Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Everything you think you know has gone up in airs. Nothing is, nor ever will be, the same again. As quickly as they rise, they will be snuffed out. This I have promised, and it shall remain."

Andrea saw it first, stumbling onto the farm by the barn. 

“Rick!” She shouted, shooting up from her post on top of the RV. “Walker!”

Rick stood quickly, squinting at the figure. “I don’t think so, Andrea.”

Shane cocked his pistol. “It’s coming this way.”

Andrea looked through the binoculars. “Wait,” she looked a moment longer. “It’s a kid. He can’t be older than twenty.”

“He looks like he’s carrying a weapon,” Shane said, looking ready to shoot.

“He’s also limping.” Rick stated, beginning to approach slowly. He held his gun at the ready. “Don’t shoot unless he tries to kill you, or if he’s bit.”

Shane nodded, and together they made their way across the field. They approached the kid who hadn’t even noticed them yet. He was covered in dirt and blood, his hair dripping with sweat and hanging in his eyes. 

“Hey!” Rick shouted, raising his gun. “Kid!”

The kid’s head snapped up. There was a dizzy haze to his eyes. A bronze spear was held in a loose grip in his left hand. He staggered.

“Are you bit?” Rick called, approaching cautiously.

The kid didn’t answer. He just stared.

“Hey!” Shane yelled, pointing his gun at the kid’s face. “My friend asked you a question!”

The kid just stared. He muttered something neither of them could make out, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground.

Shane and Rick looked at eachother before running towards him. Rick knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. He felt it, faintly. The kid’s breathing was raspy, a heavily bleeding wound on his right thigh.

Shane tried to check for a bite, but he couldn’t tell if the wound was or not. “There’s too much blood, I can’t tell.”

Rick looked at the kid’s face, feeling his stomach twist with empathy. “We’ll let Hershel patch him up, cuff him to the bed just in case.” He looked at Shane. “No chances, but if the wound isn’t a bite, we can’t just kill him.”

Shane sighed, irritation crossing his face. “He’s probably dangerous.”

“He might be,” Rick agreed. “Which is why we’re cuffing him to the bed.”

Shane shook his head. “Your call, Rick. I know that.”

Rick nodded and scooped the kid up in his arms. “Grab his weapon. When he wakes up, we’ll question him.”

Shane wordlessly picked up the bronze spear, looking it over. Engraved in the weapon were strange markings, some sort of ancient language. “Wonder where he got this?”

“Raided a museum?” Rick suggested as they made their way back across the field towards the house. 

Shane snorted. “Hilarious.”

“Is it a bite?” Lori asked, brushing her hair out of her face as she set a bowl of water on the nightstand.

“I can’t tell,” Hershel said, sitting back with a sigh. “It was too deep. We can only hope it wasn’t. For his sake.”

“His?”

“He won’t be leaving this room, Lori.” Hershel looked at her. “But look at him. He’s so young. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Lori nodded, pursing her lips. “I hope he makes it. Kid like that… alone.” She sighed. “Makes me worry about Carl being alone like this.”

Hershel nodded. “I’ll let Rick know if he wakes up. Or otherwise.

Douxie felt like giving up. He was clawing, fighting against the darkness that was dragging him down. He wanted to just let go. He was so tired. But… but he thought he was hearing voices. Men. Women. A child? If he let go… they’d all be in danger. He knew that. So he kept fighting. He had to.

And with a shuddering breath he pushed through the darkness that clawed at him. 

He opened his eyes. It was dark in the room, only lit by a single candle. There was soft muttering coming from the corner of the room. He took in a shaky breath, trying to move but stopped when he realized his right hand was cuffed to the bed frame.

“Hey.” A man’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, he’s awake.”

Douxie turned his head slowly towards the sound, breathing heavily. He felt cold, shaky. It was a familiar feeling. “Why?”

“What?” Footsteps and a figure hidden in the shadows appeared over him. 

Douxie let out a breath and yanked on the handcuff. “Why?” The guy was tense, staring at him. “It’s kinda kinky.”

Someone in the corner of the room laughed.

The guy sighed and shook his head. “You think you’re funny?”

“I think I’m in a position to ask questions.” His voice was raspy from disuse. “How long was I out?”’

“Three days,” the man leaned forward, his face coming into the light. “What hurt your leg?”

Douxie studied his face, trying to decide what to tell him. He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t know?”

“Memory’s fuzzy.” Douxie lied. “Why am I here?”

“You should thank us,” the other man in the corner piped up, walking forward. “We saved your life. We didn’t have to.”

Douxie glanced at him, then at the man in front of him. “Why’d you save me?”

The man shrugged. “You were someone who needed help.”

Douxie tried to wrap his head around that. “I could’ve been bit. I could’ve put you in danger.”

He gestured to the handcuff. “Precautions were taken, kid.”

Douxie closed his eyes and let out a shaking sigh. “Fair enough.”

“So,” the guy in the corner walked closer. “You’ve healed nicely. Why don’t you tell us your name so we can stop calling you ‘the kid’ all the time.”

Douxie cracked a smile. “Hisirdoux. My friends call me Douxie.”

“Well, Douxie.” The man in front of him stood up straight. “My name is Rick, this is my partner Shane. Welcome to Greene Farm. Wanna tell us where you got this?”

He held up Douxie’s spear. The wizard sighed and dropped his head back.

“Found it.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“What do these markings mean?” Rick pointed to the trollish characters engraved along the shaft of the spear.

“Don’t know.” That was a lie. He shrugged best he could. “I found it outside this old building. My… dad, he used to teach me how to use a bo staff. Before everything went to shit.”

Rick nodded. “Okay.” He propped the spear against the wall. “This question is important.” He looked at Douxie, fire in his eyes. “Are you planning on hurting me or my group?”

Douxie shook his head. “No. I’m not going to hurt anyone here.” He looked Rick in the eyes, trying to convey his sincerity. “I swear on my father’s grave, Rick. I will not harm you, or the people on this farm.”

Rick nodded and produced a key from his pocket. “Okay then.”

Shane stopped him before he could unlock the cuff. “What are you doing?”

“I trust him.”

Shane stared at him. “Just like that?”

Rick gestured to the teenager cuffed to the bed. “He’s not going to hurt us. I see it in his eyes, Shane. He’s good.”’

Shane sighed, but it came out as a growl. “Fine.”

Rick unlocked the cuff, stepping back as Douxie sat up, rubbing his wrist. “You got friends near here? A camp?”

Douxie pursed his lips. “I don’t know.” He wet his lips, taking a shaky breath. “I um… we got attacked weeks ago by the draugrs.” He could see the way they looked at eachother when he said that. “I led them away so everyone else could escape.”

Rick seemed to be thinking. “Were you anywhere near here when that happened?”

Douxie shrugged helplessly. “I really can’t recall. After I got hurt… I was in a daze. I don’t know how long I wandered… or how far.”

“Alright,” Rick sighed. Then looked at Douxie questioningly. “Why do you call them draugrs?”

Douxie cracked a smile and laughed a little. “Oh, that was a little joke my boyfriend started.” He chuckled thinking about it. “Draugrs are these undead warriors in Norse mythology that guard their tombs. He thought it was fitting.”

A small smile tugged at Rick’s mouth. “Well, we call ‘em walkers.”

Douxie nodded. “Also fitting.” He took a deep breath, and tried to stand. Immediately his knees buckled as pain shot up his leg.

Rick caught him. “Woah, okay slow down there.” He looked at Shane. “Get Hershel.”

Shane left quickly. Douxie shook with pain. He hadn’t realized how much his leg hurt until now.

“I’m okay,” Douxie gasped, even as Rick made him sit down.

“Doubt that, kid.” Rick had a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve had worse,” Douxie said, trying to breathe through the pain.

Rick looked at him questioningly. “Worse than an infected cut that nearly took your life?”

Douxie offered a weak smile and shrugged. “My life has been a shitstorm like you wouldn’t believe.” He took in a deep breath. “I think I can walk, I just need some assistance.”

Rick nodded, letting Douxie sling an arm around his neck and they slowly made their way towards the door. The trek down the stairs was slow and painful, but Douxie was determined to make it. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was relying on these people. People he didn’t know, however helpful they may have been. They could still be dangerous, and were definitely wary of him. He needed to be cautious and play this out carefully.

They walked into a quaint little living room that was filled to the brim with people. The sun was beginning to rise over the trees surrounding the farm. Douxie looked around carefully, studying every person. They looked like a normal group of people, but then again, he hadn’t lived this long by letting his guard down so easily.

Rick let him sit down in a chair, watching him carefully. He was blocking Douxie from two people in particular. A woman and a young boy. Probably his son and wife. “You good?”

Douxie nodded. “Yes, thank you.” He rubbed his leg uncomfortably.

An old man slowly approached him and sat in a chair across from him. “How’s the leg?”

Douxie shrugged with one shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” He studied the old man and came to a fast conclusion. “Thank you for helping me.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome. My name is Hershel, and this is my farm.” He nodded to a young woman standing alert a few feet away. “That’s my daughter Maggie.” He looked at Douxie, seeming amused. “She said we should shoot you.”

Douxie cracked a smile. “I understand the caution, but really there’s no need.”

Maggie squinted at him, lips pursed, arms crossed. “What’s your name?”

“Hisirdoux,” he answered. “My friends call me Douxie.”

“Where are you from, Douxie?” A woman with blonde hair asked. She was leaning on a door frame. 

“California.” He resigned himself to answering their questions. He was new, and they were being careful. “Before that, Wales.”

“And how’d you get all the way from California to Georgia?” Shane asked. He had his hand uncomfortably close to a pistol holstered on his hip.

“Very long story,” Douxie sighed. He wasn’t going to tell them on the gyre, infernal contraption that he’d never get on again. “We were on our way to Florida when everything happened.”

And that wasn’t a total lie. They were going to Florida, but the gyre got blocked and they got stranded in Georgia. But they’d been in Arcadia when shit hit the fan.

“Alright,” Rick had his hands on his hips, looking at Douxie curiously. “And who’s we?”

Douxie pursed his lips. “Me and my family. Like I told you and Shane, we got separated weeks ago. I don’t know where they are.”

Or if they’re alive.

Chapter Text

Lori didn’t know if she outright trusted the kid. He was hiding things. And the way he looked around the room creeped her out. His eyes were sharp and calculating, and when he looked at you, it was like he was looking through you. Like he was trying to figure out what made you tick. It was off-putting. 

“Where are you going after this?” Andrea asked.

“Don’t know.” Douxie looked at her. “I’ll try and retrace my steps. See if they’re near here, I guess.”

“No, you’re not doing that.” Rick spoke before anyone could say anything else.

Douxie looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“You’re stayin’ here until your leg’s better.” He said matter-of-factly. “Then we’ll see about finding your family.”

Douxie looked unsure, but not enough to argue. He managed a strained smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Rick nodded. “It’s settled then.”

Lori wanted to argue.

“Rick, this isn’t a good idea,” she said to him later that same night. “We can’t trust him.”

“Lori,” he sounded tired. “The kid can barely walk three steps on his own. He was about dead less than twelve hours ago. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t like it. He’s hiding something.”

“He doesn’t trust us,” Rick said carefully. “I understand that. But from what he has told us, I think he’s telling the truth.”

“If things go wrong-“

“Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”

Douxie hung back a bit from the fire, watching the flames curl in the air gracefully. He took in a slow breath, trying to feel for his magic. Blocked. Again. 

“Bloody hell,” he growled softly, bringing his knees to his chest. 

“Hi.”

He looked up. It was the kid. Carl, he thinks his name is. “Hello?”

Carl sat next to him, looking at him curiously. “What are you doing?”

Douxie stared at him for a moment. Then tipped his head to the side. “Your dad okay with you talking to me?”

Carl shrugged. “I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me.”

Douxie furrowed his brows. “How are you so certain?”

Carl shrugged. “You would’ve by now.”

“And what if I’m biding my time? Waiting until you all get comfortable around me to strike?”

The kid looked amused. “Are you?”

Douxie had to crack a smile. “No. I’m not.” He looked back at the campfire, imagining the red flames were blue. “To be quite honest with you Carl, I’m not big on violence. I’d rather find a peaceful way out of a situation if I can.”

“But you’d fight if you had no other choice?”

Douxie sighed but nodded. “I would. I’ve had to.” He looked at him. “The world is not kind, Carl. Not anymore.”

Carl nodded slowly. “Can I… ask you a question?”

Douxie looked back at him. “I suppose.”

“When you were out there in the woods,” he pursed his lips. “Did you see a girl?”

“A girl?”

“Around my age. Short blonde hair.”

Douxie shook his head. “Can’t recall, mate. Sorry.” He pursed his lips at the way Carl deflated. “I was pretty delirious with fever when I was wandering around out there. Is the girl a friend of yours?”

Carl nodded, picking at the seam of his pants. “She’s Carol’s daughter. She got lost in the woods a few days ago.”

Douxie put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Carl looked up at him. “She’s not dead.”

And oh, the wonders of young hope. Douxie offered a smile. “I hope not.”

“She’s not.” He insisted.

Douxie sighed. “Optimism is a good thing to have. Don’t lose it. It’s better for your heart to hope for the best.”

Carl opened and closed his mouth. Then looked away. “She’s not dead. I know she’s not.”

Douxie looked at him for a long time, something deep down inside him knowing she wasn’t. He finally just smiled and said, “Yeah. She’s fine.”

It wasn’t until three days later did they trust Douxie to be by himself. His leg was healing well. He could walk a little further each day.

A lot of things happened over the course of those three days. He watched them go out to find Sophia, but knew deep down it was a useless endeavor. But he didn’t have the heart to say it.

Daryl got slightly lost in the woods looking for the girl, and when he came back Andrea almost shot him, thinking he was a walker. All in all, way too eventful for Douxie’s preference.

For his own part, he mostly helped Lori and Carol around the camp, never straying too far. Rick had been hovering, but not in a distrustful way. More… concerned. Douxie was used to him, or Dale, strictly calling for him to ‘take it easy’ when they saw him walking too much, or if they could tell his leg was bothering him. 

Douxie was often wistfully reminded of Barbara and Blinky. Jim, too, had more than once gotten onto him about resting when he was injured. He… he really hoped they were alive.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he found his family dead. Or worse. There were many worse things that could happen to them. There were always fates worse than death. And the biggest one was always hanging over everyone’s heads now.

But, for now, Douxie knew they were alive. He could feel it in his gut. His soul bond with both Archie and Carter was strong, though he’d admit muted enough to where he couldn’t find them. But he at least knew they were alive. And if Archie and Carter were alive, that meant everyone else was too.

Douxie limped only a little as he made his way closer to the house. He put his hand over the still healing wound, wincing a bit at the sharp sting he felt. He could still feel dull teeth sinking into his skin, nails clawing at his flesh. He didn’t know how he was alive, or why. He figured it was most likely the same reason he hadn’t died to the Arcane Order. 

Or maybe there was another reason.

Regardless, Douxie was not going to tell his new acquaintances what actually wounded him, because that would lead to a whole can of worms he did not want to open. Ever. 

The worst of it was that Douxie could feel the corrupted magic when the undead bit him. Whatever had caused this was magic. Or a mortal messing with magic. A mortal messing with magic, causing the fall of civilizations would not be a first. That was how Atlantis fell.

But this was on a much larger scale. And Douxie didn’t know if he would be able to fix it.

“Rick,” Douxie said, walking up to the former police officer, trying to stave his limp. He didn’t want it to be obvious, but he was pretty sure he was failing miserably. “I want my spear back.”

Rick looked up at him, eyes conveying a sort of concerned confusion. “Why?”

“Reason one? You’re teaching everyone to shoot guns, thus they have weapons. Reason two? If any more of those bastardous walking hazards get onto the farm, I won’t be able to defend myself. And I don’t fancy getting bit.” Again, but he kept that part to himself.

Rick thought for a long moment, closing his eyes and taking a breath. He let it out slowly and met Douxie’s gaze. “Hershel said no weapons on the farm. Training these people to shoot is a precaution, Douxie.”

Douxie frowned. “Hershel is a good man, but he’s living in days that are long past. This world is dangerous and unforgiving. It will swallow the weak and ill-prepared, and I don’t know about you, but I refuse to be one of those people. Not anymore. Not again.”

Rick raised a brow at that. “What do you mean by not again?”

Douxie’s mouth snapped shut. He leaned away from the man, taking in a slow breath, averting his gaze. “I have not had… an easy life. I know what it’s like to be both the hunter and the hunted.” He clenched his jaw, looking off into the woods. “I will not let the world bring me down with it. I have to survive… for my family. For…” He took in a shaky breath, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as he thought of the person he couldn’t bear to live without. “For Carter.” He looked at Rick again. “Imagine how you would feel if you couldn’t protect your wife and son. That is my reality, Rick. That is the reason I need my spear. I will not die until I’ve at least been able to see my family again.”

Rick looked at him for a long time. Finally, he said, “You can have it when you’re leaving the farm, but not while you’re on the property.”

Douxie sighed. He didn’t argue, though. “At least… let me help you look for the girl.”

Rick seemed to consider it, but his gaze dropped to Douxie’s injured leg. “You think you can last out there like that?”

“I’m going to have to eventually, aren’t I?”

“I suppose so.”

Douxie hung back a bit, watching the others learn how to properly aim their weapons. He was using a stick he found on the ground to alleviate some of the weight off his leg.

“You wanna take a crack at this?” Rick asked, offering Douxie a handgun.

Douxie stared at him for a long moment, internally rolling his eyes. He silently took the gun and went to stand next to Jimmy. He lined up a shot and fired three times at three different bottles. He handed the gun back to Rick, stepping away from the broken glass. “I know how to shoot a gun.”

Rick and Shane shared a look. Rick regarded Douxie for a moment.

“Who taught you?” He asked.

Douxie shook his head. “It doesn’t matter much, because they’re dead. But I don’t need this,” he gestured to the others. “Focus on them.”

Rick looked at him for a long time. Then said, “Then why are you out here?”

Douxie shrugged. “I was bored.”

Shane laughed to himself, shaking his head. “You can shoot a gun, and use a spear. I’m curious to know what led you to learning that kind of stuff.”

Douxie shifted his weight, gripping the stick he was using. “Be curious then. I’m not in a sharing mood.”

He turned and walked away, leaving them to their training. He wanted to do something other than wait at this gods forsaken farm. But he knew he wouldn’t get more than thirty feet off the property before being torn apart by the undead. He didn’t have his magic, he didn’t have a car, and he couldn’t make it on his own. Even if he did leave, he wouldn’t know where to start. So waiting was his only option.

Chapter Text

It was maybe two days since the gun training? Douxie hadn’t bothered to pay attention anymore. He was so fucking tired. He just wanted to find his family. He missed them.

He missed Jim, his brother in arms as well as in name. The man he had the privilege to follow into battle, and who’d claimed him as his own. Douxie missed Barbara, the woman who’d welcomed him into her family without a second thought. He missed Steve, and Claire, and Krel. He missed Toby, and Eli, and Aja (who was off-planet right now, and probably didn’t even know what was happening.)

He missed Blinky and Aarrrgghh, who more than once had expressed their affections for him in more ways than just a friend. He missed Strickler, oddly enough. A man he didn’t know as well as the others, but was still family nonetheless.

He missed Archie. His familiar, his best friend. Archie had been with him since he was five. Every night he prayed that he’d live long enough to see him again.

Most of all… he missed Carter. His love, his life. What Douxie wouldn’t give to see him again, to hold him and kiss him. He just… wanted to be with his family again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice startled him. 

Douxie jumped and turned, relaxing slightly when he saw Carol. “Oh, hi Carol.”

Carol put her hand on his shoulder, sitting beside him. “Are you okay?”

Douxie shrugged, staring at the smoldering coals. “Not really, but who am I to complain? The world has gone to shit and everyone is miserable.”

Carol pursed her lips, letting her hand drop away. “I know you miss your family, Douxie. But…-”

“But what?” Douxie snapped, anger blazing in him suddenly. “For all I know, they’re dead Carol! And I- I couldn't have done anything to stop it!”

Carol stared at him, tears pricking at her eyes. Douxie realized, a little too late, that he probably shouldn’t have been so crass.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. It’s-it’s not your fault. I… I shouldn’t have said that. Not to you.”

Carol shook her head. “No, I get it.” She wiped her eyes and stood, walking away quickly.

Douxie watched her go, guilt gnawing at his heart. He slumped against the tree he was sitting against, watching Carol cook breakfast. He was painfully aware of everyone else staring at him for his outburst, but he did his best to ignore it. 

It was painfully silent. Awkwardly so.

Until Glenn stood and spoke.

“Um, guys.” Everyone looked up at him, confusion, maybe intrigue in their eyes. He rubbed his hands together nervously. “So… the barn’s full of walkers.”

Everyone stared. Douxie could practically feel the horror rolling off the group in waves. 

Douxie hung back as Shane peered into the barn. He was beginning to shake, panic welling in his chest. He could only think of a million things that could go wrong and set those monsters free. 

Whatever Rick and Shane were discussing was lost to him, drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears. He could faintly hear arguing, but couldn’t bring himself to pay attention.

He didn’t know when he started hyperventilating, but he found himself on his knees, unable to breathe. The panic, the anxiety was too much. It was overwhelming and he couldn’t breathe.
Soft hands were touching his shoulders, his back. A voice was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear the words being said. A shuddering sob escaped his lips, and he was being hugged tightly. An alarmed shout filtered in through his panic, and someone was holding the sides of his face gently. 

“Breathe, Douxie.” Someone, maybe it was Rick, said softly. “It’s okay. You’re okay, just breathe.”

He tried. He really did. But… but-

“I can’t.” He managed in between his sobbing and gasping. “I can’t-” his anxiety seemed to explode. He curled in on himself, letting out a desperate noise he was sure made no sense other than, ‘help me’. He was starting to feel light-headed. 

Beyond his muddled senses, he could still hear them arguing. Rick had temporarily turned his attention back to the others, his hands still gentle on Douxie’s face, helping him ground himself in reality. 

Then all he could hear was growling. The barn doors rattling as the dead beat against them, hungry for human flesh.

And that was it. All his anxiety crashed down on him, and the world went black.

Douxie woke in the back of the RV with a start. A scream left his mouth, his mind still in a daze from the dream.

“Hey!” Dale called, making his way towards Douxie. “Hey, kid you okay?”

Douxie blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear his mind. “Ugh,” he buried his face in his hands, attempting to rub away his headache. “What happened?”

Dale rubbed his back soothingly. “You had a panic attack and passed out. How are you feeling?”

Douxie groaned. “I have the worst sodding headache.”

Dale huffed a laugh. “Well, let’s get you some water.” He pat his shoulder, turning to grab a bottled water from under a chair. “You uh… you screamed something right before I came in.”

Douxie looked at him warily, accepting the water and the ibuprofen Dale offered him.

“Someone’s name,” Dale continued. Douxie looked away, popping the medicine in his mouth and taking a swig of water. “Who’s Jim?”

Douxie paused at that. Images of battles long since fought flashed in his memory. So too, did the echo of happier times. “My brother.” The ache in his chest returned at the thought of his family.

Dale nodded thoughtfully. “Younger or older?”

Douxie smiled, knowing it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Younger.” Much younger. “He’s uh… we’re not blood related.” He chewed his lower lip. Dale remained silent, patiently waiting for Douxie to continue. “He and his mum they uh… they kind of adopted me? Not legally, mind you. This wasn’t that long ago. They’re just… the only family I’ve ever known.” He paused for a long moment, picking at the bottle’s label. “I’m proud to call him my brother, a brave young man like Jim.”

Dale smiled. “You’ll find them, Douxie. If they’re anything like you. I’m sure they’re okay.”

Douxie’s smile was pained. “Thank you.”

Douxie stumbled out of the RV after Dale, wincing at the sunlight. He couldn’t get that dream out of his head. Jim covered in blood, Excalibur pointed at a figure shrouded in shadows. Jim was yelling, his words muffled to Douxie’s ears. Douxie had screamed for him when he saw his brother raise Excalibur… and strike.

“Hey,” Douxie turned when Lori called for him. She looked concerned, her brows pulled together. “You okay?”

“Eh,” Douxie walked to the table, swaying unsteadily for a moment. He sat across from Lori and Carl, shielding his eyes from the sun. Jim’s many ‘vampire’ jokes floated in his mind, but he pushed them away. “Been better. Could be worse.”

Lori hummed in acknowledgment, nodding. “You gave everyone a bit of a scare.”

Douxie pursed his lips. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath, counted to three, then let it out. “I haven’t had a panic attack that bad in… a long time.”

The last time being when Carter had been taken by his father. Over a year ago.

“Do you get them often?” Lori seemed even more concerned now.

Douxie shrugged. “Sometimes…” his gaze drifted as he thought. “Mostly small ones. I can usually manage.”

“But not this time?” Carl wondered.

Douxie chuckled, driving away his pain. “No, apparently not.”

“What caused it?” Lori asked him.

Douxie took in a deep, shuddering breath, and pushed back the memories of fear. His flesh being torn from body by teeth, nails scratching and pulling at him. Hordes of the dead surrounding him, waiting for a bite of their own. He didn’t know how he’d gotten away, or why he was still alive, but-

“Hey, hey.” Lori reached forward and gently grabbed his wrist. Douxie hadn’t realized he’d started hyperventilating again. “Douxie, you’re okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Douxie closed his eyes, and took in deep grounding breaths. He imagined, for a moment, that it was his own mother instead of Lori, comforting him. Barbara’s soothing voice echoed in his ears, her long fingers carded through his hair, driving the panic and the fear away. He let out one more shuddering breath and opened his eyes again. “It’s okay,” he whispered, vaguely aware of Andrea walking by them. “I’m okay.”

Andrea, Douxie noticed in his peripheral, paused for a long moment and then turned. “Douxie.” She waited for him to look at her. “Come with us.”

Douxie blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Come with me and Rick to look for Sophia. You look like you could use a walk. Come on.”

Douxie thought about it for a long moment before he got to his feet, making his way back to the RV to grab his spear. Faintly, he could hear Lori argue with Andrea about it.

“Douxie, what are you doing?” Dale asked.

Douxie grabbed his spear, fingers tightening on the celestial bronze. “Andrea invited me to go along with her and Rick. Trust me, I’m taking her up on her offer. I’m starting to feel a little cramped.”

Dale looked like he wanted to argue, but ultimately didn’t. “Stay safe.”

Douxie smiled. “Always.” And he turned, making his way outside again.

He and Andrea walked together to where Rick was waiting by a silver pick-up truck. Rick seemed surprised when he saw Douxie.

“You sure you’re up for this, kid?”

Douxie tilted his head to the side, smiling wryly. “The more eyes, the merrier, right?”

Rick gave him a pointed look. “Douxie-”

“Rick,” Andrea stopped him with a hand on his arm. “He’s coming.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Kid needs to do something. Even I can tell he’s going stir crazy.”

Rick sighed, but nodded. “Alright.” He beckoned them closer. “This is where we’re looking.”

As he gave them the layout, and the game plan, Hershel approached them from the house. Douxie watched the old man very carefully, as he told Rick he needed his help with something. Dread stirred in his gut as he watched them walk away together.

Douxie ended up keeping Carl busy, per request of the kid’s mother. Douxie had seen the way Shane had been acting. He knew something was wrong, but he was determined to stay out of it. He wasn’t going to get caught up in some sort of weird mortal love triangle, and he’d try to keep the kid out of it too.

His parents needed to get their shit together.

“So, where’d you learn how to use a spear?” Carl asked as they walked a ways away from the camp. Douxie hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

“You pick up a few things, living the way I did.” Douxie ran his thumb down the shaft of the spear, studying the trollish engravings.

“What do the markings mean?” Carl pointed.

Douxie smiled, kneeling to be on his level. “It’s a very old language. It says,” he pointed to each of the characters as he spoke. “May my blade serve you right in war, and yet even more in peace.”

Carl stared at him, eyes blown wide. “You can read it?”

“I can,” Douxie nodded. “I was pretty into ancient languages a few years back. Latin, Ancient Greek and Egyptian.” He snorted as he remembered something Carter had teased him about. “My boyfriend thinks I’m a dork for it.”

Carl smiled wryly. “Aren’t you?”

And Douxie grinned. “Cheeky little bugger, aren’t you?”

The boy shrugged, smiling still. He was silent for a moment before asking, “Can you teach me how to use it?”

Douxie’s grin softened. “Sure.”

So, Douxie showed him the basics. They spent thirty minutes out in the field, Douxie teaching Carl how to use the spear. It had been a long time since Douxie had been a teacher. And he remembered Claire, his brilliant sister and student who would surpass him in every way possible. Douxie felt his heart ache once more.

“Hey,” Carl prodded him, eyes holding a curious light. “Are you okay?”

Douxie quickly wiped his eyes, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Yes.” His fingers tightened around his weapon. “Sorry, yes.”

Carl stared at him. And stared, and stared, before he finally asked, “Why are you sad all the time?”

Douxie looked at him. “What?”

Carl, a boy so young that Douxie didn’t know how he could possibly survive in this world, looked at him with so much sympathy. “You’re sad all the time. You almost never smile. I don’t think I’ve even seen you laugh.”

Douxie sighed, and looked away. “It’s… hard to be happy when your heart aches for the people you miss, and love.” He closed his eyes, the wind blowing gently on his face, drying his tears. “It’s hard when you don’t know if they’re alive, or dead. I’ve come to realize I may never see them again.”

Carl stared at him. “You can’t give up! Isn’t that what you told me? Don’t give up hope?”

Douxie pursed his lips. “Yes… it is.”

“Then don’t.” Carl held a resolve in his eyes. Douxie was impressed by it. “It’s better for your heart to hope for the best.”

Douxie smiled, something pained and wistful. He knelt down and very gently hugged him. “Thank you. I… I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” Carl pat his back, grinning when Douxie let go. “You know, I’ve never had a brother before.”

Douxie smiled something a little more real. “I have one. I’d be pleased to have another.”

Carl grinned even wider, setting off back towards the house. Douxie followed, hope fluttering in his heart for the first time in a long time.

They sat on the porch with the others, having a pleasant conversation about everything and nothing at all. Up until Shane came stalking up the dirt road, the bag of guns slung over his shoulder. Douxie once again felt that dread in his gut.

He watched them, eyes widening as Shane began handing out the guns, talking about how Hershel would have to understand. His heart pounded in his chest again. This was wrong.

Something sharp, and angry, and protective shot through his chest when Shane tried to give a gun to Carl. He shot to his feet, but stopped short when Lori beat him to it.

And Douxie felt it first, more than he heard it. His head snapped to the side, his eyes widening when he saw Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy leading two walkers onto the property. His hand trembled, tightening around the shaft of his spear. He hadn’t bothered to put it back, and he was glad he didn’t.

And the others took off running. Douxie scrambled after them, not sure what was going to happen. Or maybe he did know, and he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Shane was yelling. “Do you see what he’s holding onto!?”

The arguing increased into a cacophony of noise. Douxie nearly screamed when Shane fired at the walker Hershel was holding onto. He covered his mouth with his hand, ears ringing as he stared. 

And it kept going. Three bullets to the chest and it kept coming. Until it dropped to the ground with a bullet in its head. 

Douxie stared at the long decaying corpse, breath shuddering. Shane was somehow both right and wrong. 

And then Shane was breaking the barn door open, and this time Douxie did let out a scream. Of horror, but it was lost in the noise.

Lori grabbed his wrist, and pulled him behind her. A mother if there ever was one, shielding him and Carl with her body as best she could. 

Douxie was shaking, horror and fear building inside him. Because it was going to happen again. He was going to be lost in a wave of the undead, and be dragged down and torn apart, and the fear and the panic were too much and-

The doors were open. And the dead were streaming out.

It was gunshot, after gunshot. Douxie could only stare as faces that were lost in decay were smeared by their own blood. Already dead bodies dropped to the ground. There was screaming, screaming, and more screaming. 

And he felt cold and numb. Watching. Staring at it all.

The gunshots and the screaming stopped. He could feel the horror and the grief rolling off his companions and he wanted to weep. Shane may have been right about the walkers in the barn, but he hadn’t dealt with it in the right way.

But then… one more came out of the barn. A young girl. Short blonde hair. Around Carl’s age.

“Oh gods,” Douxie breathed, because he was not stupid. “That’s…”

Carol’s sobbing confirmed it all as she cried out for her daughter, running forward only to be stopped by Daryl.

Rick walked forward, drawing his gun. He pointed it at Sophia, regret permeating his posture. One more gunshot rang throughout the farm, drowning out Carol’s sobs for just a moment.

Douxie crumbled to his knees, overwhelmed by the death and anguish. It was all so senseless. None of this had a purpose. It was just death, grief, and suffering. 

Hope was anywhere but here.

Chapter Text

He was pretty sure he’d zoned out again. Staring at the littered corpses of Hershel’s once upon a time friends and family. Beth, he could faintly hear her, crying loudly. And then footsteps running, and it was almost enough to break himself out of his wall of panic. 

He watched, blinking away the fog in his brain as she knelt before one of the corpses. Her mother maybe? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he jumped when she screamed. The walker wasn’t dead. It was clawing at Beth, growling and snarling in its endless hunger.

Douxie scrambled to his feet, running to help. They managed to pull her away, T-Dog kicking at its head, but that only succeeded in getting its grubby claws off the poor girl. Glenn, who at this point was beginning to achingly remind Douxie of Steve, held it down as it snapped and growled. Andrea had run to grab a scythe off the barn wall, skewering the walker through the head.

Only Beth’s sobbing remained. Everyone else exchanged looks, and Douxie saw the same horror in everyone’s eyes. He pushed down his rising panic, taking a deep breath. It was over, for now. 

Douxie turned to follow when everyone else began walking back up to the house. His chest constricted when he saw the look on Shane’s face.

“We’ve been out looking for her everyday and she was in there the whole time!?” Shane demanded, stalking after Hershel. “And you knew!?”

And it descended into more senseless arguing. Douxie was beginning to highly dislike Shane. 

“Otis put those people in the barn,” Hershel tried to explain. Douxie could tell the old man was shaken up. “Maybe he found her and put her in there before he was killed.”

“You expect me to believe that? Do I look like an idiot!”

“Shane!” Rick cut him off, hand on his chest to stop him from walking any closer to Hershel. 

“I don’t care what you believe!” Hershel spat out. 

“Everybody just calm down,” Rick got in between them, attempting to distill hostility. It wasn’t working.

Hershel jabbed a finger at Shane. “Get him off my land!”

Douxie just… watched. He watched them argue, every rise in their joint anger was like witnessing someone step on an ant hill. He gripped his spear just that much tighter, jaw clenching. 

And then Maggie slapped Shane, and Douxie was half-tempted to applaud her for it. For all that Shane may have been right about how dangerous the walkers in the barn were, he had no right to do what he did.

As the Greene family stomped into the house, Douxie couldn’t help but mutter, “Bloody fucking deserved it.”

And then Shane turned on him. “What the hell did you just say to me?”

Douxie’s eyes hardened with a glare. “You heard me. You had no right to do what you did.”

Something dangerous flashed in Shane’s eyes, and Douxie took a step back. “What the hell do you know, huh? I saw you, you were just as scared of them as everyone else.”

Douxie steeled his nerves. “I am scared of them, Shane. Any sane person is, but that?” He pointed in the direction of the massacre. “That was an asshole move, and you know it.”

“Hey, okay.” Rick stepped between them. “Douxie, let me handle this.”

Douxie looked at Rick, gritting his teeth. “Handle it? Handle it? There’s no handling this, Rick. He’s bloody insane.”

“Go.” Rick pushed him away. Not rough, just more prodding, the way a father might do to his son. “I’m serious. Go.”

Douxie huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned. “Bloody wanker is going to get us all killed.”

He went back down to the barn. He wasn’t sure why, but that’s where everyone else was and he just… he supposed he needed some sense of community. Douxie wished now more than ever that he was with his family. That he had someone he really trusted to lead them all. Because Rick was good, but he was holding onto the end of an unraveling rope.

And Rick wasn’t Jim.

He stopped when he overheard Carl telling his mother how he thought he’d be the one to find Sophia. That he’d be the one to bring her back. Douxie’s heart ached for him, and he found himself wishing he’d never told Carl to hope… hope was dangerous. Douxie knew that. He thought maybe there’d be just a bit more of it left in the world. He wasn’t so sure now.

“He did the right thing,” Carl said, looking up at his mother. “Shooting her like that. I would’ve done it too.”

Douxie didn’t miss Lori’s horrified expression. He knew what was running through her mind. Her son so easily admitting that he would’ve shot Sophia just like Rick had done? He could see her fear of losing Carl to this world come back tenfold.

But Douxie also understood what the boy meant. It was about mercy. Putting that poor girl out of her misery. He was sure any of them would have done it. After all, there was no bringing any of them back from… this.

“Dale, can you take Carl up to the house?” Lori requested. She looked at her son. “I want you to rest.”

Carl seemed a little confused, but didn’t argue. “Okay.” He stood, turning to follow Dale back up to the house, but stopped when he saw Douxie watching him. “Are you okay?”

Douxie chewed his lip, gripping the shaft of his spear tightly. “I um…” he sighed, gently squeezing Carl’s shoulder as the boy walked up to him. “I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself, alright?”

Carl’s brows furrowed. “Douxie… I don’t want-”

“Carl,” Dale called. “Come on.”

Douxie gave the boy a wan smile. “Go on. Don’t worry about me, mate.”

Carl seemed torn, but did as instructed. He glanced over his shoulder at Douxie one last time before he disappeared into the house. 

Rick gave him a concerned glance when he’d joined them back at the barn. “Are you okay?”

Douxie gave a small shrug, leaning on his weapon as he stared at the dead bodies littering the ground. “Not really.” He couldn’t get his voice over a whisper suddenly. The anxiety slowly crept back up, and he was vaguely aware of Shane glaring at him. “But we press on. It’s what we have to do, right?”

Rick nodded slowly, not looking at him. He was also staring at the twice dead bodies. “Right.”

Solemnly they made plans to bury the once-living/once-undead. Douxie couldn’t help a scowl when Andrea said they should burn the bodies of the people they hadn’t known. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have spared the labor it would take to dig that many graves. These people deserved proper burials.

And he said that.

“We should take the time,” Douxie insisted as Shane skulked off to get the truck to transport the bodies. “No matter that we didn’t know them, they were people once too. They deserve funeral rites.”

“That’s a lot of graves,” T-Dog said. “I don’t think anyone is up to digging that many. Besides, burning bodies is a type of funeral rite, isn’t it?”

Douxie’s scowl turned into a hardened glare. “Just dumping them into a pile and burning their bodies isn’t the same thing as a funeral pyre! It’s disrespectful to their memory and they deserve better!”

“Douxie,” Rick put a hand on his arm, drawing him back. “It’s not going to matter in the long run. Why are you so worked up about this?”

Douxie snatched his arm away, turning to the former police officer sharply. “Because it does matter, Rick.” He knew he was starting to cry, tears of anger and grief gathering in the corners of his eyes. “To just unceremoniously turn them into a massive bonfire of charred flesh and bone is… barbaric.”

“Listen,” he said softly. “I think you’re just tired and upset. Your nerves are shot, and you're taking it out on this. Go back up to the house, and get some rest.”

“I’m not-”

“Douxie, go.” Rick prodded him. “Please.”

With a huff, Douxie turned on his heel and stalked up the pathway. He wasn’t being irrational. He knew he wasn’t.

“Mortals,” he growled, not bothering to look at Dale as he passed him going into the house.

He slammed the door shut, not caring when Maggie jumped and glared at him from the living room couch. 

“Do you have to do that?” She asked.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” he growled, placing his spear against the wall a little more carefully. 

“What happened?” Carl asked from his place in the armchair.

Douxie paused for a long moment, wondering if he should tell Carl exactly why he was mad. But as angry as he was, he wasn’t going to disparage a father to his son.

So, instead he said, “I had a disagreement with Andrea and T-Dog about what to do with the bodies.”

“Oh,” Carl pursed his lips. “What did they say?”

Douxie shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

By now, Maggie’s glare was beginning to fade. She seemed just a bit more concerned now. “Here, come sit.” She pat the cushion next to her. “You look exhausted.”

Not having the energy to argue, Douxie sank onto the soft couch cushion, closing his eyes for a moment. “You know, Carl.” He opened his eyes to look at the boy. “For all that’s happened, I think you’re handling it remarkably well.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at the boy’s lips. “Thanks.”

“Losing the people you care about isn’t easy,” Douxie said. “And sometimes the way you lose them is scary and violent.” He pursed his lips, staring up at the ceiling. “Good on you for not freaking out back there.”

Carl didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Were you scared?”

Douxie huffed out a pathetic laugh. “Of course I was. I was terrified. But the thing about fear is that you can’t let it control you. I must… get a handle on that. I’ll only be a liability if I start having panic attacks everytime I see a walker.”

“You’re not, though.” Carl insisted. “It’s okay to be afraid sometimes.”

Douxie felt a sad smile tug at his lips. “Rule number one,” he whispered softly. He sighed and sat up right, facing his young friend. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”

He got a bigger smile from the boy. “You’re welcome.”

Of course, nobody ended up listening to Douxie about the funerals. Only four of them got proper burials. Douxie refused to help load the remaining bodies into the back of the truck.

“I will not take part in your game of disrespect.”

That’s what he’d told them when Andrea tried to ask for his help. He just sat against a tree, watching them with a scowl. Andrea, evidently, was annoyed with him. But Rick had just remarked that Douxie wouldn’t have been able to help move the bodies anyway with his leg still messed up. He was irritatingly right, but Douxie remained that he wasn’t helping because he didn’t agree, and not because he was (at the moment) physically incapable of assisting them.

He nearly smiled when Dale got onto them about the whole thing not being right. He wasn’t sure where the old man stood on the whole “burial rites” thing, but it was evident that he was still horrified by Shane’s method of dealing with the problem.

“He’s right you know,” Douxie called, mustering as much sass and cheek as he could. “Shane made a dick move.”

“Hey,” Andrea warned. “He wasn’t the only one shooting.”

Douxie gave her a pointed look. “Then you were an accessory to Shane’s assholery.”

She shot him a glare, but made the choice to ignore him. Shaking her head, she turned away, muttering something about “teenagers”.

Dale gave him an odd, but slightly appreciative glance. “The kid has made the point.”

They carried on the conversation, until Lori interrupted and said, “It’s already done, so there’s no point in arguing.”

Which, true. But Douxie felt it was still their right to be upset about the whole thing. 

Sighing, he turned his gaze to the sky, wishing now more than ever Jim were here. Jim would know what to do. He’d be able to rally everyone quickly and efficiently. And he’d listen to Douxie about the funeral rites thing.

And maybe that’s what Douxie really wanted right now. For someone to listen to him.

When he got back inside to escape the blistering heat, he discovered two things. Beth had gone into some sort of shock, and Hershel was missing. Rick and the others had found he’d packed his late wife’s things into boxes, and a liquor canteen was completely empty.

Douxie watched and listened, hanging in the doorway as Maggie explained that her father had given up drinking years ago. He knew something as horrible and earth-shattering as this would likely drive anyone back to the drink. Even a man with the values Hershel had. 

“I didn’t take Hershel for a drinker,” Rick said, handing the canteen to Maggie.

“He’s not,” she insisted. “He gave it up on the day I was born.”

Rick thought for a moment. “What’s the bar in town?”

“Hatlin’s,” Maggie answered. “He practically lived there back in his drinkin’ days.”

Rick nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m bettin’ that’s where I’ll find him.”

“I’ve seen the place,” Glenn said. “I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” Rick nodded. “Get the truck.”

Glenn started to leave, but Maggie stopped him.

“No,” she said, almost panicking.

“It’s an easy run,” Glenn said. 

“Like the pharmacy?” She challenged.

“Hey, Maggie?” Rick gently tapped her arm. “I’ll bring him back.”

Douxie stood in the doorway, preventing Rick from leaving just yet. He tuned out the quiet argument Glenn and Maggie engaged in, focusing on the ex-police officer. “I’m coming with you.”

Rick sighed, suddenly looking very tired. “Douxie, I can’t ask you to do that.”

Douxie frowned. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Kid, listen to me.” Rick gently took his shoulders, steering him out of the way. “Now’s not the time to be arguing. If we have to run, I don’t want to have to worry about you keeping up.”

His frown twisted into a glare. “I’m not a liability.”

“No, you’re not.” Rick agreed. “But this is for your safety, and no other reason. Your leg’s still healing, and I can’t keep an eye on you out there and look for Hershel.”

“Rick-”

“I’m not losing anyone else today.” He said firmly. “You’re just not ready to do this. You’re staying here, and that’s that.”

The teen scowled, crossing his arms. “You do know you’re not my dad, right?”

Rick looked at him for a long moment. “I’m not trying to be your dad. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die.”

Rolling his eyes, Douxie turned back into the room as Lori and Shane came into the hallway. He got a snippet of their conversation. Lori was upset with Rick for leaving at the drop of a hat to go on a rescue mission. Shane didn’t want him to go either, but Douxie was certain it was for different reasons than Lori had. 

Sighing, Douxie hovered near Beth’s bedside. He didn’t even know her, but his heart twinged with sympathy. Her sister was scrambling to hold onto her family, and their whole world was falling apart around their ears. Douxie couldn’t blame them for anything. Not even for believing the walkers were sick people who just needed to be cured. For holding onto one last hope. 

He paused when he heard what Lori was saying out in the hall.

“Carl said he would have shot Sophia himself. That’s your son, he’s getting cold.”

Douxie stiffened, listening intently.

“He’s growing up in a world where he needs a father like you. Around, alive. Not running off to solve everyone else’s problems.”

He quietly slunk back to the doorway, peeking around it to watch. And listen.

“It’s not just his problem I’m trying to solve,” Rick hissed. “We need Hershel for the baby. I’m going after him.”

Douxie blinked. Lori was pregnant? That… suddenly made everything make a whole lot more sense. And, he probably would have known that sooner if his magic wasn’t on the fritz.

Lori watched her husband walk away, and Douxie could only guess what she was feeling. He chewed his lower lip, wondering what to say, what to do. 

After a moment, he moved off the doorframe, stepping closer to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, offering a quiet moment of solidarity. Then, he spoke;

“He’s coming back.”

She took a deep breath. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“No,” Douxie agreed. “I can’t. But Rick Grimes is one of the most determined men I’ve ever met. He’ll be back, Lori.”

She looked at him, expression hard to place. “Rick’s always done this. Always raced off to protect everyone else. He’s always putting himself in danger when he doesn’t have to.”

Douxie nearly laughed. “He reminds me of my brother. Jim Lake Jr. never met a fight he didn’t throw himself head first into, to protect everyone else.” He gave her a small smile, tilting his head. “Let me tell you about men like Jim and Rick, Lori. They are men of action. Sitting still and waiting isn’t in their nature. Protective instinct runs through their blood. And Rick is doing what he can to protect you.” He nodded down the hall. “And Carl,” he gave her a pointed look. “And your baby.”

Lori put an absent-minded hand on her still flat stomach. She was silent for a long time, before finally saying. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Douxie smiled, knowing it didn’t reach his eyes. He began to turn away, going back into the room. “And you know,” he looked at her over his shoulder. “Even if he doesn’t come back with Hershel, he will come back. And if that is the case, my mother was a doctor before. I might be able to help you, should the need arise.”

She looked stunned, but then something almost like relief crossed her face. “Thank you, Douxie. I really do mean it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

He stayed with Beth while Maggie went outside to say goodbye to Glenn. He sat beside her, eyes scanning the pages of a book he couldn’t be bothered to properly read.

After a while, Douxie sighed and closed the book. He looked at Beth, lips pursing. Silently, he stood, taking her hand. It was cold. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was dead. 

He gently touched the tips of his fingers to her forehead and closed his eyes, trying to call forth his magic. He wasn’t much of a healer. That was a fact that anyone who’d known him long enough could tell you. But that didn’t mean he was useless at it. 

He couldn’t bring back the dead or fix fatal wounds, (Merlin’s death rang heavy in his mind). But what he could do was set broken bones, and try to heal Beth’s shock.

“Subleva mentem,” he whispered. He could feel his magic try to rise, but something was still blocking it from being effective. He opened his eyes, hand dropping away from the girl’s head. “Dammit.”

Douxie looked up when the door opened. Maggie poked her head in.

“Any change?”

Douxie shook his head. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, walking into the room. “I’ll stay with her now. Thank you.”

Douxie nodded and left, an idea forming in the back of his mind. If he couldn’t heal her with his innate magic, maybe he could try to help her using potions. He wasn’t that good at those either, but he could still try.

He wandered a little ways into the woods, searching for the plants and herbs he’d need. It’d been a while since he’d had to do this, and it brought back memories of simpler times, of when he’d first arrived in Camelot and became Merlin’s apprentice.

Fifteen minutes into his gathering and searching, a voice came from above him.

“What are you doing?”

Douxie looked up, barely slowing down as he carefully selected different plants and put them in his bag. “I’m getting ingredients.”

Carl squinted at him. “For what?”

Douxie smiled, looking back at his work. “For Beth. While your dad and Glenn are out looking for Hershel, I’m going to try and help Beth the only way I know how.” He gently closed the bag he was using and stood. “Remember I told you my mother was a doctor?”

Carl nodded slowly.

“Well, my father was something similar, though his ideas of medicine were usually herbal. Natural remedies and stuff. He taught me everything he knew.” Douxie gestured for Carl to follow him as he started walking. “A lot of the plants growing around here might help her, so I’m gonna give it a go.”

Carl was silent for a while. Then he asked, “What were they like? Your mom and dad?”

“Well,” Douxie said, taking a breath. “Neither of the people I call Mum and Dad brought me into the world. I don’t even remember my birth parents. They died when I was really young. And the man I called my father… he died too, a few years ago. Then my friend Jim, who if I’m being honest is really my brother in everything but blood, his mum practically adopted me. It couldn’t be legal because I was too old, but they’re my family regardless of lacking blood relations.”

He looked down at Carl, who was staring at him with something akin to shock and sympathy.

“Wow,” he murmured after a minute. “That is… the weirdest family tree.”

Douxie actually laughed at that. “Yes, it is. But someone wise once told me that family isn’t just who you have, it’s also who you’re with.”

Carl looked puzzled. “Um…”

“In other words,” Douxie said, hand on his shoulder. “Your family is much more than just which one you’re born into. It’s the one you choose.”

“Oh.” Carl thought for a moment, then nodded. “That’s kind of nice, actually.” He smiled at Douxie. “I’m glad you found a family to love you.”

“Me too.” Douxie squeezed his shoulder. “And with any luck, we’ll all find eachother again.”

Douxie found a bowl and a nicely shaped stone for a makeshift mortar and pestle. He sat by the campfire, grinding together the herbs, slowly adding in a bit of water to make a sort of paste. Carl sat nearby, watching with rapt interest. 

Lori wandered into the camp not too long later. She stopped, watching Douxie curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to help Beth.” He stood after a moment, deeming it ready. “This is all natural remedies. I’m hoping it could help bring down her fever a bit.”

Lori nodded. “Okay.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’ll go back in with you.”

Douxie gave her a wan smile and they walked together into the house. “Delighted for your company, ma’am.” He half-turned to Carl. “Would you like to join us?”

Carl shrugged. “Um… I’m okay.”

Douxie’s brows knit. Something about his demeanor was… off. The sudden attitude shift was disconcerting. “Okay. Stay out of trouble.”

“I will.”

He followed Lori into the house, treading up the stairs slowly. His leg was beginning to throb again. He may need to rest for a moment after this. 

“Are you okay?” Lori asked, looking explicitly at his injured leg as they made their way down the hall.

Douxie pursed his lips, trying to walk off his limp. It had come back with a vengeance. “Just a bit sore, is all.” He pushed the door open with his shoulder, making his way to the bed. “Excuse me, Andrea.”

He skirted around her, setting the bowl down on the nightstand. He settled his weight onto his good leg, taking Beth’s hand. He subtly rubbed some of the plant paste into her palm as he pressed his other hand to the back of her neck. “Medeor,” he whispered so the others wouldn’t hear.

This time, he did feel a rush of magic. Using an object, or in this case plant goop, to take the brunt of the effort worked. He smiled, bringing his hand away from hers.

“I don’t know how well it’ll work,” he lied, knowing exactly how well it should work. It should begin to bring her fever down, as well as give peace to her grieving mind. He knew how strong grief could be. Especially coupled with shock. “But with luck it should work to bring her fever down.”

Maggie stared at him. “How did you know how to do that?”

He smiled. “My father was a man of many talents, and he passed them on to me. You’d be surprised what you can do with a lot of the plants growing around here.”

Very slowly, she nodded. “Okay.” She looked troubled for a moment, then gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” Douxie said. He took a step to the side to allow Andrea to move back in, and agonizing pain shot up his leg. He gasped as his knee buckled and he fell, barely catching himself on the wall.

“Douxie!” Lori cried, rushing forward to help lower him to the ground. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Leg,” he managed through grit teeth. “It’s my leg.”

She looked up at the other women, gesturing with her head for them to come help. “Can you put any weight on it?”

Douxie did try when Maggie and Andrea helped get him on his feet. But it was just more excruciating pain. “Nope, nope.” He whimpered. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, here.” Lori hooked his arm over his shoulder, carefully leading him to a chair. “Sit down. Don’t get up until Hershel gets back.”

“It might just be a muscle spasm,” Maggie said. “Or phantom pains.” She gently squeezed his wrist. “I hope you didn’t tear the wound open while you were plucking daisies.”

Douxie huffed a laugh. “I don’t think so. I’m not bleeding.”

“Alright then,” Lori nodded slowly, and looked at Andrea. “Can you look in on Carl for me? I need to do something.”

She stood when Andrea nodded and pat Douxie’s shoulder before walking away. Douxie watched her go, dread stirring in his gut. Something was about to go wrong. He knew it.

After a while, the pain subsided into a dull throb. Douxie was able to put weight on his leg again. He hauled himself out of the chair and slowly made his way downstairs. 

“Oh, Douxie.” Patricia said, startling the teen slightly. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, still moving carefully.

“How’s the leg?” Maggie asked as he sat at the table.

“Better than it was,” Douxie answered truthfully. He sat next to Carl, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You okay?”

Carl shrugged. “I’m fine. Just… worried for my dad and Glenn.”

“Carl,” Shane said at one end of the table. “I want you to keep your head up, okay? Your old man? He’s the toughest son of a-”

“No cussing in the house,” Patricia interrupted. 

“Sorry,” Shane said after a pause, though he just looked slightly amused.

Douxie rolled his eyes as Carol called for Lori. Maggie turned in her chair to look at her.

“She’s not in there,” she said.

Dale stared at Maggie. “Where is she?”

There was absolute silence at the table. That feeling of dread in the pit of Douxie’s stomach grew. 

“Carl, when’s the last time you saw your mom?” Shane asked.

