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Chapter Text

A week after the Governor killed his army, the fence around the prison was finally repaired, Hershel had supervised a small garden being planted, and Glenn had spotted a horse on one of his runs and was devising a plan to lure her inside the fence.

T-Dog, still unable to go on runs or hold a rifle for watch, had started walking the corridors to the other block every morning. He started telling stories of the winter, explaining how to hide from the walkers, and teaching the children basic safety with canned food and knives.

The kids from Woodbury were now orphans, taken in by the old survivors and, strangely, Andrea and Shane.

The oldest was Nate, a boy about Sophia and Bo's age, maybe a little older given his height, but he was younger around the eyes and the easy slouch of his shoulders. Then there was Barbara, or Bobbi as she preferred, and her brother Jason; they were about 11 and 8. The youngest was Eli, who confidently told T-Dog he was 5.

It broke T-Dog's heart. Eli was too young to realize the Governor had mowed down his parents in a fit of rage and still asked when Mommy was getting back. The others were older, they understood death in an abstract way that their kids didn't have the luxury of anymore. But they were touched by it closer than any of them except Carl.

So he tried to help teach them. They had spent most of their time nearly untouched by the end of the world, but T-Dog knew they couldn't keep going like that.

He had seen the way Carl, Sophia, and Bo tended to ignore the others, so he tried to bridge the gap.

“You know, Bobbi thinks you're really cute,” he told Bo, watching the boy blush. Another time, “I think Jason would like you to show him how to do that,” while Sophia was cleaning a possum.

His efforts had made slow progress, the kids went from watching each other warily in the yard to at least making eye contact and exchanging nods when they came close enough.

His kids, that is, the ones he spent the last year with, were hardened and, emotionally, more mature than the kids who spent their time safe behind the walls of Woodbury.

Bo, Carl, and Sophia also shared a concerning kind of bond.

Before, T-Dog had spent time with his church’s counselor, a kindly, plump man who looked a lot like how he pictured Santa’s elves. He told T-Dog - or Theodore as he insisted on calling him - that he had a background in children’s trauma counseling and had explained how siblings could become almost unhealthily attached in unsafe situations, they needed to be gently encouraged to stretch their social circles.

So T-Dog encouraged.

“Do you all have watch tonight?” He directed the question to a soft pile of limbs containing Sophia, Beth, and Carl, all curled together on a huge bean bag they pulled from an abandoned house. Beth rarely had a watch shift, busy enough with Judy, but Carl and Sophia far pulled more than their fair share, in T-Dog’s opinion.

Sophia nodded over her book. “Mama and I go when Bo and Daryl get off.”

“I've got the night off,” Carl added, “I'm going on a run with Dad and Glenn tomorrow.”

“I'm off, too!” Beth beamed, “Maggie’s taking Judy tonight.”

“Well, since you're all free now,” T-Dog ignored the playful groans, “can you help me catch a few squirrels for the other kids to practice on tomorrow?”

Carl laughed. “Bo’ll have a fit if we go out without him.”

“We can wait til he gets off,” T-Dog offered.

“But then Sophia’ll be on watch,” Carl pointed out, slowly like T-Dog needed help to understand.

Knowing a dismissal when he heard it, T-Dog decided on a tactical retreat.

A few days later, T managed to convince Carol to come to visit the Woodbury group in D-Block.

In a show of either distrust or support, the jury was still out, Bo and Merle tagged along; Sophia was busy helping Glenn in the kitchens.

Shane, Andrea, Michonne, and Karen, the only survivor of the Governor’s army, were the main do-ers of the group while the elderly and the very young made themselves busy with basic tasks.

Shane and Nate were out with Daryl and Rick while they showed them how to reset the snares spotted around the prison’s fences. They wouldn't go to the ones set deeper into the forest, but it would help to even the workload they found themselves under.

Going into the next block, T-Dog watched some of the elderly women working on a small mountain of laundry, all sitting in a circle and scrubbing while they laughed and congregated. It was a nostalgic sight, harkening back to Theodore’s grandmother and her friends in sewing circles, whispering gossip about the church ushers and wayward grandchildren.

Before he could lose himself in distant grief, T-Dog turned his attention to the children.

Bobbi was leading Jason and Eli in an attempt at weaving some grass and flowers into circles. The older two were making progress, their creations turning into lopsided ovals with bright spring flowers scattered through, but Eli was simply shredding his into a pile.

Behind him, T-Dog heard Bo snort.

“What I tell ya,” he stage whispered to his father, “fuckin' useless.”

Merle cuffed him gently around his ears. “Ain’t useless,” he said, “how you think we're gonna carry shit around when our packs wear out? Gonna need baskets ‘n shit.”

Bo grunted, not quite conceding but not looking for an argument either.

T-Dog made his way over and crouched down to their height.

“Hey guys!” He smiled brightly. “These are some of my friends from C-Block.”

“I'm Carol, it's nice to meet you!” Carol sat down beside Bobbi.

“We're making baskets,” she told Carol seriously, showing her the fruits of their labor.

T-Dog finished the introductions, pointing to each in turn. “And this is Merle and his son Bo, he's about Nate’s age. Guys, this is Bobbi and her brother, Jason, and little Eli.”

“I'm not little,” Eli said, pouting. “I'm five!”

Carol and T-Dog stayed where they were, weaving their own attempts at baskets, but mostly just entertaining the children. Bo drifted away eventually, apparently confident that no one from Woodbury would up and attack Carol or T-Dog if he looked away for a few minutes.

When T-Dog looked up, the boy was edging his way closer to the cluster of old women while they beckoned him closer with gentle smiles and whispers of stashes of candy.

Merle, for his part, looked a little lost and just hovered near Carol. He didn't seem to know what to do with the children, not accustomed to kids who weren't proficient with weapons or the vocabularies of tipsy sailors.

Carol drew him in, though, asking his opinion on the flowers Bobbi had chosen.

“Nice,” he said, slipping back to that rough southern charm T-Dog hadn't seen for a while, “real nice. They them pretty ones by the fence?”

Bobbi nodded. “I asked Mr. Johnson to get them for me, ‘cause there were a bunch of biters by the fence.”

“Maybe next time Sophia or Carl could help you get them,” Carol suggested. “They know how to kill the biters.”

Bobbi looked down to fidget with the weaving. “I know, I saw them yesterday. Aren't they scared?”

“They used to be.” T-Dog sat down beside her and Bobbi looked up at him with her big, trusting brown eyes. “But they still learned how to do it.”

She nodded slowly, considering.

Kids are resilient, T-Dog reminded himself. He imagined being thrown in with a strange group who told him his family had been purposely killed by Rick. He wouldn't have taken it as easily as Bobbi and the other kids had.

“You'll have to learn to shoot somehow,” Merle told him, leaning on his rifle casually.

T-Dog felt a dull kind of humor, the pair of them both missing hands meant they had to rely on each other. Merle had a full year to get used to missing his dominant hand while T-Dog was working with a few weeks without his whole left arm. Not for the first time, T sent up a quick, thankful prayer that he wasn't left-handed.

They were in the guard tower, which had been reinforced with pallets and scrap metal making arrowslits as if it were some post-apocalyptic castle.

Merle slung his rifle around and braced the forestock on his elbow and the butt resting snug into his shoulder.

Yards away, on the other side of the newly secured fence, a walker's head snapped back in time with the crack of Merle’s rifle, a neat hole appearing above the bridge of its nose.

“Dammit, Dixon.” Non-existent muscles twitched while T-Dog raised his shoulder; he would have waved his hand dismissively if it were still there. “I couldn't’ve made that shot with two arms and a scope.”

“I don't wanna hear no excuses!” Merle snapped. He slammed the butt of his rifle down on the ground. “My boy damn near got got lookin’ after your ass, so’s you're gonna damn well learn to shoot so he don't have to save you again.”

T-Dog flinched at the tone, but a glance at Merle’s face told him he wasn't actually in danger of facing Merle’s wrath, he was just being hit with the red-neck’s version of tough love.

“Now, quit your bitchin’ ‘n pick up the damn gun.”

With his right hand - his only hand - T-Dog reached out and tried to mimic the way Merle held it, trying to balance the barrel on the handrail around the tower.

“Hold your damn horses, T.” Merle knelt to a little pile in the corner and pulled out a length of black fabric. “Was gonna use this myself, but your sorry ass needs it more.”

It took some coordination between the two men, but they managed to fasten the strap Merle produced to the rifle in the appropriate spots. Merle had T-Dog hold out the rifle and reached to adjust it.

Once he was done, T-Dog found that he could use the tension to keep the barrel steady, each tilt of his right hand or twitch of his shoulder changed the trajectory.

Mindful of their limited ammunition, T-Dog mimed shooting with Merle standing at his shoulder. The other man would make his subtle adjustments and check the sights before he made T-Dog drop the gun entirely, just to make him pick it back up and drill the motions of slipping into the sling and finding his sights again.

Once Merle was satisfied with T-Dog’s timing, he gave a nod to finally try squeezing the trigger. “Mind the recoil, it's a bitch.”

His first round went wide, wide as hell, but not much different then how he had shot the first time he used a rifle - well into the end of the world. T-Dog adjusted and Merle slid back behind him, grunting his approval of the new angle.

The next round landed, not nearly as pretty as Merle’s but winged a walker and took half of its ear with it. One more adjustment and T-Dog took his target down.

Unable to contain himself, T-Dog let out a victorious crow and heard Merle echoing the sound.

“Hell yeah, T! You ain't done yet!”

In the yard, trying to get the Woodbury children to help tend to the little garden, T-Dog was approached by one of the newcomers - newcomers being the strangers, people Daryl or Glenn or Michonne brought back to the prison.

The man was about T-Dog’s age but wore his years heavy across his brow, his back bent under the weight of surviving in this world they found themselves in. He didn't get too close, just stepped up to the edge of the garden and watched with those mournful eyes of his.

T-Dog wasn't the only one who noticed him, Shane perked up across the yard and started circling back to them, driven by the caution they all felt about letting the newcomers in.

Less distrustful, T-Dog stood with an exaggerated groan and a friendly, non-threatening smile. “Hey,” he called with a wave, “I'm T-Dog.”

“Bryan,” the man said flatly.

He didn't expand on that, so T-Dog just came closer and waited patiently.

After a few moments of silence, Bryan flicked his eyes up to T-Dog’s left arm, the bandaged stump visible where he rolled up his T-shirt sleeve.

The younger kids had barely noticed the interruption, concentrating hard on putting one seed in each little hole they dug, but Bobbi was sneaking glances at T-Dog with the same caution that made Shane weave his way into the garden.

T-Dog just smiled at her with a nod - he was okay, just look after the little ones. She nodded back seriously and slid her eyes to Shane, then the nearest door back into their block, and finally across each of her little group. It was heartbreaking to see her planning exits and counting heads, but it was also reassuring - they could take care of themselves if needed.

Back to the newcomer, Bryan was digging his nails into his palm and alternating glances at T-Dog’s stump and somewhere over the fence.

Finally, “You were bit?” he asked, looking startled that he spoke at all.

“Yeah, I was,” T-Dog nodded and waved his stump. “But they cut it off above the bite, stopped the infection.”

“So I could’ve -” Bryan cut himself off with a sob. “I could've saved them.”

T-Dog pulled the man into an awkward hug, feeling him sag against his side.

“I could have saved them!” he wailed. Bryan flung out his arms and clung to T-Dog's shoulders with desperation. “I had a knife! I could have done it!”

T-Dog wrapped his arm around Bryan’s back and let his voice go low and soothing. “You didn't know, it’s not your fault.”

Looking up, T-Dog found Shane’s cartoonishly panicked expression - the man could go toe to toe with the Governor, but God forbid he dealt with a man in mourning. With a jerk of his chin, T-Dog sent Shane and the kids off so he could focus on offering whatever comfort he could.

“My wife turned,” Bryan explained between heaving breaths. “And my girls didn't - we didn't know! She was just sick and then… They just wanted to hug their mother!”

T-Dog understood and felt the weight of other man’s grief land square on his shoulders. “You couldn't have known,” he said gently, “it might not have even worked for them.”

“It worked for you!” Bryan tore himself away with a jerk. “It worked for you so I could have saved them! I could’ve saved my little girls!”

Making soothing noises, T-Dog reached out and urged the man back to his side.

“It would’ve worked.” Bryan made feeble attempts to pull away, but then collapsed back against T-Dog with another sob.

Once he wore himself out, Bryan pulled away again with a sheepish look. “I'm sorry,” he cleared his throat, “I don't normally break down like that.”

Despite himself, T-Dog had to chuckle. “Hate to burst your bubble, man, but no-one is acting ‘normally’ anymore.”

Chapter Text

He'd been walking for days. Hell, the last meal Leroy had was three nights before: a can of sardines and some dry cat food from under some old woman’s counter.

On the bright side, he also found a gallon jug mostly full of water and had been nursing it since.

On the less-bright side, the old woman was still in the house and gnashed her broken, disgusting teeth at him and he left his damn knife embedded in her surprisingly thick skull.

But that was then.

Now, he had to keep moving.

Something was after him.

It started the night before, when he was trying to pull his heavy pack up the tree after him there was a sound. It was something that made the hairs on his arms stand up, something that made the oldest part of his brain tell him to drop everything and run.

Later, he wouldn't even be able to identify the sound, just something he knew was wrong in some primal way. He was being hunted.

Leroy had frozen for just a second, then he scurried back down, strapped his pack to his back, and took off into the dark.

Hours later, he kept trudging along.

Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, his feet felt swollen in his old hunting boots, and each step felt like monumental effort, but he had made it this far. He could keep going.

He hadn't heard anything in hours, but there was still that chilling feeling crawling down his spine. There was something dangerous behind him.

He drank from the jug while he walked, his sprint having fading into a run, then a jog, and finally he slowed to the pace of the geeks he hoped to outpace. Just a slow, steady, step after step after step.

“He's a fuckin’ goober, man.”

Leroy froze again.

“He ain't even seen us yet, fuckin’ useless.”

The voice came from behind him, but he dared not turn his head.

“This is why I don't bring you.”

A second voice, it sounded older, almost jovial, like stalking him was just a joke of some sort.

Leroy squeezed his eyes closed, raised his hands, and turned around. “I don't want any trouble!”

A snort. “Duh.”

He cautiously opened one eye, only to find a boy smirking at him from over a crossbow aimed at his eye.

“Put that down.” The older voice was off to his left somewhere, but Leroy didn't dare look away from the point of the arrow.

“Fine,” the boy’s arms relaxed and Leroy finally let himself take a breath, “he ain't gonna do anythin’ anyway, fuckin’ goober.”

“Look, I'm sorry about him, he normally doesn't come on recruit runs.” With the immediate danger abated, Leroy looked up at his second stalker. He was a young man with a friendly smile and baseball hat pulled down over his eyes. “I'm Glenn, nice to meet you.”

Leroy took the offered hand, feeling like he had stumbled into some parallel world. “Leroy,” he stuttered out.

“I know it's a shock,” Glenn smiled sheepishly. “But we saw your camp a few days ago and, well…”

“He wants you to come back home with us,” the boy finished with a near audible roll of his eyes. “Don't know why, you're probably useless.”

“Bo!”

Another eye roll, but the boy gave him a curt apology. “Sorry, I guess I mean you might be useless. We don't know yet.”

Bo didn't like that Glenn went out on these trips, recruiting strangers into their lives after it had been just them for so long, especially when he brought back useless people like Bryan or Dennis or Alex.

The adults were trying to make some sort of questionnaire to ask the newcomers to make sure they aren't psychos or thieves, so Bo decided he would come and help Glenn test it out.

The man, Leroy, was obviously useless, but now they had to decide if he was dangerous.

“Before we take you back to our camp, we have some questions first,” Glenn said kindly. He spoke to the stranger in the same calm voice he used to urge Judy to sleep - Bo hated that.

“What kind of questions?” the stranger asked. His hands were still half raised, like a bank teller in an old heist movie.

Glenn kept using his Judy-voice. “Just to get to know you a little, make sure you're a good fit. Do you have a group?”

“Not for a while.” His eyebrows were drawn together, puzzled.

Bo rolled his eyes. Uncle Daryl had said they needed to know if the strangers had others who could try to take the prison, but Daddy said he wished they would. He had smiled with all his teeth and snarled, “They won't survive gettin’ through that gate again.”

Glenn asked the next question: “What happened to them?”

“Geeks,” they heard a version of that answer a lot, “over ran our base after the last frost.”

“How did you make it out?”

Rick had said that question was important, to pay attention to how they answered. Cowards would make up excuses and they wanted people who hadn't given up too easily.

Leroy finally dropped his hands and hung his head. “We were scouting a strip mall a few miles away. Only me and Tasha survived, but then she got bit a few weeks ago.”

Bo kept half his attention on the stranger and the other half listening out for walkers. So far his answers have sounded fine, nothing setting off that feeling in his stomach that Carl called paranoia but Daddy called survival instincts.

“How many ‘geeks’ have you killed?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Leroy looked up and shrugged one shoulder, “fifteen?”

His eyes slid to the left like he was counting. “No, seventeen. Mostly when we were clearing out the food bank we were staying in, but After, too.”

They didn't have to ask what he meant by ‘after’, they had a few ‘afters’: after the Quarry, after the CDC, after the farm.

Next, in Bo's opinion, was the most important question.

“How many people have you killed?” Glenn’s face went serious, his cap tilted down to shade his eyes while he searched Leroy’s face. The shift was intimidating, especially after Glenn had been so friendly, but they counted on throwing the strangers off.

“Wh-what?” Leroy's hands flew back up. “I don't- what do you mean?”

Bo brought his crossbow back up. “Answer the question.”

The stranger's eyes darted between Bo and Glenn, but neither moved.

“Fine!” he spat, “Two! I put down Tasha! Is that what you want to hear?”

“And the other one?” Glenn asked, calm and deadly.

Leroy lips curled up and he stared hard at Bo, like he was calculating his chances of taking the weapon. Bo let his finger ghost over the trigger, practically daring him to try.

The woods around them were silent while Leroy considered his choices.

Finally, after long moments without movement, he deflated. Between one second and the next, Leroy crumpled to the ground with his head in his hands.

Undeterred, Bo just let his bolt lower to keep him covered.

“Dad was old,” Leroy said, exhaustion in his voice. “He had oxygen, insulin.”

Bo relaxed and saw Glenn do the same; Leroy had passed the test.

“He said to, he didn't want to keep running.” He looked up at them with tears in his eyes, looking for absolution they couldn't provide. “It was quick, gentle. I made sure.”

The walk back to their base was slow. Leroy was already too exhausted to go faster than a slow trudge.

He was physically and emotionally wrung out, and a little sore that the pair had practically interrogated him before even finishing their introductions.

Glenn seemed normal enough, a little jaded and thin but friendly, but Leroy didn't know what to make of the kid. And he was a kid, no matter how he swung that bow around, he was short and skinny. The bones in his hands were stark against his skin and his arms and legs were all bone and knobby joints.

The boy had muscle and strength, clear in his bare arms, but Leroy could see the toll the end of the world had taken on both him and Glenn.

Leroy himself had been, apparently, lucky to have stayed more or less fed since the turn.

The pair took pity on him when they reached a little stream, letting Leroy collapse onto a mostly dry, but somewhat slimy fallen tree.

Bo grumbled again about him being useless, but started stripping some bark off of a nearby tree.

“Sorry about the twenty-one questions,” Glenn said. He knelt by the river to fill some jugs. “We have a good place now and we don't want to let just anyone in.”

He was hit with a rueful kind of understanding. “I get it, man. Don't like it, but I get it.”

