanging from Glenn’s neck and tugged at them.

 

“Or you just like the necklace now.”

 

Daryl huffed out a breath. 

 

“I’m still counting it,” Glenn said, looking up to meet Daryl’s eyes.

 

“You do that.” 

 

That aching warmth was filling his chest again, pushing against the confines of his body, like it wanted to burst forth, tearing him apart just to be out in the open air. Daryl cleared his throat and looked away, though that set off its own ache at the loss.

 

“Gonna bring the truck down,” he said, though he didn't make a move to follow through on that. 

 

“Oh,” Glenn said, shifting Champ to his hip. “I don’t mind going if you’d rather stay.”

 

Daryl stood still for a long moment, watching the pair of them form the corner of his eye. “Nah. She’s happy where she is.”

 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, the word little more than a breathy exhale.

 

“Won’t be gone long.”

 

The air outside was hotter with no shade to offer relief from the harsh light of the sun. Daryl felt the sweat beading across his body as he walked, his boots kicking up dust as he went. When he reached it, the farmhouse seemed quiet from the outside, though he didn’t doubt some complicated conversations were being hashed out inside. Daryl ignored it, turning towards the car that had become their own, and making a much shorter trip back towards the camper.

 

He grabbed their travel packs from the trunk and headed towards the open door of the camper. The entire structure creaked and dipped on its cinderblocks as he stepped inside. Glenn was standing in front of the small basin of the kitchenette, his shirt off and his bare back to Daryl, Champ at his feet and pulling at the laces of his sneakers. Daryl’s gaze travelled across the smooth expanse of Glenn’s bare back, watching his muscles shift, his shoulder blades moving as he scrubbed at something. Daryl dropped their packs onto the ground. The sound was louder than even he’d expected, and it managed to startle all three of them at once. Looking over his shoulder, Glenn made a face. 

 

“She spat up all over me,” he explained. “Please tell me you brought one of my spare shirts in with you?”

 

Looking at Glenn, Daryl’s tongue suddenly felt three sizes too big for his own mouth. He swallowed, and Glenn turned back towards the sink. The sound of water running filled the air and Glenn started scrubbing again.

 

“You’re, uh,” Daryl scratched at his cheek until his fingers found their way to his mouth and then he found himself biting down on his nails instead.

 

“What?” Glenn asked, looking up at him again, confused and distracted.

 

“Nothin’,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “You… Your shirt’s in there.”

 

“Thanks, could you grab it for me?”

 

Daryl swallowed again, his too-large tongue and his too-tight throat working at odds. There was something old and painful being dredged up inside of him. Something he'd long since hoped was lost. Something he was hardly ready to face again, least of all there at the end of the world, with the one person he'd started to rely on.

 

“Gotta go,” he rasped out. “Get more… shit.”

 

He caught Glenn’s confused look as he turned and stumbled his way outside, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than shut the door between them. It was hotter outside, more humid, but somehow a little easier to breathe. Daryl moved around to the car’s trunk and found himself staring hopelessly at the stack of formula tins filling an entire corner of the space inside.