“This afternoon,” he answered carefully.

“She was worried about Rick,” Andrea said. “Asked me to look in on Carl.”

“She went after them?” Dale demanded.

“She didn’t say that,” Andrea denied, shaking her head.

Douxie dropped his head into his hands, knowing that’s exactly what she did. “She probably did.”

“Nobody panic,” Shane ordered, getting to his feet. “She’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

Everyone stood to look for her. Carl wordlessly helped Douxie up, knowing without having to be told that the teen wouldn’t be doing much walking on his own.

They searched for a long while, finding her nowhere. The longer they looked, the more Douxie’s leg began to ache. The pain turned from a dull throb to sharp stabbing.

“She’s not at the barn,” Shane said, coming back into the camp. “I checked the yards.”

“Well where is she?” Carl asked worriedly.

“She asked Daryl to go into town,” Carol called, jogging towards them. “Must’ve gone herself.”

Douxie put a hand on Carl’s shoulder when he covered his hand with his mouth, barely holding back tears. “Hey,” he whispered. “Carl-”

Carl turned on his heel and ran. Douxie had absolutely no chance of keeping up with him, even though something instinctively protective was screaming at him to follow.

“Did you know about this?” Shane asked Dale.

“No,” the old man answered.

Crippling fear crossed Shane’s face. “Did she at least take a gun?”

Dale sighed “I don’t know.”

Shane turned and began to walk away, towards a nearby car.

“I wouldn’t have let her go out there alone,” Dale called after him.

Douxie watched Shane roughly drive away. He looked towards Carl, who’d paused to watch on his way back to the house. 

“Douxie,” Dale’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Douxie hadn’t noticed he’d begun to sway. His leg was burning, sharp pain stabbing over and over again. He took in a breath, shifting his weight. “I’m fine.”

“You look terrible,” Dale noted.

“I’m fine,” he said again. He turned, slowly making his way towards Carl. He tried to ignore the agonizing pain, but it was getting harder with each step. 

Still, he pushed it down, walking with Carl back into the house. He didn’t know what was happening, but he couldn’t let them know he wasn’t okay. He couldn’t risk it.
He collapsed as soon as the door was closed. His leg just gave out. It was only now he noticed how cold and shaky he was. Something hot and sticky was smearing on his leg, blood.

Carl shouted something, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Everything was echoey and far away, like trying to hear someone talk while underwater. The boy violently shook his shoulder, and Douxie had just enough awareness to notice him shoot to his feet and slam the door open before the world went dark.

“Mom!” Carl screamed, running out of the house.

His screaming shook Lori out of her rage. Rage at Shane for bringing her back before he knew Rick was safe. For lying to her about it.

“Mom! Douxie collapsed! He’s- he won’t stop shaking, and I don’t think he’s breathing!”

The adults shared horrified looks before they went running towards the house. All Lori could do as they ran was pray to whatever god was listening that he wouldn’t die. She couldn’t stand seeing another child die. Not so soon after Sophia.

They found Douxie collapsed in the entryway, eyes rolled back, shaking violently. Her heart leapt into her throat, because it reminded her of when this happened to her son not so long ago.

“He’s having a seizure!” Maggie shouted, shoving people aside. “Help me get him on his side!”

Lori knelt down, helping Maggie turn Douxie onto his side. She held his shoulder gently as he trembled violently. Maggie gently kept his head from being thrown back, presumably to help him breathe. 

The seizure persisted. Carl was hovering nearby, looking downright terrified. Lori noticed a patch of blood seeping through his jeans on his right thigh. Where his wound had been.

“Maggie,” she breathed, pointing.

“Oh shit.” Maggie’s eyes went wide. “Okay, um… we- we can’t do anything about that until the seizure stops.”

Lori nodded, fear still gripping her tight. But she breathed, trying to remain calm. It wouldn’t do any good to panic. Not right now. 

Within another minute, Douxie stopped seizing. He lay prone on the floor for a second before he slowly moved of his own volition. He looked dazed and confused. His eyes were glazed over, like he didn’t really know where he was. 

“Jim,” he rasped, not really looking at anyone in particular.

“Jim’s not here,” Lori said softly, rubbing his shoulder. “Douxie, you’re still on the farm.”

He blinked once. Twice. Then, “Oh.”

“Hey,” Maggie nudged him. “We need to take a look at your leg, kid.”

“Shane,” Lori beckoned him over. “Help move him.”

Shane, surprisingly, didn’t argue. He wordlessly scooped up the lanky teenager, who was still too out of it to really react to being picked up like that. Maggie followed them up the stairs.

Lori shakily got to her feet, reaching for her son. “He’s going to be okay, Carl.”

Carl looked at her. “He- he couldn’t breathe, Mom.”

“He’s okay now,” she said softly. “He’s a little dazed, but I think he’s going to be okay.”

He swallowed. “Why did that happen?”

Lori sighed. “I don’t know, Carl. He might have a condition, or- or maybe it was something else.”

“Lori,” Dale took her arm gently. “Let’s make sure you’re okay too.”

She let Dale lead her upstairs, not letting go of her son. Too much had happened today. Too many horrible things had happened one after the other. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Carl sat with Douxie while the adults “talked”. Why did adults always send kids out of the room when they were talking? He didn’t get it. He wanted to know what was going on too!

“Hey,” Douxie nudged him with his foot. Carl looked at him. “What’s going through your head?”

“I dunno,” Carl turned, sitting on the bed facing him. “I just found out my mom’s pregnant. And they didn’t tell me.”

“Hm,” Douxie nodded slowly. He still looked slightly dazed. Maggie had already re-bandaged his leg wound. She’d need Hershel to look it over again, but she was pretty sure Douxie was gonna be fine. “Does it bother you?”

“I guess not,” Carl shrugged. “I mean, I’m pretty excited. I’m gonna be a big brother!”

Douxie smiled thinly. “Being an older brother is an honor and a privilege. You find a different way to love when you have someone to look out for and take care of like that.”

Carl stared at him for a moment. He looked awful, his eyes dark and sunken, cheeks hollow and skin pale. He… kind of looked like a walker if you squinted. 

Douxie’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”

Carl sighed. “You,” he said lamely. “I thought you were going to die.”

Douxie pursed his lips. “I’m fiercely sorry about that. I don’t really understand why it happened.”

“Um, Andrea said something about… eli- epi-”

“Epilepsy?”

Carl nodded.

“As far as I’m aware, I don’t have epilepsy,” Douxie told him. “I don’t ever recall having… a seizure before.” There was a pause there, like he was thinking of something else but didn’t want to say it. “So, I’m not sure why it happened at all.”

Carl sighed again. “Okay.”

“I’m going to be okay,” Douxie told him softly. “You know that, right?”

He shrugged, worry still churning in his gut. “I guess so… but just be careful, okay? I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Douxie considered him for a moment. His gold-hazel eyes seemed to stare into Carl’s soul. After a moment, the older boy nodded and gave him a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Text

“Woah, woah.” Shane stopped Douxie from gathering his weapon. “You’re not coming with us?”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to just sit here.”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do,” Daryl said, loading his quiver. “You just had a seizure, kid.”

“And I’m fine!”

“Douxie, no.” Dale called. “Absolutely not.”

“I want to help.”

“Help us by healing.” Shane said firmly. “If something happens out there, we might not be able to bring you back. Besides, Carl would be pretty upset if you left now.”

Douxie glowered at him. “Don’t pretend to care about me.”

“I’m not pretending.” Shane holstered his gun. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere, and I know you know that.”

Douxie opened his mouth to continue arguing, but paused when he saw a red car pulling up. Relief filled him, and he took a step back from Shane.

Rick stepped out from the driver’s side, catching Carl in a hug when his son ran towards him. He scooped up Lori too, squeezing his family tight. 

“Thank the gods,” Douxie breathed, walking towards them, trying not to let his limp slow him down. “Is everyone alive?”

“And counted for,” Rick said with a nod. “Along with… one more.”

“What?” 

Hershel was walking back to the house with purpose. “Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery.”

Douxie squinted at Rick as the officer walked towards him. “Picking up more strays?”

“We did for you,” Rick said with a small smile. “How’s your leg?”

“Ugh,” Douxie rolled his eyes. “I wish people would stop asking me about that.”

Carl shoved at him playfully. “What’d we say?”

“Don’t dismiss it,” Lori said to him softly. She looked at her husband. “He’s fine, Rick. The wound got aggravated while you were gone, but he’s okay now.”

Douxie noticed how she very explicitly chose not to tell him about the seizure. He was grateful for that.

“Who the hell is that?” T-Dog suddenly called, pointing at the car.

“That’s Randall,” Glenn said with a slight grimace.

Douxie turned to see someone sitting in the backseat of the car, a red blindfold around their eyes. “Bloody hell.”

“We couldn’t just leave him behind,” Rick said a few minutes later when they were in the dining room. He and Glenn had explained what had happened back in town as best they could. How they got shot at by strangers, and nearly overrun by the dead. And how Randall had been with the group trying to kill them. “He would’ve bled out. If he lived that long.”

“It’s gotten bad in town,” Glenn said quietly.

Douxie leaned on the archway frame, arms crossed. “He shot at you?”

“... Yes.” Rick sighed. “But he’s just a kid. Is it really that different from what we did for Douxie?”

Douxie raised a brow. “I didn’t shoot at you.”

“What do we do with him?” Andrea asked.

It was uncomfortably silent for a while, then Hershel walked in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I repaired his calf as best I could. He’ll probably have nerve damage. He won’t be on his feet for at least a week.” He looked at Douxie. “I want to take a look at your leg, Douxie. Maggie said you were bleeding again. And you had a seizure?”

It went deathly quiet in the room. Douxie shrunk back as Rick and Glenn stared at him.

“You had a seizure?” Rick asked, pure concern flashing in his eyes.

“Small one,” Douxie pressed his fingers together.

“You should really sit down,” Maggie told him. “We still don’t know why it happened.”

“I’m really fine,” Douxie insisted. He looked at Rick. “What are we going to do with him when he’s better?”

“Give him a canteen and send him on his way,” Rick decided.

Douxie tried not to feel the fear knocking at his heart. “Isn’t that pretty much the same thing as leaving him for dead?”

The former officer looked at Douxie with something like sympathy. “Douxie, that’s not what we’re going to do with you.”

“Well, why not?” Douxie questioned. “You said yourself, saving him is the same reason you saved me. Why did you insist on me staying here, but making him leave once he’s better?”

“Because,” Rick said softly. “For one, you’re right. You never tried to kill us. And since you’ve been here, you’ve more than proven that you can be trusted. I just can’t let myself have that same faith in him.”

Slowly, Douxie’s anxiety started to dissipate. He nodded, accepting that. “Okay.”

“You’re just gonna let him go?” Shane questioned. “He knows where we are.”

“He was blindfolded the whole way here,” Rick said. “He’s not a threat.”

Shane laughed humorlessly. “You just admitted in front of everyone that you don’t really think that. Or was that a lie to give this kid some peace of mind?”

Douxie glared at him. “Do you have to be so bloody awful all the time?”

He only got a glare in return. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Douxie flipped him off.

“Hey!” Carol waved at him. “Douxie, stop it. That’s not helping.”

Shane looked at Rick again. “How many of them were there? You said you killed three of their men, and took one of them hostage? And what? You don’t think they’ll come looking for him?”

“They left him for dead,” Rick said sharply. “No one is looking for him.”

“We should still post a guard,” T-Dog said uneasily.

“He’s out cold right now,” said Hershel. “Will be for hours.”

“You know, I’m gonna go get him some flowers and candy,” Shane scoffed sarcastically as he stomped out of the room. “Look at this folks, we’re back in fantasy land!”

“You know, we haven’t even dealt with what you did at my barn yet!” Hershel called after him angrily. Shane turned to look at him, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “Let me make this perfectly clear once and for all, this is my farm. Now I wanted you gone. Rick talked me out of it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. So do us both a favor, and keep your mouth shut.”

“You should still kick him off the farm,” Douxie muttered, knowing with certainty that no good could come from letting him stay. Men like Shane thrived in a lawless world. He’d seen it before. Shane was no different than the countless bastards and thieves who thought they could get away with literal murder just because there was no one to tell them no.

“You should watch your mouth,” Shane suddenly addressed him, having paused on his way out the door. “It’s going to get you into trouble someday.”

Douxie gave him a smile. It wasn’t a very nice one. “The amount of times I’ve heard that would astound you. And yet, I’m still here.”

“For now.”

Douxie shoved off the archway frame, facing Shane fully. “Was that a threat, Shane?”

Shane glowered at him. “No,” he turned and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Douxie glared at the door, knowing full well that it had been a threat. He’d known men like that all too well. Knights, squires, even Arthur when he was in a mood (which he often was). “Bastard ffycin,” he grumbled, turning back into the dining room.

“What the hell was that?” T-Dog demanded. “Kid, I think you’ve got a death wish.”

“I don’t,” Douxie said, taking weight off his right leg again. 

“Why are you being so snippy today?” Andrea questioned.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Because Shane’s a twat and I don’t have the patience to deal with his attitude anymore!”

“Douxie,” Rick gave him a look. “Why don’t we pull back on the sass today? It won’t do anyone any good if we’re all arguing.”

Douxie spread his arms. “Look here and see all the fucks I don’t give!” He sharply turned on his heel, going towards the front door. “And for the record,” he said, half-turning, taking mild amusement in their shocked expressions. “It would have been simpler to leave Randall where he was.”

Rick watched Douxie leave the house. He ran a tired hand down his face, and turned to Carl. “I know you look up to him, but I don’t want to catch you saying words like that, okay?”

Carl nodded, still wide-eyed. “Yes sir.”

“Are you going to do anything about that?” Andrea asked.

Rick made a vague gesture to the door. “He’s a teenager, Andrea. They’re all like that.”

T-Dog snorted. “Yeah, a teenager and he’s british. Cussing is like a second language to them.”

Rick shook his head, glancing at Hershel. “I’m sorry about that. I know how you feel about cussing in the house.”

Hershel sighed. “It’s not Douxie I’m worried about.”

Rick nodded, patting the old man on the shoulder. “We’re not gonna do anything about it today, okay? Let’s just cool off, and focus on that kid.”
“Yes,” Hershel nodded, and looked at Carl. “Young man, would you mind bringing Douxie back to the house? I need to take another look at his leg, and he’s less likely to yell at you than any of us.”

Carl nodded, slipping out of his chair and running out the door.

“Like you said,” Hershel turned to the boy’s parents. “Carl looks up to him. And I know Douxie’s not mad at him. There’s mutual affection there.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Rick sighed, knowing how attached Carl was to the older boy.

“I think he just misses his family,” Lori spoke up. She looked at her husband. “Douxie has a younger brother. I think he’s trying to fill that need to protect his brother, with Carl.”

“Well,” Rick thought for a moment. Douxie was incredibly passionate, and he cared about the people around him. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for Carl to have someone look out for him like that.”

“Hey, Douxie!” Carl called, jogging towards him. “Douxie!”

Douxie turned, stopping to wait for him. “What?”

“Hershel said he still needs to take a look at your leg again.” Carl said, a little out of breath. “You need to go back.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Can’t we do this later? I don’t have the energy for it.”

“Come on,” Carl rolled his eyes. “Hershel just wants to make sure you’re okay!”

“I,” Douxie informed the boy firmly. “Am just fine, Carl.”

Carl regarded him with a suspicious glare, arms crossed. “You’re not okay. Stop lying to everyone just because you’re scared.”

Douxie stared at him, flabbergasted. “What?”

“You keep telling everyone you’re fine when you’re clearly not.” Carl huffed. “I can tell you’re afraid of something, but we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what it is!”

Douxie took a step back from him, sucking in a breath. Carl wasn’t wrong. And if a ten year old boy noticed Douxie’s hesitation and fear, the adults surely would have noticed too.

“Just tell me,” Carl pleaded. “What are you so afraid of?”

Abandonment, Douxie didn’t say, but the thought echoed loudly in his mind. Being left behind because you’ll all come to view me as a liability. Or worse, something to fear. Of dying, of being killed by your father when he learns what I am and strives to protect you from me.

“Nothing,” Douxie did say. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t,” Carl insisted.

“Go back inside,” Douxie told him softly. “And quit worrying about me. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“But-”

“Carl, I just- I need to be alone right now.” Douxie turned away from him to spare himself from the broken-hearted look on the boy’s face. “I need to think.”

“Okay, but just…” Carl sounded sad. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

Douxie sighed, but didn’t turn to look at him. “Stay out of trouble.”

He walked alone, leaving Carl by himself to hopefully go back inside. A part of him wanted to leave then and there. He might be able to make it on his own if he got his hands on a car. A part of him still didn’t trust these people. Not fully. Not even with Rick assuring him he could.

But something stopped him from doing that. Something he hated to admit to himself.

He’d come to rely on these people. For food, medical aid, and shelter. And with his magic on the fritz, Douxie knew that, realistically, he wouldn’t last on his own. Not with his leg the way it was, and the sudden seizures also put a damper on his plans to run. He definitely wouldn’t make it out there until he figured out why they were happening.

Do they rely on me the same way I do them, he wondered, gazing out across the green fields. Or is this relationship merely one-sided? Could they dump me and be off with no more thought to it. Would they?

Douxie closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air. His heart was aching again, longing to be with his family. To be truly safe again. What he’d give right now to be with them…

“Dad!” Carl came jogging into the campsite, searching for his parents. “Mom?”

“We’re in here, Carl.” Rick poked his head out of the tent. “What’s wrong?”

Carl sighed. “Douxie won’t go back to the house. Something’s wrong.”

Rick walked out of the tent, followed closely by his wife. “Where is he?”

Carl pointed to a tree a few hundred feet off the campsite. They could see him nestled up in the branches, looking at something in his lap. He may have been reading, but one wouldn’t be able to tell from where they were standing. “He climbed up there a few minutes ago. Dale wasn’t able to get him to come down.”

Lori sighed loudly, rubbing her forehead. “Well,” she patted Rick on the shoulder. “It’s your turn to deal with his sullen attitude.”

Rick nodded, looking resigned. He glanced at his wife. “Teenagers,” he said, before walking towards Douxie’s tree.

Lori put a hand on Carl’s shoulder as they watched Rick go. “Promise you won’t act like that when you’re his age.”

Carl snorted. “I will make no such promises.”

Douxie could hear footsteps below him, but didn’t much care who it was. He kept his eyes on his book. He didn’t think any members of Hershel’s family would’ve been fans of the murder mystery genre, but he’d been surprised when he’d found this particular book. It was a good read. He remembered picking it up and reading it when it came out in 1937.

“Hey,” Rick’s voice, suddenly so close, nearly startled him into falling out of the tree.

Douxie whipped his head around to see Rick on a branch slightly below him. He frowned. “Hello.”

“What’re you reading?” Rick asked, pulling himself a little higher.

Douxie sighed through his nose, but showed Rick the book cover. “Death on the Nile, by Agatha Christie. It’s gotten a couple of film adaptations, but I like the book better.” He dog-eared his page, thinking of how offended Blinky would be if he found out.

“Good author?” Rick asked, now on the same level as Douxie.

“She wrote Murder on the Orient Express,” Douxie said, wondering where he was going with this. “Probably a bit more famous of a story.”

Rick nodded, like he knew exactly what Douxie was talking about. “Didn’t take you for a murder mystery person.”

“Do you need something?” Douxie finally asked, suspicion underlining his tone.

“For you to go inside so Hershel can take a look at your leg?” He posed it as a suggestion.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I’d really rather be alone right now.”

Rick was silent for a moment before asking, “Is there something bothering you?”

Douxie clenched his jaw. “No.”

“You’re tense and you look like you want to push me out of the tree,” Rick pointed out. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Douxie hissed, glaring at him. “Why can’t you people nose out of my business and just leave me alone!”

Rick looked at him for a moment. He’d barely flinched when Douxie yelled. It just made Douxie more angry. “Douxie,” he said softly. “I’m not nosing out because of one very simple reason.”

“Oh? And what reason would that be?”

“Because, believe it or not, you’re part of this group now.” Rick gave him a meaningful look. “And I’m not going to leave you to believe otherwise. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think you’re not safe here, or that we might make you leave for a reason I can’t comprehend. But we won’t. We don’t want you to leave, we don’t want you to be out there on your own. I told you I’m going to help you find your family, and I will. So please stop pulling away from us. You’ve been out of sorts ever since we brought Randall here, and I know this is the reason why. You basically told me as much back at the house.”

Douxie blanched, staring at him. Rick had just pointed out every single reason Douxie was angry right now. Maybe, in his head, Douxie had already convinced himself they were going to abandon him. So he wanted to leave before they could do that. Before they could hurt him first. 

“Damniwch ef,” Douxie muttered. He sighed, looking at Rick with a tired gaze. But he didn’t deny a single thing he’d said. “You’ve got me in a glass box there.”

Rick smiled. “Come on. You can come back to your sulking tree after Hershel’s looked at your leg.”

Douxie climbed down after him, following him back to the house. “It astounds me you’d care so much about a person you’ve only just met.”

“You’re a kid who’s lost everything important to him,” Rick said, slowing down so Douxie could keep up. “And despite your current attitude, I know you’re kind hearted and care more than you want to let on.”

Douxie pursed his lips. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Hm,” Rick smiled, laughing softly. “By the way,” he said as he held the screen door open for Douxie. “What was that word you said just now? It wasn’t English.”

“Ah,” Douxie set his book down on the table. “No, it was Celtic Welsh. I did tell you I’m from Wales, right?”

Rick thought for a moment, then nodded. “I recall you telling us that, yes. But what did you say?”

Douxie gave him a sheepish smile. “”Damn it”.” He cleared his throat. “I do that a lot.”

“Cuss in Welsh?”

Douxie nodded. “If they don’t know what I’m saying, they can’t reprimand me for it.”

Rick chuckled. “I guess. Just don’t teach Carl any of those words, please.”

Douxie smiled. “I won’t.”

“I see you found Otis’ old book,” Hershel said as he threw away the old bandage wrap, stained with Douxie’s blood.

“Oh,” Douxie grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just found it on the bookshelf downstairs. I can put it back.”

“No, no.” Hershel sighed. “Books were meant to be read. I don’t think we should just let it sit there collecting dust.” He turned to look at Douxie, smiling thinly. “You’re a bright young man, with excellent taste in novels.”

“Heh,” Douxie fiddled with one of his bracelets. “Thank you.” They were silent for a while, Douxie watching Hershel put his medical equipment away. “How’s Beth?”

“Not as bad as she ought to be,” Hershel answered honestly. “But I’m grateful that she’s not any worse.”

Douxie nodded. “So… any idea what might’ve caused the seizure?”

“Well,” the old man turned to him. “Not really. You have no past history of seizures, you’re not epileptic, and other than your leg wound, you’re about as healthy as a young man your age can be.” He leaned back on one of the dressers in the room. “It could be lack of sleep, or extreme stress, but I really don’t think those are the causes.”

Douxie huffed and slumped in his chair. So it was magically induced, then. Though he couldn’t be sure from what or why. There had only ever been one other time in his life he’d had a magically induced seizure. 

It had been shortly after Merlin died. He’d stashed Nari at the apartment in New York and went back to Arcadia to help his friends plan against the Arcane Order. A backlash of using so much magic when he’d gone up against the Order the first time caught up with him. It resulted in him blacking out, and when he came to he was on the floor with Jim shaking him and screaming his name.

Barbara said he’d started seizing and wouldn’t come out of it for a whole of ten minutes. That hadn’t been fun. Especially afterwards, when concern for his health drove his friends to treat him like glass.

But this time he had no idea what had caused the seizure. And if he didn’t know what had caused it, how could he prevent it from happening again?
“Do you think it might happen again?” Douxie asked, voice soft and very low.

“I can’t be sure,” Hershel told him. “But the best thing for you to do is take it easy. Don’t carry heavy workloads, and just try to relax. That means making sure you maintain your blood pressure.”

Douxie blinked. Then smiled when he realized what Hershel meant. “Ah, so you mean don’t pick any more fights with Shane.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “That. I know you don’t like him, and frankly neither do I. But you tend to purposely goad him into arguments.”

Douxie shrugged. “No one’s goading, I just know when he’s spouting bullshit and I call it out. He spouts a lot of it.”

Hershel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky it’s mostly entertaining, but there’ll come a day when it won’t be. And for now, try to not. It’s better for you, right now.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Douxie said with a smile and half-salute as he stood.

“And no more cussing.” Hershel chided as Douxie was half way out the door. “I get if it’s like second nature to you, but Carl is impressionable and it makes Patricia uncomfortable.”

“I’ll try to watch my words,” Douxie promised, then left the room.

He made his way downstairs, scooping up the book he’d left on the table. He went back outside, rejoining the others around the campsite. Rick looked subtly pleased that Douxie had chosen to sit with them instead of by himself.

“Everything good?” Carol asked as he took a seat across from her.

“Yep,” Douxie nodded. “We couldn’t figure out why I had the seizure, but it’s unlikely to happen again.”

“That’s good,” Lori said. “And are you feeling better from earlier?”

Douxie cracked a smile. “Yes, Lori. I am.”

The conversation lapsed away from him, and Douxie took to reading his book again, filtering out their voices until it was nothing more than background noise. He kind of wished he had his headphones, but he didn’t so he didn’t dwell too long on that thought.

It had been too long since he’d been engrossed in a good book. And even though he’d read it before, and several other of Agatha Christie’s novels, he still loved the story. He knew the twists and turns the mystery took, but it never stopped being exciting. 

He reached the end of a chapter, maybe an hour or so into his focus on the novel. He pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket, folded to be the perfect size for a bookmark. Maggie had handed it to him when he’d gone inside to see Hershel.

Douxie set the book down, looking up just as Lori passed him a plate of food. He blinked, not even realizing what time it was.

“Good book, I’m guessing?” Dale said with a bit of cheek.

Douxie smirked, nodding in thanks at Lori before she passed him to get to the next person. “It’s a rare thing to be so engrossed in a story you don’t even realize the time pass around you. Even rarer to know a friend who experiences the same thing.” He smiled something real, and it felt good to be happy for a change, even if that happiness was temporary. “I can’t say any of my friends understood what I was talking about. My extremely dyslexic boyfriend certainly didn’t.”

“What’s your favorite genre?” Daryl, surprisingly, asked him.

“Mmm,” Douxie thought. “I enjoy a lot of them. Though I think my favorite is retold fairy tales.”

Andrea raised a brow. “Why?”

Douxie grinned. “A good author knows to captivate their audience, even when telling an already famous story. Especially when they go and put their own spin on it. The Sisters Grimm, for example. Fantastic series, even though technically it’s written for a younger audience than myself. Anything by Marissa Meyer.” He thought a moment longer. “And this technically doesn’t count, but I liked the Grisha books by Leigh Bardugo. I got my friend Steve to read them too. Oh, and Jules Verne novels. Those are good.”

“I think Journey to the Center of the Earth was on my summer reading list,” Carl said. “I never got to it.”

“Obvious reasons are obvious,” Douxie said with a smile. “But it’s a good read.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for bookstores next time we do a supply run,” Glenn said. “You’ll never be bored again.”

Douxie laughed. “Trust me, you all are entertainment enough.”

Chapter Text

Rick and Shane were driving down an empty road one week later with Randall in the back seat, hands and feet bound, a blindfold covering his eyes, and a rock mixtape drowning out anything he might be able to hear. The mixtape was actually Douxie’s idea. He’d made them promise to bring it back so he could give it a listen. 

Rick promised to at least try. Douxie turning out to be a punk rocker was not that much of a surprise, given his general attitude and appearance. The bright blue hair was also a bit of a giveaway.

But for all that, he was a sweet kid who needed his help. So Rick was more than willing to let him stay for however long he needed to. And he tried not to think about how much it was going to hurt when Douxie left if they found his family. 

“You think there’s much of a chance,” Rick asked, a short while after he’d tried to get through to Shane about Lori. “Of Douxie’s family being anywhere near here?”

Shane huffed in the passenger seat. He’d been sullen and silent ever since that conversation. “I don’t think there’s much of a chance of them even still being alive.”

Rick sighed. “Don’t do that. The kid needs to hope they are, Shane.”

“And what’s hope going to do for him when the reality is that they’re dead?” Shane turned to him. “If you keep doing this, and we find out they’re gone, he’s going to be devastated and whose fault do you think that will be?”

“We can’t know for certain they’re dead.” Rick told him sternly. “Even if they are, our job is to be there for him. We’re looking out for him, until we find them.”

“And if I’m right?” Shane challenged. “If his family is dead and gone?”

“We let him stay with us. We be there for him. Because like it or not, that kid isn’t going anywhere unless it’s to leave with his family.” Rick eyed him. “He needs us.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You’re attached.”

Rick was silent for a moment. Before saying, “And what if I am? Douxie’s a good kid. Everyone likes him, Carl looks up to him as the big brother he never had. He was willing to help us find Sophia, and that had nothing to do with him.”

“So, what?” Shane gave him a look. “You’re just going to adopt him?”

“I know you’re being cynical, but he needs us, Shane. The least we can do is step up and do our best for him.”

“Nobody asked you to be a helicopter mom,” Douxie said, tone light. He looked behind him, squinting at Lori in the harsh daylight. “You don’t need to watch me 24/7.”

“I’m just standing here,” she said, arms crossed. She wasn’t even really looking at him. Her gaze was focused on the far fields. “Did you finish your book?”

“Hm?” Douxie glanced down at his hands. He’d forgotten he was reading entirely. “Oh, yeah. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I just finished it.” He’d gone through a variety of the books in Hershel’s house in the last week. He held up the book he was currently reading. “Hershel handed this to me at breakfast.”

Lori seemed lightly amused. “Jurassic Park? Didn’t think they’d have that.”

“Me neither, but apparently it was Maggie’s in middle school.” Douxie closed the book, setting it down on the picnic table he was sitting at. “The movie was good, but wildly different from the book.”

“How so?”

“This is basically a horror novel. With graphic descriptions of dinosaurs eating people.”

“Ah.” She shifted her footing. “Got it.”

“Better dinosaurs than corpses?” He offered.

“Because one is fictional and the other is terrifying reality?” Daryl cut in, walking into the camp.

“Both are technically reality,” Douxie pointed out. “Just at vastly different points in time.”

“Well, enjoy that.” Lori told him, turning to go. She ruffled his hair as she did. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna help Maggie make some food for Beth. She finally came out of her shock.”

Douxie sat there for a long moment, stunned by the sudden affection. “Um…”

Daryl snickered. “Touch-starved much?”

Douxie shook himself off. “Don’t be an ass. It just surprised me.” He picked up the book again, fingering the cover. He took in a deep breath, suddenly filled with longing to see Barbara again.

“Hey,” Daryl called. “Are you okay?”

Douxie quickly wiped at his eyes. “Yes. Sorry I just… I was thinking of something.”

Daryl regarded him for a moment. Then something like empathy flashed in his eyes for a second. “Your mom?”

Douxie closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah… I miss her.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, before saying, “You’ll find her. I know you will.”

“She what?” Douxie demanded.

“She was going to kill herself,” Lori said again, looking all kinds of tired. “She tried to hide the knife. Luckily I noticed it was missing before…” she sighed. “You know.”

Douxie buried his face in his hands, slumping backwards against the wall. “Oh gods…” he looked up at Lori. “Does her dad know?”

“We’re trying not to tell him,” Lori said quietly.

Douxie chewed his lip, contemplating if he should do anything. Out of anyone here, he was probably the one Beth would most likely listen to. They were similar enough in age, and like Beth, Douxie had once attempted suicide… more than once.

“I can talk to her,” he said after a beat of silence. “I think…” he breathed deeply. “I know what she’s going through. What she’s thinking and feeling.”

Lori stared at him in surprise. Then horrified understanding crossed her face. “You… when?”

Douxie closed his eyes, trying not to let those well of emotions drive him again. Not like that. Never again. “Beth first, Lori. She matters more right now.”

“Douxie,” Lori breathed out. She gently reached for him, taking his wrist. “Talking about it won’t make you… relapse, will it?” Her brows furrowed. “Please tell me it wasn’t recent.”

Douxie smiled thinly. “No.” That was a lie. It had been recent. If you counted it, at least. He hadn’t wanted to die, but to defeat the Arcane Order… it had been the only way. It had still been a conscious choice on his part. “I haven’t made an attempt in many years, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

She let out a slow breath, and let him go. “Okay. Just… don’t hesitate to talk to me if you need to.”

Douxie nodded. He twitched for a moment, almost wanting to give her a hug. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned and made his way upstairs.

“Beth,” Douxie entered the room, speaking softly. “Can I talk to you?”

She looked at him with a blank expression. “Why?”

Douxie sighed, shutting the door. He shared a look with Maggie. “You know why.”

Her lips almost twitched into a frown. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” Douxie told her quietly. “I was once in a similar position as you. More than once, actually. I’ve wanted to give up too. I know what it is you’re feeling, Beth.” He sat on the bed, fixing her with a firm look. “But it’s far from the right answer.”

This time she glowered at him. “There’s no point,” she said. “We’re all going to die like that. Like my mom did. It’s pointless.”

“No,” Douxie said. “It isn’t. Life is never pointless, even in the face of the greatest adversity. But when you go on, and you keep fighting, the bad trickles away and you’re left wondering why you ever tried to kill yourself in the first place. Because despite it all, you made it. You’re surrounded by the good, and the bad is so far in your past. I know it seems like this is it. That the world is gone, so there’s no reason to keep going. But I swear to you that in a few years you’re going to be glad we stopped you from doing this.”

Beth studied him for a moment, her eyes dropping to his wrists. He had no scars there, none at least, that were left by him. She met his gaze again. “When did you try to kill yourself?”

Douxie would have rather she punched him in the gut than ask him that question. But he sighed, eyes closing as he remembered that day. “I was fifteen, the first time I tried to take my life. I was… not well liked by my peers. I endured years of harassment and bullying, all the while it went unnoticed by the man I was supposed to trust to protect me.” He opened his eyes again, staring at nothing. “It became too much. They hated me. I hated me. I was tired of it all, so I took a knife to myself.” He slowly looked at her, blinking away the haze those memories left him. “I stabbed myself here,” he tapped just below his sternum, where that scar still marred his skin to this day. “The only thing that saved me from dying then and there was my best friend. He cauterized the wound, kept me awake until my father came to help me.”

Beth stared at him, eyes wide. Douxie could only imagine the look on Maggie’s face. “What…” she breathed slowly, deeply. “What made it better?”

Douxie smiled gently. “My family stepping up to make sure I knew they loved me. My father giving all my bullies a piece of his mind and thensome. My best friend… tearily telling me what effect my death would have on him.” Archie had not taken that well at all. He’d hardly left Douxie’s side for months on end after it. “For a long time I didn’t see the point in them saving me. After a while of me… shutting down after my attempt, my dad finally told me, “Hisirdoux, I won’t pretend I know what’s going on in your head, but know this. Your life is what you make it, and I know you have the potential to do great things, even in the darkest times. Don’t give up on your life before it’s even begun.”” He fiddled with his bracelet. “It was that, and my surrogate sister knocking more sense into me that it finally got through my thick head. Despair is temporary, and this stage of your life isn’t forever. There will come a time when all of this is far behind you. And the trick I learned is to never look back. You might have regrets, but at least you’ll live to have them.”

Beth was silent for a long time. She wouldn’t look at him, she just stared at the bed. After a while, she said, “The world is ending. What’s the point of struggling when we all know where we’ll end up?”

“Struggle,” Douxie said firmly, moving Beth’s face so she would look at him. “Beth. Struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.” He let her take that in. “And the world hasn’t ended. There have always been plagues, all throughout history.” He’d witnessed many. “And plagues always become beatable. It might take some time to figure it out, but we will adapt as we go. It’s part of living in a world like this. Even before the dead started to try and take it over.”

She didn’t speak again for a long, long moment. She just stared at him, something warring in her gaze. Confliction was in her eyes, and Douxie only hoped she didn’t let her despair win her over. 

“Do you really think it’ll get better?” She asked him. “That one day the world won’t be overrun by the walking dead?”

“Yes,” Douxie said, meaning that with his whole heart. “I do, Beth. I really do. And until the living find a way to deal with the dead, we must press on. Surviving is something that can only be done together.”

Douxie walked into the kitchen to find Lori arguing with Andrea about Beth. About the “right way” to go about handling her situation. And what Andrea was saying horrified him.

“If we leave her to her own devices,” Douxie interrupted, crossing his arms. “I highly doubt she’ll make a choice based on logic, Andrea. Contemplating suicide is about emotions, none of them good. And they make you think you’re on the right track. She needs us to be there for her, because if we let her feel like she’s alone, I guarantee you we’ll have another dead child on our hands.”

Andrea gave him an unimpressed look. “And you know so much about this, how?”

Douxie felt anger flare in his chest. He pressed it down, trying to stay calm. “Three times.” He squeezed his arm, trying not to remember the details. He met Andrea’s eyes with a collected glare. “I have tried to kill myself three times. I think I’m more than knowledgeable on the subject.” He took a step forward, leaning towards the blonde woman. “And none of them were because I wanted to get away from walkers.”

“She needs to make a choice,” Andrea said. “She needs to come to it herself.”

“I agree,” Douxie said, voice surprisingly calm for how pissed off he was. “But don’t do that by giving her the weapons to off herself. I think I got through to her, Andrea. If you make her question her will to live, I swear on my father’s grave I will make your life hell.”

“Douxie,” Lori reached for him. “Pull back. What did Hershel say about stress?”

Douxie took a breath, and did as he was told. He regarded Andrea coldly. “You can’t get by in this world by being so cynical. Lori is right. Stability is important, and you have done next to nothing to provide that for anyone here, including Beth. I don’t know what you all went through before coming to this farm, but whatever it was you can’t use it as an excuse to be a bitch.”

He walked away before they could stop him or say anything. He’d said his piece, and he was going to leave it at that. Sauntering out of a room after having the last word was a very Archie thing to do, he realized.

Well, Douxie thought. If he’d seen that he’d have been proud.

Not even an hour had passed when Lori and Andrea came back to the campsite. Lori looked royally pissed. Andrea’s expression was more difficult to place.

“What happened?” Douxie asked, suspicion growing in his chest. “Is Beth alright?”

“She’s fine,” Andrea started. “She’ll live-”

“But you almost let her die by doing that!” Lori suddenly shouted, glaring at her. “Maggie has a right to be mad at you! You left her by herself!”

“She made her own choice!” Andrea argued. “And that choice was to live!”

“What you said didn’t help her,” Lori seethed. “Douxie did. No, what you said nearly made her rethink everything he’d tried to tell her.”

Douxie let it sink in. Then rage flooded his body. He shot to his feet, glaring at Andrea.

Lori took a step back at the look on Douxie’s face. She’d never seen someone look like that before. His unnerving gold eyes flashed with rage, all of it directed at Andrea.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” He demanded, voice edging on a growl. He looked wild, near feral in his anger.

Andrea, instead of looking scared, just rolled her eyes. “She’s alive. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“No,” Douxie got closer. “That’s not all that matters. You need to stop trying to be right about everything. I won’t watch you poison the minds of the impressionable young people around you just to prove a point. You need to be mindful of what you say, and do. Not everyone cares as little as you do.”

“I do care,” Andrea argued. “Beth just needed a push to realize what she really wanted.”

Douxie’s eye twitched. He turned away for half a second, rubbing his forehead. “Duw damnio chi feidrolion!” He let out a huff and looked back at her. “Don’t do something like that again.”

Andrea huffed too and rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. Have it your way.” She brushed past him, stalking towards the RV.

Lori looked cautiously at Douxie. He was watching Andrea walk away, jaw tense with anger. “Doux,” she put her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t relax. “Beth is okay.”

“Nid gêm yw hon. Daeth yn lwcus.”

Lori blinked. “What?”

Douxie looked at her, confused for a moment before he must have realized he wasn’t speaking in English. He sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. “Sorry,” he said it strangely, and then looked annoyed with himself. He took another breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Mental parkour,” he said carefully, the words no longer sounding foreign. “To speak a language that’s not your native language when you’re upset is difficult.”

“Hm,” Lori gently squeezed his shoulder. “Need another breather?”

Douxie shook his head. “No. English is easy enough to wrap my head around once I’ve realized I’ve mentally reverted back to Welsh.” He looked at her, brows furrowing. “I said she got lucky. It might not have turned out so well.”

“I know.” Lori sighed. “But it did, so that’s the good thing.”

“It might not turn out so well next time,” Douxie said quietly. “She’s being reckless with another person’s life. I can’t let her keep doing it.”

“Hey,” Lori gently cupped his cheek, trying to keep him calm and focused on her. “That isn’t your job. Thank you for looking out for Beth, but don’t expend your energy trying to keep Andrea in line.”

“She’s being a bitch,” Douxie growled.

“I won't argue with that,” Lori brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “But for now you need to relax. You’re worked up, and there’s been enough excitement for one day.”

Sighing, he nodded. He pulled back from her, gaze sweeping over the campsite. “I really need to talk to Rick,” he muttered, but didn’t elaborate.

Lori wanted him to explain what he meant, but Douxie was already walking away. She sighed, glancing at the dirt path, waiting to see the car Rick and Shane had taken pulling in. She didn’t see it. “More waiting.”

Chapter Text

Douxie grimaced when he heard another cry of pain come from the shed. Well, one thing was for certain, Daryl definitely knew how to get information.

He curled up, knees drawn to his chest as he stared listlessly into the fire. They’d brought Randall back, after they’d nearly got killed by a horde of walkers. If they were going to just do this to a kid Douxie’s age—well his physical age—then what was even the point of letting him live in the first place?

“Hey,” Rick’s voice prodded him out of his thoughts. Douxie didn’t look at him. The former officer sighed and carefully sat next to him. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I never said I was mad at you,” Douxie said, voice soft and low, nearly a whisper. After talking with Beth… after that conversation with her, he’d relapsed a bit. He’d been withdrawn and silent, and he knew it was happening. But knowing that didn’t help him.

“You don’t have to say it for me to know it.”

Douxie closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. He still felt numb, detached. It wasn’t a good headspace to be in. “There is… a lot going on in my head right now, Rick.” He slowly looked at him. “But you don’t ask me for my opinions. You just do things. You make the decisions. If I had told you I thought you should’ve left Randall there, you wouldn’t have cared much.”

“Douxie—”

“Didn’t he save your life back there?” Douxie questioned. “And Shane’s? And yet you can’t afford him any more compassion and courtesy than you have before?” He shook his head, looking away again. “It’s cruel, Rick. Beating him for information like this. It would’ve been more merciful to just leave him the first time. You’re putting him through more than he deserves.”

Rick was looking at him oddly. After a moment he said, “You think we shouldn’t have saved him?”

“No.” Douxie said, meeting his eyes. “Because in the end he’s going to end up dying anyway. And all of this will be meaningless and have only the impact of guilt on your heart and weight on everyone else’s minds.”

There was silence as they let that sink in. Douxie stared challengingly at Rick for a long moment, consciously ignoring everyone else. Finally, someone did break the silence. And it was Shane.

“Wow, I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in two days.”

Douxie sighed, closing his eyes as irritation reared in his chest. But he let it go with a breath. He didn’t look up or open his eyes as Lori said,

“Shane, leave him alone. He’s got a lot going on and he doesn’t need you badgering him.”

Douxie, still curled up in a ball, shuddered as a memory flashed in his mind. White hot pain against his stomach, yelling, strong hands shaking his shoulders. Then the gentleness of a hand against the back of his head and, for a moment, Merlin’s distressed face looking down at him.

“Hey,” Rick touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

Silently, Douxie nodded, finding it hard to speak again. “Yes… it’s just…” he pursed his lips, swallowing thickly. “I—”

Footsteps approaching cut him off. Douxie turned to see Daryl walking towards the group crossbow slung over his shoulder, and knuckles bloody. He felt sick.

“Boy there’s got a gang, thirty men.” He informed them. “They’ve got heavy artillery and they ain’t looking to make friends. They roll through here,” he looked around at their tiny group. “Our boys are dead. And our women… they’re gonna— they’re gonna wish they were.”

A ripple of fear went through the group. They all looked at eachother, eyes wide. Douxie knew Daryl wasn’t exaggerating. So many sick and twisted people would take advantage of a lawless world. 

He swallowed past the pain of more memories and trauma, uncurling to face Daryl. “Does he think they’re looking for him?”

“Nah,” Daryl shook his head. “Says he was only with them for survival. But I wouldn’t take any chances.”

“Yeah…” Douxie tried to breathe. His hands were shaking, at what he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what was scaring him more right now. The walkers, or the people. 

“What did you do?” Carol asked, looking pointedly at Daryl’s bloody knuckles.

“Had a little chat,” Daryl said, moving past them to presumably put his crossbow away.

“No one goes near this guy,” Rick told them decisively, getting to his feet.

“Rick,” Lori said softly. “What are you gonna do?”

Rick thought about it for a moment, before he sighed and looked his wife in the eye. “We have no choice. He’s a threat.” He looked around at the group. “We have to eliminate the threat.”

Dale was staring at Rick, absolutely horrified and disgusted. “You’re just gonna kill him?” He gestured to Douxie. “What about everything Douxie just said to you? You’re going to ignore that?”

“It’s settled,” Rick said decisively. “I’ll do it today.”

Douxie closed his eyes, trying not to scream. Of bloody course Rick wasn’t going to listen to him. Why the hell would he? To Rick Grimes, he was just a helpless child who needed his guiding hand. “Rick,” he called helplessly. “Please—”

“Douxie, I’m not going to let him put any of you in danger,” Rick said, turning to walk away. “I’m not going to give him an opportunity to kill us.”

As the former officer stalked away from the campsite, Dale chased after him, probably to try and talk him out of it. Douxie sighed and slumped back against his log, swallowing down his anger and pain. He didn’t like being ignored. He didn’t like being treated like a child. Even if they didn’t know how old he really was, to them he was still an older teenager! By their standards he would basically be an adult. But no. The real adults had to make all the decisions.

Douxie could hear Dale and Rick’s voices growing fainter as they walked further away. What could he do? Free Randall before Rick got to him? What then? Truly risk the group’s safety when he didn’t even know if he could trust a mortal who didn’t know him? A mortal who would only know him as a member of Rick’s group? The man who wanted to kill him to protect said group?
No, Douxie didn’t think he could do that. Even if Randall did just leave, Rick might never forgive Douxie for actively endangering their lives, and kill him instead.

Douxie’s train of thought came to a screeching halt. He was thinking of Rick like he used to think of Arthur. Rick wasn’t Arthur . Rick wasn’t Arthur . Rick wasn’t Arthur. 

He kept repeating that in his head, trying to beat away the sudden panic. Rick wouldn’t kill him over something so small.

Douxie couldn’t be sure of that. He couldn’t be sure of anything.

But Rick wasn’t Arthur. He wasn’t Arthur… but he wasn’t Jim either. Jim, who Douxie trusted implicitly with his life, the life of his familiar, and the life of his soulmate. Jim, who was so good and everything modern historians think Arthur was. Jim, who wasn’t even here. Jim who was lost somewhere in the world, looking for him right now.

Douxie didn’t realize he’d started crying and hyperventilating again until a gentle hand touched his shoulder. He flinched violently away from them, scrambling to his feet. Everyone’s worried voices were quiet and far-away. More hands tried to grab onto him, gripping his arms and shoulders tight.

He let out a strangled scream, trying to yank his way out of their grips, but they just held him tighter. Everything was fuzzy. The world was dim, and the noises that reached his ears were warbled and incoherent. All Douxie knew was panic and danger.

He was a thirteen year old boy again, being manhandled and dragged across the streets of Camelot. The knights were yelling and screaming at him. He was cowering against a stone wall, desperately trying to shield himself from their armored hands.

Then thunder shook the earth and everything went black.

Dale returned to the campsite to find Shane physically holding down a panicking, screaming Douxie. The man’s arms were wrapped around the kid, wrestling him to the ground as Douxie kicked and screamed. His breaths were short and uneven, and he had a wild look in his eyes, like he was reliving something traumatic.

“Let him go!” Dale yelled, running towards them. Everyone else was watching with fear and uncertainty. But nobody was helping the kid. “Shane, let go of him!”

Time slowed down. Dale saw Douxie claw at the side of Shane’s face in his panic and kick at his crotch as he scrambled away. Shane’s scream of pain echoed across the farm. The boy sat crouched on his knees, hunched in on himself. He was alternating between sobbing and dry-heaving. His blood covered fingernails dug at the grass and dirt. Through his sobs, Dale could make out barely coherent words.

“Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”

Over and over again. Douxie was begging for his life, trapped in a nightmare of a memory. What had he gone through to elicit this kind of trauma response? What had triggered it?

“The hell was that!?” Shane demanded, shooting to his feet. He looked downright murderous, stalking over to the teen who was still vulnerable and helpless on the ground. “Huh!? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“Hey!” Daryl came running, shoving Shane out of the way, standing between him and Douxie. “Don’t you start that shit!”

“Stop it!” Lori screamed. “All of you stop!”

Their arguing got louder, and Dale had never been more disgusted with a group of people. They hadn’t argued too hard with Rick when he said he was going to kill that kid, and now they didn’t even care too much that a boy the same age who they claimed to care about was having a full-on flashback panic attack right in front of them.

Douxie was covering his ears, rocking back and forth on his knees. He was shaking violently, hyperventilating still. He looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were still wide and wild, like a cornered animal. Dale knew better than to get too close to him right now.

“Hey,” he said softly, hoping the kid could hear him over whatever was going through his head. “Douxie? Kid, are you okay?”

“The hell he’s not!” Shane shouted, still clearly pissed off. “He’s fucking insane!”

“You shut up!” Dale pointed at him accusingly. “You manhandling him like that made it worse! He was already terrified, Shane! You should’ve known better!”

Beside him, Douxie made a gasping noise like he couldn’t breathe. All the yelling had finally drawn Rick’s attention, and he was running back towards them.

“Douxie?” Lori knelt beside him, clearly not caring that he might lash out at her too. “Hey, Douxie—”

He slumped sideways, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he started convulsing violently. Lori gasped, waving hurriedly at Daryl.

“Get Hershel, I think he’s having another seizure!”

“So, what happened?” Hershel asked, wiping his hands on a rag cloth.

“I don’t know,” Rick said. “Dale told me he was having a panic attack, and it escalated when Shane tried to grab onto him. I only saw the tail end of it, when he started seizing again.”

Hershel sighed and shook his head. “Something is going on that he hasn’t told us. This can’t keep happening, Rick.”

The former officer sighed, looking at where Douxie was lying unconscious on the bed. He was pale, and shivering despite the warm day. “I know.”

“You think he escaped some sort of mental institution?” Andrea said much later, mostly under her breath and to Shane as they stood outside of the shed. Dale had asked her to keep an eye on Randall. Just in case. But he was more worried about Shane doing something to Randall, then he was about Randall doing something to any of them.

“The kid was manic,” Shane said, rubbing at the claw marks on his face. “Everything he told us about himself could’ve been a delusion.”

“Do you really think that?” Carl asked, appearing out of nowhere. “That he’s crazy?”

Shane shared a look with Andrea before sighing and kneeling to be on the boy’s level, hand on his shoulder. “Carl, I know you look up to him, but—”

“No!” The kid shouted, brows furrowing. “Whatever happened he— he’s not insane, okay! He’s just scared, like the rest of us! He’s just like us.”

Shane watched as Carl ran off. He let out a heavy breath and looked at Andrea. “You buy into Dale’s sob story?”

Andrea snorted. “I told him I was with you on this,” she gestured to the shack where Randall was.

“Mmm,” Shane nodded, looking off into the distance. “You still here for him, huh? That’s cute.” He shook his head. “You see what’s happening don’t you? These guys ain’t gonna go through with this. I’m telling you they gonna—” he scratched his beard. “They gonna pussy out, and if they do, we’re gonna have a big problem on our hands. Let me ask you something, everytime time we have a problem around here, who do you think’s behind it?”

She shrugged. “Some might say you.”

Shane chuckled humorlessly. “Nah, no one listens to me. If they did, we’d be two dead weights lighter.”

Andrea blinked. Then she shook her head. “Don’t do that, okay? I think Douxie is annoying too, but he’s not the same breed Randall is.”

“Do what?” Shane asked. “The kid attacked me, Andrea. And Rick is still acting like he’s not dangerous.”

“Shane—”

“Listen,” he sighed. “Rick is my friend, alright? But someone he trusts attacked someone in his group. He ain’t doing anything about it.”

Andrea pursed her lips. “Douxie didn’t do it on purpose, Shane. He was just scared.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, nodding. “But having someone you’re supposed to trust attack you because they can’t control themselves is worse than being attacked by someone you expect to do it.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Lori asked, hovering as Hershel timed Douxie’s pulse.

“Honest answer?” Hershel sighed. “I don’t know. Once is an anomaly, but twice in almost three days is something to be concerned about. I really don’t know what’s going to happen if he has a third seizure.”

“And you still don’t know what’s causing it?” Rick asked, having been pacing back and forth.

The old man shook his head. “No. Tell me exactly what happened, Lori.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “He just— he started hyperventilating, and when I tried to touch to calm him down, it was like a switch flipped. This… wild panic set in his eyes, and it was like he didn’t know where he was. He was terrified, Hershel. Something triggered this sort of trauma response. And Shane, he—” she huffed, rubbing her brow. “He grabbed onto him, trying to get him to calm down but it just made it worse.”

“Dale said Douxie scratched Shane to get away,” Hershel noted.

“Yeah,” Rick confirmed, nodding. “But honestly it was more like he clawed at him. I saw the marks. Superficial, but probably hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“After that he scrambled away and kept muttering, “please don’t hurt me”. But I don’t think he was talking to Shane.” She shook her head. “I just— I want to know what he possibly could’ve been through to make him react like this.”

“We’ll find out,” Rick said firmly. “When he wakes up we’ll ask him.”

“What for?” Lori questioned. “Rick, I don’t want him to spiral again.”

“Because at least we’ll know how to help him next time,” Rick said softly. “That’s why.”

Douxie woke to a warm hand covering his, a thumb gently rubbing his knuckles. He slowly blinked his eyes open, confused for a moment when he saw a wooden ceiling above him instead of stone. Instead of a crackling of a fireplace, he heard the soft mutterings of voices he barely recognized. It took him a moment to remember he wasn’t in his room in Camelot. He was on a farm, surrounded by people he barely trusted.

“Hey,” Lori’s soft voice drifted in through his foggy haze. “He’s up.”

Douxie groaned, forcing his arms to move, though they felt like lead. He dragged a hand down his face and slowly sat up, wincing at the sharp spike of pain that went through his head. “Jesus Christ…”

“How’re ya feeling?” Someone, maybe Rick, asked.

“Like someone drove a hot metal spike through my skull,” he buried his face in both hands, desperately wishing for Tylenol. “Zero out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

That got a chuckle. “Well, if you’re feeling up to it, we’re all meeting downstairs to decide what to do with Randall.”