They busied themselves around Leroy and let him sip from a different jug; “It's already been boiled,” Bo explained, taking a swig from it first as if Leroy was scared they would poison him.

Leroy tilted his head back until the sun hit his face just right and let himself relax a little, comforted by the sounds of other, living humans for the first time in a while.

“C’mon, Goober,” something struck his boot, “time to go.”

Cracking an eye open, Leroy wasn't at all surprised to see Bo preparing another kick. The bark he had gathered was neatly rolled up and strung through straps on his pack and he had a bloody squirrel hanging from a string. Leroy was pretty sure it wasn't there before.

“Is that going to be my name now, little man?”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Ain't little. ‘N you're a goober til you ain't, so get up, Goober.”

For the first time in weeks, Leroy laughed. He doubled over and cracked up until Glenn and even the surly little Bo joined him and his ribs hurt from the unfamiliar action.

Glenn tasked Leroy with carrying one of the water jugs then they led on for more walking.

It was easier once he had that little bit of rest, especially once Bo announced they were within a mile of their destination.

They sped up until, once Leroy was beginning to think the boy had lied to him, they crested a hill and he saw, of all things, a prison.

The fences around the prison had been reinforced by scraps of metal or wood, and the guard towers had a distinct kind of cobbled-together look, but the building looked secure and there were people milling about behind the fencing.

Glenn put his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, making several of the blurry forms below them start waving appendages and Leroy could even make out the somewhat muted sounds of cheers.

They jogged back into the woods and down the incline until the last few trees parted and Leroy could see a road leading to a heavily reinforced gate.

Already there were people gathered there, men, women, and even more kids clustered up and grinning at them.

“What is this?” Leroy asked, “You guys running a daycare?”

One boy, wearing a sheriff’s hat, yanked open the gate and killed a geek who had turned towards them lazily.

Once they were in arm’s reach, one of the women hauled Glenn closer and planted a kiss on already smiling lips.

Bo, for his part, practically threw himself at a tall, broad man with a sharp piece of metal fastened to a stump. Leroy could see an echo of the boy’s crooked smile in the man and guessed he was the father.

Once Glenn extracted himself, he waved an arm at Leroy and introduced him as a new recruit. “And this is Maggie, my wife.” The young couple blushed charmingly, like they were still getting used to the titles.

By then, Bo jumped down and was speaking excitedly to the boy with the hat and a girl with both a knife and gun hanging from a pair of belts around her hips.

“Then there’s Merle, he’s Bo’s dad; Axel; Beth and baby Judy; Carl; Sophia; Nate; Bobbi; and Jason.” Glenn pointed to each in turn and Leroy found himself staring in pure wonder at the baby in front of him.

“How old is she?” he asked the girl holding her.

“A few weeks,” she answered with a proud smile.

“C’mon in,” Glenn started towards the entrance of the prison, “we have to introduce you to a few more people.”

The next hour or so was a blur of new faces and cinder block walls. Leroy was introduced to Shane and Andrea and told he would stay in their block, then he was shown to a cell and told dinner would be served soon.

Dinner, served, what a concept.

Sitting in his cell with a thin blanket blocking out the circle of old women in the common area, Leroy carefully pinched his thigh.

When he didn't suddenly wake up, he blew out a relieved breath. It was real. He had been spirited away by mysterious strangers to a place that seemed, tentatively, safe.

There were old women, children, even an infant.

Maybe the human race had a chance, he thought, they might have a chance to come back after the turn.

“We should find a library and get more books for Sophia.” Carl mused aloud to his friends.

They were sprawled together on a mismatched pile of cushions in the hall where they thought Bo had died.

Carl continued, “And you need more arrows too, huh?”

Bo, only half awake and loose-limbed, waved a hand lazily. “Done told you,” his drawl was warm and sleepy, “Ain't fuckin’ arrows, they're bolts.”

“Stop that cursing.” Sophia kicked out at Bo’s side without force, easily enough by the way they were pressed so tightly together.

In retaliation, he latched on to her ankle, pulling her leg until she smacked him with her book.

She was reading to herself with the light from an old camping lamp, they left some of the solar powered batteries outside to charge and rotated them out.

The little space they used was close enough to C-Block that they would hear a commotion, but just far enough that they didn't have to whisper their words in fear of being overheard.

Sure, the camping lamp only worked for half a day at a time and the concrete still smelled of the sick-sweet walker guts it had been coated in, but Glenn brought them some candles and Daryl helped them clean up most of the mess.

Carl shied away from thinking of his father, still wavering between the solid, steady leader he had always been and the crazed, feral thing that stalked the wildest parts of the prison. Rick could keep it together for moments, even hours at a time, but sitting in the prison made his eyes go far away, his head tilted like he was listening to some voice only he could hear.

It scared Carl, at least, the part of Carl that still hoped his father could save him from the world, not the part that had to shoot his dying mother to protect his new sister.

That part of Carl might not be scared of anything anymore.

“Quit thinkin’ so loud, ‘m tryin’ to sleep,” Bo grumbled at him and dramatically threw a pillow over his face.

Carl appreciated the way his friends kept close and tried to distract him. He played along, “Bet we can make your stupid bolts, like how the Indians used to.”

Sophia looked up with a frown. “They used bows and arrows, not crossbows.”

“They can't be that much different, they look the same.” Carl tried not to whine, but he knew Bo was snickering at his tone.

“Hell yeah, they're different.” Bo sat up, laughing and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Whatever explanation he was going to say was cut off by a scream.

From deeper in the prison.

Chapter Text

Bo was first, he usually was, and Sophia slunk behind him like a violent shadow, her gun raised to cover them.

Carl brought up the rear with his eyes locked on their exit.

They hadn't even spoken, as soon as they heard the scream they were on their feet, weapons ready.

It wasn't one of their people, they knew each voice as well as their own, but it was still inside the prison.

The three of them swept out of their little hideout and to the gate that locked off the overrun tombs; each in the swift half-crouch they had perfected over the winter.

Carl steeled himself while they crawled down the hallways.

He was tracing his mother’s last steps.

Bo didn't slow down when they got to the boiler room, but Carl caught a glimpse of fierce eyes darting back for a quick check in.

All around them, disorienting screams echoed off of block walls.

For a moment, Carl was listening to different screams, heard Maggie’s steady instructions.

“Focus,” Bo hissed, snapping him out of it.

Sophia’s elbow was digging into Carl’s back to urge him to keep walking.

Carl shook off the thoughts and pressed forward.

Another corner and they found the cause.

Walkers converged on a group of adults spread out and taking uncoordinated swings, slowly being pressed backwards.

Bo’s crossbow rose instantly and he took out the walker trying to bite one of the men.

Sophia fired at another and Carl killed more that were coming up the hallway, attracted by the screams.

Bo dove in with his knife, as fast and vicious as ever.

Sophia hung further back, weary of the strangers and walkers alike.

It didn't matter either way, it was done within seconds. The last of the walkers falling to a crisp shot from Carl’s pistol.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

The adults eyed them with something close to suspicion and Carl didn't have to see his friends to know what cold, calculating expression they wore.

“C’mon!” Carl ordered, not waiting for an answer before he dove back down the hall.

Behind him, he heard Bo curse, probably questioning the sanity of leading strangers through the tombs.

Tyreese’s mind was filled with the all consuming static of blind panic.

Donna was bit.

This was a woman - a living, breathing woman, slung over his back like a sack - a woman Tyreese was responsible for.

The children lead them down the hall, through the labyrinth that nearly killed them, and into a door.

“Not here!” The boy with the crossbow was at the back of the line and he hissed to the other boy.

“We don't have a choice,” the girl whispered back.

The second boy, with a sheriff's hat and silenced pistol, urged them through the door. “Go! It's safe inside!”

The children stood guard at the door while Sasha, Allen, and Ben ran in.

Tyreese knew that Allen and Ben were in no shape to clear the room, but Sasha kept her wits about her and checked the dark corners before looking up with a nod.

Once the room was cleared by his sister, Tyreese carried Donna in as gently as he could manage.

“Who are you?” Sasha asked the kids, “Where did you come from?”

Without even looking at Sasha, the first boy aimed his crossbow at Donna. “She's bit,” he spat.

Allen ignored him and threw himself down at his wife’s side. “Donna!”

“Back up,” the second boy ordered, his silenced pistol up too.

“No! Donna, no!” Allen draped his body over hers.

The girl spoke quietly, her eyes fixed on the boy in the hat. “We can try… like T.”

The second boy nodded once, serious, then holstered his gun and whipped his belt out of its loops.

Tyreese saw the other boy flinch at the sound.

“Nah,” the same boy said, bringing up his bow, “she ain't breathin’ no more.”

“She's dead!?” Ben sobbed. Over Donna, his father made a low, wordless sound of pure grief.

The boy seemed unfazed, “Move, I gotta put her down.”

“Whoa,” Tyreese spoke to the strange children for the first time. “Hold on a minute!”

“She ain't got a minute, move.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tyreese slid between that sharp looking arrow and the couple on the ground. “We can help you.”

“Who are you?” Sasha demanded, her grip right on her crowbar.

“Her first.” The boy in the sheriff hat raised his gun again, his expression as cold as the metal barrel.

“Oh, Donna, baby, no.”

Tyreese looked over his shoulder, saw the misery on Allen's face, saw the shock on Ben’s. Donna was pale and, true to the kid’s word, her chest wasn't moving.

Sasha caught his eye and gave him a grim nod. It was time.

“No,” Tyreese hung his head, “we take care of our own.”

His hammer would be messy, up close and personal, but a part of him preferred to do it that way. Donna deserved more than a cold bullet from a boy who didn't even know her name.

“No, Tyreese, no,” Allen’s voice sounded weak, “I'll do it.”

Tyreese just shook his head. “Just take Ben and lean against the wall. It'll be quick.”

The kids looked at him with serious eyes, their weapons still ready, if he didn't finish her, they would.

Tyreese silently apologized, then raised his arm.

He lied, it wasn't quick. It was hard and brutal and the shocks went up his arm and jarred his shoulder.

Tyreese felt something warm spray across his face and knew it was Donna’s blood.

When he looked up, the children were watching him with hard eyes. They didn't even flinch.

The girl shot a glance to the boy with the hat. She looked the oldest, taller than the others, but the boy looked like he was in charge. He, in turn, raised a brow at the crossbow boy.

Tyreese couldn't read the looks, but he knew that they were deciding something.

The boy with the bow huffed. “Fuckin’ fine,” he grumbled, more to his companions then to Tyreese and the others.

“You gotta group or anything?” he barked.

“What?” Sasha was incredulous. “No, we have questions too!”

“Ain't gonna answer none til you answer ours,” he said, tapping his bow impatiently. “You got a group or no?”

“It's just us,” Tyreese soothed, jumping in before Sasha’s temper could rise any higher.

“You kill any walkers?” the boy asked. He looked like he was reciting a list.

That's when it clicked for Tyreese. It was a test, these kids were asking them a list of questions to see if they - what? If they could stay? If they deserved to live?

Tyrese's hammer seemed suddenly too small.

“We've killed plenty,” Ty answered, slowly drawing back, closer to Sasha and the traumatized Allen and Ben.

“How many -”

A man burst into the room. “Carl!”

“Dad!”

The man looked half crazed, his eyes rolling and he was covered in the dark blood of walkers.

“Get away from him!” the man yelled, aiming a mean looking revolver at Tyreese.

“Shit,” the crossbow boy threw himself at the man, shoulder first. “Go!”

The girl wrenched open the door and ordered them to follow her, leading them back the way they had come. Tyreese made Sasha go first then drug Allen and Ben behind him.

Both the boys were left behind, the man bellowing at them. “You're not real! Get away!”

The girl led them away at a run, her gun held in hand and her feet sure in the low light. They ran through the hall with the dead walkers and then back out of the crumbled wall.

“I'm not going back out there!” Ben said, yanking his arm back from Tyreese's grip.

“It's okay,” the girl said, “there's another way in.”

“Who the hell was that?” Sasha demanded.

The girl eyed them, Tyreese imagined he could see her weighing her options.

Finally, she spoke. “That was Carl’s dad, Rick. Carl’s mom just died and… he's taking it hard.”

Sasha snorted, but Tyreese butted in before she could speak. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said with real sincerity.

The girl nodded, accepting his words.

“We have to go back for Donna!” Allen kept looking over his shoulder, like he wanted to go back into those dark halls.

“She's dead,” the girl said simply.

Before any of them could call her out on her callus words, the boy with the crossbow emerged from the shadows. “Why’re you still here?” he asked.

“They want the body.”

The boy just snorted at them. “Fuck, man, never mind. We should’a left their sorry asses where we found ‘em.”

“Who. The hell. Are you?” Sasha was pissed, and Tyreese couldn't blame her.

“Everyone calm down,” he shot her a look. “But we need some answers too.”

“Fine,” the boy started walking, “but you better follow us while you’re asking’.”

“We can't leave Donna!”

“She's gone, dumbass, leave ‘er for the walkers or go join her, either way we're leavin’.”

Allen deflated, like his strings had been cut, and only Ben’s quick support kept him on his feet. Sasha laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, but his son did his best to urge him forward.

“So you want us to go back into the prison?” Sasha pressed.

“Rick ain't gonna bother you no more, not if you go in the other way.”

The girl nodded, “Everyone else heard the screams, they'll handle him while we go in the other way.”

“No, no way.” Sasha shook her head with conviction. “I'm not going back there with that psycho waving a gun around.”

The boy’s lip curled up, ready to defend the man.

Tyreese jumped in before it could escalate, “We aren't going to survive out there on our own, but we can't go back there either. Do you know somewhere safe we can go? Just for a while?”

The kids locked eyes, communicating with a series of looks and head shakes.

“Fine!” the boy snapped, having apparently lost the silent argument. “Follow us.”

Then they set off.

Tyreese and the others stumbled after them as the pair confidently wound their way through the woods on silent feet. It was obvious their survival was no accident of luck, these kids knew how to make it in the world.

“Look,” Sasha tried again, after they had walked for long, quiet minutes. “Can you at least tell us who you are? And where we're going?”

The pair exchanged another look and the girl nodded. The boy rolled his eyes, but pointed further up the game trail they were following. “There’s a clearing up there, we'll stop in a minute.”

True to his word, they arrived at the edge of the trees surrounding a little circle of level ground and some stumps they could rest on. Allen and Ben wasted little time finding a spot and collapsing, folding into each other to find comfort.

The boy pulled a water jug from his pack and took a long swig before offering it to the girl. She followed suit then gave it to Sasha. It was passed around until everyone had their fill and the pair crouched down, the boy inspecting his crossbow and the girl was deathly still.

“What are your names?” Tyreese asked, once it seemed they were settled enough.

“I'm Sophia, and that's Bo.” The girl introduced themselves with a tentative smile, the boy just grunted at them.

“Sasha, my brother Tyreese, and those are Allen and Ben. That was Allen’s wife in the tunnels.”

Ben made a sound, a wordless kind of grief.

Sophia just nodded at them. “Carl was the one with the hat, and his dad, Rick.”

“What's up with him anyway?” Sasha asked, some more of her temper bleeding into her voice.

“Same as with him,” Bo jabbed a thumb at Allen. “Look, you wanna go somewhere safe or not?”

“We do,” Tyreese soothed, “we just… we want to make sure it really is safe.”

That made the boy relax a little. “Yeah, we get that. We were makin’ them questions we were askin' you, but I think it's too long. Too much to remember.”

“Yeah, for you,” the girl teased, finally loosening up.

“For everybody!” Bo shot back with a crooked grin. “Fuckin’ ‘Where’s your group,’ ‘How’d you survive,’ ‘How many walkers you killed,’ ‘How many people.’ It's a lot!”

“Glenn remembers them all!”

For a moment, Tyreese saw what they probably looked like before the turn. If he ignored the weapons hanging from their belts, the way their bones stuck out, and the hard set of their eyes, they were just a pair of kids teasing each other in the woods.

“Sounds like just those last ones are important,” Sasha said. Tyreese looked over and saw her with a gentle kind of smile. She just saw the same thing in those hardened kids.

“That's what I was sayin’!” Bo grinned up at her, unguarded for the first time since they met.

He jumped to his feet and helped pull Sophia up after him. “So, y'all ready?”

Tyreese and Sasha gathered up Allen and Ben then nodded for the kids to keep leading the way.

“We should finish the questions at least, while we walk,” Sophia offered.

“Nah,” Bo waved his hand, “no point.”

Sasha laughed, it was a nice sound after so long. “What do you mean? You don't want to know if we've killed people?”

“Obviously you ain't killed nobody,” Bo shook his head, “Or you’d’a done that woman better.”

Tyreese felt that like a punch, the words flying into his gut and leaving him breathless.

He knew it was messy, but to hear it called out so callously hurt his chest and tainted what he thought was a mercy.

“Bo!” Sophia hissed.

Tyreese pulled himself together enough to see the boy rub his neck awkwardly. “I mean, um, she was already dead, at least, so, ain't like she felt it.”

The rest of the walk was spent with Sophia sending Bo accusatory glares and trying to offer what comfort she could to Tyreese and the others.

When Bo finally spoke again, it was quiet, evidently still chastised. “Jus’ up there. Y'all wanna wait here ‘n we’ll make sure it's clear?”

“You're kids!” Sasha exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Bo shot back, “and you're useless. So you gonna wait here or m’I gonna have to cover your asses?”

Sasha’s hip cocked out and Tyreese nearly choked on his laugh. “‘Useless’?!”

Next thing he knew, Tyreese was being led into an abandoned town by a pair of children and his baby sister, all three driven by a refreshing sense of childish spite.

“Shouldn't be anythin’ here,” Bo assured them in a whisper.

Sophia nodded along and finished his thought in what Tyreese was starting to see as a shared habit. “Michonne comes by every few days and makes sure.”

“So you guys have a whole group?” Sasha asked. “Do you live there at the prison?”

Bo eyed them wearily, but Sophia nodded again. “Yeah, we cleared it a couple months ago.”

The town was huge and they didn't see a single walker.

It was eerie.

Once they were sure the town was clear, Bo led them to a house. “Y'all can set up here if you want, jus’ gotta go back for the other two.”

Sasha volunteered to retrieve Allen and Ben, who they had left up a tree outside the town.

“We'll check on y’all tomorrow, prob’ly,” Bo promised.

“And sorry about your friend,” Sophia offered them a smile and the rest of the water jug.

“And ‘bout Rick, too, I guess. He ain't normally like that. Fucker gave away half our damn weapons at the start.”

With that, the pair turned and ducked into an alleyway, probably making their way to a hidden entrance and then back to the prison.

“Weird kids,” Sasha was just coming back with Allen and Ben, “Really weird kids.”

Tyreese laughed at her expression. “We're all kinda weird now, huh?”

Carl had confidently sent Bo out to help Sophia, but now he had to deal with his father.

Rick was waving his Colt at something behind Carl, his eyes wide and wild.

“You're not real!” he cried.

“Rick!”

The door slammed open again as Daryl and Shane burst through.

Immediately, Shane was rushing Rick while Daryl dove for Carl, putting his back to Rick’s revolver.

Daryl yanked Carl up, hauling him into his arms like he would with Bo.

“You're not real!” Rick screamed again.

Carl peeked around Daryl’s shoulder and saw that, thankfully, Rick had dropped the gun and was facing off against Shane unarmed.

Still, he kept glancing at something in the darkness, his eyes darting into an empty corner even while he wrestled with Shane.

“Where's Bo? Sophia?” Daryl was speaking to Carl, but he was focused on the two men.

“Safe,” Carl answered the most important part first, “they found strangers down here then Dad scared them off.”

“What?!”

The word was shouted simultaneously by Daryl and Shane, almost comical considering that Shane had Rick pinned to the dirty floor.

Once his dad calmed down enough and wandered off quietly into the tombs again, Carl was being interrogated.

“Who were they?” Hershel asked.

Carl shrugged one shoulder, feeling cornered by the attention. “I dunno,” he answered, “four adults, a teenager. The woman got bit but one of the guys wanted to put her down and used his hammer.”

“Then your dad came in?”

“Yeah, and Bo pushed him enough for Sophia to get them out and I thought they were just gonna come in the other way, at the fence.”

Shane and Merle were pacing, but Daryl was cleaning his crossbow with calm motions. Carl was reminded of every other time one of them went missing.

“You don't think someone took them?” Glenn asked, probably remembering when Daryl and Sophia were kidnapped by the Governor.

“Oh! That's it!” Carl jumped up. “If they didn't want to come to the prison, they'd take them to Woodbury!”

“Duh!” Bo’s voice echoed in their block, chased by Sophia’s laugh.

“You brat!” Merle scooped Bo up and gave him a noogie, making Bo cackle. “You disappear one more time, I fuckin’ dare you!”

Carol rushed to Sophia with much less yelling but no less love.

“They didn't want to stay here with Rick,” Sophia explained.

Bo snorted. “Told ‘em we'd check on ‘em in the mornin’, if they last that long.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Daryl was getting ready to visit with the strangers they set up at Woodbury, joined by Glenn and Bo.

“Hey, you guys need a fourth?”

They looked up to find T-Dog with a hopeful kind of smile, his rifle hanging from a black strap.

“You good?” Daryl asked, glancing at the way T-Dog’s left sleeve hung empty.

“Yeah, I think so,” T-Dog looked confident, in a way he hadn't been since the alarms went off. “The way is mostly clear, right? And Merle taught me how to shoot again.”

“Hell yeah!” Bo jumped up and offered a high five.

After that, preparations went quick. They packed some canned food they could spare, a few ready made snares, and some jugs for water.

Before they left, Daryl led Bo back to check in with Merle. They found him in the block, scuffling with Sophia.

“Atta girl!” he crowed. Sophia’s stick smacked audibly against his inner thigh, right where a real blade would have left him to bleed out in long minutes.

His bayonet was swapped out for a similar blunt stick and he was using wide swings to show Sophia how to use her quick feet and short stature to dart in below a grown man’s reach.

It was a practical kind of training.

Daryl watched from the sidelines as Merle threw a wild punch.

Sophia ducked under, smooth as water, and right into Merle’s fake bayonet.

In a familiar move, Daryl’s brother moved with her, so the blunt stick hardly grazed her cheek. He was pulling his blows the exact same way he would when Merle fought with Daryl over a decade ago.

Bo, who didn't share in Daryl’s sudden wave of nostalgia, just bounded forward to join in. He threw himself at his father’s bayonet arm, laughing in delight when Merle hauled him up.

Sophia, sensing the change from practice to play, launched herself at Merle to join forces with Bo.

Daryl laughed aloud when Merle had a kid wrapped around each arm and he struggled to move, cursing them both with a grin.

Casting his eyes over the common area, Daryl took stock of the rest of their people; Beth was swaying Judy and watching Glenn say his goodbyes to Maggie and Hershel, Carol was teaching a newcomer how to scrounge up enough food for so many mouths, and Rick must have been in a clear moment as he and Michonne were pouring over a map together.

Leaving Merle to wrestle the kids, Daryl made his way to join his leader.

“They couldn't have gotten far,” Michonne said, clearly talking about the Governor, Will, and the handful of men they took with them.

“Probably followed the river,” Rick traced a finger along a narrow blue line, “may have ended up damn near Tennessee.”

“Nah,” Daryl butted in. “Not with that truck ‘n Will leadin’ ‘em. Woulda stuck close enough to know what's what in the woods. Will don't know shit ‘bout nothin’ north’a Dalton.”

Rick didn't turn his head, but Daryl watched him adjust course, tracing roads wide enough for the heavy duty truck they used.

Michonne nodded along. “How long could they have kept the truck? We've siphoned almost all of the gas in miles.”

“Truck was diesel,” Daryl said. “Don't take much to turn fat into that hippy bio- stuff.”

That got Rick’s attention. He looked up from the map to stare at Daryl, Daryl imagined him filing the information away in a mental cabinet to revisit later.

“Gonna go see the ones holed up in Woodbury,” Daryl changed the subject, “shouldn't be long.”

“Yeah,” Rick nodded, eyes already unfocused and sliding away, “be safe.”

Michonne saw it too and rolled up the map. Their time with this sane version of Rick was coming to a close.

On their way to Woodbury, Bo led them on a slow, easy stroll.

To Daryl, it felt almost like walking through the park in town, he could almost hear children on the playground and exasperated mothers pleading for their kids to stop putting things in their mouths.

The roads were more or less clear, the spring sun was warm and comforting, and they all had, more or less, full stomachs. It was the easiest they had it since the farm.

Bo was telling them about the strangers, “The leader guy’s big, but he talked like Glenn.”

Glenn snorted in response. “You mean nice?”

“No, like a guidance counselor or somethin’, like those guys at school who tell ya not to hit anyone.”

T-Dog gently brought him back on track, probably using the same tone of voice Bo was complaining about, “You said there were four?”

Bo didn't notice and just nodded. “Yeah, besides the dead lady. It was the big guy, his sister, and the dead lady’s husband and son.”

From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Glenn frown at the phrasing.

“His sister was cool though,” Bo continued. “I think she's tougher 'n her brother.”

“Do you think we can trust them?” T-Dog asked.

“He--ell no!” Bo laughed, like he had just finished a joke. Then, a little more serious, he added, “The kid’s a coward ‘n the dad’s dumb, but the other two seemed fine.”

“We can't judge how someone is when their mother or wife dies,” Glenn spoke calmly, but Daryl could see the effort it took.

Bo’s eyes narrowed. “Carl put Lori down, Carol took care’a Ed, but they couldn't even watch. Hell, the dad wanted to go back for the body, dumbass.”

Glenn hung his head. “Not everyone is that strong, Bo.”

They kept walking in silence.

By the time they got to the Woodbury fence, Daryl and Bo had each shot a couple of squirrels and instructed T-Dog and Glenn to gather some edible herbs when they came across them.

“Welcome back!”

Daryl looked up to see a big guy on the wall, probably the Tyreese that Bo was talking about.

“Mornin’,” he called back, “we got enough for a squirrel stew if y’all want some.”

“Sounds gross,” Tyreese said with a smile, “I'll have Allen open the gates.”

He waved a hand and they were let in by a surly man with dark circles under his eyes. Daryl saw in him an echo of Rick at his worst and made sure Bo was close.

“I'll take watch,” the new widower muttered, breezing past them.

Tyreese showed them to a house, a different one than Bo set them up in, and left Daryl to clean the little rodents on the formerly pristine streets.

“That's Uncle Daryl, Glenn, and T-Dog,” Bo pointed to each in turn.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Tyreese,” he said with a smile.

Daryl started skinning the squirrels, starting a little pile of pelts.

Tyreese continued, “Sasha, my sister, is doing a perimeter check; you saw Allen take over watch; and his son, Ben, is upstairs sleeping.”

“Sorry to hear about his mama.” T-Dog let his rifle hang from the strap so he could reach out for a handshake.

Tyreese took his hand with a nod. “So you're ‘T’, huh? I heard the kids talking about you.” He waved at T-Dog’s empty sleeve.

“That's me. A walker bit me weeks ago and the little man here sawed it off right there.”

By then, Daryl had moved on to gutting, throwing the innards into some bushes. Bo frowned at him, they could have used the guts for bait for possums.

“Damn,” Tyreese sighed, “so we really could have saved Donna?”

“Already told you, she was dead and ‘bout to turn,” Bo snapped, rejoining the conversation. “Couldn't’a done nothin’ else.”

T-Dog nodded, his tone much more sympathetic. “It only worked for me because he moved so fast. Had his belt above the bite almost before I knew what happened.”

Daryl stood with the meager meat from the squirrels. “‘Bout done here, y'all got a fire yet?”

“So you're with the crazy kids, huh?” A woman jogged up.

Compared to the rifles and bows they had, Daryl gave her credit for the confident way she held onto her crowbar, like she wouldn't hesitate to use it if the need arose.

Once she was in reach, Bo offered her a fist bump and a smile. “I like you best,” he told her.

Daryl saw her face go from confusion, to worry, to weary acceptance in the span of a moment or two.

“I'm flattered,” she said, tapping her knuckles against Bo’s, “but you're not my type.”

The group laughed as Bo lept back, his ears turning red. “Not like that!”

Once the levity had passed, Tyreese showed them to the fire pit and a big cooking pot they pulled from a different house.

Bo stoked the flames and Daryl used some preserved fat to coat the pot while Tyreese and T kept talking.

“So what happened here?” Tyreese asked.

Daryl and Bo let out identical snorts.

T-Dog, on the other hand, used his words. “Most of the people who lived here were shot down by their leader, a crazy son of a bitch. He made an army to attack us at the prison then shot them where they stood when it didn't work.”

Glenn still looked pained at the memory. “He left most of the kids and the elderly here, but some of his soldiers weren't much older than Bo and Sophia.”

“Where are they now,” Sasha asked, “the kids?”

“Back at the prison,” Bo answered. “They're as dumb as that other guy you got so we're lettin’ ‘em stay with us.”

“But we're recruiting new people all the time!” Glenn lit up. “If we can find enough people, we might be able to have people settle here again.”

Daryl watched Tyreese and Sasha look around with new eyes, noting improvements to be made and potential hidden beneath the civilized front.

“Daddy already patched the wall where the bus was and we can start the generators up again.”

When the squirrels had browned enough, T-Dog came over and cut up the seasoning they found and Daryl added them and a jug of water.

“Damn that smells good.” Sasha came closer and leaned over the pot, taking a deep breath. “I don't remember the last time we had fresh meat.”

“Have you been on the road long?” Glenn asked, conversationally.

Sasha nodded. “We were with a bigger group but, well, you know how it goes. That was over a month ago.”

T-Dog hummed. “Yeah, we know. We had a nice set up at a farm, but that was overrun in the fall, we were running all winter.”

“We wouldn't have made it with out these guys,” Glen grinned and slapped Daryl on the back.

Daryl felt his cheeks heat at the praise, but he saw his nephew puff his chest proudly.

“Yeah,” Bo boasted, “they’d’a all died twice over if me ‘n Uncle Daryl ‘n Daddy weren't there to feed ‘em and kill the walkers.”

“Way to go, little man!” Tyreese bumped his fist against Bo's, making the boy’s smile even broader.

“We should get Allen and Ben too,” Sasha suggested, “they need to eat.”

“Bo,” Daryl got his nephew's attention and jerked his head toward the house, “go get the kid.” Bo gave a mock salute and went inside.

“And I'll relieve Allen.” Glenn turned and jogged off to the gate.

Tyreese produced some mis-matched bowls from inside and Daryl spooned portions into each. As subtle as he could, Daryl tried to ensure each of the new group got some extra meat while his own relatively fed group got mostly thin broth and herbs.

Once it was all served, the boy came downstairs, rubbing sleep from reddened eyes and blinking owlishly.

Daryl watched Bo, as gently as his nature allowed, guide the kid to his seat and plop a bowl into his lap. Benjamin ate mechanically, lost in the haze of recent trauma.

Sasha devoured her portion like a herd of walkers on a lame possum, while Tyreese did his best to eat slow and calm.

After a few minutes of just the sounds of utensils in bowls, they heard a shout.

“Let go of me!”

Daryl was on his feet, armed, and running in seconds.

Tearing down the main street, he skidded to a stop, horrified.

On the wall, Allen had Glenn’s collar in hand while Glenn was clinging to his arms, pushed until his heels were hanging over the edge.

Donna, when they had met, was a flighty woman. She always hurried from job to job, hobbies to hobbies, collecting and discarding quickly.

Allen always felt lucky, so, so lucky that he had kept her attention for as long as he did.

Until Tyreese.

“He's strong,” she said. “He's so good with Ben.” “We're so lucky he found us.”

Then, of course, he saved her. He saved Donna and it was the end.

Allen, lost in his musings, was startled when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Allen spun with a cry. “Let go of me!”

Before he knew it, he had one of the strangers backed up to the edge, one hand gripping his sleeve and the other at his collar.

“Easy,” the man said, his tone calm despite the fact his heels were hanging off a fifteen foot drop. “I’m sorry I snuck up on you. Tyreese wanted you to come eat.”

The name sparked more of that rage that Allen had been slowly stoking the last few hours.

“Well Tyreese should have come got me himself, instead of sending an errand boy,” he hissed.

“Okay, okay. Everything's okay.” The stranger held up both hands, like Allen was some kind of wild animal. It just made him angrier.

Allen shook him a little harder, pushed him another inch. “How dare you?” Allen asked. “Nothing is okay without her!”

“Hey! Let ‘im go, asshole!”

A glance down showed another one of the strangers, the little boy who told Tyreese to murder Donna.

“Bo!” The stranger barked at the boy, shooing him away like a puppy. “Wait, it's okay!”

Back to Allen, he raised his hands again. “We just want to help you.”

“You can't help!” Allen growled. From the corner of his eye, he saw more people running up.

“Think of your son,” Allen tensed at the words, “we have food, shelter. Don't you want him to have that?”

“I want him to have-” Allen’s voice broke as his vision swam, tears blurring the image of the man he held. “I want my son to have his mother.”

“Allen!”

Tyreese’s voice shocked him and Allen lost his grip.

The next seconds passed in a strange kind of slow motion.

Two voices screaming, “Glenn!”

A body hit Allen’s side, something flew by and knocked the hat off of his head, a shape dove to the stranger as he swayed, spun his arms, and finally fell.

Tyreese held his breath when Allen dropped Glenn.

Daryl and T-Dog had been slowly crawling up the wall while Bo held his crossbow trained on Allen.

He wasn't in his right mind! He couldn't be. The Allen that Tyreese knew was a peaceful man; he would never push a stranger off of a wall.

Tyreese’s voice must have shook him, Allen dropped Glenn so suddenly that the young man lost his balance.

twang!

Bo fired and T-Dog dove.

Tyreese watched T-Dog knock Allen over just in time for Bo’s arrow to pass harmlessly through Allen’s toboggan.

Back to Glenn, Tyreese finally exhaled when he saw the young man held up by Daryl, their hands clasped.

After a series of looks and nods, similar to the way that Bo and Sophia seemed to wordlessly communicate, Glenn braced himself and Daryl let go. Glenn landed neatly, tucking his legs and rolling to the side like one of those professional parkour runners.

Allen, on the other hand, was flat on his back and, judging from the sounds, sobbing into T-Dog’s shirt.

Tyreese started towards them, but was stopped in his tracks by a pointed glare from Daryl, pinning him in place until Glenn came close enough.

“Not a great idea,” Glenn whispered. “Come back to the house for now.”

“I shouldn't leave him,” Tyreese protested weakly, but allowed himself to be led away.

“Shoulda let me end ‘im.” Bo appeared at his side like a phantom, the curl of his lip showing his disgust with the adult’s choices.

“He’s hurting, this isn't like him.”

Glenn sent a pitying look at Tyreese.

“Don't. Don't look at me like that.” He took a steadying breath. “It's not much different than your man, Rick.”

Glenn’s look hardened in an instant. “It's different. Rick’s never threatened any of us.”

Back at the house, everyone picked up their bowls and ate listlessly. Sasha and Ben emerged from where they had holed up with the rest of their supplies, but didn't question why they returned without Allen, T-Dog, or Daryl.

With Glenn hanging from his grip, Daryl felt a bolt of panic pierce his chest. A second later and Glenn could have broken an arm or a leg, damn near a death sentence this far from their home.

But he wasn't late, Daryl told himself, Glenn looked sure and confident and dropped with grace from his hand.

He watched Glenn roll away, safe from injury, and let himself breathe again.

Down on the ground, Bo was frowning up at him.

“Why'd T save him?” his glare said. “He almost hurt Glenn.”

Daryl knew his nephew’s bolt was fired with intent. Bo was willing to kill a living, breathing man to protect Glenn; Daryl shouldn't be proud of that.

Looking back at the man who was determined to make a nuisance of himself, Daryl watched him curl up into T-Dog’s sympathetic hold. He was crying, shoulders shaking, face full of snot, ugly sobs into the front of T-Dog's shirt.

“Donna!” the man wailed, probably attracting a herd.

T-Dog held tight with his remaining arm, shushing him gently.

Daryl curled his lip at the sight. That was more kindness than the spineless man deserved for trying to throw Glenn off of a wall.

Still, he stood silent guardian over the two until T-Dog finally urged the man to his feet.

A walker shambled toward the fence while T and Allen spoke with quiet words. Daryl ignored them and landed a bolt between the walker’s eyes.

The quiet muttering broke when Allen cried out. “He killed her!”

Daryl looked back at the pair to see T-Dog still patting the man's back companionably. “It wasn't her, man, not anymore.”

T-Dog looked up and locked eyes with Daryl. “Be careful,” the look said, at odds with the gentle tone he used out loud.

After a few minutes of the pathetic whining, T-Dog guided the man down off of the wall and they walked slowly back to camp.

Daryl remained at the wall, patiently watching until it was time to go home.

Chapter Text

Rick had been… drifting. Sometimes, he knew Lori was just around the corner or up the hall in another cell, other times he knew she was dead.

Most of the time, lately, he had just been pouring his anger and grief into his machete, hacking and tearing his way through walkers until his limbs ached.

It felt better than looking across the block and seeing Daryl directing the watch shifts, Glenn organizing the runs, and Beth caring for his daughter.

He had failed them, failed Lori.

Hershel had been giving him gentle advice from time to time, asking him to settle, to take up gardening and feel the dirt beneath his fingers. Rick knew he was right.

But Rick also knew Lori was in the prison.

No. She was dead. It wasn't real.

But she was right there.

Rick shook his head. He could deal with it, the crazy thoughts that ran rampant in his head, all he had to do was clear the prison.

Bobbi knew her dad was dead.

It had been her, Dad, and Jason since the beginning and she knew he was gone as soon as the Governor took him away to the prison.

“They'll be okay,” Jason had tried to assure her, “Mr. Dixon and Mr. Governor’ll make sure he’s okay.”

But she knew.

There was a feeling in her tummy, worse than when she had the flu, deeper than any hunger pains. The feeling said that their dad wasn't coming back.

Nate was older than her, but he was quiet. Bobbi, on the other hand, was loud enough to yell at Mr. Shane, Ms. Andrea, and Ms. Karen when they came to round everyone up.

“Where’s our parents?!” she shouted at them, standing up tall in front of the other kids. Even Nate was behind her, codling Eli.

“Oh, sweety,” Ms. Andrea said, kneeling down in front of her. “Your dad is… he's in a better place now.”

Bobbi just glared. “We know that means dead.”

They were bundled up with the old people in the school bus and driven to a jail. Jason clung to her hand while Nate held Eli and tried not to cry.

Once there, everyone slowly made their way to cells, blank rooms with iron doors and cold floors.

The old people got the bottom row, so Bobbi and Jason took one upstairs.

“Do you mind if I join you?” It was Ms. Karen.

Jason looked up at her and hid behind Bobbi, so it was up to her. She looked Ms. Karen over, remembering how she used to try and teach them in Woodbury.

“Maybe,” Bobbi decided, “as long as you don't give us any homework.”

Ms. Karen laughed and agreed and even helped them find a little rug for the floor.

Bobbi and Jason slept on the top bunk. Mr. T-Dog brought them some pretty blankets and posters to put on the walls, but they still didn't want to sleep apart.