Douxie sighed, still trying to rub away that headache. “Sounds like a party.”

Rick pat his shoulder gently. “Come on. Getting up and moving around might help.”

Douxie fought down a groan of protest, slowly sliding off the bed. He blinked spots out of his eyes as Lori helped steady him. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Lori gave him a smile. “So, what happened?”

Douxie held his breath, memories flashing. He vaguely remembered someone grabbing him and forcing him to the ground, then the feeling of flesh tearing under his nails, and then screaming. “Oh gods… I am so sorry. I don’t—”

“Hey,” Rick cut him off, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t apologize. Whatever happened it wasn’t your fault.”

Douxie swallowed thickly, trying not to shake. “I um… I was thinking of someone from my past and it just… sent me back to that day, I guess.” He closed his eyes as they paused. He was grateful they were letting him take a moment to compose himself. “I’m okay, now.”

“Well, Douxie.” Rick gave him a look. “Whatever it was, it triggered another seizure. It would help you, and all of us, if we knew what it was.”

Douxie pursed his lips. “I— I can’t, Rick. It’s complicated, and messy, and I really don’t want to think about it.”

“How badly did they hurt you, that you were begging for your life?” Lori asked, brows furrowed. “Douxie, what have you been through?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said sharply, tensing when Rick’s grip on his shoulder tightened microscopically. “Because they’re dead. They’ve been dead for years. It just… doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It seems like it does.”

“I have panic attacks,” Douxie told them, sliding out of their grips to look them in the eye. “I’ve been dealing with anxiety my entire life. This… relapse, the regression, isn’t new. I just need some time, and I’ll be okay. Alright?”

Lori and Rick exchanged glances. They both looked concerned, but he could see them agreeing to drop it.

“Okay,” Rick sighed. “But if you ever do want to talk about it, we’re here to listen.”

Douxie gave them a wan smile. “Thank you.”

They all congregated downstairs, in the living room. Douxie took a seat in a red armchair, Rick standing behind him, facing everyone else. Douxie didn’t want to call it hovering, but there was no other word for how he was behaving.

Carl had been told to go upstairs, and Douxie could see the irritation on his face. He wanted to be part of the conversation too. Douxie didn’t blame him for being upset.

“So, how do we do this?” Glenn asked. “Just take a vote?”

“Does it have to be unanimous?” Andrea questioned.

“How about majority rules,” Lori suggested.

Douxie sighed, headache still pounding. “How about we put the votes in a hat and Daryl picks from the hat.”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, okay. Glenn, give me your hat.”

“That’s not constructive,” Shane said, glaring at Douxie. “Stop trying to be funny.”

“I really couldn’t care less about your opinion.”

“Okay, hey.” Rick said, trying to rein them back in. “No sass wars right now, this is serious. Let’s just see where everybody stands first, then we can talk through the options.”

“Well, from where I sit,” Shane spoke first. “There’s only one way to move forward.”

“Killing him?” Dale demanded. “Right? I mean why even bother taking a vote, it’s clear which way the wind’s blowing.”

“Well, if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know.” Rick said.

“I can tell you it’s a small group,” Dale said. “Maybe just… me and Glenn.”

Glenn pursed his lips, refusing to look at Dale. “Look I— I think you’re right about pretty much everything, all the time, but this—”

“They’ve got you scared!” Dale said loudly, gesturing at the rest of the group.

“He’s not one of us,” Glenn defended. “And we’ve lost too many people already.”

Dale looked around at everyone, before he locked his eyes on Douxie. Douxie held eye contact with him for a long moment, watching the way Dale’s eyes shifted about uncomfortably when he looked at him for too long. “Come on, Douxie. I know you're with me on this."

Douxie closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.  He slowly looked up at Dale, brows pinched together. "I wish I could say I was."

Dale's expression crumbled, and he just looked disappointed . "What about everything you were saying earlier. This morning, what you told Rick. What about that?"

Merlin’s words rang in his head. "You fight for every life because you believe every life is precious."

Douxie sighed, picking at the cushion he was sitting on. "I'm not saying I want him to die. But what other choice is there? He knows where the farm is, and I wouldn't discredit his ability to find and bring back his entire gang of thirty men. If we let him go, we'll lose more than we'll gain."

"Potentially!" Dale reiterated. "We don't even know what he'll do once we let him go!"

"Exactly," Douxie said softly. "We don't know. Do we take that risk, Dale? A stranger's life over the lives of the entire group?"

Dale stared at him, clearly horrified. "His life isn't worth any less."

"No," Douxie agreed. He looked around at everyone, meeting their eyes. He slowly looked back at Dale. "It isn't. But neither are our lives worth less. You're asking us to risk everything for someone who has no reason to give us mercy if we let him go free."

Dale sighed, looking around again for anyone who might agree with him. “How about you?” He asked Hershel and Maggie. “Do you agree with this?”

“Couldn’t we continue keeping him prisoner?” Maggie asked after a long pause.

“Just another mouth to feed,” Daryl muttered in the corner.

“It may be a lean winter,” Hershel said.

“We could ration better,” Lori suggested.

“He could be an asset!” Dale said desperately. “Give him a chance to prove himself!”

“What, like what we did with Douxie?” Shane snorted. “And look how well that turned out.”

“Oh fuck off, Shane.” Douxie snarled, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Trigger happy little git.”

“What the hell is your problem!?” Shane demanded, leaning forward like he was about to jump him. 

Douxie glowered at him, nails digging into his arm as tried to rein himself in. He took a breath and looked at Dale. “Daryl is right. It’d only be another mouth to feed. Can we spare the resources?”

“Even if we could, I wouldn’t feel safe with him walking around,” Lori admitted. “Not unless he was tied up.”

“We can’t exactly put chains around his ankles,” Andrea said. “Sentence him to hard labor.”

“Look, say we do let him join us.” Shane said, trying to ignore Douxie. “Maybe he’s helpful, maybe he’s nice. We let our guards down and maybe he runs off and comes back with his gang of thirty men.”

“So the answer is to kill him?” Dale was irate. “To prevent a crime he may never even attempt? If we do this we’re saying there’s no hope! Rule of law is dead. There is no civilization.”

Shane rolled his eyes and muttered, “Oh my god.”

Douxie shifted an idea around in his head. More than once Blinky had shared anecdotes about Trolls sentenced to the Deep, ones who’d been in situations just like this. “You cannot risk the safety of the many, over the maybe-innocence of the few.” He looked at Dale, unwavering and firm. “Randall has already attempted to kill Rick, Glenn, and Hershel. Why should we believe he wouldn’t try to again? That he wouldn’t come back with fire power and numbers and stain this land red with our blood?”

“You’re speculating—”

“Am I?” Douxie didn’t break his gaze away. “Are you really willing to risk everyone in this room for the chance you may be right about him? Because I’m not.”

“Can you drive him further out?” Hershel asked Rick.
“You barely came back this time,” Lori reminded them. “There are walkers, you could break down, you could get lost—”

“Or ambushed,” Daryl put in.

“They’re right, we should not put our own people at risk.” Glenn said.

“If you go through with it,” Patricia said slowly. “How would you do it? Would he suffer?”

Shane and Rick exchanged glances. Shane gave a small shrug. “We could hang him, right? Just snap his neck.”

Rick sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I thought about that.”

Douxie cringed slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the days of watching his friends be led to the noose. Sometimes they didn’t die immediately, and were left to just hang there and suffocate. “Couldn’t we just shoot him?” He asked softly. “It’s quicker and less…” he closed his eyes and sighed. “Historically, most people’s necks didn’t snap on the way down. It’s arguably a less humane way of killing someone.”

Rick nodded. “I think I agree with Douxie. Shooting may be more humane.”

“What about the body?” Shane asked. “Do we just bury him?”

“Woah, woah!” Dale cut in. “Hold on! You’re talking about this like it’s already decided!”

“You’ve been talkin’ all day,” Daryl said. “Goin’ around in circles. You just wanna go around in circles again?”

“This is a young man’s life!” Dale shouted, anger evident and growing every time someone spoke. “And it is worth more than a five minute conversation! Is this what it’s come to? We kill someone because we can’t decide what else to do with him?”

Douxie pursed his lips, sinking into the cushions behind him. Dale, unfortunately, was not built for what the world had come to. Douxie had seen the world this way more times than he’d wanted to. He knew this would be the best decision in the long-run.

“You saved him!” Dale said to Rick. “And now look at us. He’s been— been tortured. He’s gonna be executed.” He looked around at them. “How are we any better than those people we’re so afraid of?”

There was a long, awkward silence as they took that in. Dale was fighting so hard for this young man’s life, and Douxie hated to see this was a losing battle. He didn’t want someone else to die, but then again he wasn’t going to risk the safety of himself and everyone else on the slim chance Randall didn’t turn out to be a major dick. He knew everyone else felt the same way.

“We all know what needs to be done.” Shane said firmly.

Then Rick surprised him. “No, Dale is right.”

Douxie twisted in his seat, looking up at him. “Pardon?”

“We have a responsibility--”

“So what’s the other solution?” Andrea started.

“Let Rick finish,” Lori told her sternly.

Andrea shook her head. “We haven’t come up with a single viable option yet. I wish we could—”

“So let’s work on it!” Dale interrupted.

“We are.” Rick’s voice overlapped Dale’s.

“Stop it,” Carol suddenly spoke up, sounding immeasurably tired and fragile. “Just stop it! I’m sick of everybody fighting and arguing. I didn’t ask for this.” She looked Dale in the eye. “You can’t ask us to decide something like this.” She shook her head. “Please decide—either of you, both of you—but leave me out of it.”

“Not speaking out,” Dale said, tone somewhat accusatory. “Or killing him yourself—there’s no difference.”

“Alright, hey that’s enough.” Rick cut him off. “Anybody who wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance.”

He waited, and there was nothing but silence. Terrible silence. Terrible, awkward silence. 

Douxie sighed, slumping in his seat. There would be no outcome where everyone was happy. But the best decision was still to kill the person threatening their safety.

“You once said we don’t kill the living,” Dale said to Rick, still desperately trying to turn the argument in his favor.

“That was before the living tried to kill us.” Rick said. 

“But don’t you see that if we do this, the people we were—the world that we knew is dead! And this new world it’s— it’s ugly. It’s… harsh. It’s survival of the fittest!” Dale shook his head. “And that’s a world I don’t want to live in.”

Douxie sat up in his seat. “There is absolutely zero chance of the world returning to what it was. This is how the world is now, Dale. You’re right, it is survival of the fittest. And there’s nothing we can do about it except to roll with the punches. Adapt to how life is, because life is not going to be gentle with us.”

Dale shook his head, looking flabbergasted. “I don’t believe any of you want to live in a world like this. I can’t.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.” Daryl said. “We can’t just wave a magic wand and make the world the way it was. Douxie is right.”

Dale looked around. “Isn’t there anybody else who’s going to stand with me?”

More silence. More gazes awkwardly shifting away.

But then Andrea spoke up once more. “He’s right. We should try to find another way.”

Douxie sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Why can’t you just pick an answer and stick with it?” He looked up at her, entirely certain he was going to get yelled at for this. “Watching you parkour between abstract morals to make yourself look like a little angel is fucking exhausting.”

Andrea opened her mouth to say something, but Rick beat her to it.

“Anyone else?” He asked the group as a whole, leaning on the back of Douxie’s chair.

Again there was total silence.

Dale scoffed, tears in his eyes. “Are y'all gonna watch, too?” He shook his head, laughing humorlessly. “No, you’re just gonna go hide in your tents and forget that we’re slaughtering a human being.” He took in a long breath, turning to leave. “I won’t be party to it.”

Nobody spoke as he left, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

“So what did they decide?” Carl asked, appearing out of nowhere. 

It was long after that terrible conversation. Rick, Daryl, and Shane had left a few minutes ago to do the job.

Douxie craned his neck to look at Carl over his shoulder. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

Carl frowned at him. “Why does it matter? I’m gonna find out anyway.”

“Then why do I need to tell you now?”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Never mind.” He turned on his heel, scampering out of the house before Douxie could get another word in.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, getting to his feet. Pain flared up his leg, but he ignored it and followed Carl outside. “Carl, wait!”

The kid was fast, and Douxie wasn’t. Not now, at least. He staggered behind Carl, stomach churning when his dark silhouette turned to the barn. Douxie could hardly see two feet in front of him, but he knew the path to the barn well enough not to trip in the darkness.

He finally caught up to Carl, finding him standing in the door of the barn. Watching. Rick had a gun pointed at Randall’s head, but he was hesitating.

“Do it dad.” Carl said, startling the adults and stopping Douxie in his tracks. “Do it.”

“Carl—” Douxie reached for him, but Shane beat him to it.

“Are you kidding me? What did I say to you?” He hissed, leading Carl away from the door. He deposited him in front of Douxie. “Take him back to the house.”

Douxie looked past Shane, stomach dropping when he saw Rick lower the gun. “Fucking Christ.”

Shane looked over his shoulder, irritation spreading across his face. “Go. Now.”

“Come on,” Douxie grabbed Carl’s shoulder, dragging him away. “You don’t want to watch this.”

“Yes I do—”

“No.” Douxie grabbed his shoulders firmly, kneeling in front of him. “You don’t. This is not a game, Carl. Watching your father kill someone is not something you need to see.” He looked up as Daryl passed him, leading Randall back to the shed. He sighed. “Fantastic.”

“Carl,” Rick stopped in front of them. “Let’s go. Back to the tents. Come on.”
Carl sighed, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t argue.

Rick looked conflicted. Maybe slightly guilty. Douxie knew the only reason he hadn’t gone through with it was because hadn’t wanted his son to see him kill another man. Even if it was for the right reasons.

“Hey,” he said a bit more softly, offering Douxie a hand. “Let’s go.”

Douxie let Rick help him up, gritting his teeth at the white hot pain shooting down his leg. “You’re not going through with it, are you?”

Rick sighed. “I can’t let my son have a murderer for a father.”

Douxie pursed his lips. “This isn’t going to end well.”

“I know.”

Douxie collapsed on his bedroll, none too interested in listening to Rick tell the others that Randall was going to live. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come fast.

He could faintly hear Rick explaining to Lori what happened. Why he hadn’t done it.

He jolted and shot up when screaming echoed across the farm. Douxie scrambled to his feet, grabbing his spear from its resting place against a tree and followed Rick and the others. They ran towards the screaming, Douxie pushing himself to keep up. Adrenaline was already pumping through his veins, blocking out the pain for now.

As they ran through one of the pastures, Douxie could just make out the shapes of two bodies. One furiously pinning the other to the ground, trying to bite. A walker. A walker pinning Dale down, trying to kill him.

He ran faster.

Daryl was slightly ahead of him, knife out. But even from here Douxie could see they were too late to save him. Flesh tore apart and Dale screamed. 

Douxie reeled his arm back and threw his spear. The celestial bronze sailed through the air and split cleanly through the walker’s skull. It went limp. Daryl kicked the corpse off of Dale, but froze when he too realized they were too late.

“Over here!” He yelled, waving them over. He knelt next to the old man, but Douxie knew it was futile. Dale was going to die. 

Douxie watched, his vision tunneling as everyone else clustered around Dale. Rick was screaming for Hershel, but what could be done? Blood spattered the ground, intestines having been torn from Dale’s body. Douxie covered his mouth, nausea hitting him like a train.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carl lingering. Hadn’t his mother told him to stay in the house?

The boy stumbled back. He was staring at the walker’s corpse, which still had Douxie’s spear cleaved through its skull. He heard his barely audible sob.

“Come here—” Douxie gasped, grabbing for him, dropping to his knees and holding Carl in a tight hug. “Don’t watch.”

Carl was sobbing, little hands clutching the back of his shirt. Douxie tucked his face away, determined not to let him see this. Rick was pointing his gun at Dale. But he was hesitating again.

Andrea was sobbing for someone to do something. Dale was suffering. Someone had to do something.

Daryl took the gun from Rick, gently. He knelt down, pressing the barrel of the pistol to Dale’s forehead. “Sorry, brother.” He said softly, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

The next two days were a complete blur. Douxie watched the funeral, listless and numb. He followed Daryl, Andrea, Shane, and T-Dog out to check for walkers along the perimeter of the farm, but he was on autopilot. One word responses to anything anyone said to him, blankly staring into space when he wasn’t doing anything. It was a struggle to claw his way out of this mental slump. Watching Dale die the way he had on top of everything that had happened that day took its toll. Douxie briefly considered figuring out how to put himself in a magical coma and avoid everything for nine-hundred years the way Merlin had.

But a wizard’s nap wasn’t going to fix anything, so Douxie had to deal with this the way normal people did. Gods, he missed Archie. His familiar was quite adept at pulling him out of these depression bouts. Or, at least, walking him through them.

As the days grew colder, and winter approached, Hershel finally was letting them move into the house. But that was fourteen people under one roof. It was going to be a tight squeeze.

“Here,” he offered Lori a hand, taking the bundle of sleeping bags from her. “Let me help you.”

Lori gave him a smile, shifting the remaining much smaller bag on her shoulder. “Thank you.” She followed him into the house where they deposited their things, and then made their way back outside. “You look like you’re doing better.”

Douxie shrugged, tugging on the sleeves of his borrowed jacket. He missed his hoodie, but Carter still had it. Douxie missed him too. “I’m… navigating. Dale shouldn’t have died that way.”

Lori pursed her lips, and nodded. “I know. It’s terrible.”

Douxie let out a sigh, sticking his hands in his pockets to warm them. “How’s Carl handling everything?”

Lori gave him a sideways glance as they came up on the truck again. “You tell me. He’s been attached to your hip since Dale died.”

Douxie huffed a laugh, grabbing another box from the truck bed. “I haven’t been… totally aware of everything for the last two days, Lori. If he’s said something to me, I don’t know what it is.”

Lori furrowed her brows. “Douxie, that doesn’t sound healthy.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I know it’s not.” He handed the box off to T-Dog when he offered to take it. “I’ve kind of had to relearn my coping skills. I’m fine, though. Right now, I’m okay.”

She didn’t look too sure. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He turned away from her, walking back towards the house, his arms full. Douxie took a moment to put everything away carefully. Lori was hovering, and Douxie didn’t like it. Gods he missed Barbara. 

“Hey,” Daryl said, walking up to him. “You doin’ okay?”

Douxie sighed. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Daryl gave him a look. “‘Cause you’ve basically shut down for two days, and we were worried about you.”

Douxie ran a hand down his face, getting to his feet slowly. “I’m really fine, Daryl. It’s nice of you to be concerned, but I’m fine.”

Daryl nodded slowly, arms crossed over his chest. “You know kid, seeing you have a total insane breakdown the other day wouldn’t really qualify you to be fine.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Oh good, this again. Look,” he took a deep breath. “That was… complicated. But I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Uh huh.” Daryl didn’t look convinced. He scratched the side of his face, regarding Douxie with an odd look. “Alright then. Tell you what though, Carol cleaned the blood off your spear.”

“Oh,” Douxie glanced at Carol as she walked by. “That was nice of her.”

“Yeah,” Daryl was nodding. “That’s a good arm you’ve got there.”

Douxie gave a wan smile. “Thanks. You practice anything for a couple of years, you get good at it I guess.”

“Why’d you even pick it up anyway?” Daryl asked, following Douxie as he scooted past him to get back outside. “It’s not exactly a normal activity for someone your age.”

Douxie snorted and before he could think better of it, he said “I’m not exactly a normal teenager.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Douxie stopped on the porch, mentally cursing himself for being so loose-lipped. He couldn’t quip with these people the way he did with the Trollhunters. They didn’t know him like that. He couldn’t just say things like that. He took a breath and turned to face Daryl with a strained smile. “Nothing. Inside joke, sorry.” He cleared his throat and trotted down the porch stairs, walking quickly back towards the truck.

“Douxie.” Carl called, hovering a few feet away. “Can you come help me with something?”

“Um,” Douxie glanced at Lori.

Who nodded, waving him off. “It’s fine, Douxie. We can do the rest.”

Douxie gave her a short nod and went to meet Carl half-way. “What’s up, mate?”

“Come on,” Carl took his hand and started pulling him around to the side of the house. 

Douxie let himself be led, confused and slightly worried. What was going on? “Carl, are you alright?”

Carl stopped and turned to look at him, looking guilty. “If I tell you something, do you promise you won’t tell my parents?”

Douxie shifted his weight, crossing his arms. He took in a deep breath, certain that he was about to get in the middle of something he didn’t want to be in the middle of. “I will make you no promises.” He put a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “But I will only tell them if I feel I have to.”

Carl pursed his lips, leaning away from him. “Please?”

Douxie sighed, kneeling to be on his level. “Does not telling them mean someone will get hurt?”

Carl shook his head.

Douxie nodded. “Alright then. I won’t say a word. What’s wrong?”

Carl hesitated, then slowly pulled a gun from basically out nowhere. “I took it from Daryl’s motorcycle.”

Douxie stared as the gun was pressed into his hands. He opened and closed his mouth, unsure what to say. Unsure what to do. “W— why do you have this?”

Carl took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

Douxie hastily set the gun on the ground and gently cupped the boy’s face to give him something to focus on. “Don’t start panicking. It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”

“It’s my fault,” he whispered.

Douxie blinked. “What?”

"It was me."

Douxie furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Carl shifted from foot to foot, not looking Douxie in the eye. "The walker that killed Dale. I found it in the creek bed. It was stuck but I— I was gonna shoot it." he sniffed, bunching his hands in his jacket pocket. "It got loose and came after me. I killed Dale."

Douxie felt like he couldn't move for a moment. He dropped his hands away from Carl’s face, squeezing his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault," he said softly. "You have no control over what those things do."

"But if I hadn't been messing with it, it wouldn't have gotten loose!"

Douxie winced. Because Carl was... kind of right. His actions had indirectly led to Dale's death. But Douxie took a breath and brought the boy into a hug. "It's not your fault," he repeated. "None of it is your fault, okay? What happened to Dale was an accident, and nobody could have changed that."

Carl wrapped his arms around Douxie’s waist and buried his face against his chest. "Are you going to tell my parents?"

Douxie sighed. "Not if you don't want me to. But... if you want to tell them yourself, I'll be there for you."

Carl took another breath and squeezed him a little tighter. "Thank you.”

“But listen,” Douxie said, gently holding him at arm’s length. “You can’t be wandering off like that anymore. The only way we can survive is if we do it together. Take a buddy with you next time, okay?”

Carl nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He gave a thin smile, playfully jabbing Douxie in the shoulder. “You’re my buddy.”

Douxie laughed. “Yes, I am.” He flicked the brim of his hat, standing. “And I will always watch out for you. I promise you that. I have your back.”

Carl carefully picked the gun up. “And I’ve got yours.”

The wizard smiled, swinging his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they made their way back to the house. “I feel very safe.” He paused for a moment, looking at Carl. “Do you feel better?”

He nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You might want to give that back to Daryl.”

“If he knew I took it, he’d kill me.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “He isn’t really as scary as everyone thinks he is.”

Carl looked up at him, squinting. “You’re not scared of Daryl?”

“Nope.” Douxie took the gun. “I’ll give it back to him.”

“Hey,” Douxie said, leaning on the porch rail next to Rick. “I think you need to talk to Carl.”

Rick raised a brow. “Why?”

Douxie shook his head. “Just… trust me. You need to talk to him before you leave.”

“Douxie, I need to take care of Randall.”

Douxie glanced at the map on the wooden table, frowning. “You’re driving him further out?”

“Yes.”

Douxie sighed, silently passing the handgun back to Daryl. “You can’t take five minutes to talk to your son?”

“Why did you have this?” Daryl asked.

“I didn’t take it, I just found it.” Douxie said and looked at Rick. “Please.”

Rick looked at Douxie, then the gun, then back at Douxie. He was quickly putting the pieces together. “What happened?”

Douxie crossed his arms. “I promised him I wouldn’t say anything, so if you want to know, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Rick sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, I need this Randall thing done already.”

Douxie shook his head. “I know. And… listen, I don’t agree with your methods but you already know that. But Randall isn’t going anywhere. Carl needs you to listen to him. To talk to him. He needs you to be his father.” He took a deep breath. “And he needs you right now.”

“He’s right.”

Shane’s voice nearly made Douxie jump out of his skin. He spun around, staring at the former police officer.

“Did you just agree with me?” Douxie asked, slightly flabbergasted.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Shane said, stopping just short of the porch.

Douxie’s eyes narrowed. Did Carl talk to Shane too?

“Hey,” Daryl grabbed him by the arm. “Come on. I’ve got something I need you to help me with.”

“What?” Douxie was being dragged back into the house faster than he could react. “Dar—”

“We give them a little time to chat,” Daryl told him, shutting the door. “Shane’s gotta get it into his head that he can’t order Rick around.”

Douxie almost smiled. “Oh but you don’t mind it when I tell Rick what to do?”

Daryl shook his head. “You’re so polite about it, that it comes off more as a strong suggestion. ‘Sides, you ain’t trying to push Rick aside as leader. You just have opinions.”

“Strong opinions,” Andrea called from the kitchen.

Douxie flipped her off. “I don’t recall asking you for yours.”

“‘Ey,” Dary swatted at his shoulder. “Don’t be a punk.”

This time, he did smile. “I am one.”

“Yeah, I know.” Daryl said with a nod. “You look like one, but that don’t mean you gotta always act like one.”

“It’s half the fun,” Douxie said, turning to help the others unpack in the living room.

“Half the fun of what?” Carl asked him, making the couch into a bed.

“Pissing people off.” Douxie said. Someone threw a pillow at him. “Sod off.”

“Keep talking like that, I’ll keep throwing pillows.” Maggie told him. “Little ears, Douxie.”

Douxie sighed. “Fine,” he looked at Carl. “Don’t repeat what I say.”

Carl was smiling. “I won’t.”

Douxie sat on the steps of the porch with Carl, watching Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl getting ready to take Randall further out. He sighed, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. Something deep inside him was screaming, telling him that something wasn’t right here. When was the last time he’d seen Shane, now that he thought about it…

Douxie frowned, smudging at the dirt below him with his heel. He missed being able to do something to help the people around. He hated feeling like this, weak and useless. He watched T-Dog walk off towards the shack where Randall was, that feeling growing in his gut. 

“You two gonna be alright here?” Rick called to them.

“Yeah, Dad!” Carl called back, in a considerably better mood than earlier. Evidently he and his father had spoken, judging by the fact that Carl had a gun strapped to his belt. Douxie wondered how smart it was giving a ten year old a firearm. “We were gonna help Maggie with some chores.”

“Sounds good,” he said, smiling. He gave Douxie a glance, raising a brow. “Don’t push yourself, Douxie.”

Douxie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m fine, Rick.”

“Yo!” T-Dog shouted, running up the path. “He’s gone! Randall is gone!”

Douxie shot to his feet, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck.”

Rick and Daryl quickly followed T-Dog back towards the shack. Douxie hesitated for a moment before he followed them.

“Stay there!” He told Carl over his shoulder.

The next half-hour was a blur of panic. They looked around the shack, puzzling how the hell he could’ve gotten out.

Douxie thought he knew. Actually, he was almost damn certain.

“How the hell did he escape?” Andrea questioned.

“Has anyone seen Shane lately?” Douxie asked.

Everyone paused, taking that in. Douxie looked at Rick, seeing it on his face how much he didn’t want to believe it.

“Why would Shane free him?” Glenn asked. “Shane was the one who wanted him gone the most.”

“Maybe,” Douxie said slowly. “He got tired of waiting for everyone else to do something. Maybe he decided to take it into his own hands.”

“You’re saying you think he killed Randall?” Lori asked, almost horrified.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“No,” Rick said. “No pointing fingers. No blames and speculations until we know what really happened.”

Douxie crossed his arms. “He’s unraveling. Something is going on, and he’s losing it. I’ve seen this before. It’s desperation for power. He doesn’t like playing second fiddle to you — ”

“I said that’s enough.” Rick snapped. “I’ve known Shane longer than you’ve been alive. He wouldn’t just do something like this.”

Douxie recoiled at the reprimand. He stared at Rick for a moment, slightly shocked. Slowly, he remembered his place in the pecking order. Rick didn’t know who he was. To him, Hisirdoux Casperan was a child, a punk teenager with no family. A nineteen year old nobody who had stumbled into his life and was following him now because he had no choice. 

“Hey,” Lori put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s just going off what he knows about Shane.”

“Yeah, and Shane don’t like him at all.” Daryl said. “And I gotta say, he’s got a point, Rick. Shane’s been actin’ weird for days now.”

Rick opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by someone shouting for him.

They all turned, seeing Shane running out of the woods, blood on his face from what looked like a broken nose.

“What happened?” Lori shouted.

“He’s armed!” Shane shouted. “He’s got my gun!”

Douxie felt another twinge in his gut. He’s lying. He’s lying to us.

“Are you okay!?” Carl asked, next to Douxie.

“I’m fine,” he jogged up to the group. “Little bastard snuck up on me. Clocked me in the face.” 

“Alright!” Rick raised his voice. “Hershel, T-Dog, get everybody back in the house! Glenn, Daryl, you come with us.”

Douxie opened his mouth to object, wanting to crack open the jar of lies Shane was spewing. But Daryl stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You go to the house,” he instructed. “I’ll watch Rick’s back.”

“But—”

“Douxie,” Daryl’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it. “Go. Hunting people ain’t the same as hunting walkers.”

“Can’t we just let him go?” Carol questioned. “Isn't that what you were going to do anyway?”

“The plan was to cut him loose far away from here,” Rick said. “Not on our front step with a gun.” He started marching towards the woods. “Get everybody back in the house, lock all the doors and stay put!”

“Alright, come on everybody!” Hershel said, herding the rest of them back towards the house. “Let’s go!”

Maggie pulled on Douxie’s arm. He turned away from Rick and Shane, following everyone else. He still couldn’t shake that feeling. Something wasn’t right here.

Hours had passed, and night had long since fallen. Douxie had climbed out onto the roof above the porch, spear sitting across his lap. The window opening behind him drew his attention. 

“Hey,” Carl greeted, climbing out after him with a pair of binoculars. “Keeping watch?”

“Something like that,” Douxie said quietly. In all honesty, he’d been waiting for an excuse to go running off into the woods. “And you?”

Carl sighed, studying the binoculars. “Do you really think Shane is lying to us?”

“Yes,” Douxie said instantly. “I do. I’m telling you this because I don’t want him to hurt you, Carl. Shane is dangerous. He’s unraveling.”

Carl pursed his lips. “Shane watched over us when I thought my dad was dead. He’s always been there.”

“People change,” he said softly. “That good can turn into something bad. I’ve seen it too many times to count.”

Carl scooted a bit closer to him. “My dad is out there with him.”

“Daryl promised he’d watch his back.” Douxie told him. “I trust that he will.”

An unholy screech made them both jump. Douxie shot to his feet, gripping his spear, staring out into the dark woods. He squinted to see anything, but was only met with darkness.

“Douxie,” Carl whispered, terror in his voice. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why-” he was shaking. “Why didn’t anyone else hear it?’

“I don’t know,” Douxie whispered. He looked out into the woods for a moment longer, then slowly took a breath. He closed his eyes and drew on the tiniest sliver of magic, calling to it, waiting for its answer. A spark lit in his chest.

Douxie opened his eyes, and the world around him was washed in vibrancy. He could see into the woods as if the night was day. He squinted, willing his sight to zoom in on a patch of trees. There. Just under a mile, he could see four people. They were separated by hundreds of feet. He couldn’t make out any features, but he could see Daryl’s crossbow and recognize Glenn’s oddly potent aura. For fuck’s sake, they’d split up.

“Douxie,” Carl grabbed his wrist. “Your eyes…”

“Come on,” Douxie said, grabbing hold of one of the porch columns. “Something’s gone wrong.”

“What?” Carl peered over the roof’s edge, watching him jump down to the ground. “How do you know that?”

“I just do!” Douxie looked up at him. “Please Carl, I need you to trust me.”

Carl hesitated for just a second before he nodded and followed him down. Douxie caught him right before he hit the ground and they took off towards the woods. His spell faded, leaving the world dark again, but it didn’t matter.

“Here,” Carl said, taking a small flashlight from his pocket. “Will this help?”

“Brilliant!” Douxie said, taking it. “Stay close. We don’t know what’s in these woods.”

“You mean walkers?” Carl asked.

Another screech made them both pause.

“No,” Douxie breathed. “I don’t.”

They ran fast through the woods, trying to find Rick and Shane. Or, Douxie was looking for Rick and Shane. Carl didn’t understand what was happening, why Douxie was so scared.

A gunshot in the distance had them both freezing in their tracks. 

Douxie’s heart leapt in his throat. “Come on!” He grabbed Carl’s wrist and they were running again.

As they ran, they found themselves in a clearing lit by the moon. There were two people there. It looked like they were fighting.

“Dad?” Carl breathed.

Douxie heard the click of a gun and he looked down to see Carl readying his weapon. He took a deep breath and gripped his spear. Oddly, his leg wasn’t hurting anymore. He’d run all this way and nothing.

There was the terrible sound of metal piercing flesh and Shane suddenly dropped, Rick lowering him to the ground.

“Damn you for making me do this, Shane!” Rick’s voice was ragged with grief and anger. “This was you, not me! You did this to us!”

Douxie couldn’t breathe. “Fuck… oh fuck, no.”

He’d been right. Shane had led Rick all this way just to kill him. And Rick being the man he was, had stopped him.

Douxie watched, holding Carl back as Rick grieved over the loss of his friend and brother. He had to swallow his own tears, thinking of Jim. He and Jim would never have come to this. But Rick wasn’t Jim.

Rick was just as mortal and fallible as any man. Shane too. And Shane had paid the price for what he’d done. A bloody, painful price.

Carl stumbled forward after a moment, calling out, “Dad!?”

Rick turned to see them, horror and grief wrought on his face. He had blood, Shane’s blood, staining his hands. He looked, for a moment, guilty of being found like this, knelt over the body of the man he’d killed in self-defense. Then his eyes met Douxie’s and understanding passed between them. Rick’s face portrayed only one question, “ Why would you bring him here”?

Douxie didn’t have an answer for him. And yet he had so many answers. I was scared you were going to die. Scared of what Shane would do to you. What would happen if I couldn’t stop him, if I couldn’t save you.

Slowly, he got to his feet. “Carl…”

Carl was shaking, crying tears of anger. But who was he angry at? Shane or Rick? Who did he blame more?

“You know…” Rick limped forward, crying also. He looked ragged and worn. “You should be back home with mom.”

Carl had his gun raised in an instant. Douxie froze. Why did he always freeze?

Rick froze too. No words passed between them. Carl was scared. He was scared and didn’t understand what was happening.

Rick slowly glanced at Douxie again, pleading with him to help. To do something. Douxie didn’t know what to do.

“Just— just put the gun down.” Rick told Carl softly.

Movement caught his eye. A body rose behind Rick, a living corpse with milky eyes set on him. It moved fast, too fast for Douxie to say anything, to warn him.

Carl pulled the trigger. Another gunshot rang out across the field and Shane the Walker dropped, dead again.

Dead silence stilled all three of them as they stared at the twice-dead corpse. 

Douxie felt like he might throw up. The ache in his leg had come back, and he thought he felt blood trickling down his leg. “Rick—”

Carl let out a sob and dropped his gun. Douxie abandoned his train of thought, kneeling down to hug the boy. He brought him close, wanting desperately to shield him from all of this.

Another beat passed before Rick knelt down too and placed a gentle hand on the back of Douxie’s head and another around Carl’s shoulders. He hugged the both of them close, also seeming to want to be a shield for them both.

“I was trying to stop him,” Douxie murmured. “I knew what he was—”

“I know,” Rick whispered, his forehead against Douxie’s temple. “You were right… I’m sorry. And thank you.”

Douxie held Carl a little tighter against his chest as the boy gripped his shirt and fell into the comfort of the embrace. “What now?”

“I don’t know.”

Another piercing, unholy shriek rattled in his skull. Both Douxie and Carl jumped back from the hug, eyes wide and breaths short. They shot to their feet, much to the confusion of Rick.

Who stood also, hands finding their shoulders to reel them in. “What is it?”

“You didn’t hear that?” Carl asked, voice small and haunted. 

Rick looked at them, confused. “Hear what?”

Again. Angier, almost indignant now.

Carl whimpered and covered his ears. Douxie spun around, looking for its source. 

“We need to leave,” he breathed out. He looked back at Rick, terror gripping his soul. He didn’t want to meet this thing. “Now, Rick, Now, please!”

“Yeah, okay.” Rick swallowed, looking behind him at Shane’s body. “Okay…”

They began making their way back to the house, leaving the body and all that happened behind them. The shrieks didn’t sound again, but that didn’t mean their owner was gone. Just… waiting.

Douxie felt like a child again, lost in the woods and being hunted. He was shaken, mind turning at witnessing Shane rise again as a walker. Had he been bitten and hidden it from them? And what was this thing in the woods that only he and Carl could hear?

“Are you two okay?” Rick asked them softly. 

Douxie pursed his lips, finding Carl’s hand in the darkness. “No. Who would be after that?”

They kept going in silence for a moment before Douxie thought he heard the moans of the dead. Thousands of them.

He paused and turned, eyes going wide at seeing what was coming over the hill. “Rick.”

Rick turned too, gasping. “Go!” He hissed, driving them forward.

They were running again. They always seemed to end up running.

Chapter Text

Douxie was gasping for breath by the time they’d reached the barn. He was swaying unsteadily, and looked increasingly pale, even in the dim moonlight. Sweat coated his brow, hair sticking to his forehead. He stumbled and Rick caught his arm, tugging him behind a tree.

“Dad.” Carl whispered with a trembling voice, watching his father steady the older boy. He was gripping tight to Douxie’s spear after the older boy had nearly dropped it.  “We have to get to the house.”

“We won’t make it through them,” Rick muttered, keeping a hand on Douxie’s chest to keep him upright. He glanced at the barn. Only a couple yards away. “Douxie, can you make it to the barn?”

His gold eyes lifted, hazy and glazed over. But he nodded and rasped out,“Yes.”

“Okay,” Rick kept a steady grip on the teen’s upper arm. “Carl, stay close.”

With a deep breath, he led his boys forward, past the beginnings of the oncoming horde. Some of the walkers trickling in from the front of the herd tried to grab at them, and while they were laughably slow, there were still way too many to take on.

They reached the barn, and Rick slammed the wood doors shut behind them. As soon as he let go of Douxie’s arm, he collapsed on the ground, blood clearly seeping from his right thigh. Somehow, someway, he’d opened the wound again. Most likely from all the running.

“Dad!” Carl dropped the spear and knelt next to Douxie as Rick was slipping a long metal pipe through the barn door handles to keep it shut.

Rick turned to see convulsions ripping through Douxie’s body, eyes rolled back in his head. Another seizure. Panic seized his chest as he ran to the teen’s side, hands hovering, unsure what to do. Blood began trickling from Douxie’s nose.

“Dad!” Carl screamed, eyes wide and begging for him to do something.

“I don’t…” Rick faltered, unable to speak. The doors rattled as the dead demanded to be let in.

Douxie's chest hitched, and he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. The growling outside grew louder.

“No!” Carl shouted, taking Douxie’s face in his hands. “You can’t die too!”

“Carl, that won’t—”

A rotting hand ripped through the wood of the door, groping blindly for something to grab.

Rick sprang to his feet, drawing his gun. “Carl, we need to go!”

“We can’t leave him here!”

Rick fired a shot through the new opening, and the arm disappeared as its owner dropped. “Carl, now!’

“No!” His son shouted, and for a moment Rick thought he saw a flash of blue light.

When he turned, Douxie’s convulsions had stopped. He felt his heart drop, fearing the worst. The boy was dead, and if he didn’t get Carl away from him now, he’d come back and turn him too.

“Carl—”

Like a snap, Douxie’s eyes flew open and he immediately started retching. He rolled out of Carl’s grip and vomited onto the floor. Both Rick and Carl cringed, but relief was swelling in him. He was okay. That gave Rick hope.

Douxie coughed and wiped his mouth, clambering to his feet with Carl’s helping hands. “What—”

“No time.” Rick interrupted, pushing down his urge to hug the lanky teenager. Joyous hugs later, fighting for lives now. “Top of the barn, let’s go.”

Carl and Douxie stumbled to the ladder, Rick not far behind them. He dragged some gasoline cans out, dumping their contents on the fouled barn floor. 

“Doux!” He shouted, tossing a lighter to him. Douxie had surprising coordination for someone who’d just had a seizure. “Drop that when I say.”

“What!?’ He demanded, leaning over the side of the wood platform. “What the hell are you going to do!?’

“Just do it!” Rick shouted, grabbing the discarded spear.

Douxie watched as Rick charged the doors, banging on them, taunting the dead towards them. He nearly lost his balance when Rick threw the doors open, leading the dead inside. 

Carl caught him, pulling him away from the edge. “I can do it.” He said, taking the lighter.

Douxie didn’t argue much, still light-headed and nauseous. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened. “Go for it.”

“Now!” Rick shouted, reaching the top of the ladder.

Carl lit the fuse and dropped the lighter. The barn floor lit up in a blaze.

“Fantastic,” Douxie said loudly over the moans of tortured corpses. “What now?”

Loud gunshots ringing outside drew their attention. They looked out through the opening in the upper floor of the barn wall, staring at the cars driving by with shotguns and pistols in the passengers seats shooting at the walkers. 

“Lovely,” Douxie muttered, wiping sweat off his forehead. “How do we get down?”

“Working on it,” Rick said beside him. He surveyed the ground below, clearly thinking of the best solution. “Could you make that jump?”

“Doubtful.”

“Great.”

“Hey, look!” Carl pointed at the RV driving toward them.

“Hey!” Rick waved the driver over. “Here, get in here!”

The RV rolled to a stop next to the flat roof. 

“Alright come on,” Rick said, waving the boys forward. “You can make that one, right?”

Douxie inched towards the roof’s edge, careful not to fall into the pit of ablaze walkers. “Don’t patronize me.”

He and Carl made it to the flat aluminum roof, Rick close behind. They quickly hopped on top of the RV, Rick passing Douxie his spear. Douxie took it gratefully, crouching on the RV roof, looking out at the crowd of walkers.

Screaming from inside the vehicle made him jump. He dared to look inside the roof hatch, and nearly threw up again. The doors had been flung open somehow, and Jimmy was being devoured alive, screaming still.

“Let’s go,” Rick called, firing a few shots off into the crowd of flesh-eaters.

He cleared a path with his gun, and they all hopped down from the RV, running again. Douxie checked his leg, surprised to find the bleeding had stopped and he no longer felt dizzy and uncoordinated. Gods be willing, whatever had been going on had stopped now.

“Into the woods there, let’s go!” Rick called.

Blood spattered on the RV windshield behind them. Douxie grabbed Carl’s arm as they followed his father back into the woods. Walkers turned to follow them, growling and gnashing their foul teeth. 

Douxie swung his spear like a staff, clocking one of them on the temple with the sharp end. It dropped, blood spattering the ground. He took a step back as more fell in place of the one he’d killed. 

“Douxie, don’t stop, we can’t fight them all!” Rick shouted, turning back to grab his shoulder. “Come on!”

Douxie watched the rising fire in the barn, gaze sweeping out over the overrun land. “What about everyone else?”

“They’ll catch up,” Rick said, though they both knew there was still the chance of never seeing them again. “Come on.”

With a sigh, Douxie turned and followed Rick into the woods. They took a shortcut back to the house, still hearing gunshots firing off from the yard.

All they found was Hershel, standing alone and defending his home from the horde. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Rick shot a walker sneaking up behind the old man, saving his life for what must have been the thousandth time. Douxie let Carl hold on tight to his hand as Hershel turned to face them.

“Have you seen Lori?” Rick demanded.

“These things… they just won’t stop coming.” Hershel said. “They’re like a plague.”

“Hershel, have you seen Lori?” Rick said again.

“No,” he answered, clearly distraught. “No, I haven’t seen any of them.”

Douxie squeezed Carl’s hand in comfort. 

“Alright,” Rick said, shaking his head. “We have to go. We have to—” he ran a hand down his face. “We have to go, find her and the others.”

Douxie turned, spotting a red van. “Carl, follow me.”

The two ran ahead while Rick had to drag Hershel away from the horde. Douxie understood not wanting to leave your home, but… still. They’d all die if they stayed here.

He slammed the driver’s side door open and climbed into seat, Carl climbing in next to him. Douxie handed him his spear as he got under the wheel and pried off the bottom panel. “Shoot anything that comes close!”

The click of a gun being cocked sounded next to him. Within moments there was gunfire above him, and Douxie had no choice but to tune it out as he hot-wired the van. Thank the gods this skill had stuck with him over the decades. 

The vehicle started with a mighty roar just as Hershel and Rick were getting in. Douxie pulled himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, hitting the gas. They lurched forward through the mass of walkers, towards safety.

It was sullen as they drove off the farm, sullen and silent. Douxie took that moment to finally breathe, adrenaline draining away, leaving him exhausted. The moon was dipping over the treetops, giving way to the sun. Douxie wished it gave him any semblance of hope.

“Is this it?” Douxie asked, stopping the car. They’d arrived at an abandoned highway, the one Rick said everyone else was likely to go back to.

“Yeah,” Rick said, nodding. “Yeah this is it.”

Douxie turned the engine off, opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. He took a moment to look around, gaze lingering on the food and water left on the hood of a rundown car, barely visible words once painted on the windshield. His best guess was this had been one of their early attempts to find Sophia.

“Where’s Mom?” Carl asked. “You said she’d be here!”

“Carl—”

“No, why are we running?” Carl demanded. “What are you doing? We should have stayed to find her, not be safe a mile away!”

“Carl, mate, chill.” Douxie told him. “We might just be the first ones here.”

“It’s my mother!” Carl said loudly. “We need to look for her!”

“Carl, please.” Rick said, getting down on his level. “You need to be quiet.”

Carl pursed his lips, looking back out at the woods. “Please, Dad. We need to find her.”

Rick sighed, looking heartbroken. “Carl, listen—”

“No,” Carl shook his head, turning away from his father. He stalked off past the cars, hands stuck in the pockets of his jacket.

“I’ll watch him,” Douxie said to Rick, turning to follow the boy.

“Rick,” Hershel said, watching them walk away. “You need to get the boys to safety. I’ll wait here for my girls and the others.” He took a deep breath, facing Rick. “I know a few places. We’ll meet up at one of them later.”

“Where?” Rick asked, giving the old man a hard stare. “Where is safe? We’re not splitting up. They’ll be here, I know it.”

He shook his head. “Please. Keep your boy safe. Both of them. I can hide in one of the cars, and if a walker gets me, so be it. I’ve lost my farm, my wife, and now maybe my daughters.”

Rick looked at him as Hershel looked back in the direction they’d come. “You don’t know that, Hershel. They’ll be here.”

“And you don’t know that.”

“You’re a man of God,” Rick hissed. “Have some faith!”

“I can’t profess to understand His plan,” Hershel said forlornly. “Jesus said He’d raise the dead.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I just thought He had something a little different in mind.”

Rick shook his head. “We stick together.” He told him, and turned to find the boys.

“I know what you’re going through,” Douxie said, helping Carl comb through one of the abandoned cars for supplies. “But if everyone is smart, they’ll come back here, right?”

“That’s what we all thought Sophia would do,” Carl said bitterly. “It didn’t work out for her.”

Douxie sighed, pushing a box aside, reaching for another one. “This is different.”

“How?”

Douxie shook his head. “It just is.” He dug around in the box for a moment, before he pulled out an Uno set. A smile pulled at his lips and he pocketed the game.

Carl gave him a weird look. “Why?”

“Boredom is a dangerous thing.” He answered, turning to decide which car to raid next. His gaze caught on something and his eyes widened. “No fucking way.”

“What?” Carl asked, trying to see what he was looking at. Douxie was staring at a small blue car with seemingly nothing interesting about it. He squinted. “What are you looking at?”

Douxie ignored him, walking towards the car. He knelt in front of the passengers side door, fingers lightly touching the scraped up metal. Carl peered over his shoulder, something flashing subtly against the door. He blinked and now burned into the side of the door was a weird marking that he was fairly certain hadn’t been there before. 

“What is that?” He asked. He got the same weird feeling from that, that he’d gotten when Douxie had snapped out of his seizure back in the barn. The tips of his fingers were tingling, and there was a low buzzing sensation at the base of his skull.

Douxie smiled. “A sign. They were here.”

“Who was here?”

Douxie looked at him, tears in his eyes. “My family. They were here. They’re still looking for me.”

Douxie wiped fresh blood off his face, climbing back up onto the roof of the red van. “Anyone consider Daryl had the right idea with a silent weapon?”

“Yes,” the three of them said in unison.

Douxie’s spear had become a godsend in the last few hours of waiting for everyone to come. It was quiet, quick, and efficient. 

“Whose turn was it,” Douxie asked, picking up his cards again.

“Yours,” Carl answered, thumbing through his hand of cards.

Rick leaned on the driver’s seat, craning his neck up to watch them. One or two walkers every thirty to forty-five minutes was enough to handle. But he wasn’t sure what they’d do if the herd came back up this way.

“He said there was a sign?” Hershel asked. “From his folks?”

“Yeah,” Rick nodded. “Carl saw it too. They were this close the whole time.”

“Do you think they might still be around here?”

Rick sighed, shaking his head. “It’s hard to be sure. Douxie didn’t seem to think it was likely, but…” he smiled softly. “That one small thing gave him hope. Isn’t that enough?”

Hershel sighed. “I wish it could be the same for everyone else.” He looked at Rick. “I don’t know how much longer we can stay here, Rick. What if the herd moves back up this way?”

“I don’t know,” Rick admitted. “Carl won’t leave without Lori and—”

The sound of a motorcycle approaching cut him off. Daryl weaved in and out of the cars, leading the others onto the highway. Relief washed over them. They’d done it. They’d all made their way back here.

“Mom!” Carl cried happily, jumping down from the top of the van to hug his mother.

Lori scooped him up, holding him close. “Oh my god, you’re alright!”

Rick knelt down, hugging them both, kissing Lori’s cheek. “We’re all okay.”

“Where’d you find them?” Douxie asked, hopping off the van’s roof.

“Saw that guy’s tail lights zig-zagging all over the road,” Daryl said, gesturing to Glenn. “Figured he must be Asian, driving like that.”

“Oh, haha, very funny.” Glenn dead-panned.

“Where’s the rest of us?” Daryl asked.

“We’re the only ones who’ve made it so far,” Rick said as he got to his feet.

“Shane?” Lori asked, standing too.

Rick pursed his lips, shaking his head. He didn’t have the heart to tell her what really happened. What Shane tried to do.

Douxie shifted his weight uncomfortably, arms folded across his chest. “I saw Jimmy…” he looked away, swallowing thickly. “He’s gone too.”

“Andrea?” Glenn asked.

“She saved me, then I lost her.” Carol said quietly.

“We saw her go down,” T-Dog said.

“Patricia, too.” Beth sniffed, wrapped up her father’s arms. “They took her right out from under me. I was— I was holding onto her, but—”

Hershel drew his daughter in, kissing the top of her head.

“Are you sure you saw Andrea?” Carol asked.

“There were walkers everywhere,” Lori said.

“Did you see her?” Carol asked again.

Silence filled the space for a moment.

“I’m gonna go back,” Daryl said, heading for his motorcycle.

“No,” Rick said, stopping him.

“We can’t just leave her.” Daryl argued.

“We don’t even know if she’s there,” Lori said.

“She isn’t there,” Rick shook his head. “She isn’t. She’s somewhere else, or she’s dead. There’s no way to find her.”

To his right, Douxie shifted again, looking back in the direction of the farm. There was an odd look in his eyes, his pupils like pin pricks. His fingers twitched, and for a moment Rick was worried he was going to have another seizure.

Carl appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his hand, pulling Douxie back into reality. The teen blinked rapidly for a few seconds, before he shook himself and wrapped his arm around Carl’s shoulders. 

“We’re not even going to look for her?” Glenn asked.

“We gotta keep moving,” Rick said, gaze lingering worriedly on Douxie for a moment. The sound of a walker growling caught his attention. “There have been walkers crawling all over here.”

“I say we head East,” T-Dog suggested. 

“Stay off the main roads,” Daryl said, reaching for his crossbow. “The bigger the roads, the more the walkers.”

The approaching undead bumped into one of the cars, growling, eyes fixed on the group.

“More assholes like this one,” he grunted, lifting the bow. “I’ve got him.” He fired, arrow sailing silently into its head. The walker dropped.

“That is the ugliest f-ing vest I have ever seen,” Douxie muttered, surveying the undead’s wardrobe. “Why would anyone willingly wear that?”

“You care so much about a walking corpse’s attire because?” Daryl questioned, retrieving his arrow.

“Several reasons,” Douxie said. “I am gay, that vest is ugly, and whoever invented it should never have been allowed near a sewing machine.”

“Alright,” Rick called. “Come on, let’s go.” He beckoned his wife and son over to him. “We’ll caravan.”

The others began to move back towards their cars. Daryl revved his motorcycle.

“They travel in a single line to hide their numbers,” Douxie muttered to himself as he passed Rick to retrieve the Uno cards he’d insisted on keeping. 

“What?” Lori asked, getting into the passenger seat of the red van.

“It’s from Star Wars,” Rick said, getting into the driver’s seat. “You know, the sand people?”

“Rick, I fell asleep everytime we watched that movie.” His wife reminded him.

“Too bad, excellent movies.” Douxie said, climbing into the seat behind her. “Although probably entirely inaccurate to real space.” He paused. “I never asked Krel about that.”

“Who’s Krel?” Carl asked, buckling his seatbelt.

“A friend of mine.” Douxie said. “An astrophysicist.”

Lori raised a brow as Rick started the engine. “You’re friends with an astrophysicist?”

“Yes,” Douxie said, in that way he did when you could never tell if he was joking or not.

They pulled onto the next road, leading the way for everyone else. Rick had to carefully avoid a deep pothole. Had that been there when they’d first stopped on this highway? It looked like someone had straight up torn a piece of asphalt out of the road.

“Wonder what happened there,” he wondered aloud.

Douxie chuckled softly. “Yes, I wonder.”

Carl turned in his seat, looking at Douxie oddly. “Do you know something we don’t?”

“Everyone knows something that others don't.” Douxie said unhelpfully, and very cryptically. Rick wondered if that was a British person thing, or just a Douxie thing. “My theory,” he said cheerfully. “Is that it was a very big stone monster lobbing chunks of asphalt at the walkers to keep them away from his squishy human friends.”

“That sarcasm won’t get old fast,” Lori muttered.

Rick sighed and pat her hand. “Teenagers are like that.”

“I can hear you.” Douxie said

“I know,” Rick said, "you're sitting right behind me.”

Douxie scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “Now look who’s being sarcastic.”

“Dammit,” Rick muttered.