During the day, Bobbi led Jason and Eli around to fetch things for the old people or to watch the biters at the fence so they could learn to fight them. Nate rarely got to hang out with them, he usually had to go with Mr. Shane or the people from C-Block.

At night though, Nate would tell them stories about going outside of the fence and hunting or fishing or fighting biters.

“They call’em walkers here,” he said. “Daryl showed me how to kill’em with my knife.” He flashed the blade at them with a grin.

“I wanna kill’em!” Eli shouted, from his spot on Mr. Johnson’s lap.

“What're you reading?” Bobbi asked the blonde girl from C-Block. It was a warm day, sunny and bright and the biters at the fence were quieter than normal.

Sophia smiled at her, she seemed so much nicer than the boys. “It's a book about a girl who has to take care of her brothers and sister because their mama went mad.”

“Oh.” Bobbi thought for a minute. “That doesn't seem like a fun book to read.”

Sophia’s smile went sad. “They go through a lot of hard things, but they get stronger in the end.”

“Do you think we're getting stronger, too?”

Before Sophia could answer, Bo came jogging over.

“Hey! You seen Carl?”

Bobbi felt her cheeks heat up and her heart beat fast in her chest. “Hi Bo!”

“Yeah, hey.” He nodded at her but turned right back to Sophia, “You seen him?”

“I can help you look,” Bobbi offered.

Sophia smiled, “Good idea! You two go look by the towers.”

When Bo wasn't looking, Sophia sent Bobbi a wink.

“Fine,” Bo said. He glared at Sophia, but didn't chase Bobbi away, so she followed him across the yard.

“So, what’ve you been doing today?” she asked, making sure to look around for Carl while they walked.

“Huntin’.”

“Oh.” Bobbi went quiet, thinking of how to get the cute boy to talk to her.

They made a wide circle around the yard, checking in with the adults at the bare dirt that was going to be the garden and with Mr. Shane at the guard tower.

“Maybe he's inside,” Bobbi offered.

Bo just grunted at her and fiddled with the crossbow in his hands. Still, he hadn't told her to get lost, so she followed him into C-Block and to the pretty girl who always held the baby.

“You seen Carl?” he asked, his voice harsher than when he asked Sophia.

Beth shook her head and kept rocking the baby. “Not since this morning. I think he went to D-Block with T-Dog.”

Bobbi giggled, hearing Bo cursing under his breath.

They walked through the halls to Bobbi’s block, the path was familiar enough that the dark didn't bother either of them.

“Went back to Woodbury,” Bo said, rather suddenly.

Bobbi stopped walking. “Why?”

“Sent some people there, they didn't wanna stay with Rick all crazy.” It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he was watching her.

“Oh.” She didn't really know how to respond. Woodbury had been a place where she had been, as far as she knew, safe with her family. The Governor had taken her dad in not long after the turn, when they still thought someone could come save them.

“It's still nice,” he offered, like it mattered.

It might be nice, but her daddy was still dead. Her dad was dead, her house was gone, and Bobbi was an orphan.

Still, she was the bravest of the Woodbury kids, she couldn't let some strangers change that.

“I don't care about that place,” she lied. “Tell me about hunting.”

Bo had pretty, blue eyes, eyes that always squinted like he was looking into the sun. She couldn't see them, the halls were too dark, but she felt him looking at her, like he knew she wasn't telling him the truth.

Instead of calling her out, he just turned around and kept walking. “Shot a goose today,” he told her, “prob’ly gonna have it for dinner.”

“Ew,” she laughed and followed him, “it wasn't a Canadian goose was it? They're so pretty.”

“They're assholes, ballsier’n badgers.”

They found Carl in D-Block, talking to T-Dog and Ms. Andrea. Bobbi slid away from them as soon as she could, wrapped up in thoughts of her old home.

“She likes you,” Sophia teased.

“Fuck off,” Bo shot back, “she's, like, five.”

Carl pouted at him, “Hey! She's my age!”

“And you're a damn baby too!”

They were in their room, the one in the hallway closest to the tombs. Mama didn't like them hanging out there, especially since they found Sasha and the others, but Sophia liked that they were away from the prison and how crowded it had become.

They had been teasing Bo about Bobbi, she had been tailing him most of the day and Sophia thought it was cute. The boys didn't quite agree, but Carl joined her just to annoy Bo.

“‘Sides, she’s still scared of the walkers’n you kill’em all the time!”

“Carl just started killing them last winter! You’re just scared of having a girlfriend!” Sophia giggled, watching Bo blush.

“Ain't!”

“Are too!” Carl jumped in, throwing himself at Bo.

The two boys wrestled and Sophia knew the conversation was over, they usually got too distracted during their play fighting. She turned back to her book and let them get their energy out.

“What's for dinner?”

She looked back and saw Bo had Carl wrapped in a headlock. Carl, unfazed, was the one who asked the question.

“Prob’ly goose.” Bo gave Carl a noogie then let him up.

Carl fell away from him and onto a pile of cushions. “Is Carol making it?” he asked.

Sophia opened her mouth to answer, but Bo beat her to it. “Nah, her ‘n Daddy’re on a run.”

“They went to that big store, north of here,” she added, glaring at Bo for interrupting her. He just stuck out his tongue.

Carl nodded, already thinking of something else. “Hope Glenn isn't cooking, it never tastes right.”

“I think Daryl’s making dinner,” Sophia told them. “I saw him with that bunch of cow parsley Bo found the other day.”

“I thought you said it wasn't good for us!” Carl cried, looking at Bo.

He just shook his head. “No, I said you can't go pickin’ it cause you can't tell your ass from your elbow ‘n you'd bring back hemlock instead!”

That set them off again, with Carl launching himself at Bo with a cry.

Sophia just rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

Ignoring the thumps and thuds from the boys, she relaxed into her bean bag chair.

After a chapter or two, she looked up to find the boys had abandoned their fight and Carl was pulling out the cards. “Wanna play black jack?”

They changed dealer every hand and bet with some old paper money they found. At first, her dad had hoarded all the money they came across, like it would be useful again. Now though, it only served as tinder to start fires.

Sophia bet a few crumpled hundred dollar bills and Bo put in a pack of crackers that were mostly intact.

After a few rounds, Sophia lost most of her paper money and a golden bracelet she found, but gained a new candy bar and a spare knife off of Carl.

She was about to deal the next hand when someone knocked on the metal door to the hallway.

“You guys awake?” Glenn asked.

“Yeah,” they chorused.

He laughed and turned the handle. “Good, dinner’s about ready. Daryl asked me to come get you.”

Glenn looked at the pot of money and other knick-knacks between them, “Can I play a hand after we eat?”

Sophia nodded, and both the boys jumped up.

“Race ya!” Bo yelled over his shoulder, already mostly out the door.

Carl took off after him, leaving Sophia and Glenn to follow at a more reasonable pace.

“You know, I think Beth would like some company,” Glenn said, when the boys were out of earshot. “If you wanted to hang out with another girl instead.”

“No, I'm okay with them,” Sophia answered. She knew they were loud and liked to wrestle, but they were her best friends.

“Okay.” Glenn smiled at her. “I just had a bunch of little sisters, so I know sometimes girls just want to be with other girls.”

Sophia nodded along. It wasn't like they had missed the way the adults were gently trying to pry them apart, Bo had been complaining about it enough, but with Rick still… the way he was sometimes, neither her nor Bo were about to abandon Carl.

Coming back into the common area, Sophia was pleased to see Rick sitting at the table next to Daryl. Carl wedged himself into his dad’s side with bright eyes, reminding Sophia that he was still the little boy who hid under the RV table with her the year before.

Sophia and Bo sat opposite of them and Maggie came along with full bowls for everyone.

“Went ‘n saw Ty ‘n them this mornin’,” Daryl told them, speaking into his own bowl. “Asked ‘bout you, Bo.”

“Was it Sasha?” Carl asked, shooting Bo a playful look.

“Fuck off!” he countered.

Sophia giggled, she had heard about the misunderstanding from both boys: Carl found it hilarious while Bo blushed anytime the woman was brought up.

“Leave him alone,” she told Carl with a wink, “he's got Bobbi to worry about now.”

Bo flipped her off, his cheeks and ears turning red.

Daryl coughed into his stew and hid his face behind the bowl, Sophia guessed he was laughing.

“How’re they doing?” Rick asked.

Both Carl and Bo quieted down, they all wanted to hear what Rick would say when he wasn't tearing through the walkers in the tombs.

Daryl looked similarly intrigued, even as he brought his thumb up to chew on. “Doin’ fine. Axel ‘n Oscar’s helpin’ ‘em enforce the fence, but that Allen guy…” he trailed off, looking across the block to Glenn and Maggie.

Sophia felt Bo bristle beside her, he was still mad that they didn't kill the man who threatened Glenn. She nudged him with her shoulder until he relaxed, it wasn't the time to start an argument.

“It's good we're keeping an eye on him.” Rick nodded at Daryl in approval of the way they were running things in his absence. “It's best that he's farther from us if he's going to make any trouble.”

He was stuck with an idiot.

Philip was a fuckin' idiot.

“Get your sorry ass up here! Ain't gonna wait for you all damn day!”

The other assholes they left Woodbury with had long since abandoned them, after the so-called Governor showed his hand outside the prison. Will knew there was a thin line between scaring straight and outright crazy, and Philip tap danced his ass over that line and a quarter mile past.

Still, Philip followed him around and listened to orders more or less and an extra set of eyes meant Will could catch a few winks when they were between shelters, which they almost always were.

“You know,” Will told him, “my boys’re half-useless, but they could track better 'n you ‘fore they were outta trainin’ pants.”

Philip just glared, huffing and puffing from the brutal pace Will set.

They needed to restock, find more weapons and soldiers, then they could go back and learn that pissant group at the prison something good. Will smiled to himself, eager to get his boys back under his thumb.

Nothin' messed with the Dixons, not even other Dixons.

Chapter Text

Rick watched Hershel hobble around on his crutches, bound and determined to show the Woodburians how to properly plant the lettuce seeds they found.

He had been reluctant to take Hershel's advice, to put down his Colt and machete to take up a spade, but even he could admit it was good for him.

The spring sun was pleasant on his back, there was dirt under his nails, and Carl was sitting on the grass a few feet away reading a comic.

Outside of the fence, Rick saw a flash of white. Diligently, he put his head back down and ignored the specter of his wife. Lori is gone, he reminded himself.

That day, his duty was to aerate the ground.

Rick tried to bury himself in the rhythmic movements, pushing the shovel, turning the soil, repeat. Push, turn, again.

Another flash of white.

Rick shut his eyes.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

Rick was met with a grunt and the sound of a stolen lighter flicking to life.

They stood there for a while, Rick focusing on the now familiar scent of Daryl’s cigarette.

Finally, “You sure?”

“No,” Rick admitted, startling himself.

Daryl hummed and Rick heard his heel digging into his freshly turned dirt.

Rick cracked an eye open. “Did you just put out your butt in my garden?”

His friend huffed a laugh then slid his eyes to somewhere over Rick’s shoulder.

“Incomin’.”

Rick followed his gaze and saw Shane headed toward them, indecision written across his face.

Daryl watched for a moment, fixing his eyes on Rick. Knowing he wanted assurance, Rick nodded once.

Satisfied, Daryl slunk away toward their cellblock, ordering Carl to the fence with Bo and Sophia.

“Got a minute?” Shane asked, stopping just short of the stick fence the Woodbury kids had made the week before.

Rick drove the shovel into the ground to retrieve later. “Sure,” he said, pulling out a rag to dust off his aching hands. “What is it?”

“The kids.” Shane rubbed a hand through his hair, longer now than it was at the farm. “Bobbi got it in her head she wants to go back.”

“Oh, that's probably our fault,” Rick said sheepishly. “Some of us went to see that group the other day.”

“No, I get it.” Shane held up a hand. “And I get her wantin’ to go back. It's just…”

Rick nodded, he knew what Shane was getting at. “They're not like them.”

Together, they looked across the yard at Carl, Sophia, and Bo at the fence, casually conversing and stabbing walkers at the same time. A short distance away, Shane’s charges were watching with wide eyes.

“Nate nearly shits himself each time we take him out,” Shane sighed. “And the other three’re all younger than Carl.”

Rick played with the yarn the kids hand strung up between their thin fence posts. “They had it easy so far, behind that wall.”

“Not anymore, brother,” Shane flinched at the term but kept going, “you don't hear them at night, calling for their parents.”

A sardonic sound left Rick. “You think they don't have nightmares? It's been-” Daryl reappeared with Merle, both perking up when they heard Rick’s raised voice. With intent, he got control of himself and continued quieter.

“It's been hard for us too,” Rick practically whispered. “I thought we were going to starve, hell, you can still count their ribs!”

“I know,” Shane hurried to put his hands up, “I'm not saying it was easy for you, but - well, these kids’re different is all. They don't know how to kill the walkers, and we don't have the fuel to fill up the bus again.”

“T’s been teaching them.”

“Yeah,” Shane nodded, “theory stuff. We need to take them out, probably with Merle’s grumpy ass, like we did before the farm.”

Rick was surprised by the amount of nostalgia the idea incurred. Back when Carl, Bo, and Sophia would play tag in the trees, laughing and chasing each other, when they thought the CDC would hold answers.

Back when Rick looked at Lori and saw the light of his life.

The white figure in the corner of his eye grew more insistent.

“Its not real,” Rick whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Rick?”

“That's enough sun for today, cowboy!” Merle's flesh hand landed hard on Rick’s shoulder, steering him away.

Rick went with the motions, not even surprised by the trust he had in Merle, knowing he would lead Rick somewhere he wouldn't hurt anyone.

“What the hell was that?” Shane spit, curling his lip and shoving into Daryl’s space.

“Nothin’ you need to worry ‘bout.”

“Bullshit!”

Shane prickled even more when those cool eyes regarded him like something found on the bottom of a boot.

“It's okay.” Suddenly there was a small hand on Shane’s, gently prying it out of a fist.

Looking down, Shane saw his best friend’s son at his side, flanked by the two kids who had practically been strangers last year.

“Dad just… I think he sees Mom sometimes.”

“More’n sometimes,” Bo snorted at his shoulder. Sophia elbowed him.

“Give’m a’ hour’r two,” Daryl finally told him, still watching with those cold eyes.

Shane was struck, not for the first time, how much he had missed over the winter. Sure, he had grown incredibly close with Andrea and Michonne, but a part of him expected to find Rick, Carl, and, especially, Lori in a kind of suspended animation, frozen how they had been the last time he saw them.

It was so strang to think that their lives had gone on, had been so hard, without the other there to help hold up the load. It had been Rick and Shane since they were kids, hardly a day went by without one finding the other.

Over a winter in the apocalypse, it was like an entire lifetime was spent apart and, now, they were practically strangers.

Shane shook off the thoughts, Rick didn't need him wallowing in regret.

“The hell you goin’?”

Daryl’s arm was out, preventing Shane from following Rick and Merle inside.

“I'm going to go help my brother,” Shane explained, trying his best to sound civil.

“The hell you are,” Daryl growled back.

“Oh fuck off!” Once again, small hands tugged on Shane’s arms. This time, they were hard with calluses and stronger than he expected. “I'll show ya where they went, asshat.”

Bo tugged Shane away, flipping his uncle off over his shoulder. Daryl huffed but didn't question it, just turned back to the cells shaking his head.

A little reluctant, Shane followed the boy, ducking into halls and through doors until they came back to the entrance of the tombs.

“Lori!”

Rick’s voice echoed through the cement walls.

“Lori!”

A broad shouldered shape was behind the gate.

“Not now, half-pint.”

Shane breathed a sign of relief when Merle’s voice greeted them.

“Deputy Dickhead wanted to talk to Rick,” the boy stuck a cheeky thumb in Shane’s direction.

“He's busy.”

“Why here?” Shane heard himself ask, heart breaking at the thought of Rick distressed and surrounded by mindless monsters.

Merle seemed to sag in the doorway.

Wordlessly, Bo undid carabiners and locks to let his father in.

Once through, Merle motioned ahead with his bayonet hand.

Bo lead the way to another door and Shane found himself in a cozy room, one that had probably been a break room Before. Now, it had beanbags and cushions scattered on the floor, small piles of books, and a small camping light that Bo flicked on.

“Friendly ain't been so friendly lately,” Merle explained, in his own crass way.

“Better ‘fore him to kill a bunch’a walkers instead’a one’a you,” Bo finished.

Shane looked back over his shoulder, imagining Rick deep in the dark tombs, alone except for his ghosts.

Axel was on watch with one of the newcomers, Oscar was spending the night at Woodbury, dinner was warm in their stomachs, and the kids were feeling nostalgic.

So that meant everyone was crammed into the perch, surrounded by scavenged cushions and freshly washed blankets.

Every pillow they had found was propped against the corners, their boots were left by the door, and the kids looked younger than they had in a year.

Rick watched Carl tickle Judy’s tummy, the baby just squirming and making little grunts. Next, Bo and Sophia were in an intense game of spades against Carol and Merle, the adults seemed to be losing. Beth and Maggie were next, heads bent close together and sneaking looks over at Glenn, who was telling stories with T-Dog and Daryl over a bottle of clear liquor they found. Finally, Rick and Hershel were tucked out of the way, watching with fond smiles.

While Hershel was obviously Rick’s senior, the years suddenly felt much heavier on Rick. He longed wistfully for the days when Hershel’s aching back and righteous morals seemed like vague, faraway concepts instead of things he felt himself.

“You’ve done good, son,” Hershel said, his white beard twitched up into a smile. “We made it through, found somewhere safe.”

“Most of us made it,” Rick whispered. Half of him expected to see Lori’s ghost, hovering in the doorway, but it remained clear.

Hershel watched Rick, a long, searching kind of gaze. “Yes,” he finally sighed, “most of us. But the ones who made it are here, healthy, happy. That's more than we could have hoped for a few months ago.”

A few feet away, Bo and Sophia high fived their victory while Merle and Carol groaned in exaggerated defeat.

“You did it, Rick, you bore the brunt of the weight for so long.” Hershel’s white brows drew together in concern, tempered with care. “Let some of us take that weight now.”

Rick let the comment lie, watching the kids draw Carl, Beth, and Maggie into their little pile.

Soon, Sophia was practicing braiding on Beth while Maggie gave kind instruction. Bo and Carl said it was too girly, but then Beth slyly asked Carl to let her play with his hair and Bo was left alone.

Merle automatically sided with Carol, who told Bo it wasn't girly to braid hair. “Haven't you seen pictures of vikings?” Carol asked kindly. "They all had big beards and long braids.”

“Yeah, squirt,” Merle pulled his son into a headlock, “but they was all towheaded, ‘stead’a your mop!”

Bo squealed in delight when he received a noogie before his father released him. Just a foot away, Carl leaned back against Beth, practically melting against her while she ran fingers through his chestnut hair.

Soon enough, the kids started to settle down. First was Beth, who tucked Judy into a cardboard box then primly curled up with her head on Maggie’s thigh. Next, Bo and Carl sprawled next to Sophia while she picked out a book and began to read aloud.

One by one, the adults settled around the little nest in the center and let Sophia’s quiet voice wash over them.

Glenn leaned against Hershel who was beside his daughters, Carol and Merle were close enough to touch Bo and Sophia, T-Dog stretched out on Merle’s other side, leaving Daryl leaned against the door frame to the rest of the block.

Rick found himself gingerly stepping over bodies to reach the hunter, sitting himself down against the other side of the doorway.

“It's kinda nice.” Daryl’s voice was deep with contentedness. “All’a us in here.”

Rick hummed in agreement. “Like over the winter.”

A snort was his reply. “Yeah, without all the hunger pangs.”

Sophia went on reading, their quiet conversation not loud enough to disrupt her.

Once the noise had died down, the sound of her turning the page was the loudest thing in the cell block, that was until T-Dog started snoring.

Bo and Merle were quick to follow him to sleep, chased by the rest of their group. Even Sophia’s eyes grew heavier with each word until her book slid out of her hands.

Alone but for the quiet breathing and gentle snores, Rick turned his eyes back to Daryl.

“Nice to have you back,” Daryl said, eyes down cast.

“Not sure I'm all the way back, yet,” Rick cautioned. “Hershel talk to you?”

“What? ‘Bout that council idea he got?” Daryl huffed and brought out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, playing with one but not lighting up, not this close to little lungs. “Yeah, he talked to me, don't know why though.”

Rick’s own disbelieving snort echoed, making a little ripple of movement travel through their family. Lowering his voice, “You really don't know?”

Daryl ducked his head bashfully and Rick was reminded of Bo when the little Woodbury girl was following him around. “Ain't a leader,” he said, “jus’ been followin’ you or Merle around.”

“You know that's not true.” Rick wanted to insist more, but he could feel Daryl withdrawing into himself. Instead, he pivoted, “Who else did he talk to?”

“Carol, Glenn.” He chuckled, “Started towards Merle ‘fore he cussed him ‘n said he’s built for breakin’ rules, not makin’ ‘em. Maggie wasn't in’erested.”

“What about T-Dog? Or Shane, Andrea, and Michonne?”

“T said he's too busy babysittin’ the strays,” Daryl said, referencing the newcomers and Woodburians. “‘N the old man said D-Block ought’a make their own.”

Rick nodded along, seeing the wisdom. “Like different states, you can meet with them to decide if it affects the whole prison.”

Daryl brought up his thumb to gnaw on, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being responsible for their group, as if he wasn't responsible for them making it through the winter.

The pair fell silent, soaking in the nighttime sounds.

Carl murmured a little next to Sophia, both her and her mother reached out to sooth him. Merle made a low sound that had Bo curling toward him. Glenn twitched and turned until Maggie drew him close.

Rick had overheard the kids complaining about the newcomers, about the Woodburians, and he could almost agree. Over the winter, they were concerned about themselves, about making it through the next week, day, hour. Now they wanted to make a government, establish rules.

It was an odd thing to consider.

“Do you miss it?” Rick asked.

Daryl made a low sound. “Miss a lot’a things.”

“You know what I mean. It was… easier, over the winter. No politics, no decisions.”

“No food,” Daryl finished for him.

Rick looked over, tracing Daryl’s sightlines, finding Bo on the other end.

Everyone lost weight over the winter, first their extra fat, then muscles, until each of them could trace bones through thin skin.

It might have been easier for Rick to live in that moment to moment world, but he had to remember the cost.

Rick shook himself out of the melancholy mood.

The silence between them grew, until Rick thought Daryl had quietly slipped off to sleep.

Rick debated getting up and finding a softer place to sleep when Daryl finally spoke. “Oughta go on a run soon, low on formula,” he said.

“Shane wants to take his kids out,” Rick said, with the air of an offer.

Daryl snorted. “Damn kids’re greener’n a leprechaun’s ass. Gonna need a whole hell’ova lot’a help with them.”

Rick smiled, knocking their knees together. “Good thing we have you around.”

Chapter Text

Shane watched Bobbi perch precariously on a too-thin branch, her left sneaker was untied and her knees were scraped from the bark.

Below, Jason was pouting, his bottom lip poked out and wavering dangerously while Carl was lecturing him on the importance of watching where he stepped.

“You can't just run around out here,” he told the younger boy, “if you twist an ankle then you can't walk on your own.”

“But I didn't even see it!” Jason protested.

“Don't matter!” Bo snapped, his little face twisted into a scowl. “We can't look out for walkers and keep you from fallin’ over every tree root in Georgia!”

“Alright guys, take it easy,” Shane interrupted. “Jason, just follow Bo and step where he steps. Nate, you walk behind him in case he falls.”

“You damn well know he’s gotta learn somehow,” Daryl grumbled. He was at the edge of the little clearing, keeping watch while Bo and Carl put the other kids through their paces.

They weren't hardly a dozen yards from the prison fence, still easily within earshot, but they all knew it wouldn't take much to find trouble outside of their little safe haven.

“Ain't gotta holler at him is all.” Shane forced himself to keep calm. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy he thought of as a nephew – or, however briefly, a son – had aged much more than the months they had been apart.

Instead of the playful, open face of a twelve-year-old boy, he found the cool eyes and wrinkled brow of a young man that had seen too much for his years. It was heartbreaking.

Despite himself, Shane wanted to preserve that youthful naivety in Jason, Bobbi, and even Nate.

Despite being the eldest, Nate was still quiet and unsure of himself and hadn't said much so far. Shane looked over at him and found wide eyes and a too-loose grip on the pistol he was given.

“Hold it like you mean it,” Shane told him, not unkindly. “Two hands, but make sure it's never aimed at someone you don't want to hit.”

Nate nodded seriously and adjusted his grip.

Bo snorted and opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Carl. “You should learn to climb too,” he told Nate. “You're tall so you can reach the branches easier and help Jason and Bobbi.”

“I can stand guard instead,” Nate offered. He had an earnest look, his face open and still round with baby fat.

Bo just snorted. “You even shoot one yet?” he asked, a haughty sarcasm dripping from his words.

Nate turned red. “Shot one with Shane, just a couple days ago.”

Both boys squinted at him.

Bo asked, “It stay dead?”

“Or did you hit it in the stomach or something?” Carl finished.

“It stayed dead!” Nate’s shoulders were drawing up around his ears, embarrassed by the dressing down from the younger boys.

“Ease off, junior.” The low voice and now-familiar twang startled Shane; he had nearly forgotten about the third adult in their ranks.

Jess had been a quiet presence in the prison, silently slinking off with Merle to hunt or with Axel to tinker with whatever needed fixing. Daryl, ironically, regarded him with the most suspicion despite their shared blood.

“Nothin’ good comes from Dixon men,” he had told Shane and Rick, back at the prison, “nothin’ ‘cept little Bo.”

It had taken some convincing from Merle and Rick for Daryl to even allow Jesse to come on their little excursion with the kids, and Shane noticed Daryl paying the man some extra attention ‘just in case.’

Currently, Jess had been crouched in the shade of a tall, lopsided bush. He had been mostly quiet so far, watching the kids with an almost detached curiosity.

“Fuck off,” Bo shot over one shoulder. A shoulder clad in a white tank top that exposed a still red scar that wrapped around to touch his collarbone.

Across the clearing, Shane caught Daryl with his teeth bared, silently supporting his nephew.

Jess raised his hands in submission and rocked back on his heels.

After a round of glares from Bo, Carl, and even little Bobbi, their lessons moved on to how Nate could use his long arms to haul himself up the trees without low branches.

“They're more like Will ‘n they like to admit,” Jess said, his voice low.

Shane huffed a laugh. “Don't tell them that, if you like breathing.”

“I know. Known that Dixon temper for a good while now.”

The little side conversation lapsed and Shane cast a glance around the clearing they were in.

The few walkers that had stumbled into them weren't taken seriously. Daryl had them in his sights before Bobbi or Nate even heard them while Bo and Carl would bark orders to scurry up the trees.

Still, Shane knew how quickly it could all change, so he and Jess kept their heads on swivels.

“How'd you two fall in with the Governor anyways?” Shane asked, filling the silence.

Jess thought for a long minute, by far the most ponderous member of the family by Shane’s estimate, before he finally spoke. “Will was fixin’ to meet up with Mike outside’a Hogansville ‘bout a week ‘fore it all started.

“Then, once the shit hit the fan, we jus’ stayed up there til we ran into lil’ Bo ‘n that spitfire'a his. Mikey, well, he might’a been a little more handsy then we’d like, but Will said he was good folk.”

Shane curled his lip in disgust. “Jess,” he did his best to keep his voice level, “I don't think someone can be handsy with a little girl and still be ‘good folk’.”

Jess sighed, long and low. “I reckon you're right.”

The next week involved a number of similar training trips. They were never more than hollering distance from the fence, but the Woodbury kids started to slowly gain the confidence and skill that the other group had to learn the hard way.

The trips always included Bobbi, Jason, and Nate, while Eli only tagged along when there were enough experienced survivors to keep an eye on him. Carl or Bo came along most of the time, always paired with T-Dog or Merle or Maggie or Glenn and either Shane or Michonne or Andrea or Karen.

Looking back, Shane realized he had become one of four de facto foster parents for the kids.

It was… odd.

They were getting ready for their first real hike, taking the kids all the way back to Woodbury on foot, spending the night, then coming home in the morning.

Mrs. McLeod was patiently helping Bobbi stuff her backpack while Mr. Johnson held a teary eyed Eli, upset over being left behind.

“You can come next time,” Bobbi assured him, “Once we see how it's holding up.”

They already knew how it was holding up, of course. T-Dog and the others reported back to them about Woodbury and Shane and Michonne swung by whenever their travels took them in that direction.

Still, Eli was so, so young and he still couldn't comprehend that the walkers were actively dangerous. He seemed to think of them closer to a normal human, along the lines of the “stranger danger” that the dog in the trench coat liked to warn preschoolers of.

Shane assumed he would continue thinking that way until he saw, first hand, the carnage the dead could inflict on the living. If Shane had it his way, that was something Eli would never have to witness.

The rest of the kids gathered together their bags, filled with an emergency supply of a day's worth of food and water and spare socks, then gave goodbye hugs to the elderly, Eli, and Karen, who promised to look after the others. Michonne and Andrea were away on a run and they should be home when Shane and the kids return.

Finally, about an hour after dawn, they were at the gate with Jason on Shane’s shoulders. Bobbi held Nate’s hand and they were joined by Daryl, Carl, and Bo.

“Keep a’ eye out,” Daryl told Jason seriously, “you got the bes’ view to look for walkers.”

Shane couldn't help but laugh as Jason sat up straighter on his shoulders, puffed up with pride at his new role.

Merle was the one to swing open the gate, giving each kid a high five and ruffling his son’s hair. “Git home in time for lunch, brat,” he ordered.

Shane caught Bo sneaking glances at Bobbi and Nate before he shoved away from Merle.

“Fuck off, Dad.” The boy blushed even while he puffed out his chest and matched through the gate.

Merle just laughed and shared a look with Daryl.

Once they were on the increasingly well worn path to Woodbury, Daryl led the way, followed by Shane and Jason, Bobbi, Nate, Carl, and Bo bringing up the rear.

“Do you think they'll like us?” Bobbi asked, referring to the group that had settled in Woodbury.

“Ought to,” Bo said.

Jason’s hands were knotted in Shane’s hair so he felt when the boy turned to throw in his own thoughts. “I wanna go see our old house,” he told his sister.

While the Woodbury kids were chatting, Shane watched Daryl, Carl, and Bo. The trio were relaxed enough, even while constantly on the watch for walkers, survivors, or traces of food. Shane had picked up a little bit from his time with the designated hunters, could see little game trails under foot and was reasonably confident that the bush they passed was yarrow, but that was nothing compared to the way they moved.

While Nate and Bobbi crashed through the undergrowth, Shane could hardly hear Carl, let alone Bo or Daryl.

A little stream marked the halfway point, though it had been dry enough recently that that the stream was more of a trickle, and they all lowered their packs for a break.

“This’s watercress,” Bo explained, pointing out bright green leaves along the water’s edge.

Bobbi, beside him, ooh-ed and aah-ed, though her eyes were fixed on the boy instead of the plant. “What's it for?” she asked bashfully, ignoring how Nate and Carl snickered.

“Seems pretty clear.” Daryl drew Shane’s attention from the kids. “You ‘n the samurai’ve been doin’ alright clearin’ the way.”

“I think T-Dog comes through here just as much,” Shane responded. “And I've seen your brother bringing Axel and Jess along a few times.”

Daryl scoffed. “Sorry sunova…”

“Heard they’ve been making good progress on the fence,” Shane turned the conversation quickly, “they even filled in most of Michonne’s passageways.”

For a moment, he didn't think Daryl would let him get away with it, but eventually the hunter huffed and let Shane change the topic. “Axel did repairs at the prison ‘n Merle’s been fired off enough construction sites to know his way around.”

Shane nodded along. “And I heard Sasha thinks she can keep the generators and panels running. You know she was a firefighter?”

Daryl grunted at him. “Nah, but makes sense. Girl looks like she could make a walker cry.”

They shared a laugh - well, Shane laughed and Daryl gave him a crooked smile, but it was close enough.

A glance at the kids showed Bobbi and Nate resting with their bare feet in the water while Bo and Carl scolded them. Jason was collecting a handful of rocks that Shane imagined he would have to pick out of the boy’s pockets when he did the laundry.

“Don't think I like the other two,” Daryl said suddenly, though he didn't have to explain who he meant.

Shane grimaced. “Yeah, I heard what that crazy sonova bitch did to Glenn.” Still, Shane thought, he could live with a bit of crazy to avoid making yet another orphan of the new world. So long as Allen didn't become too much of a threat.

After more slow walking, Carl easily dispatched a stray walker and they kept moving steadily towards Woodbury.

“Why'd you do that?” Bo hissed to his friend, just low enough that Shane had to concentrate to hear. Judging by the way Daryl glanced back with a smirk, the hunter heard too.

“Do what?” Carl boomed, not bothering to lower his voice.

Shane struggled to hold in laughter at the dull impact of a little fist.

“Ow!” Carl hollered.

Ahead, Daryl drew Bobbi and Nate into a probably meaningless conversation, even if Shane had little doubts that he was still perfectly aware of the boys behind him and of their surroundings.

Bo hissed again, “Shut up! You knew I had that walker!”

It was Carl’s turn to laugh. “Oh, I get it. You wanted to look cool!” he said, at least he lowered his voice a little.

“Did not!”

“Did too! You want Bobbi and Nate and Shane to think you're cool!”

The boys were still arguing when they got to the fence, hardly pausing to call a greeting to Sasha at the gate before they turned back to each other, still whispering threats and insults.

Bobbi and Nate were more polite.

“Hello!” they said, even while Bobbi’s voice overpowered Nate’s.

“Are you Ms. Sasha?” she asked, waving, "Bo says you're really tough!”

“That's a big compliment from him,” Sasha said, smiling down on them. “Go on and find Tyreese, he's been waiting for you.” With that, she closed the gate and turned back to her watch with a serious grip on her rifle.

Tyreese greeted them with a warm pot of squirrel mixed with various cans of veggies. It was a familiar mix, something all of the survivors had become accustomed to.

Shane tucked in, sucking down the watery mixture. It was bland without Carol’s knack for combining scavenged cans or the Dixon men’s experience with wild herbs, but Shane, Carl, and Bo knew the taste of hunger so they didn't complain.

Across the fire from him, Bobbi and Nate grimaced but sipped politely.

Jason, on the other hand, turned up his nose. “I don't like this soup,” he pouted.

His sister, with all the discrete grace of a typical eleven year old, elbowed him hard.

Jason yelped, glared, then amended: “I mean… thanks for the soup!”

After the late lunch, Nate, Bobbi, and Jason went off to their old homes, sightseeing and exploring while supervised by Daryl. Carl and Bo, apparently forgetting their argument, went off on their own to marvel at the pre-apocalypse town now that they weren't running through for their lives.

“You lived here Before?” Tyreese asked, after each of the kids had split off.

Shane shook his head and sipped on the last of the liquid from the soup. “No, it was after the turn,” he said, “We found Woodbury at the end of winter. The walls were already up by then.”

“I can't believe a place like this exists,” Tyreese threw out a hand to the picturesque houses around them, “that there were people and families and…” his voice trailed off.

“It used to,” Shane sighed, “before that psycho ‘Governor’ ruined it.”

Tyreese nodded, his expression far away. Shane let him stew in his thoughts while he enjoyed the heat of the fire.

The spring sun had warmed their bones well and the walk, despite having a nearly sixty-pound boy on his shoulders, had been easy enough. Shane had learned to enjoy these quiet, slow days while he had them.

“Mr. Shane, Mr. Shane!” Bobbi squealed. Shane was used to the girl enough to know she was excited instead of in danger.

Seconds later, she skidded around the corner and threw herself at him. “Look what we found!”

A worn photo was thrust into his hands. From it, miniature versions of Bobbi and Jason beamed up at him, heads full of tight curls and fat cheeks straining with their grins. Their mom and dad surrounded them with loving arms and indulgent smiles, probably well used to their exuberant daughter.

“Look at that,” Tyreese said, peering over Shane’s shoulder at the photograph. “Is that you and your brother?”

“Uh-huh! I thought Daddy had it with him when he died, but we found it in his room!”

Jason came bounding up next, hugging an old stuffed rabbit. “And I found Flopsy!” he declared, holding it up triumphantly.

Nate and Daryl followed at a more sedate pace, the hunter wore a typical scowl while Nate simply looked resigned.

“No luck?” Shane asked, though he could already see the answer.

Nate just frowned at him and trudged into the house they were staying in, probably headed to bed to wallow.

Michonne would know what to say, Shane thought, she was always better with the taciturn boy. Andrea, no surprise, got on best with the authoritative Bobbi, while Shane had a soft spot for Jason, and everyone babied Eli.

Bobbi and Jason followed Nate in, ready to sit and do the puzzle they brought until bedtime. Daryl grunted something about doing a perimeter check and slipped away.

Alone with Tyreese again, Shane settled back into the quiet.

“You think your Rick won't do the same?” Tyreese asked, suddenly.

Shane blinked at him for a long second before he remembered what they had been talking about. Closing his eyes, Shane purposefully reined in his temper before he replied.

“Ain't like that,” he finally decided on, trying hard to keep his voice level.

Tyreese held up his hands in surrender. “Take it easy, man. Just asking. Besides, I don't think it's much of my business what you guys do at the prison.” He looked to the side, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just worry about those kids of yours. They've been through enough.”

On that, at least, they could agree. Still, Shane felt sore enough that he exchanged meaningful glances with Carl, Bo, and Daryl, drawing them in to close ranks in their chosen house.

They left early the next day.

Will looked over his stash with something close to pride.

He'd been moonshinin’ since he could walk, knew the taste even before then, but this was his best haul since before the world came to an end.

Philip might know people, could bend them to his will with honeyed words and beautiful lies, but Will knew fire and brimstone, the power of hatred and resentment.

They wouldn't know what hit ‘em.

Chapter Text

Bo efficiently worked at the fence; stab, pull, stab pull. Sometimes the gore would cling to the poker, usually from the oldest of the walkers, their half-rotted skulls practically disintegrated leaving black-red-pink brains he would have to fling off before attacking the next.

A yard away, Bobbi giggled and gagged while Beth tried to get her to take a turn.

Secretly, Bo trained his ears in the girls, doing his best to hear their conversation.

“But it's gross!” Bobbi said, still giggling.

“I know, but you've got to learn some time,” Beth reassured her.

Bo was surprised that she didn't have Judy, she was practically raising the infant along with Carol and Uncle Daryl. Rick seemed to just orbit the crib, rarely coming close enough to pick her up.

At least he seemed more stable then he had been. Bo tried not to resent their so-called leader; both Rick and Carl lost Lori, but Rick acted like the child while Carl had to step up.

Stab, pull. Stab, pull.

One of the walkers leaning heavily on the fence was wearing a single flip-flop, its board shorts and sunglasses were covered in filth. Bo imagined it hanging out by a pool Before, maybe it drowned or got trampled in a panic.

Stab, pull. Stab, pull.

“How hard do you have to hit it?” Bobbi asked. Bo watched her from the corner of one eye, edging closer to the fence. She clung to a ski pole modified with a nice, sharp point.