“What?” Lori asked, looking at him with concern.

“We’ve been riding red for the past hour,” he said, gesturing to the fuel gauge.

“Let them know so we don’t get left behind,” Douxie said.

Rick honked the horn, bringing the caravan to a stop. They all got out of the van, the biting chill immediate and miserable.

“You out?” Daryl called from his bike.

“Running on fumes,” Rick answered, walking up to him as everyone else got out of the other car.

“We can’t stay here,” Maggie said, looking around unsuredly.

“Well we can’t all fit in one car,” Glenn pointed out.

“We'll have to make a run for some gas in the morning,” Rick decided.

“And spend the night here?” Carol asked, glancing at the abandoned road.

“I’m freezing,” Carl said, wrapped up in his red jacket.

“We can build a fire,” Lori told him, rubbing his arms to warm him up.

“We shouldn’t stay out in the open,” Douxie said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “If we’re gonna make camp, it needs to be easily defendable.”

“You a boy scout or somethin’?” Daryl said teasingly.

“No, I just have a brain.” Douxie rolled his eyes. “It’s common enough sense, Dar—” he paused abruptly, gaze catching on something in the forest. 

He went listless and still for a moment, the sudden interruption so jarring everyone stared at him. He took a single step forward, pupils contracting much like a cat’s until they were just pin pricks. 

“Douxie,” Rick called. “Are you alright?”

Douxie opted not to answer him, instead jolting forward suddenly, heading straight for the woods. He hopped easily over the traffic barrier, disappearing behind the thick brush. 

“What… the hell was that?” Glenn asked what everyone else was thinking.

“I’ll go get him,” Rick said with a sigh.

“I’ll go with you,” Daryl volunteered.

“Yeah, alright.” Rick nodded, heading in the direction Douxie had gone. “You all stay here, we’ll be right back.”

Daryl and Rick followed Douxie into the woods. He hadn’t gotten very far ahead, they could still see him. But he was walking briskly, clearly following something neither of them had seen.

“Douxie!” Daryl called after him. “Kid wait up, what the hell are you doing?”

Douxie stopped in his tracks, staring at a tall tree. He ran his fingers over the bark where something had been scratched into it. “I know you were here…”

“Douxie?” Rick jogged over to him, grabbing his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” he pursed his lips, turning away. His eyes had returned to normal now, that weird nearly animalistic haze gone. He walked forward a few paces, moving some leaves and sticks around with the sole of his shoe. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “You were here.” He sniffed, wiping at his face as he knelt down, reaching for something hidden under the leaves. 

“Who was here?” Rick asked softly, kneeling next to him.

Douxie picked up a small silver chain. Attached to the chain were a set of military dog tags, the engraved writing so faded you could barely make out what it said. But Douxie smiled sadly, running his thumb over them. “Hi darling.”

“Doux,” Daryl called, nudging his foot. “Kid, come on, you’re starting to freak us out.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just… I knew he’d been here. He left this for me.”

“Who did?”

“Carter, my boyfriend.” Douxie sighed, getting to his feet. “This is the closest I’ve been to them in weeks, aside from that sign on the highway. My family was here, Rick. They were so close… how long have they been this close and I didn’t know it?”

“Douxie,” Rick put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We know they’re looking for you, and it seems like we’re all heading in the same direction. Maybe we’ll run into eachother.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

“Now come on,” Daryl said. “It’s cold as balls out here.”

Douxie let them lead him back to the road, something a bit sadder in his posture now. He clutched those dog tags like it was a piece of himself that he didn’t want to lose. Or maybe more accurately, a piece of himself he’d already lost and couldn’t bear to lose a second time. Hearing him talk about his boyfriend the few times he’d brought Carter up gave Rick the sense how deeply in love with this boy Douxie was. He imagined this for Douxie was what it had been for him when he thought he’d never see Lori again. Losing your partner was like losing part of yourself. He understood Douxie’s pain.

“Hold onto those,” Rick told him, squeezing his shoulder. “So you can give them back to Carter when you find him.”

Douxie nodded, slipping the chain over his head. They walked in silence for a while, before Douxie softly said, “Thank you.”

Rick blinked. “What for?”

Douxie looked at him and smiled. “For helping me. Thank you.”

Rick smiled too. “You’re welcome.”

They settled in the middle of an old stone structure that had long since worn away. It was only a few paces from the road, easily visible by car. Douxie wondered if they’d stayed here too.

He crouched down, picking a gem shard off the ground. It was small and orange, clearly chipped off a larger piece. He found himself smiling sadly at it. “Warhammer was here.”

How long had they stayed at this place, waiting for him, looking for him? How long had they been only hours apart and hadn’t known it?

“You know I uh… I found Randall,” Daryl said, stoking the fire. The sun was beginning to set. “He turned but he wasn’t bit.”

“How is that possible?” Lori questioned. 

Douxie looked up, gears in his head turning. “Shane killed him, didn’t he?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Shane killed him like he always wanted to.”

“And then… the herd got Shane?” Lori asked, looking at Rick. “Rick?”

Rick was silent for a moment, staring at the sunset. Blood was still smeared on his face. He shared a look with Douxie as he turned to face the group. “We’re all infected.”

Everyone stared at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Daryl asked.

“At the C.D.C.,” Rick explained. “Jenner told me…” he shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Whatever it is, we all carry it.”

They let that sink in, the weight of his words settling on the group.

“And you never said anything?” Carol demanded.

“Would it have made a difference?” Rick asked, voice going rough.

“You knew this whole time.” Glenn said, almost in disbelief.

“How could I have known for sure?” Rick demanded, on the edge of his rope. Douxie could hear it in his voice. He was tired, desperate, and angry. “You saw crazy that mother—”

“That wasn’t your call!” Glenn stated loudly. “Look, when I found out about the walkers in the barn, I told you all, for the good of everyone!”

“Well I thought it best if people didn’t know.” Rick said.

Douxie sighed, burying his head in his hands. This was very reminiscent of Merlin’s “for the greater good” speeches. “Then why… why tell us now?”

“Because I—” Rick let out a long breath. “Because now I’m certain it’s true. And this can’t be ignored anymore.”

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. “Aight. Aight, anyone have secrets they been keeping? Now’s the time to share apparently.”

Douxie rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a shaky breath. He could tell them now that he was pretty certain he was immune to the virus. If that was even what this was. But with tensions rising, he wasn’t sure that was the best of ideas.

“Doux,” Carl whispered, grabbing his arm.

“I’m fine,” Douxie whispered back, squeezing his hand. He wouldn’t tell them. Not yet. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes as he watched Rick walk away, Lori following him. He sighed and sat down properly, back to one of the crumbling stone walls. “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” Carl admitted, scooting close to him. “Everything that happened in the woods today and… and that thing that kept screeching. And when you… when you almost died back in the barn. I thought—” he pursed his lips, sticking his hands in his pockets. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Yes,” Douxie agreed. “Yes it has.” He looked over, and could see Lori and Rick talking quietly. His jaw tensed when he saw Lori backing away from him like he’d burned her. “Truth always comes out,” he muttered, knowing Rick had told her what really happened to Shane. Douxie couldn’t blame him for what he’d done. Shane was akin to a rabid dog.

“What?” Carl asked.

“Nothing.” Douxie shook his head, pulling the boy closer against the quickly settling chill of the night. “Nevermind. You warm enough?”

Carl nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

They jumped slightly when Lori came stomping back into the campsite, distressed and possibly angry. Rick was close behind, looking ten shades of done with everyone’s shit.

“I think it’s time we talked about what you kept from us,” Maggie said. “You had no right.”

“No,” Rick shook his head. “No. I’m keeping this group together. What would you have gained from knowing that? Up until now, it didn’t matter.” He looked around at them. “You know I killed my best friend for you people! You saw it. You saw how he pushed me, how he compromised us, threatened us.”

Douxie hugged Carl tighter. He’d known this all along, known what Shane was going to do.

“He staged the whole Randall thing,” Rick continued. “All to lead me out into the woods to put a bullet in my back.” Stunned silence settled over them. “He gave me no choice. He was my friend, but he came after me.” He looked out at them one by one. “But my hands are clean. I did what I had to do to keep us all safe.”

Carl turned his face into Douxie’s jacket, wrapping his arms around the older boy, trying to stifle his crying. Douxie wrapped his arms around him, pulling him ever closer. 

“Maybe you are all better off without me. Go ahead.” Rick challenged, daring them to have the gut to leave alone. “I say there’s a place for us, but maybe that’s just another pipe dream. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Go on,” he gestured to the square cut out of the stone building. “There’s the door, find out for yourself, see how far you get.” He waited, watching them. Nobody stood, nobody said anything. “No takers? Fine. But get one thing straight, you’re staying, this isn’t a democracy anymore.”

Douxie waited for that terror to set in again. But oddly enough, it didn’t. He found a strange sense of comfort in knowing somebody was stepping up to look out for them, to make the hard decisions. Rick was their leader now, the person who was going to make those hard decisions for the good of the group. Right now, that was what they needed.

Chapter Text

The swarm of the undead was beginning to thin out. Several sharp weapons (and one rather blunt hammer) weeded out the deceased garden of corpses. Magic armor against rotting teeth was not an even fight.

An iron clad foot waded out amongst twice fallen men lying in the bloodstained grass. He walked through the destroyed fields, eyeing the burnt barn. That looked very much like the fault of a certain wizard.

“Arch?” Jim called, making his way back to the others as Toby and Steve took care of the stragglers. “You got anything?”

Archie was flying over the remains of the farm, trying to catch Douxie’s scent. He landed on Jim’s armor clad shoulder with a huff. “Too many bodies foul the air. I can’t tell which direction he went in, but he was definitely here. Maybe for a while.”

Jim sighed, bringing a hand to his face, rubbing his temple. That’s the way it had been for nearly two months. Archie and Fenris could never quite catch Douxie’s scent because of all these damned draugrs. “Shit, and we weren’t even that far away.”

Archie sighed, ears drooping. “I know. We were looking in the wrong direction the entire time.”

Jim scratched the dragon behind the ears. “We’ll find him. We know Douxie was here. We’re not far from him, I can feel it.”

“You’ve been saying that for months,” Carter’s voice, rough and ragged, chimed in. He looked tired, but then again, he always did now. Jim wondered if he even slept through the night anymore. He wondered if Carter was sleeping at all. “For two months you’ve been saying that. I don’t know how much longer— I don’t think I can—” his voice broke and he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he cried silently. Carter crying had been a rarity when Jim had first met him. Now it was common. Too common for Jim’s preference.

“Hey,” Jim said softly, bringing Carter into a hug. “It’s okay, I know. I know, Carter.” He sighed, squeezing his friend tightly, trying to give him any semblance of comfort. “I miss him too.”

Carter took in a ragged breath, pushing himself out of Jim’s grip, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t even know if he’s alive anymore, Jim. I—” he shuddered, closing his eyes. “It’s torture, not being able to feel his soul the way I used to. It was— it was a comfort, how I always knew where he was, if he was okay. Not knowing… chasing what might just be a ghost and a corpse it’s…” he cut himself off, wiping at his face with his shirt sleeve. Salty tears mixed with blackened blood. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Jim kept a steady gaze on Carter, wishing desperately he could fix the hole in his heart and the ache in his chest. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know if Douxie was still alive, or if he’d run out of luck and was already gone, or had joined the sea of living corpses. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they found him like that. 

“Hope has kept us going this far,” Archie told him softly. “And Douxie is stubborn. We both know he’s not dying unless it’s on his terms. So don’t give up hope, Carter.”

Carter laughed a wet, humorless laugh. The kind of laugh that was a mixture of exhaustion and despair. “I’m all out of that, Archie. The world has completely fallen apart, and I’ve lost the only man I’ve ever loved.”

Jim put a hand on the back of Carter’s neck, giving him something to focus on. “Listen to me, Carter.” Blue eyes met brown. Both glistened with tears. “You may be all out of hope, but I’m not. He’s still out there, I believe that. And you believe in me, right?”

Mutely, he nodded.

“Then let me lead you back to him. Because I know my brother, and I know how much he loves you.” Jim let out a shaking breath, pressing his forehead to his battle brother’s, trying desperately to pour any strength he had left into Carter just to keep him going for one more day. “I know how much this hurts, and I know you’re tired. But we’re Trollhunters. We answer every call, and Douxie needs us. We have to keep going. For him.”

“For him,” Carter echoed, voice raw with unshed tears. “For Douxie.”

“For Douxie.”

“Is he okay?” Barbara asked as her son trudged towards her through a sea of bodies. His armor was stained with old blood, spattered from the undead horde he’d waded through by himself to weaken their numbers. Barbara had hated watching that, knowing they’d have to wait until anyone else could be of any use. But Jim was the only person in their group with a full set of armor, down to the helmet.

“He will be,” Jim said with a heavy sigh, planting Excalibur point first in the ground, leaning on the hilt. “He’s just… heartbroken. Lost. I know what he needs, what he wants, but I can’t give it to him.”

“Oh, Jim.” Barbara tugged her son into a tender hug, kissing his forehead. “We all miss Douxie. We all want him back safely.”

Jim let out a shuddering breath, leaning into her embrace. “He’s alone out here, Mom. He’s by himself, facing these things alone. I can’t—” he sniffed, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “We have to find him. Douxie is counting on us.”

“I know,” Barbara rubbed his armored arm gently. “And we will find him. We’re close, Jim. So close.”

Jim nodded, something resolute coming to his eyes. “He was here. I don’t know how long for, but he was here.”

“Young Atlas, if I may?” Strickler interjected, coming out of the farm house followed closely by Eli and Claire. “That fire was started only last night, and the interior of the house suggests multiple people were living here, including Douxie.”

Claire tossed him a small paperback book. Jim peered at the cover.

“Jurassic Park?” He asked, giving her a glance.

“Look at the bookmarked page.” She said.

Jim opened up the book, flipping to a dog-eared page. He reminded himself to not show this to Blinky, or so help them he would riot at the injustice. Or whatever he called it.

Jim paused, eyes going wide. Scribbled hastily in the corner of the page in what was definitely Trollish and Douxie’s terrible handwriting, was a message. For them. From Douxie.

I’m still here.

Jim felt like all the air got sucked out of his lungs. “I’m still here?” He blinked, running a thumb over the message. “What— what does that mean? Like he’s still here, on the farm?”

“More likely it means he’s still alive.” Strickler said. “Alive, coherent, and traveling with another group. He understands safety in numbers, and left with them following the attack on this farm.”

Jim was suddenly a little dizzy, head spinning with this new information. “Which means we just missed him.”

Strickler nodded. “Most likely, yes.”

“He doesn’t have his magic,” Claire said. “It makes sense he’d travel with another group until we found him.”

“Which means we need to start looking for signs of camps and cars traveling with multiple people in them,”Jim concluded. Then sighed. “Well, it’s a start.”

“A start is as good as anything,” his mother said, patting his shoulder.

“But now what?” Eli questioned. “Which direction did they go in?”

“I don’t know.” Jim rubbed his temple, sighing. “We’ll just have to— to figure that out!”

“Hey,” Claire said softly, rubbing his shoulder. “Jim, it’s okay. We’ll rest here tonight, and look for more clues in the morning.”

“Sleeping in a real bed sounds nice,” Eli said wistfully.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Okay. Fine. We’ll rest here.” He sighed, turning to go into the house. “We’ll leave Douxie to the mercy of people who are probably incredibly dangerous murderers, but yeah, let’s stay in the creepy old farmhouse tonight.”

Claire flexed her fingers, brows pinched as she tried to conjure a portal. She didn't care how many times she tried this and it didn't work. She had to keep trying. Douxie needed them. 

But again, nothing happened. Ever since this... apocalypse had started, her portals hadn't worked. She could only portal to the Shadow Realm and then out again within a finite area of where she started. Portaling long distances was no longer an option and she didn't know why .

Douxie had thought maybe something about this grand-scale necromancy hack job seen 'round the globe had something to do with it. He was probably right.

"Your magic is powered by and tied to the Underworld. With... all of this, it makes sense maybe that connection has dimmed." He'd sighed then, looking worried. For her. For all of them. "If only we could ask the gods directly but..."

They never got to ask them. Even Jim had had no luck contacting Nimue, and she was his patron goddess. Carter said the gods were withdrawn. He could feel it. They'd be getting no help from his divine relatives.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jim asked, sliding onto the roof next to her. He'd taken the amulet off. Good thing too, he was cleaner now. His armor, magic though it was, was not exempt from being covered in the blood of rotting corpses.

Claire sighed. "Just... how useless I feel. I can't give us an easy way to Douxie." She pursed her lips. "It's not a good feeling."

"I get it," Jim said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Trust me, I do. It seems all I'm good for is swinging a sword around."

Claire shook her head, smiling at him. "No. You're keeping us all together. You're giving us hope, keeping us going." She kissed his cheek. "That's exactly what we need."

Jim smiled and leaned into her, kissing her properly. “You’re very sweet.”

“I’m very honest,” she corrected. “We’d follow you to the end of the world, Jim Lake Jr. You know that, right?”

“I know.” He said, voice sombering. It was a truth she knew scared him, the idea of everyone depending on him to lead them and keep them safe. “I know, Claire.”

Claire gently took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. They leaned against each other, admiring the view. It was beautiful, if you ignored the smoking remains of the barn and the corpses littering the ground. 

Her gaze caught on Fenris thundering across the field, coming towards them from the treeline. He leapt clean over a fence, carrying something in his mouth.

“Jim.” She said, breath catching in her throat.

“I know,” he breathed, clutching her hand tightly. “It’s okay. It’s probably nothing.”

“What is it?” Carter asked, chest tightening with anxiety. “Fenris?”

“There’s another horde coming,” he said, spitting out a chunk of flesh from his mouth. His fur was spattered with blood. “If we are to stay here, we need to set up defenses.”

“Alright,” Carter said with a heavy breath. He’d been hoping that Fenris would come back with news of Douxie, but he knew that was wishful thinking. “Krel!” He called. “We need the shields!”

Krel gave him a thumbs up, pulling a small device from his pocket. He activated it, a blue Akiridion-tech shield springing to life, surrounding their hastily set up camp quickly and effectively. It made a complete circle around the house, anchored firmly to the ground. No horde would be getting through it.

“This shit’s so convenient,” Toby commented, looking around at the shield. “I mean, who else has stuff like this! We’re the MVPs of the apocalypse.”

Carter rolled his eyes. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Because I’m wonderful.” Toby sassed.

“Ugh,” Carter turned away, trudging back up to the house. “I can’t with this right now.”

Fenris walked alongside him, so close Carter was nearly drowning in his fur. “Are you okay?”

Carter sighed, swallowing his tears. He couldn’t keep breaking down like this. Douxie needed him to stay strong… wherever he was right now. Carter had to keep going. For Douxie. “I will be. I just…” he pursed his lips, scrubbing his eyes. “I just miss him.”

Fenris licked his cheek gently, trying to calm him. “I know you do, Carter. We all do.”

“I can’t feel him anymore,” Carter whispered, slowing down as they neared the house. “It’s scaring me, Fenris. I won’t know if anything happens to him. What if—”

“Listen to me,” Fenris said, stopping him. “Douxie is smart. He’s very smart, brave, and he will never stop until he finds you again.”

Carter sniffed and nodded, burying a hand into Fenris’ fur. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Fenris led him the rest of the way to the house. “You’ll see him again, Carter. I know you will.”

It was getting hard to ignore the moans of the dead outside. They were all huddled in the living room, nobody able to sleep. Krel had managed to get a fire going in the fireplace. 

Jim sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee over and over. “So… any ideas about where we should start looking tomorrow?”

“I saw some tire tracks,” Steve said wearily. “It’s worth a shot.”

Jim nodded. “Sounds good.” He looked at Carter, heart twisting in his chest when he saw that the half-blood wasn’t even listening. He was leaning against his big dog, staring listlessly into the fire. Jim sighed.

He got to his feet, picking up that small book, thumbing through the pages. He sat next to Carter, getting a dismissive and impossibly tired glance. “Here,” Jim handed him the book, open to the page Douxie had written in. “We found this earlier.”

Carter took it, scanning the words. His breath caught in the back of his throat, thumb stroking the words Douxie had left for them. He opened and closed his mouth, tearing his eyes away from the book to look at Jim, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Jim nodded and squeezed his shoulder, getting up again to return to his spot next to Claire. He kept an eye on Carter for a second longer, watching him tuck the book against his chest, curling against Fenris’ side again. He sighed, wrapping an arm around Claire’s shoulders.

“Is he okay?” Claire whispered to him.

Jim nodded, kissing the top of her head. “I think so. Or… he will be.”

“We have two options,” Jim said, pacing back and forth along the perimeter of the wall. “Try to sneak out of here, or plow through that crowd.”

“Or,” Carter said. “We could let Aarrrgghh and Fenris take care of it.” He nodded to where they were waiting, both glaring at the tightly packed mob of undead. It was gray and cloudy, the sun covered so there was no harm to the trolls. Yet, anyway.

Jim considered it. It would be faster. Aarrrgghh, obviously, was entirely unbothered by these undead corpses. They paid him no attention, as if he was just some large shambling rock. However, Fenris was… well, the way they reacted to him was just weird. The dead seemed to be actively afraid of the big wolf. Even now, everytime Fenris snarled at them, they’d amble away as fast as they could.

“Okay,” he said with a nod. “Let them at it.”

At his word, the troll and the Wolf leapt clear over the barrier and started smashing in skulls. Er, a better word for it would be, Aarrrgghh was smashing skulls together, and Fenris was tearing heads clean off bodies. Jim thought he might get some sort of manic glee from it, but he was too afraid to ask.

Carter watched, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes were dull in the lowlight of the cloudy day. Or maybe… that was just how they looked now. Jim wished desperately that he could fix what was wrong, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Stop that.” Carter suddenly said without looking at him.

Jim blinked. “Stop what?”

Carter glanced at him, that impossibly tired haze visible in his face again. “Stop looking at me like I’m a wounded animal.”

Jim pursed his lips. “Sorry.”

Carter sighed, shoulders drooping a bit. “It’s not… your fault. I know you just want to help and you keep trying to figure out how. But you know you can’t help me.”

Jim was silent for a long time, knowing Carter was right. Jim couldn’t help him, and didn’t even know where to begin. He glanced down, seeing Carter had that book clutched tightly in his hand. 

Carter looked where he was looking, stoic expression crumbling. “It’s… the last piece of him I have. The only clue, the only thing we can use to know that he’s still out there.”

Jim put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Carter. I know you miss him. We all do.”

Chapter Text

“Where are you?”

“It’s a big mall,” Douxie said into the walkie-talkie, shining his flashlight into a dark and empty store. The window had been smashed in long ago, glass shards littering the linoleum floor. “I think I’m near the elevator.”

Rick sighed on the other end of the device. “Make your way back here. It’s getting dark.”

“Yes sir,” Douxie said and tucked the walkie-talkie into a strap on his belt, turning around. He stopped immediately.

The walker was slow and shambling towards him, leg obviously broken. Douxie took a step back. He hadn’t even heard it.

He slowly drew his knife, clicking the flashlight off. What little light that was coming through the skylight was quickly dimming. As the walker drew closer, Douxie just waited. He didn’t want to leave it alone, but just killing it up here and leaving the body would inevitably attract more walkers by the smell alone.

It was five feet away. Four. Three. Two.

Douxie jammed his knife into its skull and it dropped. He tucked the blade back into its sheath, crouching next to the body. He pulled out his flashlight again, shining the light over the decaying corpse.

He slowly nudged it onto its back, blood smearing on his hands. A low buzz was dissipating under its skin, but it was there nonetheless. Dammit, he should have waited to kill it. 

“What’s turning you?” He asked the dead man. The dead man did not answer. Douxie paused, an idea forming. “I wonder…?” This was the most magic he’d ever felt within a dead one. Maybe this time he’d have answers.

He spread his hands over the corpse’s chest, hovering inches away from its nasty decayed flesh. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Magic flickered over his palms. “Audi me et loquere.”

Light pulsed from his hands, washing over the corpse. Douxie opened his eyes, watching intently. The tiniest wisp of a breath exhaled from its mouth, shrouded in a blue glow. 

“Speak,” he asked it, pleading for answers. The wisp didn’t answer, instead turning and disappearing with a whisper. Douxie sighed, sitting back on his heels. That was the third time he’d tried that. None of the freed souls were very willing to answer him. Maybe because they didn’t know. “I really need to get a goddamn clue,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. Just freeing the souls from this botched ass necromancy bullshit was exhausting. 

Shoes scraping against the floor caught his attention. He flinched when a gun went off and something behind him hit the floor. His head snapped up, ears ringing. 

“Carl!” Douxie shot to his feet, heart thumping in his chest. “Knives only!”

“It was right behind you!” The boy defended, clearly irate.

Douxie turned to see another walker lying dead on the ground. He swallowed his irritation. “Let’s just… hope nothing else heard that.”

Carl frowned at him. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” Douxie lied, pushing him to turn and walk. “Come on, we have to head back.”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine.” Douxie sighed, gently patting his shoulder. “You just scared me.”

Carl pursed his lips. “Sorry.”

Douxie shook his head. “Let’s hurry up. We don’t want your parents to worry.”
Carl snorted. “They’re always worried.”

“What the hell was that?” Daryl demanded, sliding the divider closed again as the boys walked through.

“What?” Douxie asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“The gunshot, smartass.”

“Oh.” Douxie gave a shrug. “I dropped something…”

“He wasn’t paying attention and nearly got eaten,” Carl reported. “I saved him.”

Douxie glowered at him, then looked back at Daryl who was beginning to look like he very much wanted to strangle Douxie. “I was fine!”

“It was two inches away from you!” Carl shot back.

“O- kay.” Rick called sternly, hands on his hips. “Even so, Carl, we said no guns. Not in here.” He looked at Douxie, brows drawing together. “That’s the third time this week, Douxie. You’ve had too many close calls.”

“I was fine,” Douxie said again, a little more forcefully.

Rick leveled a glare at him. Douxie leveled one right back.

“Come on,” the former officer said. “I think we need to talk.”

Douxie grumbled under his breath, practically stomping after him. They’d blocked off a large section of the old food court as they camped out here because of the settling rain. It gave them plenty of space to slink off for privacy, or for when Rick tried to parent him. 

“Sit,” Rick ordered, nearly shoving the teen into a chair. He sat across from him, crossing his arms. “What’s your problem?”

Douxie slouched in his seat, eyeing Rick with a glare. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Hate to disagree, but you do.” Rick leaned forward. “You’ve been temperamental at best.”

Douxie snorted. “That’s your idea of diplomacy?”

“Daryl says you’re “being a little bitch”.” Rick offered.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Look, maybe I’m just having a bad day.”

“We’re all having a bad day. We only have bad days now.”

Douxie sighed, averting his gaze. He didn’t really know what to tell this man. He couldn’t come outright with the truth and tell him he was being snippy because he’d exhausted himself trying to use his slowly trickling magic to figure out what the bloody hell had happened to the world. And Douxie knew his irritation and shortness was irrational and unneeded, but he honestly couldn’t help it. He felt like he’d been awake for weeks with little to keep him going. He was familiar with the feeling. Still, “Familiarity does not breed resistance,” he muttered to himself.

“What?” Rick was looking at him oddly.

“Nothing,” Douxie waved his hand dismissively. “I was thinking out loud.”

Rick regarded him for a long moment, concern flashing in his eyes. “When was the last time you slept?”

Douxie winced.

Rick’s brows furrowed. “Naps don’t count, kid. I’m… not going to pretend I haven’t noticed you waking up in the middle of the night, and then refusing to go back to sleep.”

Douxie stared at him. “If you’re awake to notice me not sleeping, when do you sleep?”

“Don’t turn that around,” Rick snapped. “I’m an adult, and it’s my job to look after you. All of you. I get my sleep when I can, but there’s a difference between a leader doing his job, and a teenager avoiding his problems.”

Douxie scowled and looked away, fingers tightening against his arms as they were crossed over his chest. “I can take care of myself, Rick. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No.” Rick agreed. “I know you’re old enough to take care of yourself. I know you want me to focus on Carl. But Douxie.” He reached across the table and gently moved Douxie’s face so the teen would meet his eyes. “Just because you can take care of yourself, doesn’t mean you have to rely on yourself. Isn’t that why you stuck around? The group is here for a reason.”

Douxie set his jaw, moving out of Rick’s touch. “You treat me like I’m a child.” He stood from his chair. “I am nineteen,” he seethed, wanting loathingly to add in the “plus nine-hundred years” part. “I’m an adult too! Did you ever think maybe the reason why I’m being pissy is because I’m sick of you all treating me like I’m Carl’s age?”

Rick stood too, determination set in his face. “Nineteen is still a teenager, Douxie.”

“Barely.” The wizard growled.

“Then you’re barely an adult,” Rick said, but no malice was in his voice. Just reason. “You’re young,” he sighed, gently taking Douxie’s shoulders. “But one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You’re kind too, under all that attitude. And I know this is hard.” He squeezed Douxie’s shoulders. “I know you miss them.” That struck a chord. Douxie’s breath hitched. “You’re angry, Douxie. I get it. But being angry won’t help you find them any faster.”

Douxie swallowed, looking away. He sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable. 

“You agreed to let us take care of you until you found them.” Rick said softly, tugging Douxie into a gentle hug that the teen couldn’t help but relax into. “So let us take care of you. We’re in this shit together, kid. And I’m not letting you push us away.”

Rick squeezed him a little tighter when the kid’s shoulders started to shake and quiet but ragged sob tore from his throat. He’d seen the way Douxie had been spiraling in the last week. It had been hard for everyone these last two months, but Douxie most of all. 

He let the teen cry, knowing the emotional release would be good for him in the long term. And sleep, too. He’d have to find a way to make him sleep.

Then a thought came to him.

“How’s your leg?” He asked, brushing Douxie’s hair behind his ears.

Douxie sniffed and lifted his head, rubbing the tears away from his eyes. “Sore,” he admitted. 

Rick nodded, making a mental note to have Hershel check to make sure the wound wasn’t infected before they turned in for the night. “Are you hungry?”

Douxie nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” he slung an arm around Douxie’s shoulders, leading him back to the group. “Food first, then Hershel can look at your leg.”

Douxie nodded again, brushing a tear off his cheek. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” Rick gave him a smile. “And thanks for not hitting me. Or biting.”

Douxie let out a snort that was a bit more like a laugh. “That asshole deserved it.”

The sun was setting, leaving them in total darkness. Douxie clicked on a battery-run lantern, setting it on a table. Desperate need for sleep yanked at his brain. But he knew that sleep would only bring nightmares. And he didn’t want to deal with that. He turned and walked back over to the rest of the group, sitting on his sleeping bag. His eyelids drooped.

“I’ve got the first watch,” Glenn was saying to Rick. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded, casting a glance over the settling group. “Keep an ear out. That gunshot today might have attracted more walkers.”

Glenn nodded, then disappeared into the growing darkness to watch the divider. It wasn’t exactly bolted into the ground, so any walker curious enough to push on it would find them easily enough. Still, it kept them directly out of sight. 

Rick looked at Douxie. “Lay down, try to get some sleep.”

Douxie gave him a slightly dismissive hum, but didn’t argue. He laid down and rolled over, facing an empty food stall. His bandaged leg didn’t throb quite as much. Actually, it was healing nicely according to Hershel. There was some shuffling to his side as Rick settled in too next to his wife. Then everything faded as Douxie slipped into blissful sleep.

But the bliss didn’t last long.

He dreamt that he was standing on the edge of a great cavernous pit that stretched for miles in every direction. It was pitch black, cold seeping from the cavern. It felt… alive, malicious. A voice in the wind was taunting him in a language Douxie didn’t understand.

A walker appeared next to him, moaning and growling as it reached for his flesh. Douxie skirted out of the way, watching in horror as it was dragged into the pit by an invisible hand. And then more undead appeared, ambling towards the endless trench unknowingly. They were all dragged in, and with each body the pit seemed to grow, and soon deep, rumbling laughter echoed up from the bottom of the cavern.

Dread overcame him. What was this thing? Why was it feeding on bodies?

An invisible force wrapped tightly around him, and suddenly he was being dragged towards the pit. He screamed, clawing at the ground, but it was futile. He was tipped over the edge, that cold beckoning darkness sinking into him.

“Yes.” A booming voice rasped, laughing in his ears. “More sacrifices. More to feed the appeasement. Your provocation will be mollified.”

Douxie was yanked off the ledge, screaming as he fell into darkness.

He shot up, that scream sticking in his throat. Rough hands were on his arms, holding him steady. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. That terrible cold… he could still feel it. What did it mean? What “provocation”? What had he done?

“Douxie,” Rick’s voice was earnest, almost scared. The man was trying to get him to look at him. Hands cupped his cheeks, turning his face. His vision blurred.

Another hand was on his shoulder. Douxie shook, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t understand what was going on. He was scared and he wanted his family.

“Kid, hey.” Daryl squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter. “Take a deep breath, it was just a bad dream.”

Douxie wanted to say that it wasn’t, but he couldn’t. He was trembling so badly he couldn’t even speak. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a sob and he was being pulled into a warm hug.

Relapses, Rick thought. He remembered what Douxie had said to him about anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t want to ask him about the nightmare, but he was shaking so badly, so obviously terrified from his dream. 

Rick held the trembling teen against his chest, both trying to comfort him and muffle his sobbing as the dead drew nearer. The gunshot and Douxie’s scream had attracted walkers. Everyone was on edge, watching the crude barrier, waiting. 

Lori looked at him, her eyes wide. Her gaze shifted to Douxie, concern etched in her expression. “Rick,” she whispered. “What do we do?”

“Just wait,” he whispered back. “Maybe they’ll pass by.”

They waited in agonizing silence, listening to the dead bumping up against the divider. It shifted, but didn’t fall. Daryl had taken Douxie to free Rick’s hands, just in case. The poor kid was so out of it, still shaking and sucking in shortened breaths. Rick wasn’t sure if Douxie even knew what was going on.

“What do we do if we need to run?” Maggie asked, knife already in her hands. She cast a glance at Douxie. “Rick?”

They all looked at him, expecting him to have the answers. He didn’t know. Daryl had drawn Douxie closer, keeping his crying muffled. 

“Dad,” Carl whispered, moving off his sleeping bag, hand inching towards his gun. “What—”

The divider screeched against the linoleum floor and a body thumped in the darkness. Then the growling grew louder as the walker rose and shuffled somewhere in front of them.

Rick grabbed Daryl’s upper arm. “Take Lori and the kids, get them out of here.”

“What about you?” Daryl asked, eyeing the walkers streaming into the food court.

“We’ll hold them off long enough to get our supplies together, then we’ll meet you outside.”

Daryl nodded, then forcefully grabbed Douxie by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He snatched his crossbow up and gestured for Beth and Carl to follow him. Lori scrambled to get up, reaching out for Beth’s hands as they disappeared into the darkness, Douxie’s ragged breathing dissipating as they walked further away.

Rick let out a heavy breath and cocked his pistol. “Glenn, Maggie.” He looked at them in the darkness. They were already armed. “Start gathering our weapons. Hershel and Carol get the rest of the food and med supplies. T-Dog, help me clear a path.”

Daryl kicked open a door, cool night air washing over them. The moon was high in the sky, giving just enough light for them to see. He peeked out into the abandoned parking lot, seeing only a few stragglers meandering about. It was a straight shot back to their vehicles.

“A’ight,” he said, turning to look at the others. Douxie was clearly trying to shake himself off, but he still had a glazed over look in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

They made their way outside carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. For now, they were going unnoticed. A few gunshots rang out from inside the mall and they all stopped, staring at the building.

“They’re fine,” Daryl said, moreso just trying to comfort everyone else. “Keep moving.”

Something scurried to the right. Daryl swiveled, leveling his bow at the noise. He couldn’t see anything out there, and it had been much too fast to be a walker.

“What was that?” Beth asked nervously.

“Raccoon?” Lori suggested, drawing her son closer to her.

Douxie was staring into the darkness, fists clenched, jaw grit. Daryl kept a finger on the trigger of his bow, waiting. For however many problems Douxie had going on upstairs, he had one of the best instincts for danger Daryl had ever seen. Clearly, he didn’t think it was a raccoon. He took a slow step forward, scanning the pitch black road. Daryl clocked his hand inching towards his knife.

“What is it?” He asked.

After a moment, Douxie froze. Even in the low light, Daryl could see his eyes widen. Then he sighed and turned around. “It’s nothing.”

A low hissing noise made them all jump, but Douxie just looked annoyed.

“That don’t sound like nothin’.” Daryl said.

Claws scraped along the pavement and Douxie whirled around, whipping one of his knives at the sound. Something hissed and then scurried back. 

“Douxie, what the hell is it?” Daryl demanded.

Douxie closed his eyes, brows scrunched. He was shaking again. He muttered something under his breath, then said, “A rather curious animal who’s largely harmless, just nosey.”

Fragwa watched from underneath a car, glaring at the wizard who’d thrown a knife at him. He grumbled to himself, but decided then that there would be no hunting here. He was okay with that. He much preferred easier targets, like the shambling husk people who didn’t throw knives at him.

Douxie really didn’t want to know how and why a goblin had followed them out here. But he wasn’t about to kill the thing and risk the wrath of its horde. He mostly found goblins annoying when they were on their own, but a pack of them were dangerous. Kind of like walkers, actually.

“Are you okay?” Carl asked as they were making their way to the cars. “What was that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Douxie said. “It won’t bother us.”

Carl squinted at him. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Douxie said without thinking. Then shook his head, giving the boy a smile. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just worry about getting out of here.”

“Okay…” Carl didn’t look especially convinced.

As they neared the cars, they heard the sound of glass shattering coming from the mall. They turned to see dark figures sprinting into the parking lot. A few straggling, limping walkers were attempting to follow them, but were getting caught on the door frames.

There was another rough scuttle nearby. Douxie turned, freezing for a moment when he saw the goblin scurry out of its hiding place and make a beeline for the trapped dead.

Carl saw it too, staring. “What the fuck is that?”

Douxie grabbed his arm, pulling him along. “A hairless raccoon, come on.”

Did goblins eat walkers now? That was… ugh, he felt sick thinking about it. 

“Don’t say “fuck”, by the way,” Douxie said under his breath. “You dad doesn’t like it.”

“You say it all the time.” Carl reminded him as Douxie opened one of the car doors.

“It’s because I can do what I want, now get in.”

Rick came to a stop in front of them, scanning the group. Counting heads, probably. “Everyone here?”

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed. “But we should go before we draw attention to ourselves.” He cast a glance at Douxie. “And before anyone else loses it.”

Douxie shoved at him as he got into the car. “I’m fine, thank you very much.”

Daryl just grunted and shut the door behind him. Douxie breathed a sigh of relief, sinking in his seat. Everyone else piled into the cars and one motorcycle. Engines roared to life and the caravan started again. 

For now, they were safe. They were all together. They’d managed to get out alive. But still.

What had that dream been about?

Chapter Text

Douxie had been dozing when he felt the van rumble to a stop. He cracked his eyes open, but didn’t move. Carl was fast asleep at his side, partially crushing his arm between their bodies.

“What now?” Rick asked his wife quietly, trying not to disturb the boys in the back seat. “There’s not another safe house like that for miles.”

Lori sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. They’d driven for a good thirty minutes and had parked on the side of the road. “I don’t know.”

“We can lock the car doors and sleep here,” Douxie mumbled.

Rick glanced back at him. “You’re awake?”

“Didn’t really fall asleep,” Douxie admitted, forcing his eyes open all the way. “If you cover the windows and lock the doors, the dead won’t tell we’re in here.”

“What about the others?” Rick asked.

“There’s enough room in all the cars combined to house everyone for the night,” Douxie started sitting up. “We can put the seats down so there’s more room. It’ll be a little cramped, but it’ll be easier to make a decision in the morning after a full night’s sleep.”

Rick and Lori exchanged glances, and then he nodded. “Good idea.”

Douxie hummed and gave him a smile, slumping back into his seat. “I have them on occasion.”

Rick chuckled, then grabbed his gun from the nearby cup holder, exiting the vehicle. Douxie could hear him talking to Daryl and Glenn outside. After a few minutes there was more shuffling outside and the trunk opened.

It took about fifteen minutes to get everyone settled in again, but it seemed like they were all as comfortable as they were going to get. Douxie had his back against the wall of the van, laying on his side under a blanket with Carl curled up next to him. Daryl took up the rest of the space in the back of the van, though Douxie didn’t think he would actually sleep. Rick and Lori were still in the front seats, and Rick was also still awake. They’d arranged the cars in a semi-square on the road just in case whoever went outside first didn’t get attacked by a surprise walker.

“This was a good idea,” Daryl said in a low voice to Rick.

“I know,” Rick said, watching out the front windshield. “Common sense isn’t a Douxie trait, I was surprised.”

Daryl chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a bit loose in the screws, but he’s a good kid.”

“I’m still awake,” Douxie complained.

“Then go to sleep.”

Douxie sighed, but quickly stopped his bellyaching when Carl grumbled in his sleep and kicked at his leg. “Little shit,” Douxie muttered fondly.

“He knows a big brother when he sees one,” Rick said, watching them with a soft smile. “Get some sleep, Douxie. You need it.”

Douxie didn’t argue, closing his eyes. Sleep came quickly. And thank the gods it came without nightmares.

The next morning when he woke, the first thing he heard were the moans of the dead. He froze, heart hammering in his chest. He snapped his gaze towards Daryl, who was sitting up with his crossbow held at the ready. He was looking at the windows, though there was no way he could see out of them.

Daryl looked at him, holding a finger to his lips. Douxie nodded, very slowly and quietly sitting up. Carl stayed where he was, undisturbed.

There was scraping at the window next to him and he held his breath. He could see the silhouette of a walker outside, right next to his ear. He stared at it, too scared to move, or even breathe.

After a long, tense moment, it shuffled away.

Douxie let out the breath he’d been holding, only now noticing the tremor to his hands. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couple hours,” was Daryl’s gruff reply. “A couple packs of walkers have roamed by, but they haven’t stuck around long. Covering the windows was a good idea.”

Douxie nodded, lips pursed. “I know.”

Daryl looked at him for a long moment before saying, “Anymore dreams?”

Douxie shook his head. Then glanced at the driver’s seat. It was empty. “Where’s Rick?”

“Went out with Glenn ‘bout an hour ago to see what’s ahead.” He answered. “They said they were on their way back.”

Douxie nodded slowly Then drew in a deep breath, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. “I’m…” he took in another breath. “I’m sorry, for being the reason we had to leave last night.”

“Ain’t nobody blamin’ you.” Daryl told him, looking at him almost sympathetically.

“It was still my fault,” Douxie said, jaw clenching. He still didn’t understand what that dream had been about. What was that thing pulling bodies into the pit? Why did it want him?

“Douxie,” Daryl said softly. “How long we gonna do this?”

Douxie blinked. “Do what?”

“Insist you’re the reason for all our problems and not listen when we tell you we don’t blame you?”

“Not blaming me for something doesn’t change the fact that ninety percent of this is my fault.”

“Why are you so sure it’s always you?”

Douxie couldn’t tell him that it was because he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His presence had weight. Who he was—what he was—mattered. He was a wizard, the only remaining master wizard in the world. His actions, however little planned, had consequences. He was a walker magnet, and he knew that. He was putting this group in danger just by existing near them.

But he couldn’t say that, so instead he said;

“Because everything is always my fault.”

And to that, Daryl just stared at him. And stared. Before saying, “Who the hell hurt you?”

Douxie snorted. “Would you like a list?”

“Kid—”

A loud thump cut him off. They stared as the walker scraped up against the car again. Beside him, Carl started to stir. Lori too, in the front seat. A bloodied hand slammed against the window. Douxie bit his lip to keep himself quiet, fear spiking in his chest.

Then there was a loud KA-CHUNK and the sound of a body dropping against cement. Douxie very slowly reached for his knife.

The door flew open, startling them. Carl yelped, Daryl aimed his crossbow, Douxie raised his knife. Rick leaned on the open door, watching them.

“That’s not funny Dad,” Carl complained.

Rick just smiled. “It was a little funny.”

Douxie peered around him, seeing the dead body at his feet. “Ugh, okay I think I’m skipping breakfast.”

Daryl ignored his comment, climbing out of the van. “What’d y’all find?”

“Shopping center a few miles down the road,” Rick said. “We checked out some of the stores. There’s an abandoned one with an easy to lock door and enough space to fit us for a few more days.”

“I’m waiting for the “but”,” Douxie said.

“But,” Rick emphasized with a sigh. “The parking lot is… not safe. Not yet, anyway.” He looked at Daryl. “There are few enough dead for a small group to empty it out safely, but I don’t want to risk bringing everyone just yet.”

“How many should go?” Douxie asked.

“I’d say a group of three,” Rick said. “Glenn is already out looking for food, so I figured Daryl could be my number two.”

“And I’ll be three,” Douxie volunteered.

“What?” Daryl looked at him.

“I’m fast and skinny enough to get into places you two can’t,” Douxie said. “I’m the only other person who’s capable of handling that many walkers at once besides Glenn, and he’s preoccupied.”

“I still don’t think you’re rested enough to come with,” Daryl said. “You still look like shit, kid.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Well, rested or not I’m the next logical choice.”

“We could take Maggie,” Rick pointed out.

Douxie gave him a pleading look. “I want to be useful.”

Rick sighed. “Alright, fine. But the moment you start feeling another episode, you tell us and we’re gone.”

Douxie felt himself smiling. “Yes sir.”

They drove around to the back of the section of the shopping center. Douxie popped his head out of the window, scanning for the best way up. He’d always been a firm believer in the high ground.

“Do you see those stones jutting out of that shop?” Douxie asked, getting out of the car. Rick and Daryl followed closely. “We can scale those to the roof easily enough.”

Rick passed him the shotgun. “We?”

Douxie flashed him a smile. “What, too old for parkour?”

“Something like that.”

Douxie laughed, slinging the gun over his shoulder. “Alright then, I’ll be the sniper for your wrinkly asses, and you two can be the ground assault.”

Daryl grunted. “I think someone should stay with you.”

Douxie frowned. “Do I need to remind you that I haven’t had a seizure in the two months since we left the farm?”

The tracker shook his head. “You’re still… not right.”

Douxie glowered at him. “Insanity may grip me firmly, but I have always been in the clutches of madness, teetering on the edge deliration.” He shifted the gun strap on his shoulder and looked between the two men who’d been fiercely taking care of him for almost three months. “I’ve lived with it most of my life, and can manage just fine.”

“Douxie, are you sure?” Rick asked.

Douxie gave a firm nod. “Absolutely positive, Rick.” He glanced to the side, catching sight of a lone dead man ambling in their direction. “We should get to clearing that parking lot so we have enough light left to raid those stores.”

One thing was certain, Douxie was the best long-distance shot they had. Rick could see him, perched right on the edge of a store’s roof, taking careful aim before shooting walkers dead-center in the forehead. The shotgun muffler was practically a godsend. Douxie had messed with it a bit before declaring it perfect. Now the gun shots were nearly totally silent. He had no idea how the kid had done it, but he had. Rick was pretty sure Douxie was some sort of mad genius.

“Think he’ll be okay?” Daryl asked, peeking out from behind the car they were using as cover.

“I think Douxie is more capable of handling himself than we gave him credit for,” Rick said.

“Probably,” Daryl agreed gruffly, before aiming and landing an arrow right through the jaw of a walker, the arrow tip going up and sinking into its brain swiftly.

The muffled sound of the shotgun being fired stopped abruptly and Rick peeked his head around the other side of the car. Douxie had disappeared over the ledge of the roof. Concern beat in his chest. Then worry when he heard a shout and crashing coming from inside the store.

Daryl exchanged expressions with him, and they took off across the now near-empty parking lot. The tracker kicked the door in with little trouble, crossbow up and at the ready. They could faintly hear the sounds of a struggle. Rick slowly drew his pistol, keeping it at the ready.

The sound of Douxie grunting as if he were being dragged across the floor quickened their paces. Then the unmistakable noise of a fist colliding with a face and the pained grunt of a voice they didn’t recognize, but was definitely an older male.

Rick leapt over a display case, and then rounded a shelf. What he saw made his blood boil. Douxie was caught in a brawl with a tall, large man. He was maybe in his thirties, with short graying hair, and a scruffed beard that had come from months of not shaving. The man was sporting a shiner right beneath his eye, where Douxie clearly had gotten in a lucky hit. But the teen was scrawny, malnourished, and half out of his mind so this was a losing battle.

The man hadn’t seen Rick yet, too focused on overpowering Douxie to… well, Rick could tell from the stranger’s unbuckled belt and depraved hunger in his too-dark eyes that his intentions were far from good. And Douxie knew that too because he was fighting back wildly.

“Hey!” The former officer shouted, getting the felon’s attention. He looked up, eyes going wide at the gun pointed at his face. “Let him go.”

Douxie was still pinned beneath the would-be rapist, but the relief that overcame him at seeing Rick Grimes was undeniable.

Daryl came up behind him, trapping the man from both ends of the aisle. “Get your dirty hands off my boy.”

The man growled, the meaty hand he had around Douxie’s jaw tightening for a moment. The teen made a pained noise in the back of his throat, still struggling for freedom. The stranger was quickly beginning to realize his low chances of escaping with both his life, and his five minutes of pleasure at another’s expense.

“Thought he was alone,” the man grunted.

“You think I come out here to snipe the dead for fun?” Douxie snarled underneath him.

“Alone or not, don’t make it right.” Daryl growled, leveling his bow. “Now get off him.”

The man growled in irritation, but got to his feet. Douxie scrambled backwards, towards Rick. He stumbled to his feet, breathing hard, but otherwise okay.

Rick aimed his gun, glowering at Douxie’s attacker. He wanted to kill him. Rid the world of one more depraved motherfucker. And yet… he hesitated.

He hesitated for a moment too long, because none of them noticed the low groaning of a walker until a graying, decayed hand burst through the shelf and latched onto Douxie’s arm.

Douxie screamed in surprise, getting yanked towards the shelf and rotted gnashing teeth. The man took the opportunity to shove Daryl out of the way and make a break for it.

“Hey!” Daryl shouted, and ran after him.

The walker was pulled through the shelf as Douxie attempted to yank his arm out of its grip. The teen went down with it and blood and terrified screams painted the air. The space was too small to shoot, unless Rick wanted to risk hitting Douxie in the confusion. Which he didn’t.

So instead, he drew his machete and aimed for the gray wrist that was too close to Douxie’s arm. Black, rotting blood mixed with Douxie’s fresh, red blood. With the connection severed, Douxie managed to shove the walker off him. But the damage was done. His arm was covered in blood, thick and uneven claw marks more than evident on his bicep. Rick felt sick, not knowing what to do.

An arrow sailed from nowhere, impaling in the walker’s skull. Daryl ran back, clearly having given up on his chase. His eyes widened when he saw Douxie.

“Oh shit,” he muttered.

Douxie, for his part, looked like he was desperately trying to keep himself together. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Kid, hey.” Rick slowly approached him, an idea buzzing in his brain. “I think we may still be able to save you.”

Douxie looked up at him, breathing hard. But it seemed like that was more of an adrenaline crash than the virus. “What?”

He slowly hefted his machete. It dripped with blood and gore. “It’s going to hurt, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Douxie’s eyes widened and he leapt back from Rick. “No!”

“What the hell would you rather us do!?” Daryl demanded. “I ain’t watching you turn, kid!”

“Douxie—”

“I’m immune!” Douxie shouted, hand covering the wound to staunch the blood flow.

Rick and Daryl exchanged glances.

“You’re what?” Daryl asked.

Douxie took in a shuddering breath, eyes reflecting that same wild panic he’d shown back at the farm after Shane had tried to pin him down. The same look he’d had moments ago, fending off the man who’d tried to rape him. “I’m… I’m immune to this… thing.”

“How the hell do you even know that?” Rick demanded. Douxie pursed his lips and looked away. And then everything clicked into place. “Your leg. That wound. That was a bite?”

Douxie nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Rick wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Angry. Relieved. Confused. “Shit,” he muttered, lowering his machete. “What… why didn’t you say anything?”

Douxie shrugged, and then winced. “I was… I don’t know, I was scared. But can we like, take care of this? Cause it’s not going to turn me, but it still hurts.”

“Right, yeah.” Rick shook himself off. He sheathed his weapon and turned to pick up Douxie’s discarded backpack. “But we’ll talk about this.”

“Figured.” Douxie said, letting Daryl examine his arm. He hissed and flinched when the man poured what was left of an alcohol container on it. “But please don’t say anything to the others.”

Rick nodded. “I won’t. Besides, it’s not like knowing would make much of a difference.”

Douxie’s face twisted strangely. “You keep using that excuse. It’s getting old.”

Rick ignored his comment, digging in Douxie’s bag for the roll of bandages he was used to the kid carrying around. He sighed, looking in another pocket at not finding it in the main one. “Are you okay?”

Douxie blinked. “Rick, my arm is all but shredded and I’m bleeding out.”

Rick shook his head, retrieving his sought-after item. “I meant…” he sighed, passing the roll to Daryl, who set to wrapping Douxie’s arm. “That man. Are you okay?”

“Oh.” Douxie looked away, something pained and almost scared in his eyes. “I mean, yeah, he didn’t get a chance to even really get a hand on me. You guys showed up in time.”

“Why’d you leave the roof?” Daryl asked, tightening the bandages.

Douxie huffed through his nose. “I was reloading when he literally grabbed me and dragged me through the roof hatch. We fell onto the floor, tussled for a bit, and then you guys showed up.”

Rick pursed his lips, sensing there was more to the story. But, seeing as how Douxie was okay in that department, he figured it would be wise to let it go. For now. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Douxie said, though he didn’t look totally at ease. Rick couldn’t blame him. “Thanks for the rescue by the way.”

“Of course,” Rick said softly, patting Douxie’s shoulder.

“Aight,” Daryl said, doing one more pass around Douxie’s bicep. “Should be good, but—”

“Change the bandages regularly, I know.” Douxie sassed. “Now, we’ve got supplies to steal.”

“Yes, but now we’re all sticking together.” Rick instructed. “The street is clear enough, and with that asshole on the loose I don’t want you on your own anymore.”

Douxie nodded, looking relieved. “Fine by me.”

A galaxy, far, far away…

Aja growled and slammed her fist against the console again. “Nothing. No contact for almost four parsons!”

“Relax, my royal.” Zadra said calmly. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation for—”

“There is no logic in not even Krel making no contact!” Aja insisted.

“Her Majesty does have a point,” Varvatos Vex chimed in. “It would do us well to go to Earth ourselves.”

“The wormhole portal has been inaccessible for wardons,” Zadra informed. “We would have to go by ship. It would take us a while.”

“How much longer?”Aja growled.

“Almost one Earth kelton.” She said.