Beth stabbed an old walker in overalls, it was fresh enough that she struggled to pull her sharp knife from its skull. “Not as hard as you think,” she told Bobbi, breathing heavily from yanking her knife back.

Bobbi still didn't look convinced. She had a flower in her hair, one of the blue ones from the fast growing dayflowers under the fence; Mr. Johnson probably got it for her again.

Stab, pull. Stab, pull.

“Alright kids,” Hershel called, hobbling from the garden on his crutches. “Go wash up, let me take a turn.”

Bobbi practically ran from the fence, handing off her ski to one of the newcomers behind Hershel. Beth followed slower, leaning up to give her dad a kiss on the cheek.

Bo kept up his steady work.

“Go on, son,” Hershel came closer but allowed Bo enough room to keep swinging. All of the adults had learned, at one point or another, that the back swings could pack a punch if they weren't paying enough attention. “Go play with the others.”

“Ain't a kid,” Bo retorted, mostly out of habit. A year ago he would have bristled and spat, but now downtime was coveted. He holstered his knife and counted the newcomers Hershel had brought; three who had been at the fence before including the Goober he and Glenn found a few weeks before.

“S’up, kid,” Leroy gave him a high-five when they passed.

“Try not to get ate, Goober!” Bo laughed over his shoulder, hurrying off to find Carl or Sophia.

Bobbi and Nate were the only ones brave enough to get to their room. Not their cell, of course - their cell had hosted a dozen sleepovers with the younger kids when Shane or Andrea went to visit Woodbury - but the room they hid away in just before the tombs.

Nate was usually off doing his own thing, tagging along with the adults or trying to make friends with the older teens that were recruited, but Bobbi would brave the walk as long as someone held her hand. Before they knew it, she had started spending more and more time reading with Sophia while Bo and Carl played cards.

“Mr. Shane says Ms. Sasha is done fixing up Woodbury,” she said one afternoon.

They were all spread out on the thin blankets and rugs they had brought back, protected from the early summer heat by cool concrete.

“Good for them.” Bo was only half paying attention, more concerned with learning the convoluted rules Carl was probably making up on the spot.

“Well don't you wanna move there?”

Bo and Carl made identical snorts.

“Why the hell’d we move to that hell hole?” Bo asked.

“Yeah!” Carl echoed, “We’ve got all we need here.”

Bobbi retreated into Sophia’s side and let their friend wrap an arm around her protectively, as if Bo or Carl would actually holler at the girl.

“I was just asking,” she said, pouting.

Sophia frowned down at her. “Why do you want us to move? Don't you like the prison?”

“It's a prison.” The face she made helped to break the tension, sending Sophia into giggles. “And Ms. Andrea said we need the electricity and water and houses,” she continued.

“She just don't wanna go huntin’ or anythin’ no more.” Bo turned back to their game, dismissing Bobbi’s ideas.

Behind him, the girls kept on their conversation. Despite how hard he tried to ignore them, he would catch their whispered words.

“I just wanna go home.”

“I know, but your home’s with us now.”

“No, my home was back in Holly Springs.”

The little hints kept coming and, despite themselves, they didn't like it.

Bo, Carl, and Sophia had gotten attached to the opinionated girl from Woodbury, even if she had yet to kill a walker, and they had to admit it was nice having the other kids around.

But Mr. Johnson needed to use the medical equipment they couldn't bring back to the prison, Andrea wanted to see if Milton left any useful research, and the newcomers were complaining that D-Block was too crowded. Tyreese and Sasha wanted more people to help run the town.

They didn't like it, but the Woodbury group was going back home.

“Won't be right away,” Uncle Daryl told them over dinner. “Gotta get shit ready, clean the place up.”

“And you can visit,” Rick said, pushing his carrots onto Uncle Daryl’s plate. “It's not like they're moving to the moon.”

Bo felt Carl tense up beside him. “But they'll just have old people, who's going to keep watch?” his friend asked with a pointed wave of his spoon.

Uncle Daryl snorted “Got Ty, don't they?”

“And Sasha and Shane” Rick ticked off finger while he listed off names, “Andrea, Michonne, Allen-”

“Allen ain't worth shit,” Bo interrupted. “And neither is his chicken shit son!”

“Yeah!” Carl latched onto his argument seamlessly, "What if they do something!?”

“What the hell could they do?” Uncle Daryl laughed, “Sasha’ld gut ‘em.”

“What could Andrew do?”

Rick dropped his fork with a clatter.

“Bo!” Uncle Daryl hissed.

Bo already regretted his words, if only for the white-knuckled grip Carl had on his spoon.

The mood at the table grew cold and tense - Carl stared hard at the table while Rick physically shook his shoulders, Bo imagined he was shaking the crazy off like spiderwebs.

Finally, with the words bitter on his tongue, Bo apologized. “Sorry,” he said, “didn't mean it…”

“No.” Rick sounded winded, “No, you meant it.”

Uncle Daryl rocked back, ready to push Rick towards the tombs, but he relaxed at the next words.

“You meant it, and you're right,” Rick said. “We can't underestimate people, not anymore.”

“I'll get Andrea to talk to Ty ‘n them.” Uncle Daryl nodded once, eased by how together Rick sounded.

Bo, thoroughly cowed, just nodded and gnawed on his portion of meat - greasy raccoon hind quarters. Carl, with gentle forgiveness, put his leftovers onto Bo’s plate.

That night, with Sophia’s breath warm against the back of his neck, Bo listened to Bobbi and Jason arguing above them.

“I wanna be a squirrel,” Jason insisted.

“That's stupid,” his sister told him, “we eat squirrels all the time.”

“Not all of them!” His little voice was echoing in the dark. “And they can climb and get away from the sick ones and they look cute when they run!”

“Then it's better to be a bird, at least you can fly away.”

“How ‘bout a bunny? Like Flopsy?” Bo imagined the battered little rabbit toy Jason was so fond of.

They had been at it for what seemed like an eternity, since Shane dropped them off that afternoon. He and Andrea were going on a run to a hardware store the next town over and wanted to keep them out of trouble - Bo didn't know why that meant he and Sophia had to babysit.

They had been leaving more and more, running to Woodbury overnight or getting tools and supplies to restock the town. Part of Bo was glad that a good number of the dumb newcomers would be departing for Woodbury, but another wanted to keep the others - Shane, Andrea, Michonne, and (with some reluctance) Bobbi and them - close by and safe at the prison.

Carl was on watch and Rick had voluntarily gone into the tombs, he said it was good exercise. Almost everyone else was settling in for the night, Bo could hear Beth singing to little Asskicker while T-Dog was already snoring louder than a chainsaw, the familiar sound bouncing off of the block walls.

Bo tried to tune out the siblings above him, focusing on Eli curled up in Carl’s usual spot. Karen was due back from watch a few hours after sunset, well after Eli’s bedtime, so she asked if she could just pick him up after her shift.

Eli was warm in his arms, huffing little breaths while he slept. He had downy hair that tickled Bo’s nose and, despite being about half of Carl’s size, he took up twice the amount of room. Poor Sophia, sleeping on the edge, was practically falling off of it with how much of the bed he was hogging.

Bo couldn’t wait until Karen came to scoop him up.

“Or a wolf instead,” Bobbi said, her voice sprang to life suddenly in the quiet. “I bet they don't get sick if they bite the walkers.”

“The hell’re you two on about?” Bo grumbled, maybe a little too loud. Behind him, Sophia gently thumped her forehead against his spine in reproach.

“What animal we’d wanna be,” Jason answered, as if it was obvious.

Bobbi’s head dropped over the side of the bunk, only visible from the moonlight outlining her curly hair. “Jason wants to be a squirrel, but that's dumb.”

Bo heard a thud and Bobbi disappeared back to her bed; the squeak of the mattress coils told him the siblings were tussling.

Between the sound of one little punch and the next, Bo slipped off to sleep.

A few hours later, Bo woke just enough to tighten his hold on their charge.

Through the sleep clouding his mind, he could just barely make out the shape of Karen above him, shocked that she had gotten that far into their cell before he awoke.

“It’s okay,” he heard Carl whisper, “go back to sleep.”

With an ease that almost scared him, Bo let Eli be pulled from his arms.

Carl bullied his way into bed, Sophia rolled to claim more of the mattress, and Bo, right before falling back asleep, wondered when they had stopped wearing their shoes to bed.

When the sunlight started warming the air in the prison, Bo was the first of his cell mates awake. Bobbi and Jason had eventually fallen asleep the night before, only after keeping him and Sophia up for much longer than they would have liked.

Bo, Carl, and Sophia had shifted around sometime in the night and Bo was now at the edge of the bed with Carl plastered to his back and Sophia tucked securely against the wall.

As gently as he could, Bo wiggled out from Carl’s grip and slipped out of their bed. The concrete under foot was still chilly that early in the morning, the cold seeped up through Bo’s battered socks.

He got dressed lazily, keeping the noise to a minimum in respect for Carl’s late watch shift and hoping that Bobbi and Jason would sleep long enough for him to slip the responsibility of watching them.

Once he was ready, Bo emerged to the smell of dandelion root coffee and deer bacon wafting from the communal area downstairs.

Daddy was already up, nursing a mug while watching a pot of roasted roots and another coated in fat and hissing around slabs of fatty, cured venison.

“Bet these damn democrats ain’t gonna like it none,” his voice was a familiar low growl that reminded Bo of early morning hunts in the foggy woods behind their trailer park. “Gonna be too damn bitter for ‘em.”

Still, Bo recognized the careful eye he had on the pot. His dad was trying hard to bring back some little comfort from Before, so the adults could gather around with a warm mug and plan their day with an ease they hadn't been able to afford before the prison.

“Prob’ly still got some of that powder creamer from the cafeteria,” Bo offered, earning himself a sly grin from his dad.

“Yeah, they’ll need it. See if’n we got any sugar too.”

Bo bounded off to the designated pantry, passing wild herbs strung up to dry and jars scattered on the counter containing the results of a newcomer teaching Carol the basics of canning.

In the “pantry,” they had stored a menagerie of processed foods from before - cans and bags and MREs - alongside whatever they had been able to start curing or drying in the makeshift root cellar. The concrete and block helped to keep it cool and it was deep enough into the prison that the sun wouldn't warm the meat, veggies, and rendered fats.

The adults were a cautious kind of optimistic about it, Daddy talked about storing food until winter while Carol gushed about spices and herbs they were gathering.

Bo grabbed the creamer and little packets of sugar, found in an office building not far from Woodbury, and brought with them some more formula for Judy. After some debate, he picked up some instant scrambled eggs and cans of potatoes.

Carol was up and helping Daddy by the time Bo got back, their quiet voices bickering back and forth while they wore fond smiles.

She grinned when she saw what Bo had brought back and wrapped him in a quick hug. “Good choice,” she told him with a wink.

Daddy poured her a mug of coffee with some of the sugar while Carol dove back into their pantry for spices.

“Wash your hands, Bo. I’m going to need some help.”

By the time the smell of rosemary potatoes and coffee and eggs cooked in bacon fat roused the rest of their group, Bo was nearly ready to go back to bed.

Instead, stifling a yawn, he stacked his plate high and joined Uncle Daryl and Rick.

“We got enough fuel for two trips in the bus,” Uncle Dare said, around a mouthful of instant scrambled eggs. “Figure we take the lil’ ones ‘n the old but bring it back and keep it here.”

Rick nodded and sipped his coffee. Bo noticed he didn't add any of the creamer or sugar to it, so Bo made sure he drank his the same way.

“We keep the bus here, it'll be an easy get away if… well, if.”

Rick looked better now, then he had when Lori died. Hershel swore it was because of his “quiet time” in the garden.

Bo took a sip of his coffee and tried to hide his grimace with a huge bite of bacon.

“When's Ty thinkin’ of movin’ ‘em?”

“One week,” Rick answered, sending a foreboding feeling through Bo.

Chapter Text

Will lurked behind Philip, like a cloud, like an animal after prey.

He followed, silently, since Woodbury, since… that day.

Philip trudged through streets, past walkers, along the ruins of the civilized world and, through it all, William Dixon followed.

“Is Mommy back at Woodbury?”

Eli’s question startled Bobbi. Uncertain, she looked at Shane and Karen for an answer.

They looked just as confused.

“No, sweety,” Ms. Karen finally said, “why do you think she's there?”

“‘Cause Mr. Johnson said she's in a nicer place than the prison. Woodbury’s nicer, right?” Eli was focused on playing with some Legos, like he was just making casual conversation.

“Buddy,” Mr. Shane looked like he was in pain, his brows all pinched up. “I think Mr. Johnson meant that your mama's in heaven now.”

“Oh, okay.” Eli looked up with a shrug. “Can we go there? Maybe tomorrow?”

“No,” Jason cut in, even while Bobbi tried to cover his mouth with her hand. “You don't wanna go to heaven, heaven means dead.”

Once moving day came, Bobbi remembered how she felt when they loaded into the bus to leave Woodbury, how scared she was when they saw the prison’s fences looming over the trees.

This time they were making the trip in reverse. She still held onto Jason’s hand, but his other arm now held onto his stuffed rabbit. Behind them, Bobbi pulled a little suitcase with their spare clothes and toys.

When they got to the bus, Rick helped them put the suitcase in the back, piled on top of everyone else's bags. Bobbi and Jason picked out their seat, settling next to Karen next to the window. Nate and Shane sat behind them holding Eli while Michonne and Andrea were across the aisle.

It reminded Bobbi of the bus trip she took with her dad when they went to Nashville. They had to wake up so early that it was still dark, the moon hanging low in the sky. Dad carried Jason, who hadn't even woken up while they got him dressed, and they joined a bus full of old couples with fanny packs and sun visors. Bobbi didn't remember much of the drive, but she remembered arriving to a sea of people milling around and the bus driver giving her a sticker for saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.

This bus trip was a little different. Tyreese didn't give her a sticker, they didn't have to wake up before the sun, and her dad was dead. At least this time she could hear Mr. Johnson a few rows back, laughing at something Mrs. McLeod said, and Bo was in the first seat hanging over Tyreese’s shoulder to watch him drive.

Everyone shuffled in, passing their bags back to Rick and picking their seats. Bobbi pretended to watch, but snuck glances at Bo enough times that Ms. Karen noticed.

“Go sit with him!” she whispered, making Jason giggle.

Bobbi felt herself blush, but scurried up and slipped behind Bo to claim the window seat. She was glad he wasn't wearing his crossbow or she would have had to squeeze onto the edge.

“What're you doin’?” he asked, his brows all scrunched up.

“I wanted to watch out the front,” she lied.

Bo just grunted at her and turned back to Tyreese. “How’d you know how to drive a bus?”

“Your friend T-Dog,” he answered, smiling through the big mirror above his head. “He said he used to drive a bus for his church, but it's a little harder without his hand.”

“It weren't a bus like this one though,” Bo pointed out, but he threw himself backwards into the seat without waiting for Tyreese to answer.

Bobbi grinned when his attention turned to her. “You movin’ into the same house you lived in with your dad?” Bo asked.

“No, we're going to one of the bigger houses ‘cause we all wanna share.” They had already gone and picked out their rooms and everything. “Me, Jason, and Eli are gonna have a big room upstairs, then Ms. Michonne and Ms. Andrea got the room right at the top of the stairs, and Mr. Shane and Nate’re down by the door.”

Bo frowned and looked away, glaring down at a rip in the seat. “Gonna be kinda weird without you three followin’ us around all the time.”

“Are you gonna miss us?” she asked shyly. “Mr. Shane said we can come back and visit and that you're gonna come help us get the town started with the new people.”

“Ain't gonna miss you!” he snapped, but his cheeks were a little pink and Bobbi was used to the way he talked. “But Sophia might,” he added, “you know, you both bein’ girls and stuff.”

That night Allen and Ben brought back a massive haul from hunting: two possums, a goose, a duck, and half a dozen squirrels.

“That's weird,” Bo whispered to her, when he saw what they brought back, “didn't think the pair of ‘em’d even be able to hunt a one legged, blind ‘coon.”

“Guess you were wrong about them then,” Bobbi answered, already a little protective of her new neighbors. Ben was about Nate’s age and she watched the two teens hover around each other awkwardly.

Shane clapped Allen on the back and announced they would have a fest the next two nights. Allen dumped the meat down where some of the new comers were sitting with Andrea to get it all cleaned and ready to eat.

Bobbi followed her friend to inspect the dead animals, even if it made her squeamish.

“Looks like wounds from bolts,” Bo pointed out a little hole through the chest of the goose, his eyes narrowed and lips were pulled up in a snarl. “Where the hell’d they -”

“Hey, little man!” Leroy called, interrupting. “What'd you think of the fence here? Think you'd be able to break in again?”

Bobbi, being both small and brave, spent the next few hours testing the gaps in the fences with Bo. They did their best to squeeze through where Michonne said she used to sneak out, but Sasha had done a good job of sealing the gaps.

By the time Shane and Andrea had their dinner ready, Bobbi’s outfit was dirty and Bo was laughing with her while they tried to scale the wall.

Rick and Bo planned to spend the night, helping them unload before returning to the prison in a few days. Tyreese would drive the bus back then and he, Sasha, and Karen would walk home.

“We still need the bus for the fence,” Rick said, “but it'll be available if y’all ever need it.”

Everyone, except the really, really old, slept that night piled up together in what Tyreese called the visitor’s house. “You won't be needing this after tonight,” he told them, “we'll get y'all moved in first thing in the morning.”

Bobbi, a little selfishly, left her brother and Eli to sleep between Karen and Andrea. Instead, picking her way across bodies, she wiggled her way in between Rick and Bo. “Fuckin’ girls,” Bo muttered, but he let her snuggle in close and wrapped one arm over her shoulders, so Bobbi didn't mind.

Moving in was a lot different than when they moved to Holly Springs when she was eight. Back then, her dad hired a bunch of men to move all of the furniture and it took them weeks to unpack everything. This time, all of her and Jason's things fit inside her suitcase with room to spare.

Most of the time they used to unpack was actually spent with Ms. Karen and Mr. Tyreese helping them decide where to hang their posters.

“I think your pretty boys should go over the bed,” Tyreese suggested, holding up the poster Glenn had found for her in an old abandoned house. Bobbi wasn't sure who the band was, but she had kept it since Glenn had thought of her on his run. “Then Jason’s dinos can go over the toybox.”

Across the room, Karen was holding up a colorful poster of different dinosaurs and waiting for Jason’s approval. Bobbi’s baby brother was standing on the bed and using a plastic sword to direct Karen and Tyreese around.

The whole time they were decorating, Karen and Tyreese kept smiling at each other and sharing little laughs. Bobbi wished Sophia or Beth was there so they could confirm her suspicions that they were flirting.

Once the posters were hung and they laid down a rug with little streets and houses for Jason and Eli to play on, Bobbi decided that everything was perfect.

“Good,” Tyreese sent her a big smile, “then let's go check on Shane and the women.” He reached down and scooped up Jason to sling over his shoulder, Jason giggled the whole way up.

Downstairs, Shane was putting jerky away - goodbye presents from Bo and his family - while Andrea stacked glasses in the cabinet above the sink. The tap didn't work anymore, but there were jugs of boiled water stashed away in case they didn't feel like walking to the community pantry. Michonne put a case of pretty silver forks and knives in one of the drawers.

“Those are fancy,” Andrea laughed. “Should we put them away for the next time we have company?”

“Ought to use them tonight, make our roast possum and canned corn even more special!” Shane declared, bouncing a little to jostle Eli on his shoulders.

“Looks like you're all settled,” Tyreese said, pulling out a bottle from a big cardboard box. “Courtesy of me and Sasha, to celebrate the move.”

Andrea pulled out fancy crystal wine glasses and the adults moved into the living room where Karen had thrown clean blankets over the musky sofa and recliner. She and Tyreese sat down very close together, making Jason wrinkle his nose.

Sensing that the adults wanted some time alone, Bobbi gathered Nate, Jason, and Eli and led them on a trip to each of the occupied houses. They checked in on Mr. Johnson and Mrs. McLeod, Leroy, Bryan, Sasha, the rest of the newcomers, and everyone else - except for Allen and Ben who were off hunting again. They were all unpacking or resting after the move and made sure to make time to show the kids around their new houses.

“Now just because we're not all together in the same prison block doesn't mean you don't get to visit,” Mrs. McLeod told them, waving one wrinkled finger. “Come see how us old folk are doing every once in a while and there’ll be some sweets in it for you.”

By the time Karen was calling them back for dinner, Nate was hefting a toy chest filled with presents and trinkets from the other houses and Eli had a new plastic horse he made run along fences and sidewalks.

Just like Shane promised, their food was spread out on a silk tablecloth and the silver spoons and forks were lined up neatly beside fancy white china plates.

“My mama said these were for lookin’ at, not really for eating on,” Shane plopped Eli down on Andrea’s lap so she could help him eat, “but I don't think there's much point in saving them now.”

Andrea balanced Eli on her knee and clinked her glass against Michonne’s, the samurai sword was leaned against the back of Michonne’s chair.

“Need help, buddy?” Tyreese leaned over Jason’s plate, poised to help cut up his meat.

“No!” he snapped, before Bobbi elbowed him hard in the ribs. “I mean, no thanks. I got it.”

Bobbi politely cut up her own cut of possum while watching Jason out of the corner of her eye. They had given him a butter knife instead of anything sharp and he was using it to stab into the meat like it was a walker instead of using it right.

“How was Mr. Johnson doing?” Michonne asked, chewing her own food slowly and never speaking with her mouth full.

Taking her lead, Bobbi made sure to swallow before she answered. “He's doing good. Him and Mrs. McLeod and Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Cindy are all in the little house on the corner. They said we could visit tomorrow ‘cause Mrs. McLeod was gonna try and make oatmeal cookies.”

“And you're going to see us off in the morning, right?” Tyreese asked, his arm slung over Karen’s chair.

“Of course!” Bobbi answered, “You can't leave without saying goodbye.”

Watching the bus leave was frustrating. He knew that snot-nosed brat was on board, probably laughing at Will while they drove away.

He snarled while he laid out his bounty, looping the wicks carefully until they resembled velvet ropes blocking off the supposed civility of Woodbury.

Their source said that this was the time, boldly defenseless, practically mocking Will and Philip with how relaxed they were. It was almost pathetic, how eager the little man was to seek revenge on the brutes inside the walls, his loyalty bought by a couple pounds of greasy meat and a promise of suffering.

Practically salivating, Will shook with anticipation, awaiting the signal with bated breath.

Chapter Text

It was a rare day, one where Carl was free to lounge about in the sun, laying back on cool grass and letting Sophia and Bo’s voices wash over him.

The other two didn't seem to share his lazy mood, bickering quietly over something or another that Carl didn't care enough to follow.

Their boots were discarded nearby, Carl absently watched a large ant climbing on Bo’s laces. The sun shining down on them would have been harsh if they had been doing anything physical, but as it was Carl just shielded his eyes with his dad’s hat and let the warm rays wash over him.

They had been chased from the fence, the garden, and even the tables where groups of newcomers prepared meat and herbs to be dried.

“You three’ve been busy with the move,” Glenn told them kindly, “just go take the day off.”

So they did.

Carl rolled his head lazily, tearing his gaze from the ant to his friends. Bo’s eyes were closed and he was laying back with his head on Sophia’s lap; she was frowning in concentration, putting braids in his short hair.

“Ain't gonna last a month,” Bo said. “Gonna get overrun or somethin’ with all them damn Democrats runnin’ the place.”

“What's that even mean?” Sophia asked, dipping her brush in a bowl of water.

“Means city folk, I think.”

Sophia gave his hair a sharp tug in reproach. “Don't use words you don't know.”

He just swatted at her lazily, not even opening his eyes. “Daddy says it all the time, ‘n it means city folk when he says it.”

Bo and Rick had just gotten back that morning. Carl was on watch with T-Dog when they pulled up in the bus and Ty stayed just long enough for a round of handshakes before his group started on their walk back.

“‘S weird, though,” Bo continued, “coulda swore me or Uncle Dare shot that goose.”

“You'd know if you shot a whole goose,” Carl pointed out.

Bo turned his head to give Carl a one-eyed glare and Sophia had to tug him back into place by his hair.

“I mean, jus’ lookin’ at it!” He had learned his lesson and didn't move his head, but Bo threw out an arm for emphasis. “It was shot right where me or Uncle Daryl’ld’ve shot it. ‘S weird is all.”

Carl hummed, still not really sure how shooting a goose would vary much from person to person but willing to accept his friend’s word.

“Do you want four braids or five?” Sophia asked, still frowning down at Bo’s hair.

“Don't want no fuckin’ braids, woman,” he huffed.

Carl absently threw a pebble at his leg and closed his eyes again. Silently, he debated on a mid morning nap.

“Did Bobbi settle in okay?” he heard Sophia ask.

Bo grunted, “Guess so.”

“You didn't check on her before you left?”

“Hell no. She'd’a said somethin’ weird again.”

Sophia sighed. “You can't not say goodbye, not anymore.”

Bo’s silence said he saw her point, but Carl giggled when he pictured his friend’s stubborn, mulish look.

“Hey,” Sophia sounded serious all of a sudden, “does that look like smoke to you?”

Carl sat upright so fast he got a head rush. There, above the trees, thick black smoke curled like spilled ink.

“That's Woodbury!” someone screamed.

In seconds, Carl had his feet shoved into unlaced boots and the sound of engines roared in the yard.

“Glenn, stay here and keep watch! Merle, Daryl, Maggie, come with me!” Carl heard his dad shouting orders.

Sophia knotted her own laces and took off to the guard tower to join Carol, her sidearm already drawn. Carol had her rifle trained on the treeline, ready to defend the prison with a frightening efficiency.

T-Dog was already at the gate, ready to pull it open for the vehicles. Carl and Bo were right on Maggie’s heels when she ran to her car.

Daryl was the first out on his motorcycle, followed by Rick and Merle in the truck, and Maggie brought up the rear, peeling out of the prison yard and throwing stones back at T-Dog.

Carl and Bo, in the back seat, hurried to tie their laces and check their ammo.

“That is Woodbury, right?” Carl asked, popping out his clip.

“Right direction,” Bo said, counting rifle rounds.

“It's gonna draw walkers,” Maggie told them over one shoulder, “need you two takin’ ‘em out while we figure out what's going on.”

Driving to Woodbury was a lot different than walking, they made it to the town in minutes.

The first thing they saw was the fire, crawling slowly up the wooden fences that contained Woodbury, that contained their friends.

Maggie gasped and hit the brakes.

Once it slowed just enough, Carl and Bo burst out of the car and fell upon the walkers that were already gathering. Some of them were scorched by the fire, their hair and clothes singed.

“What happened?!” Rick shouted at Tyreese.

“Saw the smoke while we were walking, came back to this!” Tyreese swung his crowbar, splitting the skull of a smoldering walker.

The air was so thick with smoke and the scent of burnt hair and cooked meat that Carl had to cover his nose with his shirt.

“Shane!” Rick yelled.

Carl killed the nearest walker before he dared to look back at his father.

Rick ran to Sasha who was kneeling over a still shape.

“Go on,” Bo panted, his adrenaline probably running just as high as Carl's, “I'll cover you.” He shot a bolt into another walker before switching to his own knife.

Nodding, Carl hurried to Rick’s side.

On the ground, Shane was nearly unrecognizable. Covered in soot and ash, his gray shirt was burned away to reveal raw red underneath, his hair was nearly gone and what was left was still smoking ominously. Carl glanced at his face and gagged.

He had to look away, his stomach churning.

“Shane’s breathing,” Sasha pressed rhythmically on Nate’s chest, her matter of fact tone reassuring in the chaos, “but Nate isn't. Where's your farm girl?”

“Here!” Maggie called, hurrying over with her shotgun at her side.

“You know CPR? Take over for me.” She counted out loud, watching Maggie nod to the beat before they switched with an air of practiced ease. “You've got that doctor back at the prison, right?”

“Hershel,” Rick nodded, “a vet but he knows enough.”

“Get them to the truck, I'll try to reach everyone else.”

“You mean them kids’re still inside?” Merle shouted.

Tyreese and Rick put the blanket from Maggie's trunk under Shane and used it to lift him into the truck bed. He groaned when they eased him down.

The blanket stuck fast to what was left of his skin.

“Where’re the damn kids!?” Merle snarled, swinging his bayonet arm in wide, vicious arches.

Carl heard a wet, gasping sound and turned back to Maggie and Nate.

Nate was sucking in a ragged breath, eyes still closed. Maggie and Daryl grabbed him by his shoulders and legs and hefted him up next to Shane.

“Maggie, ride in the bed with them,” Rick ordered, “Ty, drive the truck back.”

Sasha gave her brother a nod and the truck was off, backend fishtailing before Tyreese got it under control.

“Don't know how we're going to get through,” Sasha said between grunts of exertion. She was swinging a hatchet at a pair of new walkers coming from the tree line.

Another car started up and Bo tugged on Carl’s hand just in time for Maggie’s car to slam into the burning fence.

“Crazy bastard!” Daryl hollered, swinging his bow around to shoot a walker that came dangerously close to Rick.

Carl split his attention between the thinning number of walkers and Merle tumbling out of the Hyundai.

Sasha huffed a dry laugh, “That works.” She stripped a bloody coat off the body of a nearby walker and used it to beat back the fire enough that they could jump through the gap Merle made.

Inside, they were met with a horror scene.

Three of the houses were already up in flames, Carl could hear the moans of walkers coming from a house on the corner.

The fire seemed to be centered on the roof so, with a cautious kind of optimism, Carl pulled Bo into the house with the walker sounds.

The door was unlocked and, when they burst in, they were met by poor Mrs. McLeod, an oven mitt still on her hand. The walker wheezed, its lungs full of the same smoke that stung Carl’s eyes.

With a solemn look, Bo loosed a bolt and put Mrs. McLeod to rest.

“Supposed to be her ‘n some’a the other old folk here,” he said. After a moment of thought, Bo took a deep breath and hollered, “Anybody alive in here!?”

They stilled, listening to the creeks and pops of burning wood. From deeper in the house, another walker groaned.

“C’mon,” Bo grabbed Carl’s hand, “Bobbi ‘n the others’re livin’ in the big one a couple houses down.”

Carl sent a silent apology to whoever the other walker used to be before allowing himself to be rushed back out the door.

Down the street, Sasha stood in front of a house with flames surging out of the second floor windows. She looked grim.

Once Carl and Bo passed the neighboring houses, the sound of muffled, wordless screams met their ears.

With silent synchronicity, Carl and Bo dove towards the door, only to be stopped short by Sasha.

“No!” she yanked them back, heedless of the way Bo thrashed to get free. “It's too late.”

“It ain't!” he screamed, reaching his free hand to the door.

“You can see the fire from the windows.” Carl looked up and found that, despite her calm words, tears streaked down Sasha’s cheeks. “There's no way in.”

The screams were already quieting down, growing faint against the sound of roaring fire.

Even from the front yard, the heat from the house was nearly unbearable, but Bo still struggled against Sasha’s hold. Carl put his arms around his friend, half holding him back and half sagging his weight against him.

With a pained cry, Bo collapsed, bringing Carl and Sasha with him.

They stayed there, huddled together, until Rick and Daryl found them. Leroy and a few of the other newcomers followed meekly, ash clinging to their clothes. Each had blank, shocked expressions and blinked at Carl owlishly.

Bo, practically curled under Sasha’s chin, was choking back sobs and had a punishing grip on Carl’s hand.

Daryl urged Bo to his feet. “Can't stay here,” he mumbled, “gonna get too hot.”

Carl sheathed his knife in a daze. Rick clasped his free hand and, between his friend and his father, Carl was pulled from the ruins of Woodbury.

Merle barged from the last burning house, someone slung over his shoulder. “Blondie's breathin’ at least,” he said with a grin.

Michonne was already outside, sitting in the grass and coughing. Merle gently laid Andrea next her her with a laugh, only when he saw Daryl and Bo’s expressions did he sober up. “Where's the kids?”

Their sad little line just kept trudging on.

“Daryl,” Merle thundered, “I said where’re the goddamn kids?!”

Their silence was enough of an answer.

Carl watched, feeling very distant, while Merle snarled and shook the blood from his bayonet. He recognized the angry energy, they had all felt the same helpless rage.

Merle’s eyes jumped wildly, searching faces and looking desperately for a target.

Carl saw the moment Merle found one.

“Fires started on the roofs, looks like firebombs to me.” His expression turned predatory.

Daryl, still holding Bo’s hand, wavered at the front of their line. “Glass outside,” he muttered, “might’a been somethin’ there to burn the fence.”

The change was instantaneous.

“Sasha, Karen,” Rick pointed at the survivors, “round everyone up and get started to the prison. Keep your weapons up. Merle -”

“Already on it, Boss Hog.” Merle showed his teeth, “Bo, Daryl. We're goin’ huntin'.”

Back at the prison, Carol and Sophia occupied one tower with Glenn in the other. Everyone else in the yard had been herded back into the sturdy block walls of the prison, Oscar took a few men with him to guard the tombs, Axel took others to fortify the block, and T-Dog stayed to work the gate.

They weren't taking chances.

Carol watched the road from Woodbury through the rifle scope, comforting herself with how Sophia crouched beside her with just as much focus.

The minutes stretched, heavy in the near silent air. The smoke kept getting thicker, blacker above the trees and even the birds seemed silent.

After a small eternity of tension, Carol saw tell-tale dust through her scope.

“Tell Glenn someone's coming,” she told her daughter in a whisper.

Sophia nodded seriously and put her fingers to her mouth, whistling the signal for pay attention that Daryl and Merle had taught them.

Across the yard, Glenn mimicked the whistle and T-Dog nodded from a portion of the fence that had been reinforced with metal sheets.

It was their truck, speeding up the road recklessly. The glare on the windshield made it impossible to see who was driving, so Carol kept her rifle trained.

Once it was close enough, T-Dog scrambled to the gate while signaling all clear.

The truck spun into the yard, Maggie perched in the bed. “Get Daddy!” she yelled, Carol glanced down and saw her performing CPR.

Sophia scrambled down the ladder but Carol held fast, still keeping watch.

She was distantly aware of people pouring out of the prison; Hershel, Beth, Sophia, Axel, and several more all rushing to the truck.

Carol heard Hershel calmly issuing orders and the group swarmed like a hive of bees.

After a minute, someone started climbing up to the tower. Axel poked his head up to update her, “Woodbury's burning, got Shane and the boy - Nate, I think - they're burned bad. Ty don't know anything else, left to bring them here.”

“Send the truck back,” Carol suggested, not looking away from the treeline, “they're going to need more vehicles for the other survivors.” If there are any other survivors, she thought to herself.

“Yes ma'am.” Axel ducked back down to report to Hershel.

Carol glanced around once more, reassuring herself. She could see T-Dog, still near the gate with his rifle resting in Merle’s sling, and Glenn’s hat was just barely visible in the other tower.

Whatever's coming, she told herself, they were ready.

Chapter Text

They fucked up.

Just like he knew they would, they fucked everything up!

Behind him, Ben tripped over something in the undergrowth.

“Best get runnin’, boys,” that brutal man had sneered at them. “The rats’ll come scurryin’ out once the fireworks’re lit.”

But Allen wanted to watch. He wanted to see the face of the man Donna adored, the man she spent her last days chasing. He wanted to see Tyreese burn.

“Dad! My ankle!”

“C’mon! We have to run!” Allen hauled his son behind him, still half-focused on the trigger-happy Dixon who lit the fires too soon.

Carl saw the change come over his best friend like a splash of ice water. Bo hunched forward and growled.

“Fuckin’ bastards killed ‘em,” he snarled. “Cowards!”

“Hit ‘em when Ty ‘n Sasha were out.” Merle’s expression matched his son’s. “Lit a bunch’a kids ‘n lil’ old ladies on fire with bathtub hooch.”

“We have to make it out before you start.” Sasha wiped her eyes and was once again the experienced firefighter.

The gap in the fence was made wider by the spreading fire. Merle got back in Maggie’s car and drove it back through the rubble.

Rick and Daryl used some debris to make a bridge and Sasha lead the survivors through. In all, a dozen people made it out of Woodbury alive: Shane, Nate, Tyreese, Sasha, Michonne, Andrea, and six others.

Carl shut his eyes against the memory of screams but he couldn't block out the scent of still smoldering walkers.

Those who were able picked up weapons against the walkers that had spilled from the treeline; it was easy work to take them out. Carl worked close by Bo, close enough that he didn't have to stretch to reach out and grab his friend if it was necessary.

It was a matter of a few, silent minutes to manage the walkers.

Sasha dragged the last body closer to the burning fence when the sound of a familiar engine was heard over the cracks and pops of the fire.

Their truck pulled back up, Tyreese and T-Dog in the cab.

“Shane’s still out, but stable,” T-Dog told them, “Nate isn't going too good; Hershel and Beth are working on him. Glenn, Carol, and Sophia are on watch.”

“Good,” Rick nodded along. Beside him, Merle snarled and stamped like an impatient horse, only soothed by quiet words from Daryl.

Sasha and Karen loaded the survivors into Maggie's car and the truck bed before Karen straddled Daryl’s bike.

“Go easy on ‘er,” Merle shot over his shoulder, already at the treeline.

“We'll get them back to the prison,” Sasha told them, leaning out of the truck window.

“Don't wreck, Goober,” Bo told Leroy, who was driving Maggie’s car.

The joke landed flat, but Leroy at least gave him a half smile. “Stay safe, little man.”

The vehicles sped off, leaving Carl, Rick, Bo, Daryl, and Merle.

Carl stayed close to Bo, keeping his eyes scanning the treeline while his friend squinted down at the ground.

Daryl used his flannel to shield his face from the heat while he crouched by the fence. “Looks like cannin’ jars.” Carl watched him exchange meaningful looks with Merle.

“My Gran’ma died in a fire,” Bo told him in a low voice. “Think Uncle Daryl ‘n Daddy think Pop did it, ‘n they think he did this too.”

Carl knew what happened with Bo’s supposed kin, he had seen the way the welts hardened into molted scars on his best friend’s back until he matched Merle and Daryl. Carl never got to see the man, but he knew he hated him for what he had done.

“Two people went this way, clumsy bastards,” Bo said, tracing paths through the air with his hand. “Weren't Pop.”

“You ain't gonna track Will Dixon,” Merle came up to stand beside them. “Bastard could walk through snow ‘n not leave a trace.”

“It might be Bobbi.” Carl felt a bolt of hope.

Bo just looked at him sadly. “Weren't Bobbi. Two pair ‘a men’s boots, both’re too heavy to be her.”

“Follow it,” Rick ordered, “it's the best lead we have.”

“I'll look for any signs’a Will,” Daryl said, still near the fire.

Bo and Merle nodded and turned to slink through the trees and Carl scrambled to keep up, leaving Rick and Daryl outside of Woodbury.

No matter how many times he saw it, Carl was always amazed by the way his friend could melt into the wildlife around them, going through the woods like a cartoon ghost.

The trail was rather obvious, even he and his dad could follow it given enough time, but time was something they didn't have.