Aja huffed. “It is better than nothing. Vex,” she turned to the commander. “It will be the three of us, and Luug. I have a feeling that whatever is the cause of the lack of Earth communication, will result in us needing to fight. We are going now, to find my little brother and our friends.”

Chapter Text

Douxie was quiet as they cleared the rest of the parking lot and raided what was left of the stores. They found a decent amount of food and a good, well-protected storefront to camp in. Daryl hung back with the kid while Rick went back to get the others. He started clearing out an area to sleep in while Douxie found scraps of old packing paper to put on the glass windows at the front of the store.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Daryl asked, giving him a sideways glance.

Douxie wouldn’t look at him. Daryl could see a slight tremble in his hands.

“Kid.” Daryl stopped what he was doing, making his way over to the teenager. He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but paused when Douxie flinched. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Douxie closed his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath. “I know I’m safe, Daryl. Saying that doesn’t really help me right now.”

“Do you need to sit down?” He asked, searching for any signs of an oncoming panic attack. He saw too many.

“I need to keep moving. I can’t let it catch up with me.” Douxie answered, stepping away from him to block the rest of the windows. “If I stop I… I just can’t right now.”

Daryl watched him, unable to understand the nuances of Douxie’s thoughts and emotions, but knowing they were there all the same. Douxie was complicated, and messy, and traumatized. He liked to pretend that he had everything together, if not just to convince himself he wasn’t falling apart. Daryl wasn’t sure how often it worked.

“That’s not the first time—” Daryl started, then stopped at the look Douxie gave him. It was a look that begged him to stop talking. “Douxie.”

Douxie breathed in, and out. He wouldn’t look at Daryl, hands and shoulders trembling. “I have… bad luck. And a pretty face. I’ve known too many depraved men, Daryl.”

Daryl sighed, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Douxie answered softly. “Not right now. But I will be later.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I am, I promise.”

“What if he comes back?” Lori asked. Night was fast approaching, and everyone was settling in. Rick had begrudgingly told her what had happened to Douxie while they were gone, and now all she could think was, “What if he comes back? What if he goes after Douxie again? What if he goes after Carl?”

Needless to say, she was not getting any sleep tonight.

“Even if he does,” Rick said, watching the parking lot through the small section of window that had been left open, shotgun laying across his lap. “We outnumber him ten-to-one.”

Lori pursed her lips, arms crossed over her chest. “What if he’s not alone?”

Rick sighed and she could see he’d thought that too. It was weighing on him. He’d wished he’d killed that man before he got away.

“If you think I don’t agree that you should have killed him,” Lori said, looking at her husband. “You’re wrong. Nobody who targets a child like that, especially a child alone, deserves to live.”

He looked surprised. “Lori…”

“I know I’m not a great advocate for violence,” she admitted. “But this is just different, Rick.” She sighed. “So, why did you hesitate?”

He pursed his lips, gazing outside. “I don’t know. Douxie was too close at first for me to get a clean shot. And then… I don’t know.”

Lori gently put her hand on his shoulder. “Did you feel guilty?”

“It’s insane,” he said. “That this is what we have to do now to survive. I hesitated. That’s on me.” He cocked the gun. “But if he shows up again, that won’t be a problem a second time.”

The stars are back, Douxie thought, looking up at the sky. Cool night air washed over him.

“Douxie?” Maggie popped her head up through the hatch in the ceiling where he’d escaped to. “What are you doing?”

“Getting some air,” he said, twisting around to look at her. “Why?”

“Time to eat,” she motioned for him to follow her. “Come on.”

Douxie hesitated. He didn’t really feel hungry. Maggie looked at him for a long time, brows furrowing. She knew something was wrong. But he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone.

After a while, she ducked her head down, saying something to someone below her. Then he could hear her drop down the ladder, and someone else climbing up.

To his unsurprise, it was Rick. He pulled himself onto the roof, and made his way to Douxie.

“What’s eating ya?” he asked.

Douxie took in a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the far-beyond. “Besides the undead, you mean?”

Rick chuckled, sitting next to him. “Come on, what is it?”

The wizard sighed. “I was… just thinking. About life, what it is now… if my family is still out there.” he closed his eyes, suddenly very desperately wanting to see Carter’s face. “I miss them.”

“I know you do,” Rick said softly. “And you’ll see them again.”

Douxie gave him a wan smile for the encouragement. It did little to make him feel better, but he knew nothing could right now short of a miracle.

They fell into a silence for a while, before Rick cleared his throat and gave Douxie a look.

“What?” he asked.

“Can I ask you about it?” Rick asked slowly. “The immunity.”

“Ah,” Douxie let his gaze fall away. “If you must.”

“How many times have you been bitten?”

Douxie sighed, scrubbing at his face. He was tired. He could feel the corrupted magic try to worm its way into his body—but cuts and scratches were not as potent as bites. Douxie could get through this quickly. “Twice. The first time… was when it all started. I was… I had tried to protect someone and um…” he pulled back the collar of his shirt to show Rick the scarred bite-mark the undead had left him with. It was not mouth-shaped anymore. It looked a bit more like someone had sunk a broken glass bottle into his collarbone. “I don’t remember much of it but… later Carter told me I stopped breathing. The sickness—how it starts—it had run its course.”

“You got sick?” Rick asked, looking confused.

“Yeah,” Douxie nodded. “The fever or whatever it is that sets in, that happened. The disorientation took me and I was out of it for days.” he remembered nothing of those three days after being bitten. All he recalled was slipping into nothingness. “Someone told my brother what happens to people who get bitten—but even then he didn’t have it in himself to end it for me. Carter… he said he was holding me when I “died”.” Douxie paused, letting Rick take that in. “But I just woke up. I don’t really know how to describe it other than it just… feeling like a long, restless nap.”

“And the second time,” Rick said carefully. “Was right before you stumbled onto the farm?”

Douxie nodded. “They tore the absolute shit out of my leg. The bites… they heal weirdly. Slowly. I go through it all like anyone else would, but I wake up at the end of it.”

Rick looked deep in thought. Also very troubled. “And cuts?”

“Ah…” Douxie glanced at his arm. “First one. It feels less intense, so I figure the fever won’t be an issue.”

“Here’s to hoping.”

“Indeed,” Douxie said, managing a laugh.

Rick hummed with a nod. He was quiet for a minute before asking, “Why are you immune?”

“Hell if I know,” Douxie said immediately, a lie though it was. “Genetics maybe?”

Wizardry, he didn’t say.

“It just seems so… random.” Rick said. “Anyone else in your family immune?”

“I don’t know,” Douxie said honestly. “I’m not related to them by blood, so it’s not something we could really test.”

“True.”

But now it had him thinking… if magic was the reason for immunity—would Claire be safe also? What about Carter? He wasn’t even fully human. Trolls were unbothered, but they were not of flesh and blood. Krel too, seeing as how his people were energy-based beings. Even in his transduction the walkers had never bothered him.

If he had been any other wizard, Douxie would have wanted to test this. But right now he barely had access to his own magic. Speaking of… he was beginning to wonder if Rick would take that confession well. Douxie would have to wait until he could call his magic easily to him for proof before he said anything. And was he really considering this? Telling Rick Grimes everything? Why? Because the man had shown Douxie kindness when he’d needed it? That was no proof of safety when it came to confessing he was a wizard.

“Hey,” Rick said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, drawing Douxie from his thoughts. “What is it?”

Douxie breathed deeply, deciding to tread carefully for now. But still… “With… all this, the undead marring the world now. It makes you wonder if all those ancient civilizations were onto something when they believed in gods and magic.”

Rick took that in silently. Douxie turned his head to look at him, slightly shocked to see he seemed to be actually considering it. “I won’t claim to have anything figured out,” he admitted. “Even before all this I never believed in a higher power, not really. But I also never believed the dead could come back as a walking plague either, and like you said, they’re marring the world.”

Douxie hummed, nodding. “What would you do? If it turned out magic was real?”

“Why?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Humor me.”

“Alright,” he thought about it again. “I guess… it would depend what kind of magic we were talking about.”

“Any kind?” Douxie said, then decided he should clarify what he meant when Rick’s expression turned puzzled. “Like uh… for instance, things like Arthur and Excalibur. Merlin, the Round Table, the Lady of the Lake?”

“Oh,” Rick nodded slowly. “I mean, I suppose it would make sense if things like this could happen. Those legends had to come from somewhere.”

“What would you do if you met someone like… that?”

“Like… Arthur?”

“Well, I mean if you met a wizard or something. What would you do?”

“This is sounding really specific,” he said slowly, suspiciously.

“It’s hypothetical.”

He raised a brow. “Is it?”

Douxie huffed, leaning into his grouchy teenager attitude. “Never mind.”

“No, no.” Rick sighed. He got quiet again, clearly trying to think of a way to answer his question honestly. “I suppose—hypothetically—if I were to meet a Merlin like character, I’d ask him if he knew how all of this started.”

Douxie froze. “And… if he didn’t have an answer for you?”

“Then I’d say what I say to everyone else. ‘What are your intentions towards our group’?” Rick leaned towards him, expression curious. “Why? What would you say to a wizard if you met one?”

Douxie pretended to think about it. “I’d ask if he knew how this started too. Then I’d invite him for tea.”

That made Rick smile. “So, why did you ask?”

Douxie dropped his gaze back to the road. “Because I keep thinking about how… straight up magic all of this feels. Like there has to be a reason for it.”

And for some reason, he thought. The Universe is blaming me.

“Douxie,” Rick said carefully. “Do you believe in magic?”

Douxie eyed him. “Where I come from, you learn to believe in it. It has always felt like a universal truth to me. The grass is green, the sky is blue, the world has magic.”

“A few years ago, I would have thought you were crazy.” Rick shook his head. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Douxie laughed. “Well, good to know you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“Oh, no I still think you are. Just not about this.” Rick smiled at him, teasing. “You’re insane, half feral, and will bite a man if you have to.”

“It’s always worked.”

“Yes it has.”

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Carter said suddenly, startling himself with the way he sounded. His voice was rough, chest tight with tears he hadn’t cried yet. His hands shook with the thought that any day now they might find Douxie among the undead. He kept having dreams about that; in the moments he could sleep, of course.

Jim’s expression was hard to place. He hadn’t armored up yet, though Carter couldn’t blame him. It was pitch black—and the less light sources they had drawing draugrs to them, the better. “Do you want me to answer you honestly or optimistically?”

Carter swallowed thickly, trying not to cry. “Honestly, Jim. Please.”

Jim took a deep breath, nodding. “Then yes, I do. I’ve seen him face gods, Carter. Walking corpses won’t be the thing to end him. Besides, he’s immune.”

“We assume that,” Carter said, wiping his eyes quickly. “But we don’t really know what’s going on. He might be immune, he might not be. It could just be his magic protecting him, but who knows how long that will last. We don’t know if it’s just that he can’t turn by bite. He might still turn if he dies from other causes, like we saw with that one guy.”

Jim looked at him, brows pinching together. On the subject of that, realizing you could still turn if you died—even if you weren’t bitten—hadn’t been a comfort to anyone. It had only helped to further their belief that this was magically done. Like a curse laid on the world. But who would do something like that? “We’ll find him, Carter. I promise you that much.”

“I just…” Carter let out a shuddering sigh, stopping in his tracks. “I miss him, Jim. I feel like I’m walking around aimlessly with half of my soul torn out of my body.”

Jim laid a hand gently on his arm. “I know you do, Carter. I really can’t imagine the kind of pain you’re going through right now. I— I miss him too, but I know it’s not the same. You physically feel his absence… that can’t be easy.”

“It’s not,” Carter agreed in a whisper. “I wish I could still reach him through our telepathy link. Or through any other means we had before. But after he got bit the first time… our soul link dulled. Now it’s like… like I’ve lost a part of me. I can’t feel him anymore. It scares me—not knowing if he’s even okay.”

Jim sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He gently pulled Carter into a hug, and the demigod let himself sink into it. He was desperate for the comfort, and normally he didn’t let anyone but Douxie touch him like this—in a comforting way. But Douxie wasn’t here.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jim asked softly.

“I don’t think so,” Carter said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “But thanks anyway.”

Jim nodded, wiping away his tears as they gathered in his eyes. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Carter felt his heart seize up. He looked away quickly, wanting to pull away from Jim’s hand, but not having the heart to. “No, not really.”

Jim pursed his lips. “But do you need to?”

New tears sprang to his eyes as he remembered how much of an asshole he’d been; yelling at Douxie hours before he’d gotten lost to the dead. They’d been arguing for days before that, both high-strung and anxious as the apocalypse swelled around them. Eventually… eventually Carter had reached his breaking point. He’d gone from harshly disagreeing with Douxie to screaming at him. He still remembered his words. They haunted him day and night.

“We’re out here, because of YOU! All of this is because of YOU!”

Carter would have rather faced his father a thousand times over than see that look on Douxie’s face when he said that. He’d never thought he’d have been the cause of that expression of utter heart break on Douxie’s face until that day. But Carter’s fatal flaw was wrath. Wrath and stubbornness. He hadn’t apologized, though his heart had ached too. He’d wanted to, but he thought he was too right to make the first action toward peace. He didn’t want Douxie to cry, but he believed with every inch of his soul that if they’d done anything different—come with a larger party, taken the ship, the castle—anything else then they wouldn’t have gotten stranded in Georgia.

Carter blamed Douxie for the decision to take the gyre, and that haunted him. Whose fault it was didn’t matter to him anymore. He hadn’t even looked at his soulmate when Douxie volunteered to lead the undead away, too caught up in his anger to spare a moment. He thought, too, that Douxie would get away because Douxie always got away. Save for that one moment right at the start of it all, Douxie always got away. And no matter what, he always came back.

Until this time he hadn’t. And Carter hated himself for that stupid argument and his stupid pride. If those ended up being his last words to Douxie, he deserved to be torn apart by the undead.

“Hey,” Jim whispered softly. “Carter, it’s o—”

“If you tell me it’s okay one more time, I’m going to kick you,” Carter seethed behind his tears because he didn’t want to feel better. He wanted the universe to give Douxie back, he didn’t care the price. Carter would gladly pay it with his own blood if it meant getting to see Douxie one more time and telling him how sorry he was. “This is my fault, Jim. You know it is.”

Jim looked at him, brows pinched together. “Carter—”

“He did that to try and prove to me that I could still trust him…” Carter’s voice broke with a sob. “He wanted to— Douxie wanted me to see that he was trying to fix it, trying to make it all okay.”

“Carter,” Jim said again. “Douxie would have done that regardless.”

“Jim, he was tired.” Carter sobbed, trembling with pent up anger and self hatred. “He was so fucking tired. He had nothing to protect himself with aside from that stupid javelin and I—”

“Carter.” Jim gripped his shoulders firmly. “This was not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for Douxie’s self sacrificial tendencies. And we are going to find him. Okay? We know he’s alive, and that’s all we need.”

“It’s my fault,” Carter said again, because it was. “I fucking lost it, and I hurt him in the process. He’s gone because of me. This is my fault.”

“Douxie said something weird yesterday.”

Daryl looked up at him, wiping sweat off his brow. “Weirder than usual, you mean?”

“Daryl,” Rick crouched next to him, keeping an eye on the others as they either helped tidy up the camp by the light of day, or were getting weapons together to make another run. “I talked to him last night. On the roof. He was… he was telling me everything. ‘Bout how he found out he was immune, and all of that.”

“Yeah,” Daryl tucked a few extra arrows into his quiver. “What’s the story on that, anyway?”

“Long made short?” Rick rubbed his hand against his beard. “He got bit right at the beginning, but he never turned. He went through it like anyone else would—least that’s what he said—but he woke up after the fever had run its course.”

“You believe him?” Daryl asked, not because he didn’t, but because he wasn’t all too convinced of it yet.

“I do,” Rick confirmed. “He showed me the scar. It’s a bit faded now, but it’s undeniable when you know what it is.”

“A’ight,” he slung his bow across his shoulder. “So what was the weird part?”

Rick sighed, looking like he didn’t quite know how to say it. “He said… he asked me if I believed in magic.”

Daryl stared at him. “Magic?”

Rick nodded. “Douxie said he’d wondered lately if all this could be happening, what if all those myths and legends were true.”

“Damn,” Daryl muttered. “Kid needs to sleep.”

“Can’t tell me it doesn’t make sense.”

“It don’t,” Daryl stood. “Ain’t no such things as fairies and shit.”

“Well, I think he meant things more like gods and monsters.” Rick stood too. “He specifically mentioned Camelot, and I don’t know. The look he got when he was talking about it. It was like he was talking about something familiar.”

“Well, he’s British right? Ain’t that whole legend their thing?”

“I’m Welsh,” Douxie said, appearing suddenly as if he’d stepped out of thin air. “What are you talking about?”

Daryl glanced at Rick, and Rick looked off with a sigh. Daryl looked back at their resident gay emo bitch. “You feelin’ alright Douxie? Didn’t hit your head too bad last night?”

Douxie raised a brow. “Yes Daryl, I feel fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just makin’ sure.” Daryl said. “Cause you were askin’ Rick if he believed in magic.”

Douxie’s gold eyes flit to Rick, then back to Daryl. “It was a hypothetical, and also why not? The dead are roaming the Earth, seems pretty magic to me.”

Daryl almost smiled. Douxie had a habit of being so sarcastic that it came off almost cute. “So what, you believe in fairies and all that feel good Disney shit?”

“No, when I said magic I meant the kind that turns your soul dark and feeds it to a troll.”

“A troll?” Rick emphasized.

Douxie smiled in that annoying way he did when you knew he was hiding an inside joke. “Trolls exist. They steal your socks.”

“Is that a reference to something?”

“Might be,” he said. “But really. Not an ounce of wondering? Not even a little bit?”

“Nah,” Daryl said. “It’s cute for kids, but you’re too old for that.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Right, cause all those stories about witches turning men into pigs, or people running into the wrong beast at the wrong time are all for kids.”

“I think,” Rick said slowly. “That we should let Douxie think what he thinks.”

“Thank you,” Douxie said, before looking back at Daryl. “But I do ask you to think about it. Because I have a theory, and I’m usually right. Besides,” his eyes glistened darkly. “Not all the things that scurry around in the night are raccoons.”

“Raccoons?” Rick asked.

But Daryl understood. That thing in the parking lot of the mall. It definitely hadn’t been a raccoon. “Douxie,” he said carefully. “What aren’t you saying?”

Douxie’s whole demeanor changed suddenly. He went from sarcastic and witty, to drawn and anxious in a moment. “Sorry, nothing. It’s… nothing.” He plastered a wide, fake smile on his face. “I was just messing around, forget I said anything.”

“Doux—” Rick tried, but the teen was already walking away. His shoulders were hunched again—trying to make himself small against the world.

“What the fuck was that about?” Daryl muttered.

“I wish I knew.” Rick shook his head. “I wish I knew, Daryl.”

Chapter Text

“Are we making a run today?” Carl asked, suddenly latching onto Douxie’s arm.

Douxie slowed and smiled at him. “Sure are, little mate. Your dad said we could partner up for it. It’s gonna be a guy’s trip.”

“Actually,” T-Dog cut in, wagging his knife at them. “He said to go in pairs of three, so I’m coming too.”

Carl made a face. “We don’t need to be babysat.”

“Oh, yes you do.” Lori called. “I don’t want either of you out there alone.” Her pointed look in Douxie’s direction made his heart skip a beat. Rick told her. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? “Okay?”

Douxie sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carl shot him a weird glance. Douxie just shook his head in response, not wanting him to worry about it. Lori gave a nod of approval, before turning away to help Carol with something.

Douxie sucked in a breath, gathering up his own weapons, trying hard to ignore the stare Carl had on his back. T-Dog passed him, shooting him a brief concerned glance before he started loading weapons into a nearby truck. Fucking hell, had Rick told everyone?

“Load up, boys!” T-Dog called, hopping into the driver’s seat.

Douxie scooped up his spear. Carl followed him to the truck, scowling. Douxie tried to ignore that too. He didn’t need everyone’s constant worried gaze boring into him. As they climbed into the truck and T-Dog turned on the engine, Douxie caught a glimpse of Rick’s worried gaze. He frowned and looked away, nails digging into the pleather seat. He wished everyone would stop treating him as if he were some fragile thing—ready to break at the smallest scratch.

“You doing alright?” T-Dog asked him after they’d gone a couple blocks.

Douxie huffed, bracing his foot against the glove-box and leaning back in his seat. “So he told you?”

T-Dog glanced at him, brows furrowed. “Douxie, you got attacked last night.”

Carl leaned forward in the backseat. “You got attacked?”

Douxie sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Sure. Fine. Yes, I got into a fight with a stranger who tried to kill me.” He glared at T-Dog, ignoring Carl’s shocked expression. “And that’s all that happened.”

T-Dog pursed his lips and nodded, taking the hint. Carl didn’t need to know the details. He didn’t need to know that before that man was going to kill him, he was going to rape him first. Douxie hunched further down in his seat, feeling that terrible burning itch under his skin again. He felt… gross. Even though that man hadn’t done anything to him really, the intent and depraved lust in his eyes sent Douxie spiraling back to all the times before when other men had gotten to him that way. He closed his eyes, biting back his full-body shudder. He hated feeling this way. He hated feeling scared, unsafe, and disgusting in his own body.

“Hey,” T-Dog said in a low voice. “If you want to talk about—”

“No.” Douxie snapped. “No, T-Dog. I do not want to talk about it.”

“Douxie…”

Douxie sighed, bumping his head against the headrest. “He didn’t even touch me, okay? I just… can we drop it? Please?”

“Yeah,” T-Dog sighed. “Yeah, okay kid. We’ll drop it.”

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Douxie sullen in the front passenger seat. T-Dog tried to let the subject rest, but he was concerned. That guy was still out here somewhere and they didn’t know where he was, who he was with, or if he was following them. And Douxie didn’t look okay, no matter what he said. After something like that, nobody would be okay.

By the time they got to the other strip mall that Glenn had sworn up and down still had supplies in it, the sun was high in the sky, baking the asphalt road. Douxie got out of the car first, slamming the truck door shut. T-Dog didn’t miss the way his knuckles tightened on the shaft of his spear, or the way his eyes darted around, a dark glare deep-set in his face.

He sighed, unloading the empty bags, keeping an eye on the boys as Carl hopped out of the truck and stood by Douxie’s side. “Hey, stay in sight, okay?”

Douxie eyed him, but didn’t say anything. Carl looked around the parking lot. It was completely empty, save for a handful of walkers. Nothing the three of them couldn’t handle. It was only a small group of five, they could probably just get around them—

Douxie suddenly took off, sprinting right for the dead.

“Douxie!” T-Dog shouted, slamming the side door of the truck closed.

Blood sprayed on the road as the kid’s spear jammed right into a rotting skull. Douxie swiftly ripped it out of the already falling body, and swung it like a sword, clocking another walker right in the face. The dead man fell sideways, but the blow hadn’t pierced its brain. It writhed on the ground for a moment as Douxie maimed the other three.

By the time he’d turned around, breathing hard and covered in blood, the walker had gotten to its feet again. Douxie’s lips curled in a snarl. He hefted the spear, and thrust it upwards through the walker’s jaw. The tip pierced right through the top of its skull. He ripped the weapon out, flicking blood off the gleaming bronze. The walker fell backwards, dead again.

T-Dog stared at him, mouth agape. Carl said nothing, looking a mix of indifferent and impressed. He didn’t understand how dangerous what Douxie had just done was.

“What,” he said, stalking over to the teen with Carl in tow. “Was that?”

Douxie, though he was a few inches shorter than him, stood tall and looked him in the eye without any trace of fear or remorse. “Whenever we leave these things alone because “there’s so few, they’re not a problem”, they always become a problem! I’m circumventing future complications!”

“You’re acting suicidal!” T-Dog hissed. “Five walkers? By yourself?”

“That was not suicidal!” Douxie argued. His eyes flashed dangerously. Not for the first time since meeting him, T-Dog saw something wild in his eyes. Something feral. Something dangerous. “A hoard is suicidal, T-Dog. That,” he wagged the tip of his spear at the bodies. “Was problem-solving.”

T-Dog felt his eye twitch. He took in a deep breath, pointing his finger at Douxie. “Don’t do that again, understand? We can’t be taking risks like that out here.”

Douxie rolled his eyes, looking like he wanted to argue. But something stopped him. He just huffed in irritation and turned away. “We should get started, before the sun sets.”

T-Dog sighed, shouldering the larger bag, letting Carl take the other two smaller ones. He followed behind the boys as Carl walked beside Douxie again, handing him the other bag. Douxie took it silently, eyes lingering on the bodies in the parking lot—before he stepped through the door of the first store and was swallowed by darkness.

Douxie clicked on his flashlight, shining it around. It was eerily empty in here. And dark. Way too dark. If there was anything—or anyone—in here, they’d be able to sneak up on them way too easily. He didn’t like it.

“Stay next to me,” Douxie whispered to Carl.

Who nodded, tightening the straps on his own bag. T-Dog shone his own flashlight around as they walked further into the store. The first couple shelves were looted empty, but Douxie could see a couple more further back that were still mostly full. But why was this strip mall empty? And why were there so few walkers, and why were most of the shelves still stocked? To any survivor, all of these things combined would be a goldmine. This place should have been looted bare months ago. Something wasn’t quite right…

“We should go check out that big store out front next,” T-Dog said as he loaded some antibiotics into his bag. “It might have some still-good canned foods in there.”

Douxie hummed lowly, shining his flashlight along the shelves. Pain meds, cough syrup, cough drops, and… aha!

He grabbed a few boxes of menstrual pads and tampons. He glanced at T-Dog. “Between all the girls, how many do you think we’ll need?”

“Nah, I don’t know anything about that, man.” T-Dog shook his head. “Just grab all of it I guess.”

Douxie snorted. He dumped a handful of boxes into his bag. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to leave a few on the shelf in case anyone else came by and needed them too. He snagged a few boxes of Midol too, remembering Claire had once said it worked better than Ibuprofen on her. He wasn’t totally sure if that was a general statement, or just a Claire thing. But between what he was getting, and all the pain relief pills T-Dog had just stuck in his bag, he figured they’d be all set. Until further notice, at least.

“I think it’s nice of you to volunteer to get the girl’s stuff,” Carl said absently, looking on the lower shelves for anything they could have missed. “It makes all the other guys squeamish.”

Douxie laughed. “Is that what your dad said?”

Carl shot him a smile. “Well, nobody else volunteered.”

“Because Douxie didn’t give the rest of us a chance,” T-Dog jabbed playfully.

“Look, all I’m going to say is that I’ve been friends with a lot of women,” Douxie said, zipping his bag closed. “And they appreciate it when you take this stuff seriously.” He glanced at the shelves again, then looked at T-Dog. “Do we need toilet paper?”

“Nah, I saw loads of it back at the camp. I think we’re good.”

Douxie nodded. “The things they never tell you about survival situations, is that necessities far outweigh all the cool stuff you think you’ll get to do.”

Carl looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Well, whenever you ask folks about what they’d do in an apocalypse, they always say, “I’ll hunker down in my bunker and live off the land”, but realistically, it takes way more than that. Keeping up hygiene, for example, is super important. I mean, think about it. More people are probably going to die from the common cold now, more than they are to walkers.” Douxie picked a discard box of M&Ms off a random shelf. “Disease is nothing to sneeze at. Especially with the idea of modern medicine being pretty much obsolete.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” T-Dog muttered.

“I’m being pragmatic,” Douxie corrected. He’d been in enough survival situations to know what he was talking about. “Speaking of, we should find some more drinking water, until we can find another river to use.”

“Good idea,” T-Dog looked around. Then his eye caught something, and his hand immediately went to his gun.

Douxie turned his gaze to what T-Dog was looking at, heart stopping at what he saw. A door in the very back of the store was ajar, open just a crack. And someone was watching them. Instinctively, his arm went to shield Carl, slipping his spear from the leather hanger on his back. It slid silently into his hand, the cold metal a welcome sensation that reminded Douxie of the power he held.

The person—because it was definitely a person, no walker would ever stand still for that long with three meals in perfect view—watched them all for a moment longer, any weapon they were holding was hidden by the door. Slowly, the three of them took a step back. The person in the door didn’t move, eyes just following them. The hairs on Douxie’s neck stood on end. Something about this was tipping him off, and he didn’t think it was just because this was fucking creepy.

Their eyes locked onto Douxie, trailing his form. Their gaze lowered, their eyes narrowing. With a start, Douxie realized they’d seen his spear. A cold sensation of dread trickled down his spine. Their eyes snapped back up to his, and Douxie froze in his tracks. Something deeply familiar about their eyes was unsettling. So was the way they’d eyed his weapon. Like they knew what it was. Like they knew what he was.

“The truck,” T-Dog whispered. “Back to the truck—”

The person suddenly ducked away, the door slamming shut. They all jumped.

“Go, now!” T-Dog shouted, and they started running.

They crashed back through the door, sprinting for the truck. A gun fired at Douxie’s feet, forcing him to dodge left, getting cut off from the others. He rolled sideways, springing to his feet, blood singing with adrenaline.

“Douxie!” Carl shouted.

“Nobody move!” A deep voice demanded. They all froze again, slowly looking to where the voice had come from. A tall, burly man with dark hair and a clean beard was walking forward with purpose, a shotgun held in his hands. Pointed at them. No… pointed at Douxie.

Douxie drew himself straight, knuckles turning white on his spear.

“We don’t have anything you want man, we swear!” T-Dog yelled, gun in his hands. “Just medicine and stuff for our ladies!”

The man laughed harshly, the sound like a hyena. Douxie bristled again. Why was that laugh so familiar? “We don’t want your stuff, sir.” He spoke with a deeply familiar accent. “You and the boy can leave, we only want him.”

T-Dog cast a confused and nervous glance at Douxie. “Why?”

The man lowered his gun, blue eyes dark and harsh as he smiled not-nicely at the wizard. “Oh, he knows why.”

Douxie felt like all the breath was being torn from his lungs. “You…” he whispered, horror gripping him. “How are you alive?”

“Same way you lot stay alive,” he hissed, taking a menacing step forward. “With the added benefit of ridding the world of your corrupt nature.”

“Douxie,” T-Dog called, voice unsure. “You know these guys?”

“Know us?” The witch-hunter cackled. Now, Douxie could see more of them stepping into view. More than the entirety of their camp combined. “We’ve been hunting him down for gods know how long.”

Douxie stepped back, towards Carl and T-Dog. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Yes, well,” Bedyw grinned savagely. “The only reason you haven’t seen us this century is because of modern authority. But with all that out of the way, you’re free game again.”

Douxie glared at him. “Cowards hiding behind a lawless world. I expect no different from the likes of you.”

“You flatter me,” he said, clearly not flattered. He raised his gun again. “We can kill you now, in front of your new friends. Or,” he grinned in that way he did, where he was really sneering but was smug about it. “You can come with me, and they don’t have to watch.”

Douxie sucked in a breath, already beginning to shake in terror. With these men here, he might as well proclaim to the world he was a wizard. They were all but outing him already.

“He’s not going anywhere with you!” Carl shouted.

“He doesn’t have much of a choice, he’s going to die anyway.” Bedyw walked forward, gun pointed at Douxie’s chest. “What do you say, little witch?”

Douxie didn’t miss the way T-Dog and Carl stiffened when he was called that.

“Here, or somewhere more,” he pumped the shotgun. “Private.”

Bedyw was so close now, Douxie could smell the stench of his breath. The barrel of the gun was nearly pressed to his chest. But he stood his ground, staring the witch-hunter in the eye. He lowered his voice.

“You have had so many opportunities over the centuries to kill me, Bedyw.” He hissed so the other couldn’t hear. “You have failed because you like to preen. Because you think yourself so mighty.”

Bedyw sneered at him. “At least I’m not a depraved witch.”

“The problem I find in you, the hypocrisy,” Douxie snarled, feeling a spark of magic light in his veins. “Is you call me a witch, accuse me of being dark and deceitful, when you and your mindless cronies, steal magic from the wizards you kill to keep yourselves immortal. Is that not also being a witch?”

Bedyw growled, rage alight in his eyes. This was not the first time Douxie had called him out on his bullshit. He suddenly drew his weapon back, and struck him in the temple with the butt of the gun. Douxie fell, ears ringing, hitting the ground hard. Then pain exploded in his leg. Harsh, ripping, burning pain.

Carl screamed when that man shot Douxie in the leg. He rushed forward, T-Dog grabbing him by the arm to hold him back.

Douxie’s cry of agony rang in Carl’s ear. He watched, helpless, as the man shoved his boot against Douxie’s chest to force him against the asphalt road. The barrel of the shotgun rose again, jamming against Douxie’s throat. Douxie stopped struggling, staring up at the man with pure hatred in his eyes. A steaming, hissing sound filled the air, but Carl couldn’t be sure where it was coming from.

“Like it,” he taunted, grinding his boot into Douxie’s ribs. The older teen let out a sharp cry of pain, still unable to get away. “Pure iron. Perfect for the likes of you.”

Carl still had no idea what he was talking about. Why he hated Douxie so much. Why he was so intent on killing him.

T-Dog still stood there, watching and not doing anything. He had a grip on his gun, and a grip on Carl’s arm.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Carl demanded with a hiss.

“I did,” T-Dog responded, keeping his voice low. “I called for back up in the store.”

“It could take them forever to get here!” Carl said.

“Not if they book it,” T-Dog said, letting go of Carl to aim at the man while he was distracted with torturing Douxie.

It only took a moment for him to pull the trigger. The man yelled in pain, throwing himself back. Douxie gasped for air and scrambled backwards, holding a hand over his bleeding leg. The man continued to yell, on the ground in pain. T-Dog had shot him in the hip.

His men rushed forward with weapons of varying degree. They all shone in the sun, gleaming metal.

Douxie shouted in a foreign language, something that made them all freeze in their tracks. Carl couldn’t imagine why, until he squinted and saw that the asphalt of the road had locked around their feet.

What?

Douxie pushed himself to his feet, unable to keep a hand on his wound now that he was standing. And now Carl saw that hissing sound had been coming from Douxie. The wound on his leg was steaming, like someone was pressing hot metal into his skin. The older boy swayed unsteadily, exhaustion coming like a film over his eyes.

T-Dog hadn’t noticed the road yet, turning at the sound of a vehicle careening into the parking lot. “Rick!” He shouted, turning to the car as Carl’s father jumped out.

Then the road that had come up around the men’s feet crumbled away, and Douxie stumbled like he’d just finished running a marathon.

“Running low!” One of them taunted, his accent eerily similar to Douxie’s. “What’s the matter, Hisirdoux, where’s the fight?”

“Back off!” Rick suddenly shouted, pistol pointing at the man who’d spoken. “All of you, back the hell off!”

“Douxie!” Daryl shouted, running to the boy in question. It was a miracle Douxie hadn’t collapsed yet. Carl suspected he was running on pure spite.

But Douxie ignored the cavalry, keeping an icy glare locked onto those men. He shouted at them in Welsh, and they all bristled as if hearing an insult.

One of the men shouted in outrage, and fired an ancient looking crossbow at Douxie. He managed to dodge out of the way of it hitting anything important, but it got lodged in his arm. He shouted in pain. Carl’s eyes widened when he saw the arrow head was glowing red hot. It hadn’t been glowing a moment ago.

But Douxie ripped it out of his arm with a hiss of pain, tossing the arrow to the ground. “You’ll have to do better than that!” He shouted, nose wrinkling with a glare.

“Stop,” Daryl hissed as he got to Douxie’s side, eyeing the steaming wound on his leg. “Provoking them! It doesn’t have to get personal!”

“It is personal!” Douxie snarled. He snapped that dangerous, murderous look back at the group of men. “All of this is personal.”

Carl glanced at them again, surprised to see looks of genuine terror flashing across their faces. Why were they all so afraid of Douxie. Why were they trying to kill him?

“You vile, hell-soaked creature!” The first man roared, on his feet with the help of one of his men. “Be done with it then, Hisirdoux Casperan! Kill us!”

Douxie’s hand twitched, like he was about to raise it up. They all flinched back. But then, Douxie didn’t move again.

The first man, the leader, his eyes widened. Then he grinned. “He’s run himself dry, lads.” He cackled, turning that sharp gaze on Carl’s father, the rest of the survivors. “Kill them all.”

Chapter Text

“All of this is personal!”

“Kill them all!”

Those words rang heavy in Rick’s ears. The way they all looked at Douxie, like he was some sort of monster to them. The way Douxie had sounded when he talked to those men, the burning anger and hatred. They had a history together and it wasn’t a pretty one.

A fire fight broke out in seconds with the command from their strange leader. Despite their oddly medieval weapons, they still carried guns. And they had numbers. For his own motley group, they had only himself, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog, Douxie, and Carl.

First and foremost, those men targeted Douxie. Who was surprisingly spry for the bleeding gunshot wound on his leg. Rick recognized an adrenaline run when he saw it.

Douxie banked right, attempting to either flank them, or draw their fire. Daryl and Glenn forced all but one to train their attention back on the rest of the group. Rick couldn’t keep an eye on his teenager and fight, so he had to focus on what was at hand and trust Douxie to keep himself alive.

He fired a shot into the chest of the man with the crossbow, catching a glimpse of a dark shape darting behind one of the columns in the tiny strip mall. There was shouting, and then a sound like a contained explosion. Blue light flared out from that column, unexplained and nerve-wracking. Then Douxie ran into view, hands smoking like they’d been on fire.

Without warning he threw himself at the leader of these hunters, knife flashing in his hand. There was shouting, but the gunfire ceased with one of each side caught in the cross fire. Douxie and the lead hunter tousled on the asphalt parking lot, the younger straddling the man’s chest with a wild look in his eyes, a hand wrapped around a beefy throat.

The man scrambled to keep Douxie’s knife from sinking into his chest, arms shaking with effort. Still, no one moved.

“Shoot him!” He shouted, but none of the hunters moved a muscle, terror in their eyes. What was it they saw that Rick Grimes didn’t?

“Does it bother you that they’re so faithless?” Douxie asked with a hiss that sounded too animal for Rick’s preference. This boy was suddenly a stranger to him. Wild. Dangerous. “Does it bother you that I scare them, Bedyw?”

Bedyw whimpered, cowardice and terror suddenly becoming so clear in his face. “Monster,” he hissed.

Douxie’s nose wrinkled with a snarl. “Maybe I am. But at least I know that.” He slashed his knife across Bedyw’s arm, the cut deep and spurting blood. Bedyw screamed in pain, and Douxie took the opportunity to sink that blade into his chest.

He ripped it out without a hint of remorse, head snapping to the side to look at Bedyw’s men. They flinched back. He got to his feet, dagger dripping red with blood.

“You know what it is I can do to you,” he said, not shouting but his voice ringing clear across the parking lot. “Maybe you’ve not noticed, but in this world we witches don’t hold ourselves to the same moral standard.” He gripped the hilt of his knife tightly, and even though his back was turned, Rick knew that feral fire was in his eyes. The look he got when he was pissed. The things he’d do when he was threatened. When his people were threatened. He took a step forward, and maybe he was imagining it, but Rick swore he saw the ground crack and tremble at Douxie’s feet. “Try me.”

None of them did. They all turned tail and ran.

It took a long, long time for Douxie to turn from where they’d been. It took even longer for him to relax even a little bit. But when he did turn around, he wouldn’t look at anyone.

“What the hell was that?” Daryl demanded the moment Douxie sheathed his knife.

“Witch hunts,” Douxie said, like it was a joke. None of it seemed like a joke.

“What?” Glenn asked, eyes wide.

Douxie sighed, closing his eyes. He suddenly looked much older than nineteen. “I’m not exactly the kind of person who finds comfort in religion. They were… are. I guess they think this whole thing is the fault of people like me.”

Rick looked at him for a long time. Douxie was so clearly lying. “People like you? You called yourself a witch.”

Douxie snorted, though he didn’t look amused at all. “I was mocking the title they gave me.”

“And people like you?”

Douxie’s nose did that thing where it wrinkled when he got annoyed. “People who are different, Rick. I’m a homosexual immigrant who was surrounded by people who hated every “other”!” He took in a deep breath. “They decided I was evil. So they decided to kill me.”

“Before?” T-Dog asked. “Or after. Because you know them. Or did.”

Douxie shook his head. “Bedyw,” he snarled, glancing at the man’s corpse. “Was the kind of person who believed in purifying the world. I am… was something impure to him and his beliefs. I am not at all surprised he decided to come after me in a world like this.”

Rick paused, letting that sink in. Once again, Douxie wasn’t sharing all the details. But this was much fragiler than he wanted to press on for the moment. “Are you okay?”

Douxie looked startled by the question. “… Yes.” He said. “Well, mostly.”

Rick glanced at his leg. It had stopped bleeding, but the wound was still festering. Douxie didn’t look like he was in pain, but adrenaline was probably the cause of that. “Let’s get back, get your leg wrapped.”

“Again,” Daryl added helpfully, clearly not satisfied with any of these answers.

“Glenn, Daryl, stay with T-Dog here and finish clearing the shelves. We still need supplies.” He looked at his son and Douxie. “You two, come with me. We’re heading back to camp.”

Neither argued. Carl looked shaken up by the events that had happened, clinging to Douxie as they got in the truck.

Rick slid into the driver’s seat, leaning over to get something out of the glove box. He pulled out a bandage roll, tossing it to Douxie. “Here, wrap your leg.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore,” Douxie said, unrolling the wrap.

“Yeah, but I don’t like the look of that smoke. Besides, we should worry about infections first and foremost.”

Douxie didn’t argue, wrapping his leg tight with the white bandage wrap. Carl leaned forward between the driver and passenger seat.

“What did he shoot you with?” His son asked.

Douxie grimaced. Whether it was from pain or the question itself, Rick couldn’t tell. “I don’t know, but it burns like hell.”

“Hershel will look at it,” Rick assured, though now that he’d had time to process everything, things weren’t sitting right. “Douxie, will they come back?”

Douxie’s face was pinched with pain now. He nodded. “Yes. They’re not gone… they’re just regrouping. They won’t stop until they kill me.”

Rick looked at him, so burdened with the knowledge that someone Douxie’s age didn’t seem too bothered with the idea someone wanted him dead. “Douxie—”

“Just me.” Douxie said, glancing at him. “Bedyw was full of himself, and had an ego the size of Wisconsin. The others will carry out their self-set mission, but they won’t go out of their way to bother the rest of the group.” He was quiet before he solemnly added again, “Just me.”

Rick put his hand over Douxie’s where it rested on his knee. “I won’t let them murder you. Especially not over something as insane as religious fury.”

Douxie almost smiled. “Don’t let Hershel hear you talk like that.”

“Hershel is not like them. He’s a good man who wouldn’t let his religion drive him to that.”

Douxie nodded. “You’re right…” he took in a deep breath, slumping in his seat. “I would have died today.”

“We weren’t going to let that happen,” Rick told him.

“No.” Douxie opened his eyes and looked at him. “I would have died today, if it had come down to me or everyone else. If… if Bedyw hadn’t all but declared war on you, I would have…” he trailed off, gazing out the window.

Rick gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing in the rear view mirror. Carl was staring at Douxie in horror. “Douxie, that’s very noble. But it’s not going to happen.”

Douxie took in a deep breath. “It’s not because I want to die. You know that, right?”

Rick tore his gaze away from the road for another moment to look at him. “I know. Someone who wants to die wouldn’t have fought so hard for their own life.”

“But if I had to make that choice,” he said again, voice soft. “I think it would be something worth dying for.”

Rick gave him a wan smile. Douxie was wise beyond his years. He had a good, kind heart and a love for people. Rick could easily believe Douxie wouldn’t think twice before giving his own life to save that of the group. “What happened to saving yourself to see your family?”

Douxie didn’t answer him for a long time, but eventually he said, “They would understand. And who knows? Maybe I’d see them again in the next life.”

“You believe in that?”

Douxie’s smile was melancholic. “Yes. I believe in a lot of things.”

Rick thought of that blue light, the name those men had called Douxie, the ground splitting at the teen’s feet, the conversation they’d had on the roof, Douxie’s immunity, the runes on his spear. He was starting to wonder if maybe Douxie knew a lot more than he let on. That maybe giving a thought to magic existing wasn’t as inane as he thought.

Maybe there was more to this world than Rick Grimes had given it credit for.

Douxie tried not to wince too hard as Hershel cut into his leg. The wound had started to seal—cauterized by something, Hershel had said. Douxie knew what it was, but they didn’t have to know. Not really.

Maggie pressed a cloth to his thigh, soaking up the blood that fell. Hershel’s incision was precise and clean, and Douxie tried not to jerk away as the old man very slowly opened the cut wider to get a better reach for the bullet lodged in his thigh.

“I think you should stay with the group for the foreseeable future,” Rick told him, hovering nearby.

Douxie sucked in a deep breath at a sharp jolt of pain. Hershel had found the bullet and was beginning to pull it out. The iron seared against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears beginning to well.

Rick knelt next to him, squeezing his hand tight. “Hey, don’t start hyperventilating. Deep breaths.”

Douxie tried, he really did. But the pain was all he could feel now. He felt like his leg was on fire.

“What that hell—” Maggie muttered. “Dad, how is that possible?”

“I have no idea,” Hershel said, voice full of confusion. He finally slid the bullet free, and Douxie let out a gasp of relief. He opened his eyes in time to see the iron bullet losing its hot red glow as it was pulled away from his being. Hershel looked up at him, showing him the bullet. It was burned from being trapped against his skin for so long, charred and black. “They weren’t playing nice, were they?”

Douxie let out a heavy laugh, shaking a bit from the adrenaline crash. “No, I’d say they weren’t.”

“How in the world did they get it to heat up like that?” Maggie questioned, looking at Rick.

“I have no idea,” he said shaking his head. “But that’s not the kind of trouble you go to when you just want to kill someone.” He looked at Douxie in concern. “That’s the kind of thing that gets you arrested for war crimes.”

Douxie huffed a laugh, slumping against the wall. “What can I say? They’re persistent with their hate crimes.”

Rick sighed with a solemn nod. For now, it seemed like he’d accepted Douxie’s excuse that those men were after him for severely homophobic reasons. Which, to be quite fair, that was definitely a fact about Douxie they hated. But it wasn’t why they pursued him the way they did. No, what they hated more than his queerness was his wizardry. Neither was something Douxie could control, nor was it something he was willing to hide. At least…

He sighed, kicking himself mentally for his own hypocrisy. Claiming to himself he wasn’t hiding who he was, yet keeping the truth from these people all the same.

But was it the same? Did it really count? Douxie couldn’t be sure what Rick would do if he found out what Douxie was. Who he was. Or the fact that all of this, the undead apocalypse, might be his fault.

What they never tell you about killing gods… was that the action always had repercussions. And not only was the Arcane order gone now, but so was Vameus. Douxie wasn’t sure he’d say that he regretted anything he’d done. Or helped his friends to do, because he didn’t really have a hand on the metaphoric trigger for the actual murders themselves. But he did help Jim get to the top of that Titan, and he didn’t stop Nari from killing Skrael, and he wouldn’t have stopped Carter from killing his father if he’d been near enough to see it happening.

Whatever the cause of all this, it was very likely the Trollhunters were to blame.

Was that something Hisirdoux Casperan could live with?

“Hey,” Hershel said, and nudged him. “Are you spacing from blood loss or anxiety?”

Douxie managed a small laugh and a wan smile, keeping his gaze on the ceiling as his leg was being stitched. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Life,” he said. “And consequences… the things you do and the things that happen after you do them.”

“Is this about you killing that man?” Hershel asked, tying off the stitch. His gentle eyes met Douxie’s. “Because you did that in self defense.”

Douxie breathed in deeply, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. “No… Bedyw had that coming for a long time.”

Hershel glanced once at Rick, then turned back at Douxie with a serious look. “Vengeance doesn’t go down easy for supper, Douxie.”

The wizard sighed again, trying to imagine the days before. He’d had a lot of them, but lately it felt like they were all slipping away from his memory. “It’s not… it wasn’t about revenge. I just…” he felt tears coming to him as he remembered all that Bedyw had done. “He took so many of my friends away. I thought… I thought he was dead, until today. Seeing him again… brought back all of it. All of the pain, all of the anger.”

“And you don’t call that revenge?”

“I call it justice,” he said, voice not going above a whisper. “Because why should a man like that get to keep living in this world, when he took the lives of so many good people?”

Hershel just looked at him. And looked. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, Douxie. I think that is an age old question people have been asking since the dawn of time.”

Douxie sucked in a shaky breath, slumping back against the wall as Hershel got up. Maggie was quick to clean up the bloodied rags and bandages, shooting him a concerned glance. Douxie ignored it, wanting and wishing to the depths of his heart for his soulmate. He wanted Carter. Carter would know what to say to him, how to make everything feel brighter. Even at the end of the world, Carter made his life better.

Even when they fought, Douxie loved him. Wanted him. Even after those words, Douxie… Douxie just didn’t blame him. Because Carter was probably right. They could have done something else, but Douxie had cast a final vote for the gyre. And now they were here. He was here, and they were somewhere else, and it was still his fault.

“Douxie,” Rick said, suddenly holding his shoulders. Douxie blinked. How long had Rick been calling his name for? “Hey, kid, are you okay?”

“I… um.” He blinked again, trying to clear his head. “I think … I think I just need to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Rick nodded slowly, looking at him with a lot of concern. “Okay. That’s not a bad idea.”

Douxie got to his feet with Rick’s help, stumbling to his sleeping bag. His leg ached, like that iron bullet was still embedded in his thigh. His vision fuzzed harshly, and he was grateful for Rick’s help because he probably would have collapsed if not for his steadying hand. The former officer gently helped him sit once they’d reached the sleeping bag, and Douxie ungracefully collapsed sideways, curling into his pillow. His head was spinning fiercely, nausea overtaking him.

There was some shuffling that echoed in his ears, and a cool hand laid over his brow. But he hardly took the energy to notice who it was, let alone care. He shut his eyes, just wanting to sleep. Someone moved his hair away from his forehead and laid a blanket over him. That was the last coherent thought he had before he fell into a deep, restless sleep.

“Just blood loss,” Hershel said, timing Douxie’s pulse. The teen had fallen asleep so quickly, it had been almost scary. “And exhaustion. He’ll be okay.”

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. Douxie had been worrying him lately, and this had not helped matters any.

The door to their hideaway opened, then shut. T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl filed in, bags piled with supplies.

“What about that wound on his arm?” Rick asked, gesturing to Douxie’s left arm. “He took an arrow to it.”

“Walked it off like a champ, though.” Daryl said in his usual gruff tone. He jutted his chin at the passed out teenager. “He alive?”

“Yeah,” Rick said with something that could pass as a laugh. “Just worn out.”

Hershel was inspecting his arm. “Well, it didn’t seem to go in very deep because there’s no wound to speak of?”

“What?” Rick looked back at Douxie’s arm. “No, I saw it go all the way through.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Hershel said, shaking his head. He gestured to an ugly red mark on Douxie’s bicep. “Because if there was an open wound, it’s gone now. It looks like it got cauterized.”

Rick pursed his lips, unsure what to say.

“Dad,” Carl said, hovering nearby. “The arrow head was glowing like the bullet. I think they used the same method on their crossbows as they did with their guns.”

Rick sighed, scratching his beard. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Not with the way they were after him like that.”

“What… should we do?” Carol asked, still running her fingers through Douxie’s hair. She hadn’t gotten up after putting that blanket over him. “I mean, he can’t be by himself.”

“No,” Rick agreed. “He can’t. And he told me they’d be back.”

“Do we have to move on?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know.” Rick sighed. “Not yet, at least. I’ll ask Douxie when he’s awake again. He knows them, how they think. If he thinks we need to move on, that’s what we’ll do.”

Exhausted sighs passed through their ranks.

“In the meantime,” Rick continued. “He doesn’t go anywhere alone.”

“Will that do much good?” T-Dog asked. “I mean, he was with me and Carl and those guys still almost got him.”

“We didn’t know they were coming for him,” Daryl said. “Caught us by surprise. That ain’t happening again.”

“No it is not,” Rick said with a nod. He got to his feet, stepping closer to Daryl. “You be his shadow, okay? You’ve got better senses than anyone here, and I think he’d be more comfortable with you babysitting him than anyone else.”

Daryl nodded, shouldering his crossbow. “Don’t call it babysittin’ in front of him. He’s already got enough attitude.”

Rick’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Then it was gone as he turned to his son. “And Carl, I’m sorry, but you can’t tail him everywhere anymore.”

“What?” Carl demanded, irate.

“I know, but listen.” Rick knelt in front of him. “If we’re all together, you two can hang out. But not you two alone.”

“Plus Daryl,” Glenn added helpfully.

Rick nodded. “Plus Daryl. It’s not his fault, but Douxie is a walking danger magnet, and until those men who are after him are gone, I want you to stay by me, or your mom.”

Carl sighed, rolling his eyes. “But—”

“Carl,” Lori interrupted. “Listen to your father. He’s right.”

Carl growled in irritation and stalked off deeper into the store, muttering to himself.

Rick ran a tired hand down his face. He stood again, looking around at his group. “Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

“Batten down the hatches,” Glenn said under his breath, to Maggie; who smiled at him, following him to do a last minute sweep to check the exits.

“I’ll stay by Douxie tonight,” Carol said. “Just in case.”

Rick nodded. “Thank you.”

As everyone disbanded to do their jobs, Lori came in to stand next to her husband.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” She asked him.

Rick looked at Douxie. He was still hard asleep, face slack. He wouldn’t exactly call it peaceful, but this was the most relaxed Rick had seen the kid in weeks. “I think he will be,” he told her. “He’s tough as nails, that kid.”

Lori almost smiled at the comment, laying a hand on her just-now swelling stomach. “Did you know he’s been carving a toy for the baby?”

Rick looked at her in surprise. “No, I didn’t know.”

She smiled for real. “He got the supplies for it last time we went inside a craft store. He was so excited.” She looked back down at the teen, eyes soft and fond, but not without worry. “He said he wanted the baby to have something new. Something personal.”

Rick was filled with a new appreciation for the stray they’d taken in. Douxie was just… such an odd kid. But in a special way that made you smile. And occasionally worry for his sanity. “What is it?” He looked at Lori. “The toy?”

She smiled a little fuller. “It’s going to be a duck. At least that’s what he said. It doesn’t look a lot like a duck yet.”

Rick took that in, unsure if smiling was the right reaction to that. Douxie was going out of his way to do something for his unborn baby. That wasn’t a survival tactic, that was something done out of love.

He had to make sure those ass-wipes didn’t touch this boy ever again. This boy, who wasn’t technically his, but was in the ways that mattered.

“Rick?” Lori asked, nudging his arm.

“Those men,” he said slowly. “Have to die. They aren’t getting their hands on him again. I’m not going to give them the chance.”

Chapter Text

“They probably don’t know where we are,” Douxie said the next morning, still looking worse-for-wear. “But that strip-mall was only a fifteen minute drive from here, it won’t take them long to find us, once they decide to start looking.”