“Weren't that long ago,” Bo whispered, more to himself than anything.

Merle grunted in agreement. “Runnin’, too.”

They moved at a swift pace, nearly jogging, nothing like the slow prowl Carl was used to when he accompanied Bo on hunts.

It made sense, he thought, they weren't hunting rabbits or deer or turkey.

They were after something much more dangerous.

***
Hershel worked on Nate tirelessly.

The boy was burned badly, if he was a horse Hershel would say he was beyond saving.

But he wasn't a horse.

This was a boy, a child.

Nate was Beth’s age. He should still be at home, pining after girls and stressing about football and sneaking his father’s liquor.

Instead, he was barely breathing through the smoke clogging his lungs while Maggie tried to distinguish flesh from the remains of his clothing.

Hershel tried to ignore the preemptive mourning, telling himself the boy is still alive, still able to be saved.

Because if Hershel couldn't save an innocent boy, then who could he save?

Glenn was relieved from watch by T-Dog, not to go rest, but to try and figure out what had happened.

“He's awake,” T-Dog told him, shimmying up the ladder almost as easily as he did before he lost his arm. “Tyreese and Karen are with him. Sasha’s with Andrea and Michonne.

“Sounds like Rick, Daryl, Merle, and the kids are still out there looking for whoever’s responsible,” he continued. “I can't believe someone would purposefully do this.”

Glenn just shook his head sadly. Once T-Dog was set up with his rifle and a water bottle, Glenn went down, back into the block walls.

“Michonne and Andrea were sleeping when it happened,” Karen met him outside of the temporary med-bay. “But Shane was outside of the fence so we don't know how he got burned.”

“Probably pulling Nate out,” Glenn speculated in a low voice. “Back at Hershel’s farm, he did the same thing and went back for Carol. That's how he and Andrea got separated from us.”

She nodded along. “I didn't know Shane for long in Woodbury, but that sounds like him.” They slowed as they approached where Shane was resting. “Hershel gave him some good painkillers. He's awake, but a little loopy.”

Glenn steeled his will and turned the corner.

He still wasn't prepared for what greeted him.

“Hey, Glenn.” The bandages around Shane’s head blocked most of the right side of his face, including his eye. The one exposed was squinted in what was half a wince and half an attempted smile. “I think I might have to give up on my modeling gig.”

Glenn forced a smile at the joke. “Hey, man. How’re you feeling?” He could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth but Shane rolled with it.

“Pretty good,” he joked, “I really think I needed a few more scars to pull off the rugged look.”

Shane closed his eye, Glenn watched him twitch under the blanket and pull his brow up in another poorly concealed flinch.

After a few minutes of silence, Shane opened his eye and started to speak once more. “The fence was just gettin’ started when I came back,” he said with a sigh. “Heard Nate first, told Allen to go look for the other kids.”

“Allen was there?” Ty asked.

“Yeah, him and Ben were patrollin’ outside. They followed me to the gate but,” Shane wheezed, “but once I went through the fire spread. Said they couldn't get through.”

“Bullshit,” Karen spat.

Shane closed his eye again. “Yeah, I figured,” his words came slower, “Didn't wanna think it, but...”

“No, no that's not possible.” Tyreese shook his head. “I know Allen was upset but-”

“Honey,” Karen laid a hand on his arm, “Allen wasn't just upset, he’s been pissed off at you since I met him.”

“Who else made it?” Shane’s voice started to slur. “Eli… ‘n Jason… Bobbi.”

With one more sigh, Shane slipped off to sleep, still sitting up against his pillows.

As gently as they could, Tyreese and Karen eased him back onto the bed, sharing concerned looks when he flinched or gasped.

***

“They slowed down ‘round here,” Merle said.

Bo nodded along. “‘N one’a them fell.”

“Drug ‘im from here.”

Carl listened to Bo and his dad reading the tracks while they jogged. He could see the faint impression in the undergrowth, but the specifics were lost on him.

“Comin’ up on ‘em quick.” Merle’s voice lowered to a whisper.

As if ordered, Bo and Carl slowed back into a hunter’s stance.

The next quarter mile passed in near silence.

Once Carl heard the sound of muffled voices, Bo and Merle were already scowling.

Both had their weapons drawn, Bo’s crossbow tucked into his shoulder and Merle’s rifle resting easily on what was left of his forearm. Carl was just behind them with his gun out, trying not to think of the only other time he had shot a living person.

“Just rest, we can talk about it later.”

“But, Dad, I don't think-”

“No, this is how the world works now!”

Carl could recognize Allen’s voice, could hear the tremor of fear in Ben’s.

Another couple yards and Carl could see into the clearing where they had settled. Ben had his shoe off and his ankle was purple and blue and massive.

There were tears in his eyes.

Allen stalked back and forth in front of him, pacing off his anxious energy.

Bo and Merle, like soldiers in a firing line, raised their weapons and-

pop, thwack

Carl didn't understand at first, watching through a haze.

Allen fell immediately, the bolt sticking out of his eye almost comically.

Ben was slower. He jerked, tried to stand, then collapsed with a little red hole on his shirt.

“Atta boy,” Merle said, his voice low.

Carl looked over at his friend and saw the blank look on his face.

“He killed Bobbi,” Bo whispered.

Merle dropped his hand on Bo’s shoulder, pulling his son against his side for a second.

Carl watched Bo’s hand shake.

Carl dropped his gun and tucked himself against Bo, suddenly feeling like a scared little boy hiding in Dale’s RV.

Bo’s crossbow dropped, saved only by its strap.

Merle used his bayonet to make sure Allen and Ben would stay down, then patted them down. He pulled things from their pockets, but Carl couldn't think past the rush of blood in his ears or the way that Bo was shivering against him.

Carl felt cold mud seeping through his jeans, just then realizing he had fallen to his knees. Bo was still staring at Allen’s body, pale and breathing in sharp little breaths.

Chewing his lip, Merle considered them then reached out his flesh hand.

Bo flinched back like he had been stuck.

Carl came back to himself all at once, reacting on simple instinct.

With one hand gripping Bo’s, he ran.

Just like they had thought, Daryl could track Will Dixon just about as well as he could track that chupacabra all those years ago.

They prowled around Woodbury while it turned to ash, watching the once intimidating wood fence crumble around the last vestiges of civilization.

“Ought’a rain soon,” Daryl said quietly, trusting Rick could hear him.

Rick hummed in reply, still glaring hard at the woods, as if they would shout out the answers to all of his questions.

“Ain't too dry, won't have to worry ‘bout the fire spreadin’ too much,” Daryl continued, more to himself.

The fire was making him antsy. He could smell burning hair, the synthetic smell of polyester clothes, distant memories of firetrucks and black funeral suits. It all made him want to just go back to the prison and pretend he couldn't see the signs of his bastard father painted all over the town.

Those were the same canning jars he and Uncle Jess used, there were strands of cordage left like a billboard, and the firebombs were practically signed. Will may as well have wrote “I did this!” in the sky with the smoke.

It wasn't just him, of course. Will Dixon had the people skills of a rabid racoon, let alone the smarts to recruit Allen into his schemes - the only people he could get to follow him were kin.

Daryl shied away from that line of thought, focusing on pulling out any information from the soft grass underfoot.

Distantly, he heard the sound of little feet crashing through the brush.

Then, a sharp whistle.

Help!

Rick knew the signal just as well as Daryl, without even exchanging a glance they took off down the path Merle and the boys disappeared through.

The crashing got closer and closer, until Daryl and Rick suddenly had their arms full of teenage boys.

“What's wrong? Are you alright?” Rick hefted Carl into his arms, working around how his son had a death grip on Bo’s hand.

Daryl knelt before his nephew, searching his dazed expression.

Seconds later, Merle came slinking after them, weighted down by extra weapons and boots.

“Found ‘em,” he said simply, not meeting Rick’s eyes.

“Merle.”

“C’mon, Daryl.”

“Merle,” Rick ignored the warning tone, “what happened?”

“Told you, Boss Hog, we found ‘em.”

Rick gently set Carl down on his own two feet. “Where are they?” he asked.

“Dead.”

“That ain't the last of ‘em, you know.”

Daryl resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Merle.

“He ain't gonna stop at burnin’ that town.”

The walk back to the prison had been silent, each of them dealing with regrets and the weight of decisions they had made.

Daryl replayed letting Bo follow Merle, knowing the kind of justice his brother believed in.

“Shouldn't’a let Bo kill ‘im,” Daryl said, speaking through his thumb nail.

Merle just grunted at him.

The boys were asleep, curled up together with Sophia watching over them like a little guardian angel. They had eaten their little dinner mechanically, not roughhousing or playfully arguing over vegetables.

Now Daryl was alone with Merle in the watchtower, splitting the last of Daryl’s cigarettes.

Merle took a deep drag, breathing in as if he hadn't already had enough smoke in his lungs to last a lifetime. “Better he learn to kill that chicken shit than get killed by someone meaner.”

Chapter Text

The rain came, just like Daryl had predicted.

It was a brief summer shower, here and gone in a night.

It didn't feel fair that they woke up to Rick’s little garden well watered, the stream trickling pleasantly, their rain water barrels full.

That night, as if pulled by gravity, they all ended up huddled together in the perch: Daryl curled around a mournfully quiet Bo who was tangled up with Carl; Sophia was on the other side, tucked against Carol like they could melt together if they tried hard enough.

Merle was on the other side, turned towards Carol like a Catholic looking for absolution.

Behind Daryl, Rick’s back was warm against his own; Glenn and Maggie followed.

Hershel and Beth leaned together against a wall, propped up by a small pile of pillows and blankets; T-Dog sprawled by the door, practically wrapped around a little bouncer where Lil’ Asskicker gurgled quietly.

Axel and Oscar differed to their strange need to hold onto each other after each and every major change. By their faces, Daryl knew they didn't understand, but he also knew they didn't find it quite as weird as he feared. The former prisoners let them bed down together while they went out to the towers to keep watch.

Daryl supposed that Tyreese, Sasha, Karen, and their other survivors were probably in the cells and halls closest to their make-shift med-bay. Surviving this world in a big town was a lot different than living on the run, practically in each other's pockets and constantly feeling each other's hunger pangs.

Regardless, they passed the whole night like that, huddled together like the grimiest of penguins.

After a near silent breakfast, Daryl quietly recruited Glenn and Tyreese to visit Woodbury one last time, hoping against hope that someone else survived.

“You'll need help,” Carl said. Bo, at his shoulder, had eyes bruised dark from his fitful sleep.

At once, Merle and Rick snapped to attention. “Not from you,” Merle huffed at the same time Rick asked Carl to stay back; “I'll need your help in the garden.”

Carl slunk to his dad, pouting. Bo followed him still, like a silent, sad little shadow.

They geared up and piled into the truck, planning to bring back either survivors and whatever supplies they could scavenge.

Tyreese and Sasha jogged over while they were still loading up jugs of water and, in a painfully optimistic move, some spare clothes and shoes.

“You're going back?” he asked. He looked like he hadn't slept either, looking drawn and his shoulder slumped. Daryl noted that he was wearing the same clothes as the day before, the tang of smoke still clung to him. “I'm coming too.”

“No,” his sister interrupted, “I'll go. You'll need someone to tell you if it's safe to go in.”

“Fine,” Daryl mumbled, “but we're leaving now.”

Daryl and T-Dog elected to ride in the bed, their broad shoulders not cut out for sharing the little cab. Glenn drove and Sasha sat beside him cradling her rifle.

Maggie opened the gate for them, leaned up to give Glenn a kiss through the window, then they were off.

“What’re our chances?” T-Dog asked, leaned back against the cab with his stump resting on the side.

“Of what? Anyone makin’ it?” Daryl gnawed on his thumb nail, staring hard at the worn metal of the truck bed. “Don't know, didn't see no tracks ‘cept Allen.”

T-Dog sighed. Daryl thought back to the days when the Woodburians first moved in, when T-Dog still reached for things with his non-existent hand. He would walk to D-Block with little trinkets and books that Sophia had already read them come back with cute stories of the kids, of how Shane and Andrea had changed.

T-Dog and Carol were the first to really get close to them, quickly followed by Bo, Carl, and Sophia. Once the kids accepted them, everyone else followed.

Daryl told himself they couldn't have made it out, tried to harden his heart, but this last year had chipped away at the calluses he had fought hard for and a painful splinter of hope buried itself deep in his chest.

***

The fence around Woodbury had burned too quickly to get very hot, all that was left was random sheets of metal, ash, and nails. If they had space they could gather up the metal and hardware to reinforce their own fences.

Past that, the remains of the three houses that had been on fire were still smoldering lazily despite the rain. Sasha raked away the top layer and they found still glowing coals.

“This was where the older ones were living,” she pointed at a house that was nearly entirely gone. “Bo and Carl said they put down Mrs. McLeod and there was another walker somewhere deeper inside.”

They walked the perimeter and found Mr. Jacobs reaching a charred hand out of the rubble. Sasha made a little sound of grief before sinking her knife into his temple.

Even though it was mostly coals and ash, the house was still too hot to walk through.

“We can use buckets,” Sasha said, blinking rapidly. “Go to the stream and get water to put it the rest of the way out.”

Glenn came close and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Then we can bury them.”

Getting the water took the rest of the morning. They soaked down the old people’s home and pulled a number of bodies out to the street; one of them still had Bo’s bolt through the temple.

“We'll get the others,” Glenn suggested, “then load them all up on the truck.”

They worked on the middle house next, pulling out a pair of bodies.

“Looks like Bryan and Alex,” Sasha said, pointing to a ring on one and necklace on the other. “They moved in with some other newcomers. Michonne and Andrea ran in when the fire started but couldn't find anyone before the smoke…”

They combed through the rubble meticulously to distract themselves, even Daryl knew that no one wanted to go to the last house. No one wanted to know who was still there.

They found a few more corpses, some more still than others, but no signs of life.

Finally, when they had no more excuses, they turned to the last house.

It was the one that was, more or less, still standing; one wall looked almost untouched besides where some flames had licked at the corners.

Sasha looked over what was left and determined it should be safe enough to walk through. “Don't stand under anything,” she told them with a clinical tone, “and it doesn't have a basement so we shouldn't fall though.”

Daryl reluctantly looked down, saw their own prints in the ash and the little rivers of water from cooling the coals.

“Michonne said Bobbi and Eli got out,” Glenn nearly whispered. “They were on the sidewalk and Andrea heard screams from Bryan’s house. They went in and thought -”

T-Dog picked up for him, “They thought Bobbi would wait for them outside.”

Daryl closed his eyes. “She weren't gonna leave her brother in there.”

“And Eli wasn't going to wait without her,” Sasha finished for them.

They all took a deep breath, taking in the smell of wood ash and burned fabric.

Finally faced with it, they took careful steps into the house.

Daryl saw the remains of the living room, one of the end tables had metal legs and the couch springs had survived. The kitchen showed charred utensils, pots, and pans.

The next doorway led to the stairs.

Quiet groans made them stop in their tracks.

Sasha had silent tears running down her cheeks, T-Dog’s eyes were squeezed shut. Daryl made eye contact with Glenn and they took the last step together.

Little Eli drug himself from under still forms, one of which still held tightly to a tiny stuffed rabbit.

The little body blurred until Daryl blinked furiously. Without a word, he raised his crossbow and loosed a bolt.

Glenn grabbed his arm and bodily drug Daryl from the house, practically herding Tyreese and Sasha in front of them. Once outside, Glenn urged Daryl to sit on the ground, speaking in a low voice. “You did good,” he whispered, “I'll get them ready to bury.”

***

T-Dog peeled away to get a shovel out of the truck and Sasha knelt next to Daryl, not touching but sharing a silent grief.

Glenn hurried to the untouched houses and scavenged blankets and linens. Daryl pulled himself together enough to help load the shrouded bodies into the truck and, wide shoulders be damned, they all squeezed into the cab on the way back.

Daryl looked over at the metal they passed, but didn't point it out. Taking anything besides the bodies and blankets felt too much like grave robbing.

Once in the safety of the prison gates, everyone got together and dug the graves.

Each body was laid in its own hole, except for Bobbi, Jason, and Eli. They were buried together with the charred toy at Sophia and Carl’s insistence.

“They'll be lonely,” Sophia said, holding back tears.

Bo wasn't as graceful. With his lips pulled into a snarl, he croaked out, “Won’t be anything, they're just dead.”

Hershel left Nate’s bedside for a service, reading from his Bible and speaking honeyed words over the graves.

The ones who lived in D-Block and Woodbury cried the hardest. They took turns to step up and say something about the dead, mostly fun stories or how they came to Woodbury or who recruited them to the prison. Most told about a precocious little girl, her wide-eyed brother, and a little boy too innocent to survive how this world had become.

Daryl let his eyes wander over his group, taking in Maggie’s stoney expression, the way Glenn openly mourned. T-Dog wept like a child, Sophia and Carol had identical straight backs and silent tears. Merle looked angry, Rick looked regretful, Bo and Beth just looked… empty.

Since they came back from Woodbury, Daryl’s nephew kept an almost obsessive watch over Sophia and Carl. He glanced around every so often, his gaze darting around like he was counting heads.

After the depressing mass funeral, Daryl found himself digging once more - this time to bury seeds instead of bodies.

Rick, not far away, put on a smile and threw himself into explaining to Carl which seeds to plant when, which should go close together or far apart. Just outside of the string fence, Bo sat vigil.

“You good, half-pint?” Daryl rasped, his own voice thick with regrets.

Bo nodded mechanically.

Daryl grunted.

Silently, Bo watched Carl cover a seed with dirt carefully. Every few minutes, he would cast his eyes up to the tower were just the top of Sophia’s head could be seen as she sat watch with Carol.

Daryl dug another tiny hole where Rick indicated.

Their conversation lapsed again.

Finally, when the silence settled over them heavy enough to match Daryl’s shoulders ache, he asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bo answered simply.

There wasn't any anger, any protests of ‘I already done told you’ that Daryl was expecting. Instead, Bo just kept his serious watch over the prison yard.

Rick was working on another row of seeds, not far from his son; Merle was working the fence, using his bayonet with more force than necessary; and Beth was leaning in the shade reading a book.

Daryl paused his digging to check the empty cigarette box in his pocket, as if a new one would have appeared when he wasn't looking.

“He was a bad man,” Daryl pointed out.

“I know.”

Daryl traced Bo’s eyeline, jumping from Carl to Sophia to Merle to Rick to Beth back to Carl.

“Would’a came after here next.”

“I know.”

Carl, Sophia, Merle, Rick, Beth.

Daryl tried to come at him at another angle; “Shouldn't'a had you shoot ‘im.”

“But I did.”

Carl, Sophia, Merle, Rick, Beth.

The box was still empty.

Beth felt suffocated in the block; Maggie and her daddy were almost always off with Shane and Nate, continuing their hopeless battle, and everyone else was trying to come up with ways to fight the Governor. So she followed Sophia, Carl, and Bo to their little hiding spot just to get away.

After some prodding from Sophia, Bo was quietly relaying the whole story from his perspective.

Taking a deep breath, he finally finished. “People died,” he said in conclusion.

“That's what people do, Bo,” Beth replied coldly.

She had hardened her heart to it. No one survived in this world, not anymore; they just struggled and fought and delayed the inevitable. She wasn't going to waste the hurt anymore.

“Not us,” Bo gnashed his teeth. “I won't let us.”

Beth shook her head sadly, “You don't have a choice.”

“Me either.” Sophia nodded gravely. “I'm not letting anyone else die.”

“Me neither!” Carl agreed.

Beth ran her hands through Sophia’s hair, smiling sadly.

No one survived anymore.

All they could do is minimize pain.