“You don’t think they’ll try to track you down now?” Daryl asked. “You killed their leader.”

“Bedyw…” Douxie said slowly, voice still burning with rage when he mentioned that man’s name. “Was an arrogant fool who thought of himself as a king. The others… believed in his mission, to rid the world of…”

“People like you?” Glenn guessed.

Douxie nodded. “They’ll scramble like roaches for a few days, trying to decide who will lead them. They’ll look for me, but I can’t say whether or not they’d expect us to move on immediately or not.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Rick decided. “We’ll move on tomorrow.”

Tired sighs passed through the group. Douxie couldn’t help a guilty flinch. If it weren’t for him they wouldn’t have to be moving on at all.

“I know,” Rick said. “I know we’re all tired, but dead is a lot worse than tired. We’ll move on just a couple more hours away from here. We’ll be okay.”

They ended up at a rundown old museum—or it could have been an aquarium. Douxie couldn’t tell. The building was smallish, not quite as big as the mall had been—but it was decent for a museum/aquarium.

“Good a place as any,” Rick said, mostly to himself as he put the car in park.

“It looks haunted,” Douxie commented.

Lori looked at him over her shoulder. “You say that about every building we come across.”

“What makes something haunted?” Douxie teased. “Dead people.”

Carl snorted. “By that logic everything is haunted.”

“Astute observation.”

“Speaking of haunted,” Lori said, turning to her husband. “It does look… dangerous.”

“We’ll check it out first, see how many are in there.” Rick assured, getting out of the car. “Stay here, we’ll be back.”

The car door shut again and they watched Rick’s usual sweeper team cautiously make their way inside. Douxie sighed, leaning back in his seat. His arm was throbbing, and he could feel a small fever try to make itself known to him. He was going to ignore it. He was fine.

“Bright side,” Carl said. “If it looks too dangerous to other people, they’ll probably leave it alone.”

“Lucky for us we’re crazy enough to try,” Douxie muttered.

They waited for almost twenty minutes. No guns went off, no shouting could be heard. Douxie wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. After what felt like an eternity, they came back into view—faces a bit more grim than Douxie was expecting.

“No good?” Hershel asked, just able to be heard from the open window of his vehicle.

Rick and Daryl exchanged looks.

“It’s almost too good,” Daryl said.

Douxie’s heart jumped. “What does that mean?”

“Few walkers, good exit points—all the door locks work,” Rick said. “We’re not usually that lucky.”

Douxie pursed his lips. He was too used to the universe toying with him. Anything “too good to be true” almost always turned out to be so much worse than he could have ever imagined.

“Maybe we’re just catching a break,” Glenn offered optimistically, the way he usually did.

“I don’t know,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I feel good about this.”

Lori sighed tiredly. “Can we at least try? I don’t want to still be driving after dark.”

Nods and murmurs went through the group.

Rick looked around at them. Douxie could tell he was calculating how much of a risk this could be. Then, suddenly he looked at Douxie. “Got any input?”

Douxie shook his head. “Not really.” He opened the car door, stepping out.

A wave of nausea rolled over him suddenly. His vision spun and he tilted sideways, catching himself on the door. Then his knees buckled.

“Woah!” Daryl shot out and caught him.

“Douxie?!” Someone (maybe Rick?) shouted.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, even though the world was spinning, his ears were ringing, and he felt sick.

“You’re burning up,” Daryl informed him. Then he glanced at Douxie’s arm, brows creasing. “Oh.”

“What’s—?” Douxie tried, before his voice failed him and he passed out.

“Dad!” Maggie called, as Daryl hoisted Douxie up and set him down again a few feet from the car.

Hershel rushed as fast as he could out of his own vehicle as everyone else hopped up to watch and worry. Rick joined Daryl and Hershel beside their ever-growing problem child.

“He has a fever,” Hershel informed them of the obvious with a hand on Douxie’s forehead.

“Infection?” Rick asked.

“No, not that fast and not after those wounds were treated.” Hershel said. “This is something else.”

Daryl nudged him, then gestured as subtly as possible to Douxie’s left arm… the one with the bandage over it. Where he’d been scratched by the walker.

Rick’s heart dropped into his stomach. Had Douxie been lying about being immune? Or had he just been wrong about not getting sick this time?

“What is it?” Hershel asked, clocking their reactions.

Daryl looked at Rick expectantly, and Rick realized Daryl did think Douxie had been lying. That he was going to turn, and they’d been too late to stop it. They had told everyone else that Douxie had cut his arm on a piece of metal on accident. They’d kept his secret… if it was even true.

When Rick didn’t say anything, Daryl did.

“Douxie… that wound ain’t from a piece of metal,” he gestured to his wrapped arm. “He got attacked by a walker… it scratched him.”

Alarm passed through the group.

“What!?” Maggie demanded. “And neither of you said anything!?”

“He told us… he told us that it had happened before,” Rick said. “That he’s been bit, and he’s immune.”

“And you believed him?” T-Dog demanded.

“Yes, because that wound he had on his leg when he arrived on the farm? It was—”

“A bite,” Hershel said, in his usual even tone. Realization had dawned on him. He looked deep in thought, rubbing his beard. “It must have been. I thought it was, but he pulled through and…”

Rick looked around at everyone. “He wasn’t lying. I really think he was telling the truth about it.”

“Rick,” Lori said, voice meek. She was hovering close to the car, keeping Carl in her arms. “What if…?”

“We stay here. Wait it out.” Rick said decisively. “If he was lying… then that would be on him. It’s a loss, but we deal with those now. But if he’s not lying, we can’t just kill him.”

“24/7 watch,” Daryl muttered. “He’s one kid, we can do that.”

“We have to give him a chance,” Rick told everyone. “He’s one of us, and we can’t… I’m not going to break the trust he had in me to tell the truth when he didn’t have to.”

“Okay,” Glenn said, nodding. “We’ll give him a chance.”

The second floor of the museum became camp for them. A well defendable area with high-ground… and a convenient spot to tie Douxie to the railing should the fever get worse. Rick hated it, but everyone else needed the peace of mind. For now, he was watching Douxie—sitting beside him in silence as everyone else got settled. The kid kept getting glances of sadness… they all had already decided he wasn’t pulling through. But this wasn’t a democracy anymore, and maybe… just maybe there was a glimmer of hope.

“Dad?” Carl stole his attention, hovering nearby.

“Don’t come closer,” Rick said.

“I thought you said—”

“Carl, I know what I think. But I’m not always right.” He told his son. “And for right now, the safest thing for you is to stay away from him. Just in case.”

Carl huffed, then plopped down where he’d been standing. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“I think so too,” Rick said again. “But just in case.”

Carl said nothing else, just looked sullenly at the floor. Rick focused again on Douxie, brows furrowing. His eyes were darting back and forth beneath his eyelids, a small trickle of blood dripping from his nose. His fingers twitched, and one could hardly tell he was breathing.

“Hershel,” Rick called cautiously.

The old man came over as quickly as he could. He was three feet away when Douxie’s hand shot out and latched onto Rick’s arm, eyes flying open. Rick jumped and someone shouted, but Douxie didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, staring at everything and nothing, breaths slow and shaky.

“Douxie?” Rick called, putting a hand over the one he had on his arm.

Still Douxie didn’t look at him. The only indication that he was aware other people were around was the hand on Rick’s arm—and even that could mean anything at all.

Hershel closed the gap, kneeling next to the teen. He checked his pulse, Douxie not reacting at all to being touched. His fingers twitched against Rick’s arm, and the other side of his nose started to bleed too.

“Hershel, what—”

“Shh!” The old man hissed sharply. He produced a small flashlight from his pant pocket, shining it carefully into Douxie’s eyes. There was no dilation reaction at all. Hershel’s brows furrowed tightly, and he laid a hand over Douxie’s forehead again. His eyes widened.

“Is he still hot?” Rick asked.

“No, the fever went down,” Hershel said in surprise.

Douxie’s iron grip on Rick’s arm suddenly slackened and he blinked. Slow. Then he pulled his hand away entirely and sat up.

“Woah, hey,” Rick pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t—”

Douxie brushed him off, like he couldn’t hear him at all. He grabbed the rail in front of him, pulling himself to his feet.

“Douxie!” Rick shot up, scrambling to grab onto him.

Douxie tensed at the contact, still staring at nothing.

“Kid,” Rick said gently. “What’s wrong?”

In an instant, the emotion came back to his face. His expression contorted, tears welling in his eyes. He started violently sobbing, gasping for air.

Rick tugged him closer and hugged him tight. Douxie curled into the embrace despite it all, crying for a reason Rick couldn’t fathom.

“I’m sorry,” he said between sobs, voice ragged. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Rick asked him. Douxie didn’t answer. “Douxie?”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie continued to sob. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Douxie’s outburst set everyone on edge. Even hours later as he was sitting sullen and quiet on his sleeping bag, everyone would look at him with cautious concern. The poor kid was still evidently shaken up, eyes distant and haunted. Even from where Rick was keeping an eye on their makeshift camp, he could see Douxie shaking. He made no indication of hearing or seeing anyone when Hershel, or Beth, or Carol would come to check on him.

“Well?” Rick asked after the fifth time Hershel had tried to check on him in the last hour.

Hershel sighed, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “My best guess is that he’s in shock. I don’t know what from or why, but he’s scared. Something rattled him, maybe it was a fever dream but…”

“What?”

Hershel looked at him, brows drawn together. “If what you and Daryl said was the accurate truth, and he is immune, he’s a walking miracle. Whatever it is that makes him this way… well, I don’t even know what to do with it.”

Rick glanced at Douxie. He was still sitting in the same position, unmoving. “None of us are scientists, and even if we were, I don’t think experimenting on him would be ethical.”

“I know that,” Hershel said. “I’m just saying… people might still be looking for a cure. If they were to find an immune…”

It slowly dawned on him what Hershel was saying. What would they do if they came across another place like the CDC? Or a group of scientists trying to cure the undead virus? What would Rick do? What would be more right? Protecting the life of one kid, or the lives of everyone still left on the planet?

But would it matter? It certainly didn’t right now. Right now there were no scientists, no CDC. Right now there was only their group against the walkers. It was about survival and nothing else. They could cross that bridge if they came to it… but something told Rick Grimes that Hisirdoux Casperan would not take well to being a guinea pig.

“Douxie?” Carol called softly, kneeling next to him. Douxie made no move to acknowledge her. He continued to stare blankly at nothing, eyes still red and rimmed with tears. “Douxie, you need to say something.”

The only acknowledgment that he’d heard her at all was the slightest shift in his gaze. His eyes flickered very quickly to her, then back to that empty spot on the floor. He was shaking, shoulders and arms trembling.

“Are you cold?” Carol asked.

This time, he gave the barest shake of his head.

“Okay,” she reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched and she stopped. Her brows creased. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here is going to hurt you.”

He just took in a shuddering breath, shaking his head again.

“No what?” Carol asked, withdrawing her hand.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to answer, but then he shut his mouth again. The way he drew in on himself was almost physical.

Carol sighed, making brief eye contact with Lori. She had her lips pursed, watching them with worried eyes. Carol didn’t know what to do, how to help Douxie. She wanted to. She wasn’t good at a lot, but she’d been a mother… she wanted to help Douxie because Douxie was a kid. Granted, he wasn’t as young as her daughter had been, but he was still young. He needed people to lean on, adults to trust, just as much as the next kid.

“You know we’re here for you,” she said at last. “You can talk to us. Any of us. You can tell us anything.”

That definitely elicited a change. Because his shoulders suddenly drew back. He physically stiffened. And before she could say anything else, Douxie shot to his feet and wordlessly walked away. Down the hall. Away from the camp.

“Uh, Rick?” Carol called.

Rick was already on it. He shouted to Daryl to cover for him and jogged after Douxie—who was already halfway down the hall.

“What was that about?” Maggie asked to no one in particular.

“I hate to say it,” T-Dog said with a grimace. “But… the end of the world isn’t for everyone. Some people just can’t handle it.”

“What, you think he’s losing it?” Glenn asked.

T-Dog shrugged. “I think that if I were him, and I were cut off from everyone I loved, and I found out some psychopaths wanted me dead? I’d be justified to lose it a little bit.”

Douxie strode swiftly down the dark halls, only sunlight from the windows illuminating his path. He still felt jumpy, skin crawling from the invasive-ness of the disease that his magic was currently burning out of his system. Again.

Every sound, every sensation made him twitch. Every part of his body was on high alert, everything was too loud, too bright, too much. He needed to be away from them all and let this thing run its course… so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He could still feel it inside him, like some decaying, necrotic thing. He was neither living nor dead. It wanted to kill him. It should have killed him. But like so many times before, he couldn’t die.

“Douxie!” Rick called for him, jogging down the hall.

Douxie didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His magic was practically jumping from his skin now. It wanted to protect him. It wanted out. He kept walking.

“Douxie!” Rick yelled louder. He was closer. Douxie needed to get away. He couldn’t put them in danger.

He picked up the pace, stumbling over his own feet. Magic pricked at his nerves, tingled along his spine, nestling at the base of his skull. Light sparked across his fingers. It had gone dormant for too long. Now, it was reacting to his fear and adrenaline. It thought he was in danger. He needed to leave.

But Rick was fast, and Douxie was slipping. His vision was fuzzing over, blacking in and out. His magic pushed, demanding to be used. It felt like his bones were cracking.

“Hey!” Rick caught his shoulder, bringing him to a grinding halt. “What are you doing?”

Douxie couldn’t get his brain working enough to answer him. He swayed, replanting his feet to keep himself from falling over.

“Kid, you need to rest. I don’t think it’s all out of your system yet.”

“No,” Douxie whispered, sluggishly trying to back out of his grip. “I can’t…”

“You can and you will.” Rick held his face between his hands to make Douxie look at him. His brows furrowed in concern. “Your eyes are unfocused… did you hit your head?”

“Mm,” Douxie managed to shake his head. When he breathed, the world swelled around him. A display on the wall was quivering, drawn towards him. Douxie blinked, trying to will himself to stop. For his magic to stop.

“Douxie, what’s—” whatever he was going to say died in his mouth. He had turned to a noise, pushing Douxie behind him.

Shuffling feet. Low groans. The stench of rotting flesh.

Rick drew his gun as the walker got closer. Douxie watched it amble forward, staring into its dead eyes. The dead man suddenly stopped. Then the smell of burning decay hit his nose, but he didn’t look away. He watched as the walker slowly melted into a puddle of bubbling, rotten flesh.

Rick lowered his gun, staring at it in shock and disgust. “What the hell?”

Douxie closed his eyes, stumbling away.

Dragon fire, something like his mind whispered. The stars in the sky are made of plasma. The Shepherd of Fire should be no less.

Stop it, Douxie thought back with a silent gasp. They can’t know what I am.

“Douxie,” Rick said again. He was looking at him in an odd way. Like the way people did when they were figuring out the truth of it all.

Douxie staggered into the wall behind him, promptly sliding down it. His head was spinning. He felt sick, dizzy, nauseous. He wanted to go home… he wanted his home. Carter, Archie, Fenris, Jim, and… and everyone else. The where had never mattered as much as the who.

“Hey, hey.” Rick knelt in front of him. “It’s okay. Just…” he looked at Douxie, expression hard to place. “How much aren’t you telling us?”

Douxie wanted to confess it all. But he also wanted to never say another word. His head ached, a mind splitting migraine tearing behind his eyes.

“Douxie?”

Douxie sucked in a breath, managing to choke out a pathetic, “Rick, I want to go home.”

The man’s eyes softened with sympathy. He gently brushed Douxie’s sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. “I’m going to get you home. I promised, right? But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me help.”

Douxie closed his eyes, wanting to disappear. He wanted to sleep for a long time. He wanted to die, but he wanted to live. He wanted someone to guide him. He hadn’t had that since… since Merlin. Ever since Merlin died, Douxie had been the one every one looked to for leadership. Even Jim looked to him for advice all the time.

“I miss my dad,” he whispered.

“Oh, Douxie…” Rick murmured, voice heavy and sad. “I know you do… I’m sorry you’re lost. I’m sorry you feel alone. But you’re not. Not with us. We’re going to take care of you until we find your family. We won’t stop looking, but we can’t find them if you stay here and let the walkers eat you. Now come on.”

Douxie really didn’t want to get up, but he thought about Carter. How would Carter feel if he just gave up now? He couldn’t do that to him. Not now. Not ever. He let Rick haul him to his feet. Everything in his body ached like a son of a bitch. His skin was too hot, but he was shivering.

“I think the fever came back,” Douxie muttered.

Rick let Douxie lean on him. “Yeah, you’re burning up. Let’s get you back and get some antibiotics in you, yeah?”

“Sounds great,” Douxie breathed, trying to force his brain to stay awake. “I’m sorry I’m such a handful.”

“Yeah, but I’m starting to think there’s a reason for it.”

Chapter Text

Two days passed since they had all found out Douxie was immune. He’d completely slept off the fever halfway into the second day and was on his way to a full recovery according to Hershel. He still felt slightly achy, but he knew that it wasn’t from the fever. At least, not entirely.

The only truly good thing to come out of this so far was that his magic was officially recovering. He could feel it still prickling at his nerves and traveling over his bones. At least he was in the right head space now to control it. However, Rick was growing increasingly suspicious and Douxie couldn’t really blame him.

Over the last few hours of regaining his coherency, he’d been wondering how Rick out of everyone would react to his magic. Rick was the leader, the de-facto decision maker everyone else listened to with little question. It would be entirely up to Rick Grimes to let Douxie stay should they discover who and what he truly was.

“Feeling better?” Hershel asked with mild humor as he carefully knelt next to him on the floor.

“Much, thank you.” Douxie said.

“Good,” he nodded, taking Douxie’s wrist to time his pulse for maybe the hundredth time. He was silent for a long few seconds before he hummed in thought and let go. “A little fast, you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Douxie gave him a wan smile. “Still a little shaky and… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“That’s understandable,” he said with a nod and a soft smile. “You can talk to us, you know that right?”

“I know.”

“Alright,” he gave him a tender pat on the shoulder and struggled to his feet. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you Hershel.”

The old man walked away, leaving him alone. Douxie let out a soft sigh, leaning against the wall behind him. He still felt tired, but at least there would be no walker-fication going on today.

I wonder, Douxie thought. If my magic is coming back, could I gather enough material to make a tracking spell?

He had Carter’s dog-tags, and something as basic as a tracking spell required very little in terms of ingredients—or even wasted magical energy performing the spell. Of course, since he didn’t have his spell bracelet or his staff he would be working with extremely archaic tools.

Ha. Funny that he, a nine-centuries old wizard, thought of performing spells with nothing more than his own born-magic and few spell ingredients as archaic. After all, that was how he tended to get on in the past before Archie had given him the idea for the spell bracelet in the first place.

For a typical tracking spell, only an item belonging to the person one wanted to find would do, but given unknown distance and overt danger at every corner, Douxie would need something more like a map. And to make a map for a tracking spell he needed blank paper, charcoal, and rhodonite.

Right. Where was he going to find rhodonite in the middle of the apocalypse? He couldn’t just very well slap together some runes and hope for the best. That was how untrained wizards died. That’s how you got hurt doing magic you had no idea how to properly wield. He had the scars to show for his past mistakes.

“Hey,” a soft voice shook him from his thoughts.

Douxie looked up, blinking in surprise when he saw Beth and Carl standing in front of him. “Hey.”

“We were gonna go exploring, but Mom wants us to go with either an adult or with you,” Carl said. “Do you want to come with us?”

Douxie took a moment to process that. Then smiled. “Actually I would. I could use some exercise.”

“Great!” Beth grinned, helping him stand. She looped her arm around his, took Carl by his arm, and started leading them down one hallway.

“Hey!” Lori called. “Keep your walkies on and knives only!”

“Yes ma’am!” Carl called back, and they were off.

At least now, Douxie thought as they passed by exhibits. I can see if this museum was liquid enough to display minerals like rhodonite.

Getting adequate enough paper to take the brunt of a mapping spell would be trickier. You couldn’t just walk into any crafts store, you had to really look for it. He missed the days where quality spell ingredients were commonplace and not everything was a cheap knock-off of something else equally as cheap.

As it was, it might take him longer than he thought to gather what he needed for a proper spell. Gods he missed his staff.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Deiniol asked. “Aidan.”

Aidan swept his boot across the smear of blood on the ground. A charred black bullet clinked against the rubber soles. He scowled at what he saw. Discarded and bloodied rags. Evidence of an emergency surgery.

“He survived the iron,” Aidan announced, though they all were already thinking the same. “Damn half-fae demon.”

“What now?” Martyn asked. “Keep tracking Merlin’s little shit of an apprentice, or move on to a smaller target?”

Aidan shook his head. “No, he’s weak and relying on mortals. I didn’t see his dragon, and he barely used his magic. That means he’s been separated from what he knows, and he’s lying to the people he’s with.” He stooped down, picking up the bloodied rag. “Hisirdoux wouldn’t keep up a facade like that in a situation like this unless he absolutely had to. Which means something is keeping him from using his magic. And that means we can kill him.”

They exchanged looks.

“Aidan,” Deiniol said slowly. “He murdered Bedyw. With nothing but a knife, after taking an iron bullet to the leg. What makes you think we can fare better?”

Aidan faced him with a cool look. “His problem has always been empathy. Like it or not, he cares for the people he travels with. We can exploit that.”

Once more, they exchanged glances.

“They have women and children.”

“Or said they did,” Aidan shook his head. “The Fae are all lying bastards, and the demonic spawn of them and a damn wizard is worse. He has been holding up what’s left of magic by a mere thread. We take out Merlin’s apprentice, we cripple the wizards—and magic as we know it—permanently.”

“Woah, cool!” Carl said, breaking away from them to stick his face against a glass case. “Hey, do you think those are real?”

Douxie looked at the swords, squinting and tilting his head to the side. They looked vaguely familiar. “What does it say?”

Carl stepped back to read the plaque. “Die-fed, 5th century, ornamental gold swords.”

Douxie perked up. “Really?”

“That mean something to you?” Beth asked.

Douxie nodded, getting closer to the plaque. Dyfed. “And it’s pronounced “duh-ved”, Carl. Stand-alone “f” in Welsh makes a “v” sound.”

“Isn’t that where you’re from?” Carl asked.

Douxie nodded, wondering at the swords again. ‘Ornamental gold swords’ wasn’t exactly a thing in 5th century Wales. However… quite a few magical weaponry ended up labeled as the wrong thing in museums all the time. And those swords looked an awful lot like…

His eyes widened.

“Douxie?” Beth asked.

Douxie unsheathed his knife and slipped it between the two glass panels.

“What are you doing!” Beth demanded.

“They’re swords, Beth.”

“Yeah, ornamental and gold.”

“No,” Douxie pried the glass panel off and set it carefully on the ground. “They’re made of the same metal as my javelin. It’s a very old metal-working of a specific type of bronze. They’re valuable, but useful.”

“You know how to use a sword?” Beth asked dubiously.

Douxie shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Of course I do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Douxie took the first sword off the raised stand carefully, examining it. Celestial bronze alright. Most likely belonging to a wizard or 5th century demigod. They were both short and light weight blades, made specifically for dual wielding. The thought sent a pang of longing through Douxie’s chest, making him think of Carter. Gods, how he missed him.

He scanned the display for scabbards, but found none. Oh well, he could always make them himself out of leather and buckles. For now, he carried one in his hand and stuck the other through the leather hanger on his back he’d made for his spear. He’d left it at camp because it was too cumbersome to use effectively in such a tight space.

Carl was eyeing him with appreciation. “You look so bad ass.”

Douxie laughed. “Thank you.”

“Carl,” Beth said. “Don’t say that.”

Carl scowled. “How come Douxie gets to say all the bad words?”

“Because I’m much older than you, Rick isn’t my father, and I’m British. We practically invented unnecessary cussing.” Douxie listed. “Being an older teenager comes with its perks.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Well, glad you know it’s unnecessary to cuss that much.”

Douxie smiled. “Oh yes, and I don’t have religious hang ups about curse words.”

Carl nearly smirked, then eyed Douxie. “How come you aren’t religious?”

Douxie shrugged. “I wasn’t raised that way to begin with. Christianity seems to be much more common here in the states than it was where I lived in Wales as a kid.” He looked at Beth, then at Carl. “And unfortunately, many religious people here decided that just because I love differently, it warrants hatred and abuse…” he pursed his lips. “I’m glad to have found people who, despite our differences, can look past that and help each other.”

Beth’s brows were furrowed. “I know my daddy is religious, but you know he wouldn’t have ever cast you out just because you like boys. Right?”

Douxie smiled at her. “Of course I know that. Your father is a very good man. That counts more to me than anything else.”

She nodded. “And anyway, I’m not sure that matters anymore. If it ever did. The end of the world… it isn’t like how I thought it was going to be. How I was told it would.”

Douxie sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. “There is a story of the end of the world in nearly every culture. I’m not sure any of them, or anyone, could have prepared for this.”

“I don’t think that makes me feel better.”

Douxie gave her a wan smile. “Well, what would?”

She thought about it for a moment. Then said, “Changing the subject.”

He laughed. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

She looked at him. “Your family. You don’t talk about them a lot. I want to know about them, so when we meet them it won’t feel like meeting strangers.”

Douxie blinked. He stopped walking. So did they. “You really believe we’ll find them?”

“Of course I do.” She sounded so sure. “Don’t you?”

Douxie drew in a quiet breath. “I want to believe it with everything in my heart.”

“Then tell us about them, because we will.” She started walking again, taking his arm. “What about your brother? What’s he like?”

Douxie found himself smiling as they walked. “Jim is the best person I know. He’s kind, and strong, and he was the one leading us before I got lost.”

Carl looked up at him. “How old is he?”

“Nearly twenty-one,” Douxie said.

“Does he look like you?” Beth asked.

“They’re not related,” Carl filled in. “Douxie was adopted.”

“True,” Douxie said. “But the funniest thing is we do look alike. For all that we’re not related by blood, people have said we could be twins.”

“What about your mom?” Carl asked. “What’s she like?”

Douxie looked down at him, recognizing that little curl to his lower lip. He knew Carl was asking because he hadn’t been getting along with his mother as of late. “A very sweet woman. She raised her son with kindness and dignity. She’s also a doctor, so if—”

“When,” Beth corrected.

Douxie smiled. “When,” he amended. “We find them, my mother is going to be an invaluable member of our group.”

Carl gave a sudden sigh. “Hopefully we find them before too long…”

Douxie blinked. “Why?”

“Mom’s baby.” Carl said. “I trust Hershel, but he’s a vet. Having a real doctor for her…”

Douxie gently ruffled his hair. “Even if we don’t find them before the baby comes, Hershel will deliver her baby just fine.”

Carl didn’t look overly convinced, but he nodded. “Who else is in your family?”

Douxie laughed. “Well, there’s Steve—he’s… a lot like Glenn. Claire, she’s Jim’s girlfriend, and a very smart girl, and my best friend. There’s Toby, Krel, Mr. Strickler.”

“Mr?” Beth and Carl asked at the same time.

Douxie grinned at them. “A very long story, but Jim’s high-school history teacher married our mum. We still call him “Mr” Last-name sometimes.”

Carl laughed. “That must drive him crazy!”

“It does when we do it to tease him.”

Beth was smiling now. “They all sound wonderful.”

“Oh!” Douxie grinned wider. “I have a cat.”

They both looked delighted.

“Aw, what’s his name?” Beth asked.

“Archie,” Douxie said, though his heart was hurting once more. “Little black short-hair. He’s fast, smart, and surprisingly proved himself as resourceful enough to outrun walkers.”

“I think he’s my favorite,” Carl said.

Douxie snickered.

“What about your boyfriend?” Beth asked expectantly.

Douxie’s smile mellowed. “Carter,” he said softly. “A brilliant, beautiful genius.”

Carl and Beth exchanged amused glances.

“What?” Douxie asked.

“You got this dreamy look in your eyes when you talk about him,” Beth said.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “Well, forgive me for being a romantic.”

“What is he like?” Carl asked.

“Well, he’s sarcastic and can be kind of abrasive.” Douxie said. “But he’s loyal and will protect the people he loves without a second thought to his own safety.”

“He sounds like you,” Carl said.

“He’s better than me,” Douxie said. “In all of this, all he has ever done is protect us. And I love him more than I have loved anyone else.”

Beth was smiling softly. “I like hearing you talk about them. You don’t do it often.”

“It hurts sometimes,” Douxie whispered. “I miss them.”

Beth squeezed his hand. “Keep talking. What does Carter look like?”

Douxie smiled softly as he thought about his lover. “Curly blond hair that’s the perfect shade of gold. Eyes so dark you could get lost in them…” Douxie wandered his gaze over the displays. “Freckles on his cheeks and nose. And he’s short, but don’t ever tell him I said that.”

Beth snorted. “On our honor.”

“What else can I say…” Douxie grinned. “How to describe perfection?”

“Oh, yuck!” Carl gagged. “All this talk about romance is gonna make me throw up.”

Douxie laughed. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started yet! He has the most perfect lips ever. Gods I could kiss him all day long—”

“Ew, goodbye!” Carl shouted and took off down the hall.

Douxie and Beth clutched each other laughing.

“Oh, he’ll grow out of that,” Beth said. “One day, he’ll meet the right girl and then he’ll talk about her the way you talk about Carter.”

Douxie laughed again. “Thank you, Beth. I needed this.”

She smiled at him. “What are friends for?”

They made their way back around to camp within the next ten minutes. Douxie hadn’t found any rhodonite, but there would be other places to check. However he had found a few bone fragments in the curator’s office from different animals, and chalk made from bone dust was the best for writing runes. He’d tucked them quietly in his pocket, not wanting Beth or Carl to ask him about it. That conversation might get awkward. A certain bonus was the first edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula he’d found—also in the curator’s office. Whoever had run the museum was clearly a person of taste.

“Oh good, more books.” Daryl commented the moment Douxie passed him.

Douxie flipped him off. “Don’t rag on me for liking the classics.”

“At this point you’re gonna need a whole separate bag for just the books you’ve been collecting,” Glenn said.

Douxie grinned. “And that’d be so bad because?”

“There’s no where to put them?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m making an investment for our future. We’ll find a place to settle in.”

“And build you a library,” Carol said from where she was helping Maggie and Lori cook dinner.

Douxie laughed, walking over to help. “I wouldn’t object.”

“Well I’ll let you know if I see a Barnes and Nobles on our next run,” Rick retorted lightheartedly.

“Yes please.”

“It’s good to see you’re feeling better,” Lori said.

Douxie gave her a soft smile. “If you want to go take a rest, I can help Maggie and Carol.”

She shook her head. “Douxie, if anyone here needs rest more than me, it’s you.”

“I feel fine.”

“If you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t be fine,” Maggie told him. “And immune or not, you should still take it easy after everything that’s happened to you the last few days.”

“And speaking of,” Lori said. “Those men… do you think they know how to find you?”

Douxie frowned, taking the can opener from Carol. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

They exchanged glances.

“Douxie,” Maggie said, putting her hand over his. “We’re not trying to coddle you. It’s for everyone’s sake.”

Douxie sighed, drawing his hand back to open the can he’d picked up. “To put it bluntly: I don’t know.” He handed the beans to Lori, setting the can opener down. “They’re unfortunately smart and resourceful. I wouldn’t be too surprised if they did.”

“What should we do about it?” Carol asked.

Douxie glared at the floor, then tried to weaken his expression when he looked at her. “The safest answer would be to leave me behind.”

“Obviously we’re not doing that,” Carol said pointedly. “So what’s the other answer?”

Douxie pursed his lips. “Fight them head on and eliminate the problem. But that is risky, and I don’t want to put anyone in any more danger than I already have.”

“You haven’t—”

“Yes I have.” Douxie snapped, leaning back on his heels. He sighed, running a hand down his face. “The only reason we’re here right now is because of me. Because I’m…”

Carol put a hand over his arm. “Nothing about you is dangerous.”

Douxie almost laughed. Instead, he tried for a smile. “Thanks.”

He could see she didn’t believe he’d accepted that.

“Douxie, we care about you and we want you to be safe. That’s why you’re with us,” Lori told him. “And as much as you think you cause us problems, you pull your weight just as hard as anyone else does. Sometimes I think you try to overcompensate and do more than everyone else.”

Douxie gave a wan smile. “Well, cen— years of working customer service jobs gave me a complex about being lazy.”

“So don’t think you’re a burden,” she continued. “Because we’re in this together, all of us. And we love you.”

Douxie swallowed hard, damning himself not to cry. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.” Lori said. “What’s that thing you’re always saying about family?”

Douxie laughed softly. “They’re not just the ones you’re born into, they’re the ones you choose.”

Lori nodded. “We chose you, didn’t we?”

Douxie smiled. “You did.”

“So you know we mean it when we say we want you to be safe.”

“I do.”

“Good,” Carol gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. “Now help us put the beans in the pot, dinner should’ve been ready half an hour ago.”

Douxie chuckled. “Delicious. I love canned beans.”

“You hate canned beans,” Maggie teased.

“Yes, I was being sarcastic.”

“When are you not?”

Chapter Text

“Douxie,” Rick said, coming to stand next to him. “Why?”

Douxie looked at him in confusion for a moment, before he realized Rick was asking about the swords. “Oh.” He smiled and showed him the blade he was sharpening. “I figured nobody else was using them.”

Rick looked thoroughly concerned. “Do you know how to use them?”

“I have hobbies.”

Rick frowned.

Douxie ran the whetstone he’d taken from a different display carefully down the length of the celestial bronze blade. “This is the same metal as my spear, so I know it’s good. Durable, reliable, silent.” He looked up at Rick again. “Think of it as a really long knife.”

Rick crossed his arms. “Why do you need two?”

Douxie shrugged. “They’re dual blades, they’re meant to be used together.”

Rick sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think you were plucked out of the Dark Ages.”

Douxie snerked. “Well, you never know.”

He carefully crouched next to Douxie, to be eye level with him. “You promise me you know how to use those responsibly?”

Douxie looked at him. “Yes?”

“I don’t want anyone to get accidentally decapitated.”

Douxie smiled. “Well, you should be more worried about someone else trying to swing this blade.”

Rick and Douxie both eyed Carl once before looking back at each other. The boy’s father smiled, giving a nod.

“Alright, I trust you.” He said. “You gonna make yourself another scabbard?”

“Mhm,” Douxie had already turned back to his sharpening. “I might go looking around again later—maybe tomorrow. I need some leather and buckles.”

“I’ll go with you,” Rick said. “Daryl and I were gonna do a run tomorrow for some more food, you can come with us.”

Douxie flashed him an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

He nodded with an acknowledging grunt. He pat Douxie’s shoulder as he got to his feet, making his rounds around the rest of camp.

Douxie allowed himself a softer smile as he continued his work. He was formulating the right time to tell Rick—and consequently everyone else—what he really was. Who he really was. It was nerve-wracking, but he was growing more confident that Rick was figuring it out already, and that if he was suspicious but still treating Douxie nicely, he would accept it. And maybe if the air was cleared, they could truly help Douxie find his family.

The run was relatively uneventful. Douxie got the supplies he needed, and Rick and Daryl found more food and some gun ammo on their way back. Alas, no bookstores. They were making their way back inside the museum when a pebble skittered across the parking lot.

They spun around, seeing nothing there.

“Go inside,” Rick told him, handing him the bag that held the food, gun at the ready.

“It was probably just an animal,” Douxie said, though his nerves were prickling.

“Maybe, but go inside anyway.” Rick told him. He looked at Daryl. “Let’s do a quick sweep, make sure no hordes are rounding out this way.”

Daryl nodded and the two were off. Douxie watched them until the disappeared behind a corner. He slipped quietly inside, standing still for a moment to listen.

It was quiet. It was always quiet. Still, he couldn’t shake off the sudden feeling that somebody was watching him.

Taking in a breath, he turned and started heading deeper into the museum, towards their camp. Despite his feeling of general unease, he made it back with little problem. He found two walkers in a corridor and got rid of them quickly. But even as he took care of them, his unease grew. Something wasn’t right.

“Douxie?” Glenn called as he made his way up the stairs and came into view of their campsite. “Hey, you okay?”

“Where are Rick and Daryl?” Carol asked, looking past him as if she was expecting them to appear.

“They heard something out in the parking lot and went to check it out,” Douxie said softly, glancing behind him. “They should be in soon…”

“Soon?” Glenn questioned. He glanced over the rail, like he might be able to spot them walking inside. He looked at Douxie, lips pressed together. “Do you think it was… those guys?”

Douxie bit his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Alarmed glances were exchanged amongst them.

“Maybe I should go outside and check on them,” Glenn suggested, gathering his gun and knife.

A sudden loud sound echoed outside.

A gunshot.

Then shouting.

More gunfire.

Douxie’s heart sunk into his stomach. He couldn’t breathe.

“Hershel,” he said, voice trembling. “Hershel, get the kids—“

“DOUXIE, LOOK OUT!” Beth shrieked.

Douxie turned just in time to dodge the blade heading for his face. He stumbled back, nearly falling over.

The witch-hunter sneered at him, ripping his blade up from where it had sunk into the rail. “Gotcha.”

“Hey!” Glenn shouted, gun up and pointed at him. “Get the hell out of here, or I will shoot you!”

All he got was a nasty grin. “We outnumber you, little man. Give him to us, and the rest of you can live.”

Douxie flinched at the sound of more gunfire outside. Then the sound of several doors swinging open—hitting the walls, and windows being shattered. They were surrounded.

“Hear that?” The witch-hunter taunted. “Only a matter of time before you all die. And for what? To protect a godless demon? Do you even know what he is?”

For half a second, their eyes flit to Douxie. He could see them wondering, puzzling about what that meant. But then T-Dog raised a rifle, eyes narrowed.

“We’ll kill you all,” the witch-hunter promised.

Douxie crept back, lowering himself to reach his swords as quietly as he could. Glenn clocked his movements, and understood. Keep his focus off Douxie.

“He’s just a kid man,” T-Dog said, nearly pleading. He didn’t want to shed blood… but he would if he had to. “We’ve got kids in here. She’s pregnant,” he nodded at Lori. “Just let us go.”

“We will.” He said. “If you give us hi—”

He’d looked over the moment Douxie got his fist around the hilt of his sword. His eyes widened, then contorted with anger. He shouted and struck. Douxie ripped the sword out of the scabbard, parrying the blow.

“FUCKING RUN!” He shouted, dodging another swing, picking up the other sword. “GO!”

“Douxie—”

“Get them to safety, Glenn!”

Torn, but knowing they were out of time, Glenn grabbed his weapons and took half of their group with him. The ones who were too young, too old, or too pregnant to fight.

He blocked another swing, aiming a blow at the witch-hunter’s leg. He danced out of the way, keeping his distance. With how much magic he and the others had consumed and absorbed over the centuries, they were practically of magic themselves. Which made the whole thing so much more ironic.

“Find Rick!” Douxie shouted at the others.

“Douxie, no!” Maggie countered, pointing her gun at the man.

“Maggie, they aren’t after you!” Douxie hissed, looking for an opening. “I can handle this twat.”

“Douxie, I ain’t leaving you—”

“Yes you are!” Douxie shouted, and pushed them down the hallway… with a burst of sky blue magic. He couldn’t even see their faces, but he didn’t care.

The witch-hunter started laughing. “Finally revealed yourself, eh? How long is it gonna take them to turn on ya, I wonder?”

Douxie snarled, and struck.

He wasn’t as good as Jim or Carter at swordplay, but he’d grown up in Camelot. He’d apprenticed under Merlin fucking Ambrosius. He knew enough to keep himself alive.

They went back and forth for a while, iron and celestial bronze clanging, sparking every time they clashed together. It seemed they were fairly evenly matched, until the witch-hunter left himself open too long.

Douxie swung, sword colliding with meat and bones. The man gasped, flailing as Douxie ripped his blade out of his ribs. He fell to the floor, bleeding profusely.

“Not even a spark of magic for that,” Douxie hissed at him. “Because I don’t need it to kill you.”

Wordlessly, he drove the tip into his skull to prevent an undead uprising. Then he turned, adrenaline still kicking in his veins. Something animal and feral reared in him. Anger drove his every move now, as he started stalking down the halls. He was no longer the prey, but the predator. He was not the hunted, but the hunter.

He was a wizard, born of magic and fire. And he was going to kill these men for threatening the people he loved.

There was still gunfire coming from outside, but it was inside now too. Maggie and T-Dog, still shaken and confused by what had happened in that hallway, were racing to find Rick and Daryl. Whatever it was Douxie was hiding…. they’d deal with it. Maggie didn’t know what to think. All the stories she’d heard in her childhood swirled in her head—of demons and angels… giants and their kin. That man’s warnings rang like an alarm in her mind, but also he had threatened to kill them all, so the idea of Douxie being any more dangerous than him was… a stretch.

“Maggie!” T-Dog shouted right as they turned a corner.

A walker was there, immediately snarling and grabbing for her.

She shouted, and swung her knife. They took no time to be shocked, and kept running.

“What do you think that was?” T-Dog asked.

Maggie pursed her lips. “I don’t know, but we can’t worry about it now.”

There was blood and shouting and screaming. They’d gotten separated from Glenn and the others, and were trying to hide as an actual army was swarming the museum. All of this for Douxie? Lori couldn’t believe it… she didn’t understand it. But right now, her most pressing concern was keeping her son alive.

“Carl, come on!” She whisper-shouted.

“Mom, we need to stand and fight!” Carl demanded. “Why are we running!?”

“Carl, we can’t fight these men,” his mother begged. “We don’t stand a chance, we need to find Dad and the others. We need to be safe.”

“What about Douxie!”

“He can handle himself!”

“But—”

“You should listen to your mother, boy.” A new voice, low, gravelly, and accented echoed down the hall. A man stepped into view, carrying a crossbow in one hand, and a wicked looking knife in the other. “Should’a ran when you had the chance.”

Lori felt her breath be stolen from her body. She grabbed Carl’s shoulders, holding him close. “Stay back.”

“Oh, don’t you worry ma’am,” he said, feigning politeness. “I’m not interested in hurting you or your little boy. I just want to know where the witch is.”

Lori held her breath. “What witch?”

He laughed, a harsh laugh that made her skin crawl. “Come now, you know who we’re here for. The witch boy. That little half-demon spawn from the Dark Ages?”

Lori stared at him, now convinced he was crazy. “What?”

“Now I know he hasn’t told you the truth,” he said. “Why would he? They’re liars, all of them. See, it’s in their nature. But I’ll tell you,” he was getting closer, eyes dark and glinting with malice. “We’re not the ones putting you in danger. He is. See now, your husband won’t understand, but you seem like a clever woman.” He was close enough that if Lori wanted to, she could reach out and touch him. “Hisirdoux Casperan is a fae. A being of another world, a dark and deceptive creature who lies and feeds on the naivety of mortals.”

“You’re crazy,” Lori hissed.

He smiled. “I have been ordained by God Himself, to bring these creatures to justice. Now, little Douxie has been on my list for centuries. He’s a slippery thing though, and has gotten away every single time. But not this time. Because he’s surrounded himself with you all, because for some reason—a reason I thank God for—his magic is running dry. So he needs a wall, per se. Somewhere safe to be, while he recuperates that which makes him dangerous. And I’ll bet once his witch craft is all settled in again, he’ll leave you all in the lurch to be torn apart by the dead. It’s in his nature.”

“Deiniol.” A new voice hissed.

Their heads snapped to the side. Lori gasped, clutching her son closer.

Douxie was standing there, half-hidden by shadows, eyes glowing. His expression was swathed with rage. The air where he stood felt like static, hot and popping with energy.

Deiniol stepped back from mother and son, raising a brow. He studied Douxie’s state, the blood and gore, the sound of blood steaming on his skin. He must have been scorching to the touch. He looked like a supernova.

“Been on a killing spree?” He asked, looking bored.

Douxie’s swords were held in tight, white-knuckled grips. “Step off, leave them alone.”

“Douxie?” Carl asked, voice unsteady, unsure.

Douxie didn’t dare take his eyes off his opponent. “I’ll only ask you once.”

Deiniol sneered, tipping his face to the side. He dropped his crossbow, and drew a second knife. “Been waiting for this rematch, wizard.”

Douxie hissed like a snake, and shot forward—inhumanly fast. Lori didn’t even know how Deiniol was keeping up. Their blades were clashing, moving so fast, they were nothing but a blur of dark clothes and an unnatural blue glow. Every now and then, when the man’s blade would cut too close to Douxie’s skin, it began glowing red-hot. They fought until Deiniol had Douxie pushed towards a wall and was closing in.

“Douxie!” Carl cried.

Lori grabbed him, holding him close to her. She didn’t want him to watch this, but she couldn’t look away either.

Then, there was a scream. Time seemed to slow, the air turning to static. One of the shield displays on the wall flew through the air of its own volition, slamming into the side of the man’s head, sending him falling to the ground.

Douxie looked shocked, glow flickering. Then his burning blue eyes snapped to Carl, horror wrote on his face. “No…”

Deiniol was already picking himself up, growling in rage. He too, was looking at her son. Then he whipped around to face Douxie again, snarling. “COLLECTING THEM THEN, HUH?!” He had picked his crossbow up, pointing the bolt at them. “I’ll end all of ya, every single last one of your evil race.”

He pulled the trigger.

Douxie roared in defiance, and the building shook. He shot forward, slicing the crossbow bolt out of the air moments before it could hit Carl. He fixed his seething gaze on Deiniol, the polished stone floor cracking where he stepped.

Deiniol suddenly looked much more terrified than he had been. He scrambled back, fumbling for another bolt. But before he could get his hands on one, Douxie was on top of him—jamming his blade into the man’s gut, wordlessly ending him then and there.

He stood there for a few long moments, breathing heavily.

“Douxie?” Carl called, voice shaking.

Douxie stepped back from the body, turning towards them. “Make sure he doesn’t come back,” he told Lori, stalking away.

It took Lori a few long seconds to realize what he meant. To kill the brain. She turned to watch Douxie leave, horror and terror crashing into her chest. “Where are you going?”

Douxie looked over his shoulder at them, something unnatural and just off about his face suddenly. He was angry, sparks flickering around his body. “I’m finishing this.”

He tracked them down one by one, ending them all with the blades he’d recovered and the magic they hated. He tore through the museum, putting an end to their miserable existences. He slaughtered them until they went from hunting him, to running from him.

They would not leave here alive.

By the time they made it to the building, Rick didn’t know if any of them were still alive. These people had twice the numbers, and they were all healthy, strong men with weapons like he’d never seen. And Rick’s group? They barely had the man power to fight back against a small horde, let alone adversaries that could use weapons.

“Rick!” Maggie’s voice rang from down one of the side halls. She and T-Dog came barreling from out of nowhere, obviously shaken.

“Maggie!” Daryl did a quick look-around at their surroundings before meeting her halfway. “Where is everyone else?”

“Are they alive?” Rick asked, hoping beyond hope Lori and Carl were okay.

“Last we saw, yeah.” T-Dog said.

“But Douxie…” Maggie said, she and T-Dog exchanging looks.

“What about Douxie?” Daryl said, a flicker of fear crossing his face. Fear that these men had accomplished their mission long before anyone could have helped the poor kid.

“It’s… hard to explain,” T-Dog said, shaking his head. “But I think I understand now why those men are after him.”

“What?” Rick demanded, needing more than just that. But before either of them could explain, there was a loud crashing boom, and then the sound of screaming.

Immediately, they all drew their weapons—ready to fight and protect their people. But then something happened. Something none of them expected.

Three of the men who’d been hunting Douxie came barreling into the main lobby, covered in blood and terrified for their lives.

Rick drew his gun up, pointing it at them. “Where is he!?”

They skidded to a stop, panting, shaking with fear.

“Please,” the one in the middle begged, blood dripping out of his mouth. “Help us… tell him— call him off.”

“What?” Daryl demanded.

A harsh ripping sound echoed from the balcony that overlooked the lobby. They looked up. Startled gasps passed through them as they watched a screaming man be flung from the top of the balcony by an invisible force, crashing through the rail before crumbling lifelessly to the floor with a splat.

A figure on the balcony appeared, dust and shadows veiling their features—but Rick somehow knew it was Douxie.

The kid leapt from the balcony floor and landed on his own two feet from three stories up, looking hardly fazed. The ground cracked where he landed, and now that he was in the sunlight, they could see him clearly. He was covered in blood and gore, face contorted with pure rage, eyes glowing, loose strands of hair wisping and floating around his face. The air was charged where he stepped. This wasn’t a boy… this was… this was something more like a god.

“No—” the same man from before begged, his voice trembling. “Please, Hisirdoux we— kkahh!”

He was cut off by a harsh choking sound. His hands flew to his throat as he was lifted into the air by an invisible hand. Douxie hadn’t moved a muscle, but that hot static in the air rose by ten.

“You dare beg me for mercy?” He hissed, voice echoing in layers—like he was speaking with thousands of others. “After all you’ve done to me? To my people!?”

The man was kicking and letting out pathetic choked screams. “I don’t…” he gasped, tears strolling down his fae. “I don’t want to die.”

Douxie sneered, something long and sharp flashing in his mouth. Fangs? “Neither did the thousands of innocents you slaughtered in the name of ‘God’. You stole and you raped and you killed. You drained my people of their magic to sustain yourselves. Do you know the irony of that, Aidan?”

The man—Aidan—was suddenly dropped, left on his knees gasping as the creature that was Hisirdoux Casperan approached him menacingly. Douxie slammed his boot into Aidan’s chest, pinning him to the ground. He struggled, clawing at Douxie’s ankle—but there was nothing to be done.

The rest of them still stood there, watching in shock.

“You became a being of magic by stealing the magic of those you killed. That’s why this,” he unslung his spear from across his back, swords nowhere in sight. “Hurts you.”

Aidan was sobbing, begging in Welsh. Rick didn’t speak the language, but he understood it all the same. But there was no remorse on Douxie’s face. Just endless amounts of pain and anger, rising to the surface of his being. Years—maybe centuries of injustice demanding to be settled.

The other two men hadn’t moved. They just stared at the scene in stunned, horrified silence.

But one of them spoke, maybe hoping to placate his anger. Rick didn’t need to be told it wouldn’t work.

“Please,” he spoke in a soft, scared voice. “What… what can we do to make this better? We had… no idea you were…”

Douxie hissed, an animal like hiss that made them all flinch. “That I was what?” He demanded, voice having returned to normal. He pointed his spear at him. “You hunted me on Berk. Viggo Grimborn told you what I was. Don’t act like you didn’t know of the fae blood in my veins.”

“We…” he sucked in a harried breath. “Didn’t know you would…”

“Retaliate?” Douxie looked like he might have laughed if he weren’t so angry. “Rip you apart for all the friends you murdered? For the dragon you killed?” His eyes darkened, his voice taking on an even more dangerous edge. “For nearly murdering my soulmate?”

“Phrys, stop talking,” Aidan begged. “He won’t spare us.”

“No,” Douxie said, looking down at him. “I won’t. Especially not now, when you and your bastardous crew tried to kill these people for nothing but harboring me. If I hadn’t stopped you, killed you, Rick would have.”

Those gold eyes flit to the man in question, then back to Aidan.

“When he found out your man would have killed his son.”

Rick felt his own anger spike. “What?”

Douxie didn’t elaborate beyond that. He leveled his spear at Aidan’s throat, a cold look crossing his face. “Pray the gods receive you kindly. But I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. I’ve heard Oldos doesn’t take kindly to rapists and murderers.”

The tip of that spear sunk into Aidan’s throat in seconds, driving out the light in his eyes just as quickly. Douxie calmly drew the spear back, disregarding his own group’s look of horror. He turned to the man who’d spoken—Phrys.

“Run and die, or fight and die.” Douxie told him coldly. “It’s your choice.”

“Not much of one,” Phrys growled, before raising his sword to strike.

Chapter Text

Watching Douxie fight—actually fight—with no inhibitions, no holding back? It was terrifying. That sweet, scared of the world kid Rick had adopted into his fold wasn’t there anymore. All that was left of him was feral anger and a thirst for blood and vengeance.

But more than that? More than the bloodbath Douxie was wreaking—was the obviousness of it all. It was everything coming together, falling into place, making sense.

Hisirdoux Casperan was something nobody could comprehend. Could be prepared for. Douxie was… something otherworldly. Mystical. It all made sense now—asking Rick what he’d do if he found out magic existed. Douxie hadn’t been asking out of pure curiosity, or some sort of existential questioning. Douxie had asked because he’d wanted to tell Rick what he was.

That thought, that realization, made him take pause. Because through all the lies, Douxie had wanted to tell Rick the truth… he’d wanted to trust him, but just needed to be sure he could.

“Rick what do we do?” Glenn asked, gun half-raised, watching Douxie fight those men like a rabid animal. The air was hot, electric. Douxie’s spear left trails of blue light wherever it swung.

“Do we help, or…” T-Dog asked.

Rick grit his teeth. Magic or no, Douxie was still one of theirs. “Wait for an opening,” he said. “There’s only two more of them, this should be over soon.”

Right as he’d said it, one of the hunters had tossed Douxie through a pedestal display with strength unnatural. The pedestal crumbled, but already Douxie was scrambling to his feet—just in time to block a bullet with his own unnatural… gifts. The shield he’d thrown up in front of him was the same blue as every other construct he’d conjured. But this one wavered. Douxie’s arms were shaking, beads of sweat rolling down his face and neck. Blood was trickling from his nose. He was exhausted. Whatever this was, it was taking a physical toll on him.

One of the hunters saw it too, and began unloading his clip into the shield. With every bullet, the shield cracked more and more. It looked like he could feel the impact from each shot, grimacing and trying to hold his ground.

“DAD!” Carl’s voice came from somewhere, echoing across the main lobby.

Douxie’s eyes snapped open when he heard Carl. Something like panic overtook him and he shoved his arms forward. The two hunters were thrown back by his invisible push, and Douxie shot to his feet.

He swiveled, spotting Carl, Lori, and the others at the same time Rick did.

“CARL, STAY THERE!” Rick instructed, beginning to advance to help Douxie. “WE’LL TAKE CARE OF THIS!”

“NO!” Douxie shouted, a blue dome shooting up around himself and the hunters—containing them… and trapping him.

“Douxie, what are you doing!?” Maggie demanded.

“Buying you time,” he said, voice ragged and heavy. He was so tired. He looked at Rick, weary but determined. “Get them out of here. I can finish this, and you…” he took in a deep breath. “You protect your family.”

“Douxie we can help,” Rick said, desperate to talk him down from this insane self sacrifice before those men came to. “Let us help you.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “This is my fight… I should have done this a long time ago… I let them roam free to murder innocents for too long.”

“That don’t mean you have to die for it,” Daryl said. “Come on, kid. Be smart about this.”

An enraged yell made them all jump. The one man from earlier, Phrys, had gotten up already. He was bleeding from a head wound, looking at Douxie so viciously it made Rick’s blood curdle. He bent down and picked up a spear that had fallen from a display rack, breathing hard. Douxie gripped his own spear tighter.

“I will die for honor, for my mission, and for my people,” Phrys growled. “And I will take you with me.”

Douxie stepped back from the edge of the dome. He scooped up a bronze shield, leveling his spear. “I wouldn’t count on it, Phrys. I don’t die easily.”

Phrys roared and shot forward. Douxie dodged out of the way of his first several strikes, blocking them with the shield. For several long moments, the fight was a blur to watch. This went on long enough for the others to have long since joined Rick on the ground floor—all of them watching, none of them able to help.

“What’s happening?” Hershel asked, wide-eyed and horrified at the sight before them all.

“Well, it turns out those guys were witch-hunters.” T-Dog said. “And we think Douxie is actually some sort of sorcerer or something?”

There was silence for a long moment, before there were several “what!?”s.

Phrys’ spear sliced his arm open, cutting through the bandage that covered his walker-inflicted wound. Douxie swallowed the pain and dodged left, blocking another strike with his shield. He retreated a few feet back, stumbling over bits of debris. He looked up just in time to see that spearhead sailing for his face.

If he’d been mortal, it would have skewered him—but he wasn’t and it didn’t. His reaction time was just fast enough to raise the shield and catch the spear. It cracked the shield down the middle, but Douxie didn’t even slow down. He chucked his own spear, missing by only a few inches—but it did the job. Phrys had flinched and left himself open and distracted.

Douxie sprinted forward, ripping the other spear out of the shield—tossing the destroyed shield as he did—and slid to a knee to get just the right angle and—

Phrys’ last expression of terror was permanently engraved on his face. Blood pooled from his neck, down the shaft of the spear where Douxie had pierced his throat. The witch hunter fell back, dead. He stood there, for a moment, breathing hard, adrenaline still pumping in his veins.

But then he heard someone scream his name, their voice muffled from behind his conjured dome. Something red hot passed close to his skin. Time seemed to slow, Douxie turned his head in time to see Llion, the hunter he’d nearly forgotten about, swinging his iron knife right for his chest. He dodged only fast enough for it pierce his collarbone and not his heart.

The pain was fierce and it burned. Douxie cried out as the force of the knife pushed him hard into a glass display case. The glass shattered, raining down razor sharp shards around the both of them.

Llion sneered and twisted the knife. The blade caught on bone, and Douxie felt his collarbone snap—and so did his concentration to uphold that dome shield. It shattered too as he screamed, the burning agony of the iron overwhelming.

A gun went off, and from one single moment to the next, Llion fell to the ground with a bullet in his skull.

Douxie gasped and staggered trying to stand, but crumbled to his knees—pain making him dizzy. He brought his hands shakily to the knife hilt, but couldn’t even get his fingers around it before people yelling captured his attention—and so did the shotgun barrel being pointed at his face.

“Woah, woah!” Daryl shouted, trying to wrestle the shotgun out of Hershel’s hands. “What the hell are you doing!?”

“Hershel, put it down.” Rick said, trying to keep his voice steady. But that look of terror—of betrayal—in Douxie’s eyes was already making him desperate. Rick knew what Hershel was thinking. Even for all that the apocalypse had done to destroy the world, Hershel was still a man of God.

“What is he?” Hershel demanded, even now what he was doing was so clearly conflicting with his own morality. Douxie was one of them, but he was scaring them too.

“He saved us!” Carol shouted.

“He brought them here!”

“He’s just a kid, put it down!”

Everyone was yelling, screaming. Rick could see everyone was scared. He needed to get this situation under control before someone died for no damn good reason.

A choked gasping sound was loud enough to be heard over the yelling. Slowly, the noise ceased, and all eyes turned to Douxie.

He was sobbing.

Sobbing, with one arm curled around his middle—the other barely holding onto the knife hilt in his shoulder.

“Douxie,” Daryl started, still keeping the shotgun barrel pointed away from the kid. “Hey, it’s okay—”

“No it’s not!” He cried, trembling. But whether or not it was from fear or pain, Rick couldn’t tell. “I lied to you all and… I— I brought them here… I should have left.”

Soft protests scattered through the group. Rick took a step towards him, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked back, Lori gripping his wrist—terrified and unsure. Rick shook his head, breaking her hold easily.

“Then tell us,” Maggie said, before he could move again. “Who are you… what are you?”

Douxie was sucking in ragged breaths. It took him a while to look at them, eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I…” he started, voice hoarse. “Am a wizard… I’m not… I didn’t make a deal for this power, I was born with it.” He looked down, looking at his hand, still trembling. “I…” he sucked in a shuddering breath, lifting his head and looking right at Hershel. “You can’t condemn me for something I can’t help. I’m not evil, I’m just… different.”

That made Hershel lower the gun, stop fighting Daryl. It was still taken from him, and a somber silence fell over the group.

“When did you…” Rick sighed, getting closer. “When did you find out… that you had—”

“I was five,” Douxie whispered. “And…” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I’m… actually nine-hundred years old.”

“You’re… what?” T-Dog asked, stunned.

“I—” another hiccuping breath. His eyes were clouding over with pain. “I just wanted…”

Rick knelt in front of him, wanting to reach out first. His shaky gaze met Rick’s, and absolutely nothing in his eyes left Rick with the impression that Douxie was dangerous. At least, to him or the rest of the group.

“It’s okay,” Rick told him gently. He braced Douxie’s shoulder, taking hold of the knife hilt. The iron beneath was burning hot, cauterizing the wound while the blade was still buried in his skin.

Douxie gave a small permissive nod of consent, squeezing his eyes shut. Rick gripped the handle tightly and yanked the knife out as fast as he could. Douxie still let out a ragged wail of pain, doubling over. Rick caught him fast, holding his hand over the wound. It wasn’t bleeding much, but there was a definitive break in his collarbone they’d have to set as soon as they could.

By now, the poor kid was wheezing and nearly hyperventilating, shaking with sobs of agony.

“Help him,” Rick said over his shoulder, looking at Hershel. When the old man hesitated to move, Rick set a glare at him, voice petering to a growl. “Now!”

“Maggie, Glenn,” Hershel still sounded unsure, but his own moral code of honor was stronger now than his religious confusion. “Go get the med bag back at camp, make it quick.”

Hershel approached, followed closely by Daryl. Evidently, Daryl didn’t trust him much still around Douxie right now.

They both knelt on the ground, and Rick lifted his hand so Hershel could assess the wound himself.

“What should the rest of us do?” Carol asked.

“Get everything ready to move, with half the windows and doors broken, we can’t stay here anymore,” Rick said.

They all moved quickly, though Lori and Carl stayed hovering nearby.

“Here, lean him back, support his weight.” Hershel instructed.

Rick helped maneuver Douxie to lay nearly on his shoulder and chest, squeezing his free arm every time Douxie whimpered in pain.

“Are you really nine-hundred years old?” Hershel asked, trying to keep his voice light—though it was obvious he was shaken up.

Douxie’s eyes fluttered open, taking in several deep breaths to ground himself. “Mhm…” his face scrounged up in pain when Hershel lightly pressed down on the break. “Immortality to a fault… happens when your natural magic pushes and becomes too strong. It… halts a wizard’s age. I’ve been a teenager for nine centur— AH!”

“Sorry,” Hershel placated, lifting his hand away. He looked at Rick. “I’m not sure how to set this without a surgery.”

Douxie shakily pushed himself off Rick, breathing hard still. “I might be able to set it myself… if you can keep the bone from moving.”

“How?” Daryl asked, brows furrowed with deep concern he didn’t normally show.

Douxie took in a ground breath, eyes closing for a moment. “Telekinesis… I’ve been setting my own broken bones for the better half of the millennia.”

Hershel looked between the three of them, still unsure. Eventually, he nodded. “If you can do your part, then I can do mine.” He put a hand on Douxie’s arm, getting him to look him in the eye. “But you’ll need an arm sling, and moving this arm will be out of the question. No exceptions.”

Douxie gave a small nod. It seemed even that small amount of movement was agonizing. “Don’t worry, I heal fast.” He gave a soft, nearly self deprecating laugh. “More perks of being a wizard.”

Rick put a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Douxie glanced at him tiredly. “You sure you can do it?”

Douxie let out a hollow, pained laugh. “Who else?”

Rick nodded, looking at Hershel. “We need to wait on them?”

“It’d be better to do it now, before he passes out,” Hershel said.

“Alright,” Daryl said, tone gruff, moving to Douxie’s front to help keep him steady.

Together, the three of them held bracing grips on Douxie as he shakily moved his hand over the break. The veins under his fingers began pulsing with blue light, skin burning hot. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows scrunched in concentration.

Slowly, the broken piece of his collarbone began moving on its own. Douxie’s glowing fingers twitched. He flinched and swallowed a whimper of pain. It was slow, and the longer it went on, the more ragged Douxie’s breathing got. Just as Hershel was signaling for him to stop, the skin around the break had bruised dark purple and red—and Maggie and Glenn were running back with the medical bag.

“Okay, that looks like it’ll heal alright.” Hershel said, taking the bag from his daughter.

Douxie’s power shut down with a near audible sound. He almost slumped forward, panting heavily. The bags under his eyes had grown darker, skin pale and sweaty.

Hershel began to carefully wrap and tape the area with what little gauze and pieces of duct tape they had. “I don’t have any medical tape, so this will have to do.”

Douxie laughed, swaying even while kneeling like this. “That’s alright, once I had to use one of those old timey cheese cloths to patch myself up.”

“Well, whatever works,” Hershel said, trying to lighten his tone. “Here, we’ll use this old piece of fabric I’ve been collecting to keep your arm in place until we find something better.”

Douxie was quiet, shaking still as Hershel tied the make-shift arm sling around his neck. The whole area was quiet, watching as Hershel patched up an actual wizard.

Rick gently rubbing Douxie’s other arm, trying to help him not to spiral. He wasn’t entirely sure it was working. “Better?”

Douxie began nodding… before that became shaking, and that started delving into more sobs. He held his hand over his face, breaking down again.

“Hey,” Daryl called gently. “Kid, what’s wrong?”

Douxie tried to catch his breath. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”

“It’s okay, Douxie.” Rick told him, glancing momentarily at Hershel as the old man got to his feet. Then he looked back at Douxie, squeezing his good shoulder. “None of this is your fault.”

“Were you going to tell us at all?” Carl suddenly asked, looking rather sick to his stomach.

Douxie sucked in a shaking, sad breath, nodding carefully. “I wanted to…” he looked at Rick, eyes more bloodshot than ever. “I really did. I just… I wanted to tell you my way… in my own time. I needed… I needed—” he sniffed, looking away again. “I couldn’t be sure… I was safe,” he whispered. “I needed to be sure I was safe.”

“I get that,” Rick assured, because he really did. “But we can discuss this later, okay? We need to get moving and you need to rest.”

Douxie looked… mildly surprised. “I’m… going with you?”

Daryl scoffed. “‘Course you are, crazy punk bastard. We ain’t leavin’ you here just ‘cause you glow in the dark.”

They packed the cars quickly and quietly and were on the road before dark. They had no idea where they were going, they just knew they couldn’t stay at that museum.

Rick looked behind him for a moment. Carl was asleep against his window, and Douxie was staring blankly out of his.

“Hey,” he called.

Tired gold eyes flit to his.

“Get some sleep. You’re done in, kiddo.”

Douxie let out a deep sigh. “You’re going to have to talk to them about it. About me.”

Rick looked at Lori. She had her lips pursed, and didn’t offer him any particularly helpful expression. He glanced at Douxie again. “Is this about Hershel and the gun?”

“Yes,” Douxie answered plainly.

“Douxie, I want you to understand plain and clear.” Rick said, fixing his eyes on the road again. “After everything that you’ve done for us? For my family specifically?” He looked back again. Douxie’s expression hadn’t changed. He was too exhausted to spare any more fear or sadness. “You’re not leaving unless you want to. Okay? I know more than half of us are…”

“Religious?” Douxie suggested.

“Something like that,” Rick said, turning his eyes to the road. “And I know Hershel is more convicted than all of us, but you more than proved your intentions to protect this group. I know you’re a good person. Magic powers—or whatever you want to call them—isn’t going to change that.”

He snorted. “So you’ll tell them all to suck it up?”

“Yes.” Rick stated plainly. Douxie got very quiet. “Whatever you are, whatever you call yourself, you’re part of this group. That’s that.”

“But that does beg the question,” Lori said carefully. She glanced at Douxie. “Why haven’t you used your powers before now? Why now?”

Douxie sighed again, and took a moment to answer. “Remember how I said I’m immune?”

“Yes?” Lori answered cautiously.

“I think what actually happens is that my magic burns the virus out of my system if I’m bit or scratched.” He gave a long pause. “But it… weakens me. Depletes my natural source of magic in a way where I can’t use it like I normally would. It’s… why I stayed when I woke up on the farm. Because I was injured, and couldn’t use my magic.”

“Do you rely on it?” Rick asked.

“Maybe a bit too much,” Douxie admitted quietly. “I’ve been bitten twice, scratched once. That second time…” he heaved another deep sigh. “Is what brought me to you all.”

“So… you have, what?” Lori questioned. “A tolerance to the virus?”

“More like a really powerful immune system,” Douxie said. “I don’t know if my body has a limit… but I’ve spent nine centuries on this planet and so far nothing has killed me yet.”

Rick set his jaw, thinking. He glanced at the two boys in the back seat through the rear view mirror. Douxie still looked awful and exhausted. “Are you really nine-hundred?”

Douxie smiled, though the action was pained and small. “Yeah. I look good for my age, don’t I?”

Rick nearly laughed. “Nine-hundred but still just nineteen?”

He shrugged. “A blessing and a curse.”

Rick nodded, thinking on that. After a moment, he said, “Remember on the rooftop back at the strip mall? When you asked me what I’d do if I’d ever met a wizard?”

Slowly, Douxie nodded. “Yeah?”

Rick looked at him again through the mirror. “Do you know how this thing started?”

Douxie sighed, looking out the window again. “I wish I did. I think someone messed with something they shouldn’t have… but even I’ve never seen anything like this. Let alone on a global scale.”

“Is there anything you can do about it?” Lori asked.

“Nothing I’ve tried works,” Douxie said. “And I have been trying. But if I don’t know what it is, I don’t even know where to start.”

Lori sighed, burying her face in her hands. She took in a deep breath before looking up, then behind her. “Douxie?” She nearly whispered.

Douxie’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing. “Yes?”

She glanced at their son next to Douxie, taking in another breath. “That man… you killed? The one who cornered me and Carl?”

Rick felt his heart jump. “What?”

Lori put her hand on his arm. She didn’t take her eyes off Douxie. “What he was saying… about you collecting “them”? And that thing that happened with the display… you looked shocked. It wasn’t you who did it.”

Douxie was quiet, eyes confirming everything she was saying.

Lori squeezed Rick’s arm, seeming to be trying to calm her nerves. She faced Douxie and spoke clearly, though not without fear in her voice. “Douxie, is Carl a wizard?”

Everything in the car went silent as stone. Rick tensed, waiting to hear what Douxie would say. He looked at the boy he’d taken in, taking his eyes off the road. Douxie had tears in his eyes, looking like the question had physically pained him to be asked.

After an agonizing silence, Douxie nodded.

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarse. “Yes, your son is a wizard.”

Chapter Text

“Explain it all from the beginning. The way you wanted to.”

They had stopped at a self-serve gas station. Everyone had long since decided it was time they got the story. The explanation. Even now, Douxie saw doubt in the eyes of some. Doubt of whether or not he could be trusted. Doubt of whether or not he was even human.

Douxie took in a deep breath, rubbing his face tiredly. He was leaning on the hood of one of the cars, everyone else in a semi-circle facing him. He knew this was only a matter of time. He just wished he wasn’t so damn tired for it.

“We’re listening,” Rick promised softly.

Douxie looked up at them all, eyes narrowing. “Before I start, I want everyone to understand that everything I’m about to say is true. I’ve dealt too long with too many mortals gainsaying me because they think they know better.”

They took that in, then there were some nods and some murmurs of agreement.

Douxie took in another deep breath, and began.

“My name is Hisirdoux Casperan,” he said. “I was born to two wizards in 12th Century Wales in the land of Albion, right on the cusp of Camelot’s borders.”

He got startled blinks. Some exchanged glances. But they stayed quiet and let him talk.

“I was orphaned when I was five, thanks in no short part to Arthur Pendragon himself. The only reason I made it to puberty was because my familiar took pity on me…” he looked at Carl, then Beth. “Aforementioned cat, actually.” He breathed again, continuing. “I made it to the city of Camelot when I was twelve. Merlin himself… saw something in me. He took me in and gave me the chance to be his apprentice.” He looked around. “Any questions so far?”

There was silence. Even Rick looked at a loss for words.

Then T-Dog asked. “How can you prove any of that?”

Douxie almost laughed. “Well, I’d show you proof but I’m a bit short on that. All you have is my word.”

“Which we’ll take.” Rick said, glancing at the others, nearly in challenge. “Because you’ve given us no reason to believe you otherwise.”

“Except he did lie,” Maggie reminded them all.

“I think I had a right to not tell you I’m a nine-hundred year old sorcerer,” Douxie spat. “None of you would have believed me, or you would’ve just thought I was crazy.”

“He’s right,” Daryl said. “I’m still having a hard time believing any of this is true… but I can’t write off what I saw in that museum. None of us can.”

“Anything else?” Rick asked.

Douxie sighed deeply again. “I’m sure most of you are familiar with the tale of Camelot… and its fall. I’d rather not recount what actually happened, it’s sort of traumatic. But,” he looked at Rick, then Lori, then one by one everyone else. “I am here for you. For all of you. I can’t even begin repaying the debt I owe you… the things you’ve all done for me, the way you’ve cared for me.” He stood up straight, facing them with determination. “I think it’s time I truly start repaying you all… by protecting you in the only way I know how.”

Rick blinked. “What about your family?”

Douxie felt his heart squeeze, his chest tighten. But he gave the man who’d taken him in a smile. “They’ll find me… or we’ll find each other. But I owe you all rather a large blood debt, and…” his gaze flit to Carl, then to Carl’s father. “There’s something I’d like to offer your family… if you’d let me?”

“What… is he talking about?” Carol asked.

Rick and Lori exchanged glances. Lori still looked unsure… but she gave her husband a nod. He nodded back, then kneeled down—taking his son by the shoulders. “Carl, Douxie has something he needs to tell you… something I think everyone should know.”

Carl’s brows were furrowed. “Okay?”

Rick looked at Douxie, giving a nod of consent as he stood. “You should tell him.”

Douxie offered a small smile, replacing Rick as he knelt in front of the boy. “The gift I have… is one that resides in all living beings. However, some are able to use it better than others. That’s how I am, how so many of my friends were… and are.” He took Carl’s shoulders. “And it’s you.”

Carl’s blue eyes got wide. “What?”

Douxie gave a soft, small nod. “Do you remember that night in the woods? That thing only you and I could hear?”

Carl nodded.

“We could only hear it… because we have the ability to see beyond the veil of mortal sight. Most wizards can, and very very few un-gifted mortals can.” Douxie squeezed his shoulders. “And in the barn?”

Carl’s expression got tighter. “When you started having another seizure?”

Douxie nodded. “Carl, you saved my life that night.” He took the boy’s hands gently. “I don’t know how, but you tapped into a very rare branch of this gift—and you… drove out whatever infirmity was tormenting me.”

“With magic?” Carl breathed.

“With magic,” Douxie confirmed. “Carl, you are a wizard.” He smiled, and gently lifted his chin. “You’re like me.”

Lori already knew this. She’d figured it out so quickly, when all of that happened at the museum. When that man had started screaming at her son like he’d committed a war crime… and when Douxie had looked at Carl with nothing but unabashed horror for a moment—because he hadn’t wanted Carl to be targeted the way he was.

“Woah, hold on.” Daryl said. “You’re sure?”

Douxie was nodding as he got to his feet. “Yeah, nowadays most wizards don’t discover their gifts until early to late teens—if they do at all. But it’s just… one of those things I’ve learned to pick up on. To see in people.” He looked at Rick. “I can teach him how to use his gifts. If you’ll allow it.”

Carl looked flabbergasted, like he was still processing everything. He looked at his parents, eyes wide and with owlish blinks. “Can he?”

Rick looked like he was actually contemplating it. But Lori wanted to scream and shout, because that was her baby they were talking about putting in danger. All she’d seen of this “magic” so far, was that it got people killed. Hunted. She didn’t want that for her son.

“Is it safe?” Rick asked.

Douxie gave a nod. “It is…” he took in a breath, looking at Lori in that way he did—where it was like he knew exactly what you were thinking. That gave her pause because… could he read minds with this magic he held? He turned back to Rick. “Listen, he’s already proven to me that it’s strong enough that high adrenaline situations bring it out—even in small bursts. Wouldn’t you rather him be able to control it and use it safely, rather than risk him getting hurt by it?”

Rick’s brows furrowed. “That happens?”

Douxie chewed his lip, then rolled up his jacket sleeve—showing them all a jagged scar that ran across his left wrist, all the way nearly up to his elbow. “Messing with magic you don’t understand costs. Sometimes it’s something small… other times it's your very life.”

“And you can teach him how to control it?” Hershel asked, the most vocal Lori had heard him all day. He still looked unsure about everything, but also that he wanted to understand.

He pulled his sleeve back down. “I know it’s a scary prospect,” he was talking to Rick and Lori more than everyone else. “But knowing how to wield his magic could be the very thing that tips the balance between life and death one day. For everyone.” He cast a not insignificant glance at Beth.

Maggie clocked it instantly. “Douxie, what was that look for?”

Douxie sighed, rubbing his knuckles. “I… I used a small healing spell to help your sister when she was in her shock…”

“You…” Maggie blinked, surprised. “Wait, you what?”

“I couldn’t do nothing.” Douxie said, like this was something he should have kept hidden. Like he was scared suddenly. “I wanted to help…”

“Was that…. was that why your leg wound started acting up?” Lori asked.

Douxie was still for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yeah it… my body was protesting the use of magic to heal someone else instead of me.”

Maggie still looked stunned. But then she did something Lori never thought she would do. She stepped forward and tugged Douxie into a tight hug, squeezing him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for that. You saved her life.”

Douxie looked just as stunned when Maggie let go of him, like maybe he’d been expecting some sort of religious condemnation from the Greene sisters instead of gratitude. “I… you’re welcome.”

Hershel looked lost in thought. Everyone else was soaking the information in.

Beth, though. She pushed past her sister to hug Douxie too. She said nothing, just hugged him. Douxie looked like he was going to cry out of relief, out of love.

“Douxie,” Rick said, watching him with some contemplation. “I don’t think you owe us as much as you believe you do.”

Douxie gave him a wan smile. “That’s a nice sentiment Rick, but I—”

“You owe us nothing,” Rick told him again. “You don’t need to stay here with us. But I think I speak for everyone when I say we want you to.”

There were nods of affirmation. People were looking thoughtful, going over their memories of all that Douxie had done for them over the last few months.

Lori knew she didn’t want Douxie to leave. But she still didn’t know if she wanted her son to be like him.

“And Carl—”

“I want to learn, Dad.” Carl said, looking sure. Excited. “I want to learn so I can protect us.”

Rick put a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “If you want that, I’ll allow it. But you listen to everything Douxie says, okay? Safety always.”

Carl was grinning. Lori wished she had the guts to speak out. She didn’t want this for her son. But how could she object?

“When do we start?” Carl asked, looking at Douxie with a smile.

“Tomorrow,” Douxie promised. “Give me one more night to sleep, okay? Lesson first: wizardry takes it out of you. In more ways than one.”

“Takes it out of you?” Rick asked over his shoulder. They were still stopped at the gas station, scrounging for fuel and supplies.

Douxie was helping him siphon gas from a few nearby abandoned cars. It was just them, which Rick was grateful for. He wanted the opportunity to speak to Douxie alone.

The kid gave him a tired smile. “Don’t tell Carl this, but I have no plans to push him past the beginner’s level until we have a stable and reliable source of food.”

Rick squinted at him. “Douxie…”

Douxie sighed. “You know how one should have a proper healthy diet when they exercise regularly?”

Rick nodded.

Douxie was decidedly not looking at him. “Wizardry is the same way. It takes up your energy, when you do too much all at once. It’s honestly why I think a lot of wizards commonly served kings back in my day. Easy access to a lot of food.”

Rick stood up straight, setting the gas can down. “This thing… starves you?”

Douxie shook his head. “Only if you push yourself during a time with low food income.”

“Like during the end of the world?”

Douxie gave a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Yeah.”

Rick crossed his arms. “Then I’m not sure you should be very hypocritical about this in a survival situation.”

An annoyed look crossed his face. “Must I continue to drive home the point that I’m nine-hundred years older than you?”

“That has never given me the impression that you achieved maturity in that time.” Rick told him. “Douxie, technically speaking, your brain hasn’t even fully developed yet.”

Douxie faced him, jaw clenching. “And it never will. I’m never going to be older than I am now. I’m always going to be a teenager, Rick. But that doesn’t impede my ability to know myself… to know my limits.”

“Douxie—”

“I’ve been on the cusp of starvation nearly all my life,” he continued. “I’m used to it, and I know how to deal with it… to use my magic even in the face of it. But Carl doesn’t, and it’s not exactly my goal to teach him how to.”

“Then what exactly is your goal?” Rick asked him earnestly.

Douxie was quiet for a few long moments. Before he pushed his hair out of his face and took in a deep breath. “I believe all wizards should be given the opportunity to cultivate their gifts… it’s a dying practice.” He looked at Rick. “Magic is… has been depleting over the last few hundred years. People don’t believe in it anymore, and what few wizards are born rarely ever discover what they can do.”

Rick slowly nodded, turning that information over in his head. “Then this is about the preservation of your… culture? Is that the right word?”

Douxie gave a laugh. A near sarcastic one. “Something like that, I guess… but it’s his right to know these things. To use what he’s been gifted with to find his own place in the world.” He pursed his lips. “And now more than ever I think training young wizards is important. It always has been, but just… think about what we could accomplish together… how we can survive together—if this was all out in the open.”

Rick put a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s a nice thing to want, Douxie. I think that’s a very generous thing to offer my son, even when doing so wouldn’t necessarily benefit you personally.”

Douxie eyed him, almost suspicious. “So… you don’t mind me training him? Not really?”

“I said you could, didn’t I?”

He snorted. “I’ll be honest, I thought some of that was you saving face in front of the others. You know… the whole “this ain’t a democracy anymore” thing.”

Rick nearly laughed. He should have guessed that speech wouldn’t have really scared Douxie, not knowing everything he did about the kid now. “Listen, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea of… well, magic. But I want my son… to be all he can be. Especially in a world like this. So, yes. I want you to train him.”

Douxie was smiling. “Good. Then I will strive to be the teacher he deserves.”

“What exactly does being a wizard entail?” Beth asked.

Douxie blinked, astonished. She was one of the last people he thought would be asking him about magic.

“Yeah, tell us more.” T-Dog said, stirring the fucking canned beans a bit.

“Well,” Douxie started, getting more comfortable on the ground in front of the campfire. “That… really depends. It’s… a personal thing. Often one's magic is tied to an elemental aspect, and that sort of determines how their magic functions.” He held his hand out to the small fire, concentrating. A small bit of flame shot into his hand, turning blue. It wisped between his fingers, giving his nerves a little tingle. “I’ve always had a connection to fire… it’s always been something that trailed after me in life.”

He lifted his gaze, not very surprised to see most of the group was watching him work his magic with wonder and intrigue. He felt himself smiling.

“Can you teach me to do that?” Carl asked.

Douxie laughed. “Eventually.” He snuffed the flame. “My friend and first student, Claire, she’s a shadowmancer. Her powers work in the frame of darkness. While basic magic skills are all the same no matter what magic type you have, the greater abilities of a wizard nearly entirely depend on your base element.”

“Like a Pokemon,” Glenn suggested.

Douxie cracked a grin. “Yep. All wizards are Pokemon. Exactly.”

“So…” Carl wondered aloud. “What’s my base element?”

“Ah,” Douxie shrugged. “That’s something you’ll learn as you go.”

“When did you figure out yours?” Rick asked, standing a bit away from the fire—as he’d been doing his rounds to make sure everyone was okay.

Douxie’s smile fell. His gaze flit back to the fire, watching the flames dance and curl. And remembering that night. “The very night my mother died…” he laughed dryly, wiping his hand down his face. “In a fire, go figure.” He took in a long breath, calming his nerves. “Like I said earlier… Arthur Pendragon played his part in destroying my life and the lives of many other wizards.”

An awkward silence fell over the group. Until Carol cleared her throat, and made her way quietly to Douxie’s side. She put her blanket over his shoulders, sitting next to him.

“Well,” she said softly. “You’ve got us now.”

Douxie smiled at her, honestly grateful for her comfort. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Daryl sniffed, breaking the silence in his own way. “Where to next?”

Rick scratched his beard. “We’ll find a place. Together. All of us.”

“And tomorrow,” Douxie said, trying to keep his spirit light. He turned to Carl. “We’ll get started on your very special training.”

Carl grinned. “This is actually the coolest thing ever.”

Douxie hoped he would keep that optimism. He hoped so… for everyone’s sakes.

Chapter Text

Douxie was bone fucking tired. It had been another month. A month since he told everyone what he was. Four months since the farm… since he lost his family. He still wanted to find them, but now he felt himself being torn. Because he loved the people who’d taken him in, given him so much when they didn’t have to. And there was a young wizard depending on him for his guidance. So what could Douxie do?

Speaking of; Carl was taking to magic and taking to it fast. He was a quick study, and Douxie was having a hard time finding things for him to do that didn’t mean “leveling up”.

He ended up lucking out at one point, coming across a genuine spell book in the storage room of a grocery store of all places. Evidently, a wizard had worked at that store and left behind some valuable reading material. Douxie snagged it, and was going through it with Carl—pointing out the safe practice spells and magically whiting out the riskier ones for until he was ready.

Lori still didn’t look entirely comfortable with any of this, but she was saying nothing about it. Douxie was simultaneously annoyed and grateful that she didn’t speak up. He didn’t want to snap and yell at her over something probably stupid.

“Is there an easier way to do the runes?” Carl asked, wiping away the dirt where he’d messed up a few strokes.

“I had a bracelet that was basically like a magic shortcut,” Douxie explained. “Stored runes and all that, cut the cast time basically in half. If we ever get to a place where I can look for the proper metal and make you one, I will.”

“Where is it?” Carl asked, looking up at him. “The bracelet?”

“With my family,” Douxie explained, drawing his own quick rune in the dirt. He didn’t need to be doing this, given his mastery of the Arcane arts and also… the other thing. But it helped Carl to watch Douxie do the grind work so he could follow along. “After I got bit, Claire took it off me. Scared of it going missing with my body if I didn’t make it, I guess.”

“But you did make it,” Carl said.

Douxie nodded and smiled. “I did.”

Carl wrote in the dirt for a bit longer, before he paused and looked at Douxie again. “How do you memorize all the Latin?”

“Latin’s just the standard language for most spell-casters,” Douxie explained. “It’s easier to memorize than most other languages, and it’s the building block for Arcane magic—at least spell wise. Also, it’s not likely to change since it’s not spoken regularly anymore.” He leaned over, correcting a line here or there. “Once you get the basics down, the rest will come naturally.”

“Do you cast magic in other languages?”

Douxie tipped his head sideways. “I can, I just… don’t like to often.”

“Why?”

Douxie sighed, hanging his head for a moment. “Full of questions today, aren’t you?”

Carl sat on the ground, looking at him seriously. “I wanna know more. I wanna learn everything.”

Douxie smiled. “Fine,” he sat properly too, facing him. “To begin with, all magic draws from essentially the same source of life energy. But over the eons that has culminated in several different ways of using magic.” He listed them on his fingers. “Arcane magic—ours. The original, stemming from both the primordial elemental beings that jump-started life on the planet—and the other beings of magic within this sub-set that draw from the same power source. Trolls, dragons, pixies, etc.”

Carl nodded, listening intently. They’d been over this a few times now.

“There’s also Grecian magic, with the Olympians and such.” He wasn’t sure yet that he wanted to touch on demigods and monsters of terrifying caliber just yet. “I’ve know quite a few friends of that type. There’s Egyptian magic… I can use it, it’s just… largely not recommended for someone of both my magical and blood-related lineage.”

Carl’s brows furrowed. “Wait, is there a difference in magical versus blood-related descent?”

Douxie blinked, then realized what he’d said. He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. He slowly opened them again and just responded with, “Mhm.”

Carl’s eyes narrowed. “… And?”

“And,” Douxie emphasized. “My birth family means nothing to me in the grand scheme of my life.”

Carl frowned. “Weren’t you ever curious?”

Douxie swallowed his pain. Swallowed the hurt and the anger. “My mother loved me, and she died for it. My father was probably the same story. I never knew my grandparents. All I had for a long long time was my familiar. So, no. I was never very curious.”

“… Sorry,” he said quietly.

Douxie reeled himself in. “No… no, it’s okay. You were just curious. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Were you really Merlin’s apprentice?” Glenn asked him, nearly two months later.

Douxie nodded, peering around the corner for any trouble. No dead. He walked forward, gun held tightly. “He was the closest thing I had to a father… even with all his shortcomings, he was a good man and a powerful sorcerer. He taught me well until he couldn’t.”

“What happened to him?”

Douxie stopped, well aware of eyes on his back. “He died.” Douxie took a deep breath, turning to his fellow survivor. “There were some things not even the great Merlin Ambrosius could face alone.”

“So if Camelot was real,” T-Dog mused one day. They were standing on a highway, moving abandoned cars out of the way so they could keep driving. “What about Excalibur?”

“Real,” Douxie said, shoving a small Camry into the side ditch with a good telekinetic push. He looked at T-Dog, pushing his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. “And yes, it does still exist.”

He hummed, nodding.

“Guys, stop chattin’!” Maggie called, hanging halfway out of the driver’s seat of a red Jeep. “We need to get this road cleared off.”

Douxie snorted, joining Glenn and Rick behind the Jeep. “Maggie, put it in neutral!”

He heard the clicking of a gear shift, then she called,

“It’s good!”

Douxie made a show of cracking his knuckles, before thrusting his palm forward. Blue light flashed and the car lurched forward, wheels turning on their own. It rolled slowly off the main road.

Rick was nearly smiling, patting his shoulder. “If you wanted to do it all yourself, you could’ve said something.”

“Ha-ha,” Douxie dead-panned. “It’s not my fault you’re all old and slow.”

“That’s funny coming from the guy who’s nine-hundred years old,” Glenn said with a snort.

“I’m a professional comedian,” Douxie joked, walking with them to help clear the other cars.

They worked on the blockage for a while longer, but it was thick and slow-going. At the very least, walkers were few and far-between. Daryl was keeping watch, standing on top of Hershel’s van with one of the rifles held in a tight grip.

“Hey, can I help?” Carl asked, appearing next to him.

“When you can lift a pencil more than a few inches, come talk to me,” Douxie said, kneeling to be on his eye level. “Do you know how heavy cars are? Telekinesis is like a muscle, and I’ve been working mine for the last nine centuries. You’ve only had three months.”

Carl scowled. “How am I supposed to learn if you won’t let me do stuff.”

Douxie shifted, getting to his feet. “Alright, here, tell you what. See that car?” He pointed at a grey Sedan that was sitting with flat tires and blown out windows. “The gear shift is loose and broken, so they can’t put it in neutral the normal way. I was going to do it myself with some telekinesis, but I’ll let you do it instead.”

Carl nodded, looking eager to prove himself. They walked together to the car, just as Rick was sliding out from underneath it.

“I think I found it,” he was saying as he got to his feet. “They must’ve crashed hard and it got knocked loose.”

“Carl wants to move the mechanism into neutral,” Douxie informed him. “He wants to help.”

“Yeah, I want to help,” Carl parroted.

Rick looked between them, then set his eyes on Douxie. “Are you sure?”

Douxie smiled and shrugged. “Hey, this may come in use later, you never know.”

“What’s gonna come in use, exactly?” Rick asked with a raised brow.

“Moving things you can’t see,” Douxie clarified.

Rick nodded. “Okay, give it a shot.”

Carl grinned, hopping into the car. Douxie climbed into the back seat on the driver’s side, leaning over to give instructions. The others drifted closer, wanting to watch the two wizards do their wizard thing.

“Alright,” Douxie started, hovering a hand over the gear shift console. He closed his eyes, quickly finding what he was looking for. He could feel the broken mechanism, “see” it in his mind’s eye. He opened his eyes. “This is something most people call “ESP”, or Extrasensory Perception. It works with your naturally attuned senses, so essentially if you focus hard enough you can “see” through feeling.”

“Feeling being the vague “Force” stuff you keep talking about?” Carl teased.

Douxie rolled his eyes. It wasn’t his fault the best analogies he could use for Carl’s ten year old modern brain to understand magic happened to come from Star Wars. “They were scarily accurate in describing how things work, so it’s easy to compare greater Magic with the Force.”

“Okay,” Carl snorted. “What am I looking for?”

“Hold your hand out here,” Douxie instructed, moving his hand over the right spot. “Then close your eyes and reach out. Your magic will find what you want, even though you don’t know what it looks like. When you find it, you’ll feel this little buzz at the base of your skull.”

Carl nodded, closing his eyes. They moved back and forth beneath his eyelids as he searched for the broken mechanism. His fingers twitched, indigo blue sparks flying off his fingers.

Somewhere behind them, a rifle shot echoed down the highway. Carl flinched and started turning, but Douxie directed him back to what he was doing.

“Don’t break your concentration,” Douxie told him gently. “No matter what, never break your concentration.”

Carl nodded, focusing again. Douxie attuned his own senses to the inner workings of the car below, feeling Carl’s magic just brushing over the gear shift.

“Almost got it,” Douxie whispered. “Tell your magic to reach. It knows what you want, make it listen.”

Carl took in a deep breath, pushing his willpower into what he was doing. His stubbornness was unmatched, and this was honestly impressive for someone so young and untrained. Then Douxie felt the magic below snap into place, grabbing the broken gear mechanism.

“Yes!” Douxie hissed quietly. “Good, perfect. Now move it left, towards you.”

Carl made the smallest of tugging motions with his fingers, and the broken mechanism shifted, locking into neutral. His magic dissipated with a victorious hiss, and Douxie was grinning, so very proud.

“Carl Grimes, that was fucking incredible!” Douxie all but gushed, so, so proud of his young friend. He reached across the console, squishing the boy’s face in his hands. “You’re a goddamn natural!”

“He did it?” Rick asked, his own extremely proud smile spreading over his face.

“He did it,” Douxie confirmed, still grinning.

“Okay, hey,” Carl complained, shoving Douxie’s hands away. “I’m not five.”

Douxie laughed, stepping out of the car. “Don’t get mad because we’re excited. You did good.”

Despite his grumpiness at Douxie’s affection, he was still smiling. He hopped out of the car too, grinning ear to ear. Douxie snickered, pushing Carl’s hat down over his eyes as Glenn and T-Dog did their part and moved the car off the road. Just a few more should do it, then they could be on their way.

“So, what do you think, Rick?” Douxie asked. “You impressed?”

“I’m very proud,” Rick told them both, smiling at his son. “You learn quick.”

“I’ve just got a good teacher,” Carl said, smiling at Douxie.

Rick looked at Douxie, smile still fond. Still proud when he looked at him. “You sure do.”

“Douxie, are you a vampire?”

Douxie straight up froze, staring at nothing with a blank look on his face. Then he turned to Carl, eyes wide and shocked. “Pardon me?”

Behind him, he could hear his dad and Daryl snickering. He shot them both a glare before turning to look back at Douxie.

“You’re nocturnal, you hate sunlight, and you’ve got little fangs.”

Douxie just stared at him. “Uh… no. No, I most certainly am not a vampire.”

“Sounds exactly like something a vampire would say,” Glenn said with a chuckle, peering through a hallway drawer. They were in a house, looting. It always came to that.

Douxie rolled his eyes—his very gold, very unnatural eyes. “If I were a vampire I would’ve eaten you all for dinner already.”

“Ooh, I wonder if the undead are just less cool vampires,” Carl suggested.

Douxie laughed at that one, bracing his arm on a door frame to balance himself. “Holy fucking Christ,” he said between giggles. “Carl, what made you want to ask?”

“Aside from the evidence?” Carl asked with a small grin. “I just wanted you to smile again. You’re tired all the time… I didn’t want you to be tired and miserable.”

Douxie’s laughter faded, and he looked at Carl with an expression that made it seem like he was either going to cry or hug him. “I appreciate the effort,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do when you’re wearing yourself thin casting magic with energy you don’t even have to protect us,” Carl told him flatly.

Douxie glanced nervously in his dad and Daryl’s direction. Then he looked at Carl again. “I’ve told you already, I’m fine.”

“Douxie,” his dad called sternly. “The last thing we want you to risk is passing out or getting sick from overworking yourself.”

Douxie scowled, turning away. “I think your pregnant wife would differ on that opinion… if she knew all it was that I’m doing to keep the lot of you safe.”

Carl’s father’s brows furrowed, and he strode across the hallway to get to Douxie. He made the teen look at him, expression stern. Carl backed up, having been on the receiving end of that look too many times to know what it meant.

“Douxie,” his dad said in a low tone, the kind that was steady and careful but holding back so much. “What have you been doing exactly?”

Douxie’s own look of stubbornness nearly matched Rick’s. But after a long enough minute, it started to crack. Finally, he sighed. “Wards on buildings to keep away the dead… runes marked on trees when we don’t have shelter… small stuff.”

“Small stuff over a long enough time becomes a big problem,” his dad said, still keeping that careful tone. “You won’t help anyone if you kill yourself in the process.”

“I’m not going to die,” Douxie hissed, wrenching out of his grip. When he hissed out the words, it was like he was hissing for real. His teeth bared, showing that he did indeed have more prominent canines than normal people did. Sharp definitely-fangs. Carl still hadn’t figured out whether or not this was a wizard thing… or just a Douxie thing.

“Douxie—”

“I know how to take care of myself!” Douxie all but shouted, clearly frustrated and fed up… exhausted and angry because he was tired of being exhausted. “I’ve been doing this for nine-hundred years! I don’t need a mortal telling me what to do with my own fucking magic!”

For just a moment, those words sat in the air. No one moved. No one said anything. Down the hallway, Carl could hear a walker moaning and thumping against a shut door.

“If you’re so capable of taking care of yourself,” his father addressed the older wizard carefully. “Why are you sticking around?”

Douxie’s face contorted. For just a second, his eyes blazed with anger—a deep blue glow lighting up in his pupils. Then it was gone. “For him,” he snarled, jutting a finger in Carl’s direction. “Because he needs guidance, and he sure as hell can’t get it from you. Not for this.”

“Then while you’re here,” he continued, voice edging on a slight growl. “You listen to what I say.”

Douxie’s nose wrinkled with frustration and anger. His teeth bared, fangs glinting. Then he pivoted on his heel and stormed down the hallway. Nobody said anything for a good long while. Then Carl looked at his father, glaring.

“You don’t need to talk to him that way!”

“I can’t let him make himself into a liability,” his dad said grimly. “He’s trying too hard.”

“He just wants to help!” Carl insisted.

“I know that!” Rick snapped. “But there’s a difference between helping and being a borderline workaholic. He can’t do everything by himself, and the sooner he learns that, the better off he’s going to be.”

“He’s nine-hundred years old, Dad! I think he knows—”

“He’s still a kid,” he interrupted. “He’s smart, and good at what he does. But he’s still just a kid. And it’s my job to make sure all of you kids stay safe… even from yourselves.”

Carl didn’t look entirely too convinced by this speech, but he didn’t argue back much. He just followed where Douxie had gone, looking peeved.

“Is stubbornness a wizard thing?” Daryl asked, not looking at all impressed with the teenager attitude of it all.

“I hope not,” Rick sighed, holstering his gun. “Douxie is in a self destructive spiral, and there is way too much going on for any of us to help him get out of it.”

“Rick,” Glenn said slowly. “Look, I think you’re right… about him needing to pull back. We can all take turns protecting our campsites and doing the fighting… but I think you need to make sure he knows…”

“Knows what?”

“That the whole “why did you stick around” thing doesn’t mean you’re gonna kick him out… or that he needs to leave.” Glenn said. “He’s already got trust issues… abandonment and all that. I don’t think vaguely threatening him with an apocalypse eviction notice was a good idea… even to make a point.”

Rick sighed, rubbing his brow. “Alright… I’ll talk to him. One on one.”

Glenn nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Douxie was sitting by himself, sullen and quiet—digging his knife into the wood stairs over and over again. He tried not to let Rick’s words get to him—but they’d snapped something in his mind. Something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to let out.

He missed Carter… he missed his people. The friends he’d made, the family he’d forged. He wanted them back. His soul was aching with loss. It also… probably didn’t help that he was over-exerting himself trying to protect the people he was with now.

But what else could he do?

“Douxie?” Carol called, standing below him on the other side of the bannister. “Are you gonna eat?”

Quietly, he shook his head. She looked at him for a long time, clearly trying to decide what his silence meant.

“Are you okay?” She asked after a while.

Douxie sighed, turning away. He stared at the floor for a long moment, anger and desperation clawing at him. His hands started to shake.

“Douxie,” she called again, coming closer. “What’s wrong?”

Unable to speak, Douxie shoved to his feet and stomped up the stairs.

Everyone flinched at the loud banging and crashing coming from upstairs.

“What happened?” Maggie asked, looking around.

Rick sighed, getting to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” Carl suddenly asked, voice sharp and angry. “Because that didn’t go super well last time.”

“I know,” Rick told him pointedly. “Which is why I need to talk to him.”

Nobody gave him opposition as he made his way upstairs. Even as he was walking down the upstairs hallway, that crashing stopped and the house became still and quiet. Rick made his way to the ajar door and pushed it open.

Douxie was sitting against the wall, eyes red with tears, face contorted with pain and anger. The air in the room was hot, like someone had set off a bomb and the heat had yet to dissipate. All around the room, furniture had been tossed around and up-ended, like a tornado had come through.

“Got everything out of your system?” Rick asked, dead-pan but not meaning to.

Douxie let out a humorless, pained laugh. He was still shaking, energy buzzing around him so loud Rick could hear it. “Do you want me to apologize for throwing a tantrum?”

Rick sighed, walking in and shutting the door. “Douxie—”

“Stop,” Douxie begged quietly, wiping his face with a tired hand. “Just… please don’t. I don’t need another lecture. I don’t want it.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Rick said.

“Then what were you going to do?” Douxie demanded, suddenly ten times more angry. “Ask me to leave? Push me out with a gun in my face.”

“No,” Rick said firmly. “I came up here to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you think, for even a moment, I wanted you to leave.”

Douxie sucked in a breath, shaking still. “I could understand if you did. I’m unpredictable… I’m too powerful, I’m too much.”

Rick looked at him for a long moment. Wondering… just who’d made this kid think he was unlovable. “Who told you that?”

“Merlin.” Douxie said easily. “You know… at first. When he was trying to teach me. Arthur offhandedly. Even Morgana sometimes… and she was the only person in that castle who treated me like I mattered.”

“Because it’s in your nature?” Rick asked, testing.

Douxie’s gaze, wild and so… ancient, snapped to him. “Who told you that?”

“Lori.” Rick got closer, kneeling to be on his level. “She told me that was what one of the witch hunters said. Before you killed him.”

Douxie looked away.

“Douxie, what does that mean?”

“If you knew,” Douxie whispered. “You wouldn’t want me here.”

“I want to understand how to help you,” Rick said.

“This won’t help you help me,” Douxie told him, earnestly. Like he really believed he was beyond help. Beyond being truly loved. “This will make you understand why they wanted to kill me.”

“Douxie,” Rick said firmly. “You saved the entire group from those men. We owe you our lives. You can trust me.”

Douxie laughed dryly, unconvinced. “Fine.” He said, voice rough. He looked at Rick, those gold eyes harsh and boring into him. “I’m not human.”

Rick stared at him. “What?”

“My bloodline… what I come from,” he continued. “What I am… isn’t human.”

“You look pretty human to me,” Rick said with a raised brow.

Douxie scoffed. “Trust me, there’s plenty of things that look human that aren’t.” He took in a deep breath. “I’m of a fae lineage… the beings so ancient they surpassed those of even the gods. My blood is tainted Rick,” Douxie said. “I come from beings of sadistic nature who took joy in torture and maiming.”

“But that doesn’t make you one of them,” Rick said. “I refuse to believe someone as good hearted as you could ever be like that.”

“But I am,” Douxie insisted. “It’s why I have to keep myself on such a tight leash, why I practice control. It’s why I devote myself to good people… people like Jim… and people like you.” He took in a shuddering breath. “Fae blood… can be potent if you let it overtake you. What I am… what I come from, it’s why I’m as powerful as I am… even when I don’t want to be. It’s why the hunters went to such extremes to kill me. Because I am… was a monster to them.”

“But that isn’t who you are,” Rick told him firmly.

“I killed them.” Douxie said gravely. “Without second thought and without mercy. That’s my bloodline.”

“That was circumstance,” Rick corrected. “And you only did to them what they were going to do you. And to us.”

“I did it because I was angry,” Douxie hissed. “And that anger got out of control.”

“No it didn’t,” Rick said. “If it had, you wouldn’t have stopped with them.”

Douxie looked away again. “I don’t know how to make you understand.”

“What I understand is this,” Rick said, making Douxie look at him. “You protected us with no gain to yourself. You risked everything to do it, and you’re still risking everything now. You’re a good person, with a good heart. You just happen to come from something very powerful that you don’t understand.”

“I’m dangerous,” Douxie whispered, tears in his eyes.

“Maybe,” Rick agreed. “But not to us.”

Chapter Text

Month nine. Moving from house to house, place to place, looking for somewhere safe to be was getting increasingly impossible. Douxie was running on fumes now, trying to keep them all alive. He was trying so hard. It wasn’t enough. It never was.

On top of it all, Lori was about to pop. They couldn’t keep this up much longer, they needed to find a safe place for her to have the baby, and they needed to find it soon.

They were clearing a house now. No one talked, no one joked. They moved swiftly and efficiently. Nobody could spare the energy for a smile.

Douxie cleaved his sword through one undead skull, moving through the house without a sound. He was still exhausted, but he had to push through it. They needed him to be alert and aware. He crept down the hall, keeping one ear out for shuffling footsteps—footsteps that belonged to the undead.

The dull thumps of bodies dropping and more people filing inside the house as they kept moving inwards echoed in his ears. He tried to ignore it, carefully opening a bedroom door. The house wasn’t that big, just good enough to house them for the night if they were lucky. They rarely were.

More and more undead joined the hordes every day. It felt like they were being constantly cornered. Forced to flee, to run back the way they’d come.

He slid one foot onto musty old carpet, nose wrinkling at the stench. Douxie tightened the grip on his sword, peering into the room.

Empty, save for a long dead carcass. They were decomposing, blood spattered across the wall from where they’d clearly shot themselves. Douxie closed his eyes, trying to regain his nerves. He shut the door quietly and moved on.

After they cleared the entire house, Rick signaled for the others to join them inside. Douxie was walking back towards the main entrance, sheathing his sword when he caught sight of Daryl trotting down the stairs—defeathering an owl. He made a face.

“Seriously?”

“Better than nothin’,” Daryl grunted, bringing his kill into the living room as the old, young, and pregnant of their group filed inside.

Douxie sighed, shaking his head. He caught a glimpse of Carl walking back towards the kitchen, likely in search of anything to eat. His own stomach tightened at the thought of food.

“Douxie,” Lori called softly as she was walking inside. Though, waddling, more like. “Can you help me?”

He managed a tight smile, and went swiftly to her side. He took her small bag, walking with her into the living room. It was so eerily silent in the house. He hated it. Everyone was too tired to make proper small-talk, too hungry to exchange more than a few words and some passing glances.

He hung back for a moment, watching Rick make a quick visual sweep of the outside before he shut the front door and turned to join them. Their fearless leader gave him his own tight, withered smile and gave him a small but firm clasp on the shoulder.

Douxie kneeled next to Lori on the living room floor, helping her settle in first. Just as he was getting to his feet, Carl came clambering back in—two cans of food in his hands. Douxie watched him sit, then dig out a can opener. Then he saw what the cans were.

It was fucking dog food. Had they really become that desperate? He watched, almost stunned—but also nearly too exhausted to move, as Carl went to open them.

His father though, noticed. He had been watching out the window when he’d heard the can opener grinding. His reaction was nearly immediate, marching over and snatching the can up. Douxie watched Rick, his micro expressions shifting as he saw the label on the can. They all flinched when he threw the can into the empty fireplace.

They knew what he’d been thinking. That they could not have stooped this low. They shouldn’t have to.

They were all still quiet. Dead tired and hungry.

Douxie leaned quietly against the wall, thumping his head back as they sat there in utter silence—just existing in the horror and quiet that the world was now. And for a moment… it was nice to just rest. Douxie closed his eyes, slumping further onto the wall. His exhaustion clawed at him.

But then he was snapped back to reality by T-Dog making a sharp “psst” noise. His eyes opened in time to see the man gesturing out the window at the undead pack making their way towards the house.

They jumped into action, but Douxie wanted to cry. Not even ten minutes of peace before the dead bastards showed up to run them further out.

He helped Lori up, sticking close by her as they all ran for the cars. If he could spare the energy, he would have gladly warded that house so they could at least sleep. But he knew doing that now, with the state he was in, it would be a death sentence. He couldn’t risk it.

They all filed quickly and quietly outside, Rick bringing up the rear as he always did. This was practiced by now. They were efficient at running to the cars and loading them quickly. Douxie hated that they were. Because it meant they had never been safe.

They stopped on a lone stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. Douxie stumbled out of the car after Rick and Carl. His vision was swimming again, but he managed to join the others at the head car—where Glenn was unrolling a map onto the hood.

He clutched the hood of the car for balance, hair sticking to his forehead and neck with sweat. He was shaking now. Dizzy.

“Douxie, go sit down,” Rick instructed, walking back towards them after instructing his son to be look out while they talked strategy. “You’re going to pass out again.”

“‘M fine,” Douxie insisted. “Just need some sleep, I’ll do that later.”

Rick sighed, shaking his head. He had long since stopped arguing with Douxie about this sort of thing. At least, most of the time. He just passed Douxie a water canteen, and went about consulting the map with Glenn.

“Where to?”

“There’s no where else we can go,” T-Dog said, gesturing to the map. It had been marked with a red pen—all the places they’d already been to.

“When this herd meets up with this one,” Maggie said, pointing to two large red circles on the map that indicated walker hordes. “We’ll be cut off. We’ll never make it South.”

“What was it, about one-hundred fifty?” Douxie asked, trying not to sway.

“You don’t talk,” Rick told him, passively holding the back of his hand against his forehead. “Doux,” he said in a low tone, concerned but warning.

“I’m fine,” Douxie said again, pushing his hand off. He looked at Glenn. “One-fifty?”

“Yeah…” Glenn said slowly. “But that was last week. It could be twice that by now.”

“This river could have delayed them,” Hershel said, gesturing to the map. “If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here.”

“But the herds, if this group joins with that one, they could spill out that way.” Maggie pointed out, quietly giving Douxie a nudge to help him stand upright. “We’ll be blocked.”

“We could circle back here,” Douxie suggested, pointing to I-27. “Go back through Greenville.”

“We picked through there already,” T-Dog said. “It’s like we spent the whole winter going in circles.”

“No, Douxie is right.” Rick said. “We’ll push West at Newnan, we haven’t been through there yet.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We can’t keep going house to house. We need to find someplace to hole up for a few weeks.”

T-Dog nodded. “Alright, is it cool if we hit up the creek first? We need to fill up on water, we can boil it later.”

Rick gave a nod. “Knock yourself out,” he turned to Douxie as they dispersed to get ready for a much longer car ride. “You okay?”

Douxie nodded, handing him back the canteen. “I’m just tired.”

“You look half-dead,” Hershel commented.

“Thank you.”

“I want you to go sit down for a minute,” Rick told him. “We’ll find some food later, but you look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Rick—”

“Douxie, I know you know yourself,” he said. “But you have some bad self sacrificial habits that I can’t entertain right now. I need you to listen to me, and take care of yourself. Okay?”

Douxie sighed, but gave a tired nod. “Okay.”

“Go sit.”

Douxie pushed off the car hood, making his way slowly back to the vehicle he frequented.

“Laying down would be better!” Hershel called after him.

Douxie snorted to himself, swinging the door open and climbing into the back seat. He flopped down on his back, propping his feet on the lower mounting of the door. They were going to be okay, he had to believe that.

“I don’t think either of them could take much more of all this moving around,” Hershel said. They were both watching the car Lori and Douxie were resting in. “Especially not Lori.”

“What else can we do?” Rick asked. “Let her give birth on the run?”

Hershel gave him a sympathetic look, and a firm hand on his shoulder. “Do you see a way around that?”

Rick sighed, hanging his head for a moment as Hershel walked away.

“Hey,” Daryl called, walking towards him. “While the others get their shit together, let’s you and I go hunt. That owl didn’t exactly hit the spot.”

Rick managed a smile. “Better to make it quick, can’t leave them on their own for too long.”

Daryl nodded, and they set off. They found, rather quickly, a set of train tracks—now overgrown with weeds. They followed it, keeping one eye on the way they’d come from.

They walked not even fifteen minutes before they heard growling and moaning. That was a lot of dead nearby.

“Woah,” Daryl commented, as they came to a break in the trees and found themselves over-looking a massive concrete building. It was a prison, fenced in and crawling with undead inmates. “That’s a shame.”

But Rick looked at it, gears in his brain turning. If they could take that fenced in part, just the front yard—they could have a surefire safe place to rest for the night. Maybe even turn it into something real if they could get inside.

“Let’s head back,” he said. Daryl glanced at him, brow raised. “I have an idea.”

“This is insane,” Douxie informed him, helping Daryl watch Rick’s six as he cut through part of the fence with bolt-cutters.

“What was that thing you said about deliration?” Rick asked.

Douxie sighed, shaking his head. He kept one eye on Maggie and Glenn as they took down walkers on this side of the fence that were getting too close. The side they were cutting into had a gap on the other side, protected by another fence. Likely a pathway for guards and prison staff. He glanced to his other side, watching the others carefully. The old, young, and pregnant were huddled closely, watching the other way just in case.

“Watch the backside,” Rick called just as he broke through the fence.

“Got it!” Lori called back.

“Go,” Rick instructed, prodding Douxie to slip through the fence first.

Douxie didn’t take any time to argue, slipping through the wide scar quickly. He stayed there to help pull the others through, doing a mental headcount. Carl, Beth, and Carol. Then Hershel, Lori, Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl.

“Hurry!” Rick hissed to T-Dog, who sprinted to him and slipped through the gap next.

Rick was the last through, and as soon as he passed through the tear in the fence, Glenn and Daryl started threading a rubber cord through the holes in the chain link to sew it back together. They finished tying it off just as more of the dead reached the fence.

“Move,” Rick instructed, herding them up the path between the fences.

They ran, gravel crunching under their feet. The path between the outer fence and the inner fence stretched from the guard tower on one side of the building, all the way to another on the adjacent side. They made it to a large chain link gate—a wide set of rolling gates on the fences to allow vehicles through the yard. A large truck was tipped on its side just in front of the gate—on the other side of the fence inside the prison yard.

Rick took a moment to inspect the yard. There were walkers milling around inside, but not too many to handle. If they got a small team inside the yard and had another few up in the guard tower as snipers—this could work.

“It’s perfect,” he decided. “If we can shut that gate,” he said, pointing to the gate on the opposite end of the prison yard that led into the prison’s main courtyard. “And prevent more from filling the yard, we can pick off these walkers. We’ll have the field by tonight.”

He looked around at the hollow, tired faces of his group. Everyone was exhausted, he knew that. But they had to keep going, they just needed to push some more.

“How do we shut the gate?” Hershel asked.

“I can do it,” Douxie volunteered.

“Can you do it from here?” Beth asked.

Douxie peered at the far gate for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I’m too wiped to do anything telekinetically. But I’m fast and—”

“No,” Glenn interrupted. “I’m not arguing your speed, but you’re not steady enough on your feet. They could catch you and be on you in seconds. I’ll run the gate.”

Douxie’s face hardened, like he wanted to argue. But he ultimately didn’t. He just nodded. “Okay.”

“It’s a suicide run,” Maggie argued, pulling on Glenn’s shoulder.

“I know, but I’m the fastest,” Glenn argued back.

Rick rubbed his beard, then shook his head. “No, she’s right. I want you and Maggie to take Beth and T-dog. Go around the edge of the fence, pop ‘em through the chain link. Daryl you go back to the other guard tower.” He looked at Carol, pointing. “Carol, you’ve become a good shot. You take Hershel and Carl up to the second tower and take some pot shots. Take your time though, we don’t have a lot of ammo to waste. I’ll run for the gate.”

Douxie stuck his sword into the gravel, looking at Rick with a tilted gaze. “Got a job for me, or do you want me to stay put?”

“Think you’ve got enough in you to super samurai their asses?”

Douxie smirked. “Hell yeah.”

Rick smiled, clapping his shoulder. “Then you’re watching my six. Your sword has a better reach than a knife anyway.”

“What happens if he gets bit?” Lori asked. “I mean… he’s not exactly sniping them. Or even dodging and running. And we don’t know for sure he’s totally immune.”

“What happens if any of us do?” Douxie countered. “Close quarters combat is a specialty of mine, I’ll be fine.”

Rick nodded. “Let’s get to it.”

They waited as the others ran to their positions. The fence crew started shouting and banging on the chain link to get the dead’s attention. While they were distracting the walkers, Rick and Douxie got ready to run into the yard. Lori held a firm grip on the sliding gate, waiting for his signal.

Rick met her eyes, giving a single slight nod. She pulled the gate open, and Rick and Douxie ran through. It shut again with a rattle and a clang.

Douxie immediately peeled off from behind him, swinging his sword with nine-hundred years of expertise. The blade cleaved through an undead skull like it was soft butter. Douxie turned his face at the spray of blood, muscles tensing. Rick only caught a second of it—knowing well by now what this meant. Douxie was locking in. Anyone could say what they wanted to about whatever Douxie was—but Rick had never met someone who could lock their focus in such a feral way. It was like a predator hunting, closing in for the kill with instinctual precision. It was terrifyingly impressive.

Rick went forward up the gravel car path with his gun raised, carabiners linked together held ready in his hand. He ran up the path, only having to take a few shots from his own gun as he went at walkers who were getting a bit too close.

One stray shot from Carol’s gun lit up the dirt at his feet. Rick slid to a stop, whipping his head to the tower.

“Sorry!” She called.

Rick shook his head and kept going. He caught sight of Douxie baiting a half-dozen walkers close together before he banked to one side and sliced most of their heads clean off their necks. His sword grazed two, but it knocked them back enough to where he made short work of them anyway—before he was turning to find his next set of dead victims.

He got up to the next gate, dropping his gun and kicking one walker in the gut to get it away from the opening as he grabbed onto the chain link and pulled it shut. He was hasty to clip the carabiners through the links in the gate and fence—effectively keeping it from being opened by anything that didn’t have motor function.

“RICK!” One of the girls shouted—he couldn’t quite single them out with all the other noise.

He turned and scooped up his gun, shooting at the walkers that were getting closer to him. He stepped closer to a door that would lead to another guard tower, still taking shots into the dwindling pack.

“Douxie!” He shouted, getting a hand on the doorknob.

Douxie had driven his sword into the stomach of one walker, then he slashed upwards, neatly slicing it almost in two. He whipped around to look at Rick. His eyes narrowed, calculating something Rick couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

“GO!” He shouted back, waving him off.

“WHAT?!”

“I’ll be fine, just go!”

Rick growled, wanting to drag him to safety—but he was getting cornered. He wrenched the door open and slipped into the guard tower just as the dead got close enough to start banging on it. Before he could even start climbing up the stairs, he heard a wild shout—and then the ground rattled.

Over half of the walkers in the prison yard just… dropped. Without heads. Glenn stared in shock at the spray of blood that exploded over the grass. Next to him, Maggie was gaping too.

“What the hell man?” T-Dog muttered, watching as Douxie booked it to the guard tower Rick had gone into. “He could have done that the whole time?”

“I’m gonna assume that took a lot more out of him than he’s going to admit,” Maggie said.

Rick hadn’t even gotten a foot on the steps before the tower door opened and Douxie stumbled inside. And promptly collapsed.

“Oh my god!” Rick shouted, rushing to his side. Douxie was conscious, though barely. Blood was trickling from his nose and his eyelids were fluttering. “What did you do?”

“Y’er welcome,” he mumbled.

Rick sighed. “Kid, one day you’re going to kill yourself doing this.”

“Hey, Morgana fucking Le Fey couldn’t kill me,” he snarked with a weak smile. “This surely won’t.”

“You’re insane,” Rick informed him, scooping him up bridal style to carry him away from the door and up the stairs to the top of the tower.

“Something something deliration,” Douxie mumbled. His head lolled back against Rick’s shoulder. “Thanks Dad.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Yeah.” He inhaled sharply, trying to shake himself back awake. Gun shots were going off faster now. “We should help.”

“They’ve got it,” Rick said, stopping on a platform and setting him down. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Douxie gave an absent hum, thumping his head on the wall. He smiled, nearly grinning. His sharp canines glinted in the minute sunlight shining in from the tiny windows that went up the sides of the tower.

“What are you smiling at?” Rick asked, checking his ammo. Low. Fuck.

“We’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.”

Rick let out a small laugh. He holstered his gun, gently squeezing Douxie’s shoulder. “Promise me you’ll get plenty.”

“I could sleep for a week, probably.”

Rick smiled, cupping the side of the boy’s face for a moment. “If this works out, you’ll get to.”

“Fuckin’ stellar.”

“You’re delirious.”

“I feel like I’m high right now, yes.” Douxie admitted.

“Magic high or just sleep exhaustion?”

“Eh, both plus adrenaline.”

“Yeah, you need sleep.”

Douxie only got up when Rick trotted back down the stairs of the guard tower, smiling a real smile for the first time in months.

“Got ‘em?” Douxie asked, still incredibly delirious.

“Got ‘em,” Rick said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he helped Douxie to his feet. They walked out of the guard tower together. The sun was setting, and everyone was in high spirits as they stepped foot into the prison yard.

“Whoo!” Carol celebrated. “We haven’t had this much space since the farm!”

Douxie smiled, still using Rick for support as they walked towards the others. Carl jogged towards them, smiling but eyeing Douxie with worry.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” Douxie said, though his vision was starting to blur. “Just tir—”

The dizziness hit him like a train. His knees buckled and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Woah, woah!” Rick dropped his rifle and caught Douxie before he actually hit the ground. “Okay, alright. That’s enough wizarding for you.”

Douxie mumbled something nonsensical, completely limp. Rick sighed, hoisting him in a bridal carry. He looked at Carl.

“This is one of those classic “do as I say, not as I do” situations.”

Carl nodded, looking at Douxie with a mixture of deep worry and exasperation. “He didn’t need to do that.”

“I know that,” Rick nodded, knowing Carl meant whatever spell the older wizard had done to wipe out half the walkers in the yard. “But he’s Douxie. Something tells me he’s got centuries worth of self sacrificial habits stored up.”

Carl snorted. This was a common enough occurrence that it didn’t make them worry as much as it used to. Douxie would recover, he always did. And taking care of him during a moment like this was all they could to repay him for everything he’d been doing for them.

“Is he okay?” Lori asked as they joined back up with the group.

“He’s fine,” Rick said, gently placing him down near where Daryl was starting a fire. “He just needs sleep. Just let him rest.”

“After that magic show?” Daryl gave a nod. “Hell yeah let him rest. Damn Rick, you should’ve seen it. Popped their heads like it was nothing.”

“Well it certainly cost him something,” Rick said, pushing Douxie’s bangs off his forehead—a moment of affection for the boy they’d taken in as one of their own. “I’ll help T-Dog and Glenn move the bodies, then I’ll do a perimeter check. He might not wake up until morning, but once he does he needs to eat.” His brows furrowed. “He’s skin and bones.”

Douxie woke up with a start. It was dark, the only light coming from a flickering campfire. He groaned, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Rise and shine, Princess.” T-Dog teased. “Enjoy your nap?”

“I need to sleep for thirty-million more years,” Douxie groaned.

“Yeah, but first you need to eat,” Glenn said.

“Come on,” Beth, next to him, said. She tapped his arm, extending her hand in invitation. “I’ll help you up.”

With great effort, Douxie managed to sit up. He scooted towards the fire, soaking in its warmth. Someone passed him whatever dinner had gotten cooked. He took it with a quiet thank you, eating with no thought behind the movement. His body felt sluggish and weak. He knew he’d been using up too much reserves… maybe he needed to take a break from magic for a few days. Let his body rest.

“You’ve been overworking yourself,” Hershel said. “You need to rest, or one day you’re going to collapse and not get back up.”

“Or get back up but in the bad way,” Maggie added. She fixed him with a disapproving look. “Bite or no, we all turn after we’re dead. And Douxie, I love you, but I do not want to see what a walker wizard could do.”

Douxie snorted. “Trust me Maggie, I’d rather get my head bashed in than subject anyone to that.”

Uneasy laughter rippled through the group. Douxie wiped his face, then looked up to where Daryl was perched on top of that tipped over truck at the main gate. Carol was already making her way over to him—likely bringing him something to eat. He swiveled his gaze to where he could just make out Rick walking up and down the perimeter of the fence.

“He been at that long?” Douxie asked.

“His third time around,” Hershel said. “If the fence was compromised, he’d have found it by now.”

Douxie hummed lowly. “And he tells me I need to rest.”

“Shush that,” Beth said, shoving his arm gently. “We all do.”

Things were quiet again. Exhaustion flit through the air.

Lori cleared her throat, looking at Douxie. “Do you want a blanket? It’s cold.”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I run hot. Fire mage and all that.”

She nodded, looking out at her husband again. Her brows were knit together tight with worry.

“I wonder if there’s a correlation between your base element being fire, to you being able to survive the virus,” Glenn thought aloud, trying to fill the silence. “I mean there’s a lot of factors at play, you know? We don’t even know for certain if all wizards are immune, just that you are.”

“Yeah,” Douxie nodded. “All good points.”

“Plus the other thing,” T-Dog added. He still looked like he couldn’t quite say what Douxie had hated admitting—not that any of them really understood what it meant. “If this is a virus that effects humans… it’d make sense if it didn’t affect you.”

Douxie gave a slow nod. “Yup… that could also very well be a factor.”

“What… is a fae?” Carl asked.

Douxie took in a quiet, sharp breath—then let it out. “Very old, very powerful beings. Nature spirits, but… more. They’re…” he chewed his lip. “Fickle.”

“Are they dangerous?” Carl asked.

Douxie met his eyes from across the fire. “Yes,” he said plainly.

“And you are too, then?” T-Dog filled in the gaps.

“Of course I am,” Douxie said, voice going quiet. “But they are… dangerous in a way I’m not. I have mortal blood, I’m more human in an aspect they will never have.”

“Humanity is something you have spades of,” Hershel told him gently. “Your self control is a gift. Not many men as powerful as you could have the same said of them.”

Douxie gave a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Once more, silence choked the air. It seemed tonight would be awkward for small talk.

Hershel sniffed them, wiping his hands on his pants. “I have an idea. Carl, grab that guitar we picked up a few weeks ago. I want Beth and Douxie to serenade us.”

“Oh, Daddy no,” Beth complained. “Nobody wants to hear, and Douxie is tired.”

“Douxie?” Hershel raised an inquisitive brow at him.

Douxie smiled. “I’m never too tired for a song.”

Beth sighed, giving him a side eye. Carl quickly returned with the guitar, handing it to Douxie with a grin.

“Come on,” Douxie prodded, taking the instrument and tuning it a bit. “We hardly get a moment to sing together.”

Beth broke out in a little smile. “Okay. Do you know The Parting Glass?”

Douxie gave a soft laugh. “Bethy, I’m Celtic. Of course I do.”

“Is it a Welsh song?” Glenn asked.

“Scottish, actually.” Douxie said, doing a soft test strum. “It got popular in Ireland too, but I’ve been around a long time. I pick stuff up.”

The campfire got quiet again, but this time it was a relaxed silence as Douxie began to pluck the chords of the song—and Beth started to sing. Carol and Daryl began to make their way back over, smiling at the sweet sounds of soft singing.

With a smile, Maggie started singing along with her sister—and after a nudge from Beth, Douxie did too. He stared into the fire, watching it swirl and pulse as they sang a song about parting ways. But he was smiling… because this was the first time in a long long time where they were able to do anything aside from run for their lives.

He felt someone pat the top of his head, and he turned to look without stopping. Rick gave him a nod before going to sit with his wife and son. Douxie gave him a nod back, before hitting the chorus with the girls. It felt good to do this again. He’d missed playing, singing.

As he strung the last chord, and the last verse was sung, a soft silence fell over them.

“Beautiful,” Hershel said with a smile of his own. “Just beautiful.”

Beth laid her head on Douxie’s shoulder, a soft thank you for being her courage. He was grateful to have done it. They all needed to wind down, even if just suddenly serenading everyone after the day they’d had seemed awkward.

“Better all turn in,” Rick said. “I’ll take watch over there.” He nodded at one of the guard towers. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Douxie asked, laying the guitar down on the ground behind him.

“Listen,” he rubbed his beard. “I know we’re all exhausted, but we just need to push a bit more. Tomorrow,” he looked at each of them. “We take the inside of the prison. If we do this fast, and we do it right—this place could be home for us. No more running scared. Here we dig our heels in and stand our ground.”

Chapter Text

“Is this safe?” Maggie asked, watching Douxie work.

“Safer than going in there without it.” Douxie snorted. He blew on the rune to help it dry. It pulsed weakly with blue light. “You’ve got three charges, use them wisely.”

“What were the magic words again?” Daryl asked, loading his crossbow.

“Salus rete,” he said slowly. “Please only use this if you absolutely need to. I hate to say stuff like this, but giving mundanes access to any amount of magic without properly coaching them on how to use it is… risky.” He cleared his throat. “But, you all should be okay. The rune draws on the energy around the body to make the shield, not from within the body itself.”

“And this is different to your magic how?” Glenn asked, flapping his hand to get the stick-and-mud rune to dry faster.

“Wizards have a naturally higher source of inner magic to draw on,” Douxie explained. “It comes from within us, so we don’t have to bargain with or beg higher powers for magic.”

“Do people do that?” Rick asked, checking his ammo.

“Oh yeah,” Douxie shook his head. “It rarely ends well for the lesser powered.”

“And…” Glenn raised a brow. “This doesn’t count as one of those times because…?”

Douxie smiled. “I’m offering my help, so this is not a bargain.” He shrugged. “Normally I don’t condone making deals with the fae, and if I were full-blooded fae this would be a bargain.”

“But it’s not,” T-Dog clarified.

“It’s not,” Douxie confirmed. “Human blood allows me to… eh, bend the rules that lots of beings of higher power are bound to.”

“Something, something, balance?” Carl called.

Douxie nodded. “Exactly.”

“We ready?” Rick called, standing up by the gate.

“I think we are,” Daryl said with a nod, loading his crossbow.

“Alright.” Rick looked at each of them. “We go in there hand to hand first, only use your guns if its absolutely necessary.” His eyes lingered on Douxie. “You can still sit this one out, kid.”

Douxie shook his head. “I feel right as rain. I’m helping.”

Rick nodded slowly, pointing a finger at him. “No magic.”

“No magic,” Douxie agreed.

“Okay, stay in tight formation everyone. Watch each other’s backs.” Rick instructed, unclipping the carabiner on the fence—sliding the gate open.

T-Dog was the first through the gate, spearing one walker through the face with one end of the iron fire rod he’d scavenged a while back. They kept a tight circle, just him, T-Dog, Maggie, Glenn, Daryl, and Rick. The gate slid back closed to protect the others in case they missed any walkers on their first go around. Douxie held one sword, the other strapped to his back just in case. They good thing about these specific dual-wielding swords—they could be used together and individually. Perfect for close-quarters combat.

They edged through the courtyard, taking turns taking stabs at the walkers who wandered in close. The yard itself was a mess of litter and smelled like a sun-baked tomb.

“This reminds of the archaeology expedition Carter and I did to Cairo in the sixties,” Douxie muttered, breaking off for a second to cut one walker’s head off.

“Story time later,” Rick said through grit teeth, keeping his concentration on a different gate a bit further back. A hefty crowd of walkers were clustered in a tiny chunk of fenced in cement yard. A rusty metal staircase lead to a door to the inside. Likely a contained exercise yard for inmates.

“If we shut that gate, we can finish off these guys in here,” Glenn said, pointing. “Regroup and figure out what to do next.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rick nodded.

They pressed in further, just the squelch of blades through flesh and dropping of bodies amidst the groans and growls of the dead. Douxie stepped forward beheading another walker—when he heard Rick shouting at one of them.

He turned, blinking as he watched T-Dog break rank for a moment to grab a riot shield off a dead cop.

“Don’t break rank!” Rick shouted.

“We need it!” T-Dog shouted back, proving his point by ramming the shield hard into a walker—knocking it to the ground.

Maggie took the opportunity to bolt forward and cleave her knife into its head.

“Stay together!” Rick demanded.

The formation got tight again, Douxie stayed as close as he dared, keeping one eye on the walkers—and the other on T-Dog’s iron fire rod. He understood the necessity when weapons were in short supply, he just wished the man had chosen literally anything else.

They got close to the next fence, pressing to the wall to avoid the walkers seeing them first. Rick nudged open a door on said wall that would lead in, taking a peak inside.

“Dark?” Douxie whispered.

“Pitch black,” Rick confirmed.

“We should—” he cut himself off, stomach dropping. A dozen more walkers were wandering out from behind a dumpster—all wearing prison riot gear. “Ffyc.”

Rick turned, eyes widening. “Shit.”

Daryl raised his crossbow, firing a bolt at one as it came close. The arrow just bounced off the visor.

“Douxie, go!” Rick whisper-shouted, tagging him in.

Douxie shot off the safety of the wall, swinging his sword with nine-hundred years of practiced precision. The blade cut right under the helmet visor, slicing clean into the jugular and through the neck. The walker’s armored head rolled, and the body fell. He would have felt happy this was working, if he hadn’t just completely exposed himself to the walkers in the smaller court next door. And there were still more armored walkers to get through.

He cut through a few more of the armored ones relatively easy, catching a glimpse of the others for a moment. Walkers were pouring out of that door Rick had left open—distracted by the chaos in the moment.

Douxie cursed and dodged one walker who tried to grab him, body slamming another into the pavement. He scrambled upright, kicking the helmet off its face with his heel, jamming his sword through its nose. Blood sprayed, but he barely slowed down.

Rotting hands grabbed his arm and he spun around so fast, twisting his body in a way that he easily dislocated the walker’s arm. He heard the decaying bone crack and he felled it quickly, kicking the body away.

Back the way he’d come, Maggie had already figured out how to take care of the armored walkers—shoving their faces up by leveraging the helmet, stabbing them under the chin through straight to the brain. Quick thinking on her part.

Douxie wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, sprinting back into the fray. Even with Maggie’s new technique, there were so many they could all get overwhelmed quickly and easily. He swung his sword through the abdomen of one armored walker, trying to get back close to the others. He was too exposed alone up here.

The clinking of chain link rattled through the prison courtyard. Douxie looked, relieved to see Rick and Daryl closing that gate to the smaller courtyard, making sure it would stay shut with another pair of linked carabiners. With the problem of more walkers spilling in dealt with, they could get this shit cleaned up in no time. And nobody had even needed to use their runes yet! Douxie didn’t want to jinx it by getting excited, but today might be a good day.

They dealt with the remaining walkers as swiftly as they could, and with everyone distracted with the added difficulty of some with protected brains—Douxie didn’t notice one sneaking up behind him.

Until it had grabbed both his arms—surprisingly strong for something that was dead and rotting—teeth gnashing right by his ear.

“FUCK!” Douxie shouted, trying to twist again to get it off. Its grip remained absolute.

Desperate not to get bit—again—Douxie slammed it as hard as he could against one of the cement walls. It grunted and growled, losing some grip—but not enough.

There was shouting ahead of him, and Douxie looked up just in time to see Rick’s knife flash in his peripheral—then hear it sink into the walker’s brain.

It fell dead, grip coming loose finally. Douxie stumbled away from the body, mind whirling from adrenaline.

“Did it bite you!” Rick demanded as soon as he turned, also wild with adrenaline—and scared. He had already tucked his knife away, hurriedly looking at Douxie’s back, shoulders, and arms.

“No,” Douxie gasped, trying to catch his breath. “No, it didn’t. I’m fine.”

Rick still took a few more long moments to check him over, scrutinizing for even the smallest thing.

“Rick,” Douxie said, trying to will his heart rate down. “I’m okay, besides I’m immune.”

“To turning, not from the sickness,” Rick corrected, face stoic. “And with all that’s been going on, we don’t need either.”

“Is he okay?” Glenn called.

“No bites, no scratches,” Rick confirmed, finally. “Just a bit bruised.”

Douxie gave him a wan smile, rubbing his arm where the walker had grabbed him. It had indeed left two hand shaped bruises on either bicep. “Oh then I’m done for.”

“Cute,” Rick shook his head, though Douxie could tell he was relieved. He led him back to the others. “Let’s see if we can find our way inside and get settled.”

“I’m not totally convinced it’s secure,” Douxie said as they rejoined the others. He pointed at one body, a young woman in a dress. “That’s a civilian and that courtyard was overrun.”

Rick paused, looking at the body—then around them. He nodded. “You might be right. If there’s a breach, we have to find it. We can’t risk a blind spot.”

“And do what?” Glenn asked. “We can’t rebuild this whole place.”

“No, but we can find a small section of cell blocks to make secure.” Douxie said. “After that, once we are settled, we can worry about everything else.”

“Unless you know a spell to rebuild a prison, I’m not sure about “everything else”.” Maggie said skeptically.

Douxie raised a brow at her.

She blinked. “You’re kidding me.”

“Maggie, I know a spell that can bake a pie, there is almost no limit to what one could do with magic if they got creative enough. Architecture is one of the easier tricks.”

“All in time,” Rick said. “For now, we push in.”

They climbed up a set of encased stairs, Rick taking the lead. Douxie had switched to his hunting knife—knowing that swords in close quarters like this would be a bad idea. Rick pushed the rusty door open, peering inside with his flashlight.

After confirming it was clear, he gave a nod and pushed in. They followed close behind him, keeping in a tight formation. Just across from the outside door, there was a barred door—like it belonged to a cell. Or at least to keep prisoners in for one reason or another. Rick pushed that open too. The only light was coming in from a high up, rather grimy, window.

Douxie took careful steps behind Rick, watching their left flank as they all slowly descended down more stairs inside the prison. It looked like they were in some sort of common area, with a guard tower over-looking the whole space from a platform on the other end of the room. To either side two more sets of barred doors led to different prison wings.

“We should find a map,” Douxie muttered.

“Thought you’d have a spell for that too,” Daryl teased him.

Douxie glowered at him. “A good wizard knows when to be practical and not use magic.”

Daryl glanced at him with a raised brow. “Oh, so when I meet a practical wizard, I’ll let you know. Maybe then he can teach you how to not spend your energy on taking out a few dozen more walkers with just magic.”

Douxie rolled his eyes. “I met in simplicity. That was necessary.”

“Oh I bet.”

“Shh!” Rick hissed, giving them both a glare over his shoulder. He gestured silently to the window of the guard tower, indicating the glaring splatter of blood on the forward window.

Douxie wished he’d thought to teach them sign language beforehand. It could have come in handy. If he had the energy to spare, it might have been fun to make a psychic link. Though… then again, that usually didn’t go well when more than three people were linked together.

Douxie followed Rick up the steps to the guard tower as the others stayed below and kept watch. They inched closer to the small watch platform, and he could just make out a body slumped over in a chair. Rick got closer, keeping his knife level just in case.

But as he stepped towards the body, it didn’t move. Douxie looked at the spatter of blood behind it, and the way it was slumped over backwards. Suicide, most likely. Gunshot to the head. That was an uncomfortable amount of times this week he’d seen a body of which the deceased had chosen the same exit method. It had only happened twice, but still.

Rick inched even closer, pressing his machete to the dead guard’s chest. It remained lifeless—truly a dead body. It might have been obvious, but nobody could be too careful now.

After confirming it was dead for real, Rick calmly reached over—grabbing a set of keys from the dead man’s belt. He looked back at Douxie, holding them up.

Douxie nodded, getting the message. He waved to Daryl down below—who nodded back. It was go time.

They all gathered by the door below that led into Cell Block C, and Rick reached through the bars of the door and carefully unlocked it. The lock clicked and the door swung open.

They entered the cell block, more windows lining the adjacent wall to provide light. They moved quietly, eager to get this done. Douxie moved without a sound—peering into cell after cell. A few actually dead bodies littered some he looked into, and there was blood and other bodily fluids everywhere. But it was nothing that couldn’t be cleaned.

Rick checked the door on the other end of the cell block’s hallway. It was shut tight. Then he turned and headed up the stairs to C Block’s second level with Daryl. Douxie watched them through the perforated second floor, grip tightening on his knife hilt. They came across only two live walkers, both locked in separate cells. They were disposed of quickly and efficiently.

And just like that, for the first time in months they could relax. They were safe behind locked doors that the dead couldn’t beat down or open. Tonight they could sleep—even safer than they’d been in the prison yard behind those double chain link fences.

Glenn went back out to bring the rest of the group in. The rest of them stayed in the cell block to help clear out the bodies. It was gruesome work, but honestly it wasn’t Douxie’s first time hauling around the dead.

“We’ll drag them outside, take care of them for real tomorrow.” Rick said, then looked at the now smudged with sweat rune on the back of his hand. “We didn’t need them.”

“No,” Douxie agreed, standing straight and taking a breath. “But you might have. And I would rather you have them and not need them, then need them and not have them.”

Rick nodded, giving him a meaningful look. “Thank you.”

Douxie smiled at him, something tight and tired. But still real. “I should be the one thanking you. You saved me today—if not from death, at least from a really embarrassing story.”

Rick huffed a laugh, wrapping his arm around Douxie—briefly cupping the back of his neck to tug him into a hug. He pressed his face to Douxie’s head, and Douxie let himself sink into this man’s hug. It was about the closest he’d get to paternal affection for the rest of his long immortal life.

“Once we settle,” Rick said. “We can start making real headway on finding your folks.”

Douxie nodded, not keen on backing off from the hug anytime soon. “I’d like that.”

Rick lingered on the hug for a moment longer, before he stepped back, brushing Douxie’s sweaty, tangled hair away from his face. It was getting much longer now, nearly sweeping past his shoulder blades. He barely ever remembered to tie it back.

“What is it?” Douxie asked, slightly confused about the look on Rick’s face as he studied Douxie.

“I’m still trying to figure out what it is about yourself you hate so much.”

Douxie blanched. “Pardon?”

“I know,” Rick said, sotto voce. “That you do the things you do because you’re trying to prove something. That in spite of something you hate, you’re still human.”

Douxie felt hot tears prick behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly, looking away. “You already know what it is.”

“Douxie,” Rick said softly. “You have more kindness, more empathy, more generosity than any man I’ve met. You have nothing to prove. Not to us, not to me.”

“Is this about my quote-unquote self sacrificial habits?” Douxie asked, gaze flitting back to Rick’s for a moment.

Rick gave a quick, nearly motionless nod.

Douxie looked down again. “Rick…—”

“You have nothing to prove,” Rick said again. “I believe that. I know it. I hope you figure it out too someday.”

Douxie pursed his lips, wanting to scream and argue that Rick had no idea what he was talking about. But a crying, pathetic part of him—the part that craved human connection, true and genuine relationship with his fellow man—was winning this inner battle. It made him stay quiet, take what Rick was saying to think about later. Because Douxie was so tired of hating himself. He wished he could stop… unlearn nine centuries of prejudice and bigotry—even when it was something about himself.

Is this really different from internalized homophobia? Douxie asked himself, almost not noticing when Rick squeezed his shoulder and let him go to address the others as they were walking in. And I unlearned that early on. I helped Carter let it go, let go of his own religious guilt from whatever Catholicism was left in him from his childhood.

“Hey,” Carl greeted, all smiles and good humor. “We’re choosing bunks, come on!”

Douxie let himself be dragged to wherever Beth was, still thinking about what Rick had said. This… break, reprieve, whatever it was—it would be good for him. Now he could take a week or so to breathe, build his magic and energy back up. After that, proper defenses around the prison, proper schooling for Carl. After they found the cafeteria, that is. They still needed a good food supply.

“It’s pretty gross,” Beth was saying with a laugh, dropping her pack on the floor of one of the cells.

Douxie eyed a mystery stain on one wall, leaning on the metal door frame. “We sleep in the cells?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Carl asked, wandering into the cell. “Dad said we get a good night’s rest tonight. This place is secure. Tomorrow we’re gonna find the cafeteria and infirmary.”

“We?” Douxie asked with a raised brow.

“The grown ups, he means.” Beth corrected. “Obviously not us kids.”

“Do you not like prison cells?” Carl asked him, turning to look him in the eye.

“I’ve… spent my fair share of time in a few over the centuries,” Douxie admitted. “Or the equivalent thereof.”

Beth was looking at him, wide-eyed. “What did you do?”

Douxie shrugged. “Usually I just stole stuff like food, to survive. Other times… well, those witch hunters weren’t the first to catch on. Thought most of the time it was superstitious nonsense.”

Carl tilted his head to one side. “But… you’re a real wizard.”

“I got arrested and tried for some of the dumbest shit,” Douxie told him. “I was good at medicine, and I don’t know what suddenly got into people’s heads—but suddenly knowing how to make someone better without bloodletting all the ghosts from their body apparently meant you were consorting with Devil.”

Beth and Carl exchanged wide eyed glances.

“Were you ever burnt at the stake?” Carl suddenly asked, maybe a bit too excitedly for such a question.

Douxie physically recoiled. “Uh…”

“Carl!” Beth hissed, swatting at him. “Not cool!”

“Sorry,” Carl retracted quickly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

Douxie took a breath, trying to release the sudden tension. “I accept your apology, and if it’s alright with you—I’ll decline to answer that.”

Carl nodded.

“You two finding your cell yet?” Hershel suddenly asked, appearing behind them.

Carl jumped, and Douxie tried not to laugh.

“Uh, y—yeah!” Carl stammered. “We were just making sure Beth was alright.”

Hershel smiled, chuckling. “Get on then, I don’t think those mattresses are gonna bite.”

Douxie gave him a smile and a nod, steering Carl out of the cell. “Come on, we can room together. You can get top bunk.”

Carl grinned at him, pushing the brim of his hat out of his eyes. “Cool kids club.”

Douxie laughed. “Cool kids club indeed.”

Rick watched his kids walk by, smiling and laughing. He watched them all, his whole group settle in. And he felt the peace they all did. They were all safe. They could be safe here, forever. He could protect his family here. They were all going to be okay. After nine months of uncertainty—they were finally going to be okay.

Chapter Text

“Does it hurt?” Jim asked, propping Carter up against the tree.

“Not more than having my leg cut off,” Carter quipped, managing to keep himself from screaming in utter agony when Jim pressed his hand against the wound.

“Shh,” Jim hushed softly, glancing at the man who’d shot his friend. “You said you have a camp?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, still looking sheepish. “I really am sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t see him. This was supposed to be routine—”

“Oh quit your belly aching,” the red neck hillbilly the guy was with snapped. “He ain’t dead.”

“Maybe we should take them with us,” he said, addressing his comrade. “Woodbury could always use more soldiers, and anyone who can take a bullet like that and not complain much is someone the Governor could use.”

The hillbilly scoffed, waving his gun at Jim and Carter carelessly. “You wanna take these little kids with us?”

“Hey,” Steve snapped. “These kids just kicked your ass Homer.”

Jim looked at him. “Steve, was that a Simpsons joke?”

“Yeah.”

“The name is Merle,” the hillbilly said, nothing nice flashing in his eyes. “Merle Dixon. And what do you have to offer us, huh?”

Jim put more pressure against Carter’s shoulder, looking Merle square in the eyes. “You help us get him patched up and we’ll discuss it, how’s that?”

Merle exchanged glances with his comrade, then looked back at Jim with a nasty smile. “Alright then. But just so you know, this ain’t no charity boy. We help you, you help us.”

Jim grit his jaw, every instinct in him telling him this man couldn’t be trusted. But Carter was bleeding, shot—and they were running ragged. Nine months of chasing Douxie’s trail and it was going cold. They needed to regroup. Come up with a new plan.

“Jim?” Claire prodded, her voice low.

“Deal,” Jim grit out. “‘But he gets medical attention before anything else.”

“Deal,” Merle nodded. “Let’s go pretty pansies. Our set up ain’t too far.” He eyed Carter. “Can ya walk, pretty boy?”

“Better than you can wipe your own ass,” Carter snarked back with a significant glance to Merle’s right hand—which had obviously been amputated. Probably not long into the apocalypse.

Instead of getting offended, Merle just cracked a smile. “Then let’s go.”

Jim glanced back at his own group and gave a nod. Hesitantly, they picked up their packs, getting ready for a trek. Jim turned his attention back to Carter, tearing a piece of his t-shirt off on the bottom to wrap around his shoulder. Carter tried not to move or make too much noise, but Jim could tell it hurt.

“We’ll have Archie and Fenris hang back with the trolls and Strickler,” Jim whispered to him. “We’ll check this place out first. If it’s good we’ll stay for a bit and regain our bearings.”

Carter looked him in the eyes, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. He was already getting pale from blood loss. “We could lose him.”

Jim took a deep breath, gently cupping Carter’s cheek. “Trust me.”

Carter was shaking now, but he nodded. “Okay.”

Jim pressed his forehead to Carter’s for a moment, before pulling back to help him stand.

Merle was watching them, smirking asshole-ishly. “Lovers spat?”

Jim glowered at him. “Mind your business.”

Merle held up his hand in a fake placating gesture. “No need to get all uppity. I get it, we run outta options at the end of the world.”

“Dude, seriously?” Toby sniped. “Leave them alone. Even if they were a thing, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

Merle looked at Jim again. “So that ain’t your boyfriend?”

Jim rolled his eyes, supporting Carter’s weight. “No. He’s my brother’s boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Merle just grinned, all the same asshole nature leaking from him as they started walking. “Then which one is your brother?”

Claire stepped next to Jim, matching his stride, acting as a physical buffer. “He’s missing. Drop it.”

At that, Merle’s cocky grin started to slip. “Ah, we got that in common, you and I. Lost my baby brother too, right at the start.”

Jim glared at him. “We have nothing in common. Help us, or don’t. There’s no need for this much of the conversation to border on homophobia.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean for it to sound… like that.” Merle’s friend said nervously. “Merle’s just talkative.”

“Uh-huh,” Toby dead-panned. “Maybe he can talk to someone else. Carter just got shot, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to argue with a bigoted red neck.”

“Maybe we should all just stay quiet until we reach your camp,” Barbara suggested, eyeing these two men suspiciously.

“It’s more of a town really.” He said. “It’s got walls around it to keep the dead away.”

The Trollhunters exchanged glances.

“A town?” Jim asked.

“Yeah,” Merle said, glancing at him. “Not too far away. Woodbury. We’re safe there.”

“I like the sound of safe,” Eli said.

“Well you won’t be disappointed,” Merle promised. “Of course, the Governor is gonna have to decide what to do with you once we get there.”

Jim tightened his grip around Carter. “Do with us?”

“Where you’ll be working,” the other man clarified. “Don’t worry, we’re civilized people. We won’t kill you.”

“Unless you give us a real good reason,” Merle added.

Jim frowned. He was liking the sound of this less and less. And if it weren’t for the fact that Carter had been shot and was bleeding out, he’d have already turned them the other way.

Douxie dreamt of fire. A great big wall of flame, stretching across the world. It roared in front of him, steps away. He could touch it if he wanted to. And he did.

It called to him, sang with magic that beckoned this wizard of fire and ash to it. Douxie stepped closer, feeling the heat on his face and arms. It wanted to burn away every remnant of the dead that still clung to him, wash him of every ailment with fire. Douxie reached his hand out, fingertips brushing against the heat—the flames licking at his hand. Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared; reminding him of where he came from. Where he belonged.

Douxie closed his eyes and stepped into the fire.

Rick had been patrolling up and down the cell block, sleep evading him completely—when he saw a glimmer of a figure walking amongst the shadows. He stopped dead in his tracks, watching that shape wisp through the doorway of the cell his boys were in.

“No,” he whispered, unsticking his feet, jogging into the cell. He pulled his gun out, looking around. Once he might have thought he was just hallucinating, but now he knew better. This was magic, it had to be.

He stepped into that cell, watching carefully. Then he heard a muttering whisper. He looked over at the bed where Douxie was sleeping, and his blood ran cold.

That figure—translucent, barely there—was leaning over him, its hand hovering over his face. Douxie’s eyes were darting back and forth, eye lids fluttering as he muttered to himself.

Rick could only stare for a moment, bewildered and not knowing what to do.

Then the figure stepped back, and he saw her clearly. It was a woman, tall and ethereal. Long dark hair swept freely down her shoulders and pooled around her feet. Her skin was moon pale and her eyes were nothing but black abysses.

She turned her head, looking right at him. Rick froze. He didn’t know anything about magic, but he knew what she was. One of those goddesses Douxie had talked about.

But was she good or bad?

“Do not fear me,” she said, her voice an echoing whisper. “I am not here to prey on your chosen kin.”

“What…” he looked at Douxie, voice shaking. “What are you?”

She smiled. “His goddess. He freed me once, I owe him a debt. I’m here to bestow a gift on him by hand.” She stepped closer to Rick, and he couldn’t move at all. “You must guide him in this, Rick Grimes. He has chosen you as much as you have chosen him. Care for him, the Son of Dragon, the Shepherd of Fire, and now the Seer of Nimue.”

“I don’t…” Rick looked at her, wondering for a moment if this was all a dream. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

“You will.” She said it like a promise. “Your blood will be leaders in this new world. Your children will have magic. Your people will be beasts of the sky.” She looked back at Douxie, her gaze falling on him fondly. “He will lead you to this. But you must keep him safe from those who would harm him.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Despair not,” she told him gently. “For I have seen you, and judged your desires. You are worthy.”

Before Rick could ask her what any of this meant, the goddess disappeared. There was no flash of light, nothing fancy or anything to gawk at. She was just… gone. And Rick was left standing there, staring at nothing.

“Dad?” Carl’s voice, tired and groggy, reached his ears. His son had rolled over, blinking at him sleepily from the top bunk. “What’re you doin’?”

Rick took in a shaky breath, gazing at Douxie for a long moment. He was still sleeping, undisturbed. “I just… wanted to check on you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Carl.” Rick said with a hushed tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Carl nodded, closing his eyes. Rick stood there for a while longer, watching Douxie. He didn’t move beyond that same muttering and darting eyes beneath closed eyelids. Rick worried that… whatever had just happened… it wasn’t going to be good.

What had any of that meant? Son of Dragon? Shepherd of Fire? And what in hell was a seer?

Ask him tomorrow, he told himself, beginning to back out of the cell. He’ll know. Just ask him.

They limped to the gates of Woodbury, Carter barely conscious against him. Jim held him tight, waiting as Merle and the other guy he still hadn’t learned the name of barked at the guards to open the gate.

Jim held tighter to Carter as the gates swung open and they were directed inside. Standing by the gates as they were opening were squads of armed men, maybe ten or so. Jim did not like the look of this.

“Where did you find them?” One of the guards was asking as the Trollhunters filed inside. The gates closed.

“About a mile or so off from here,” Merle said. He gestured to Jim and Carter. “Blondie over here got his ass shot by Liam. Scary Eyes insisted we help patch him up.”

The guard snorted. “And what do we get in return for our trouble?”

Merle smiled. “They’re tough sons of bitches. They don’t have no guns, but they’ve got swords. They look like they know how to use them.”

“Hey,” Jim snapped. “Merle, was it? Can you tell us where to go please? I’d rather not just sit here while you chit-chat.”

“See what I mean?” Merle commented. “Scary eyes.”

The guard nodded, going back to his post as Merle made his way to them.

Jim glowered at him. “You said you’d help us.”

“And I will,” Merle said. “Follow me. The Governor will talk to you after he’s been all patched up.”

“And who is this Governor you keep talking about? Jim asked, annoyed as he followed him down the streets of Woodbury. It was close to dark now, and there were only a few people walking around.

“He’s the guy who keeps this place running,” Merle said, leading them into a small squat building. “Don’t worry, you’ll get all your questions answered.”

Jim scowled, helping Carter inside. “We’d better.”

It had been hours. It was dark outside, and Carter had long since been patched up. His shoulder still hurt like a bitch, but he’d had way worse. Jim hadn’t left his side, standing by the bed he’d been confined to like a guard dog on duty. He was weak and shaky, but he just chocked that up to blood loss. He’d be fine in a day or two.

“You’re lucky they found you,” the doctor, a short Black woman, was saying as she was walking back in. “You could have died.”

“Your guy was the one who shot him,” Jim growled.

“I meant being out there,” she clarified. “Alone. Without a community, without walls.”

“We’ve been doing fine,” Carter said, hating how his voice was so raspy. He didn’t want these people to see him as weak. He wasn’t weak. “Consider us nomads. We don’t plan on staying long.”

The doctor pursed her lips, but didn’t comment. She jotted something down on a clipboard, half turning when the door opened.

A man in a simple blue button down, jeans, and a leather jacket stepped through. He was clean-shaven and had a warm inviting smile. Carter didn’t trust him one bit.

“How’s the patient?” He asked.

“Wolfish,” the doctor commented under her breath as she stepped out behind him.

The man just laughed in good nature, stepping closer. Jim stepped forward too, arms crossed over his chest. He was glaring at this man who was dressed too nicely and had too good of a demeanor for the end of the world.

“Relax,” he said with a placating gesture. “You must be Jim. I tried talkin’ to your mother, but she said you were the one I should chat with.” He rested his hands on his hips, looking at Jim with an easy smile. But Carter clocked that look in his eye, the way he was trying to analyze Jim. Decide if he was a threat. “Let’s say you and I sit down with a beer and talk.”

Jim’s expression remained the same. Hard as stone. Something he definitely retained from his time as a troll. “I don’t drink. We can talk right here.”

“Alright,” he said, nodding as if to say ‘fair enough’. “Have you all been out on the road long? You sure look it.”

“Nearly since the start,” Jim said truthfully. “We’re looking for my brother.”

“He been missing long?”

“Nine months,” Jim said. “Which is why we can’t stay. We’re grateful for your help, we really are. But now that Carter is patched up—”

“Hold on,” he said with a small laugh, waving his hand. “Now, I respect your loyalty. That’s a good trait to have. But it’s dark out now. The biters would be up on you in an instant. And we don’t open those gates after dark. As a precaution.”

Jim’s frown settled in deeper. A cold dark look settled in his eyes. “It’s the Governor, right?”

Another laugh. “That’s just what they started calling me. I didn’t give myself that title.”

Jim smiled thinly, unamused. “I don’t care. Listen, you’re free to do whatever—I don’t give a shit. As long as you run your community nicely, it has nothing to do with me or my family. But you’re not stopping us from leaving. We can and we will leave whenever we think it’s necessary.”

The Governor was silent, an almost annoyed look flashing in his eyes. But then he smiled again and it was gone. “I understand. You don’t trust us yet. And you can leave. In the morning. I’m not putting my people at risk so you can hightail it out of here like a thief in the night.”

Jim gave a small, sharp nod. “Alright then.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page then.” He said. “We’ll have someone show you to your abode for the evening. And if you decide to stay,” he paused, maybe trying to sound meaningful. “There will be a permanent place for you all here. There’s safety in numbers, behind walls, and with like-minded people.”

“Thank you,” Jim said dryly.

Seeing that there was no way he was talking Jim into this—at least now—the Governor gave a polite nod and a smile and left.

“You don’t trust him?” Carter asked, sitting up fully.

“Do you?” Jim asked with a raised brow.

Carter snorted. “Fuck no.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grateful that all the doctor had focused on was the gunshot wound. He didn’t want them to see his prosthetics. That would have raised far too many questions. “He’s all smiles and good shit, but it’s an act. He’s hiding something.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “But lucky for us we won’t have to put up with it for long.”

Carter looked at him. “What if he doesn’t let us leave?”

Jim smiled. “Hey we’re a handful of Trollhunters and wizards. And we’ve got two trolls, a changeling, a dragon, and a mythical wolf hanging outside the gates—if they give us any shit, we can more than fight back.”

Carter pursed his lips. “Do you think we’re any closer to finding Douxie?”

“Archie thinks so,” Jim said, helping him up. “And he’s still alive. I know he is.”

“He’d better be.”

The next morning, they all woke bright and early. Rick had stayed up, pondering the things he’d seen the night before. He sat at a table in the common area right outside the cell block—and that was where Daryl found him as everyone else was getting ready to face the day.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Daryl asked, leaving the cell block door wide open.

“No,” Rick said, running a tired hand down his face. “I saw something last night.”

Daryl sat across from him, raising a brow. “What?”

“I’m not really sure,” Rick said, and took in a deep breath. He turned his head as the rest of his family began entering the common area in pursuit of breakfast. “Douxie.”

The teen in question stopped in his tracks at being addressed, facing Rick with a confused look. “What?”

“Come here, I need to ask you something.”

Douxie furrowed his brows, but crossed the space between them. He stopped in front of Rick, looking much more rested today than he did usually. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Rick admitted, looking up at him. “Did you… notice anything strange last night?”

Douxie blinked. “No?”

“Rick, what’s wrong?” Glenn called.

Rick didn’t take his eyes off the wizard in front of him. “Do you know anyone named Nimue?”

Douxie visibly paled. “How do you know that name?”

Rick sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “She was here. Last night. To see you.”

Douxie looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He took a step to the side, slowly lowering himself into a nearby chair. “Did you… Rick, did you talk to her?”

Rick nodded. “She said she owed you a debt. And that she was there to give you a gift in person.”

Douxie looked at him, eyes near frantic. Wild. “I didn’t… I wasn’t awake for any of that. Why didn’t she—”

“I think what she wanted to give you wasn’t something physical.” Rick said carefully. “She called you… a lot of things.”

Douxie blinked, brows furrowing. “What?”

“They sounded like titles.”

Douxie’s lips pulled into a thin line.

“Son of Dragon,” he said slowly. “The Shepherd of Fire.”

Douxie sighed, burying his face in his hands.

“What do those mean?” Beth asked, looking confused.

“It’s a long story.” Douxie sighed.

“And she gave you a new one, I think.” Rick continued. “She called you ‘Seer of Nimue’.”

Douxie’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Douxie, what does it mean?” Rick asked earnestly. “Why is she so interested in you?”

Douxie took in a long deep breath, seeming to be trying to steady his nerves. “Eons ago, Merlin imprisoned hundreds of old gods. Nimue was one of them. I… freed her, to make a long story short. Since then it seems she has seen it fit to favor me.”

“This Nimue is… a god?” Hershel asked carefully.

“One of many,” Douxie said. “I don’t really want to get into it.”

“Okay,” Rick leaned forward. “So she likes you?”

Douxie laughed. “Like is a very strong word. Nimue is one of the better gods I’ve met, but she’s still a detached immortal being that does not live in reality the same way we do.”

“What did she give you?” Lori asked.

Douxie fell silent, gaze falling on nothing. “I… I can’t say for sure. If she didn’t bother to wake me physically…” he trailed off, eyes widening slowly. “But why would she….?”

“Why would she what?” Rick asked.

Douxie slowly looked at him again. “I… I think she's re… awoken an ability I’ve… long since lost.”

Rick looked at Daryl, then Hershel. They exchanged concerned glances.

“What ability?” Daryl asked.

“A seer,” Douxie said slowly. “Is… someone who can see the future? Or at least get glimpses of it. Nimue is the Eldest of Oracles, this sort of thing is right up her alley.”

“You said she re-awoke this gift?” Maggie asked. “So that means you had it before?”

“Kind of… it’s a long story.” Douxie shook his head. “I had it in a way, but it was… stripped away from me when I was fighting this inter-dimensional psychic monster back in the eighties. He could dig into one’s mind and torment them with their worst fears.” He took in another deep breath. “That’s neither here nor there. I thought I’d lost it forever. I thought he broke me.”

“Clearly, it was something that could be mended.” Hershel pointed out.

“Yeah, but why now?” Douxie asked, even though he knew none of them would have the answers. “Why restore it only now?”

“The world has changed,” Rick said. “If she’s the goddess of oracles, maybe she knows something nobody else does. Maybe she’s preparing you for something.”

Douxie looked at him, eyes narrowing. “Rick, what did she say to you?”

Rick said nothing for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. Finally he said, “She told me to look after you.”

Douxie’s lips pinched in a scowl. But he took that and said nothing more. “Okay.”

“So… how does the seeing the future thing work?” Carl asked.

Douxie let out a dry laugh. “If you’re asking if I can control it, I’m afraid you’ll be left disappointed. Glimpsing the future is not easy, and doesn’t come without prices. I think this might be something that is just… going to happen when it happens.”

“Hey,” Maggie said softly. She smiled when Douxie looked at her. “When it does, we’ll be there for you.”

Douxie let himself smile softly at that. “Thank you.”

While some questions had been answered, this all still left Rick reeling and wondering, ‘What now?’