Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The witch’s scream tore through the forest like metal against bone.
Erik’s paws slammed into frozen earth, claws tearing deep grooves through frost and dirt as he lunged again.
Blood — hers, his — steamed in the winter air, turning the snow beneath their feet into a mottled map of violence.
The air reeked of burned sage and iron.

Packmates flanked him — streaks of muscle and fur weaving between skeletal birches, eyes flashing gold in the dark. Their breaths came in white plumes, and the sound of their paws was a steady drumbeat around him.

The witch stumbled back against a tree, robes tangled around her legs.
She had nowhere left to run.

The Alpha’s voice cracked through Erik’s head, sharp and commanding.

Erik — left flank. Now.

He didn’t hesitate. Obedience was bone-deep. He cut left, snow spraying under his paws, and came up on her blind side. The witch’s gaze darted between him and the Alpha, chest heaving, fingers twitching with whatever magic she had left.

Her lips curled.

Then she raised her hand — and the world split.

Not the normal kind of split — not wind snapping through the trees or thunder growling across the sky — but something wrong, deep-wrong, sharp as broken glass dragged under the skin.

The air went thin. Too thin.

Erik’s fur stood on end. A low, primal snarl ripped from his throat.

Fall back! the Alpha barked, mental voice like a whip. Now, pup.

Erik tried. Gods, he tried — but the ground seemed to twist under him, the world bending sideways. His legs felt lead-heavy one second and weightless the next.

The witch’s eyes found his. They were bright with something between triumph and madness. She was dying — they’d made sure of that — but witches never went down quiet. Her last words poured out in a language older than bone, older than the first snowfall, curling through the air like smoke.

The sound dug into his skull like hooks. Every syllable made his vision blur.

Something hot and cold at once coiled around his chest, squeezing tight. He stumbled, breath shuddering.

Alpha—? His voice in the link cracked, thinner than he meant it to be.

Stay with me! The Alpha’s tone was steel wrapped in fear. Fight it, Erik! Push back! She can’t take you if you fight!

It hurt to breathe. His front legs buckled, but he caught himself.

I can’t—

You can. You’re mine, pup. You don’t quit on me. Look at me. Now.

Erik forced his head up. The Alpha was charging, a massive black-furred wall of fury and purpose, eyes blazing like wildfire. The other wolves moved too, fanning out in a desperate rush, but they were seconds too far.

The witch’s words climbed higher, faster, until the air itself began to shiver.

Light burst outward — not sunlight, not moonlight — but something raw, ripping, that burned and froze all at once.

Erik’s vision went white. His paws were gone — no, they were still there, but he couldn’t feel them. His chest felt like it was hollowing out.

Don’t you— the Alpha’s voice was a roar in his skull.

Erik’s body trembled. He felt himself coming apart, not just flesh and bone, but every thread that made him him.

Alpha—! His mental voice broke, boyish and terrified. I’m scared—

Stay—

The light surged, swallowing the forest, the snow, the pack, the Alpha’s face—

And then there was nothing.

The heat hit like a punch.

Not the lazy warmth of a summer afternoon, but a thick, wet weight that settled into Erik’s lungs and made every breath feel heavy, slow, wrong.

His eyes snapped open. The sky above was a hard, bright blue — too sharp, too wide — and the sunlight stabbed into his vision like a knife.

There was no snow. No pine trees towering over him. No cold wind tugging at his fur.

Only heat.

Erik’s body felt foreign beneath him, muscles twitching with leftover adrenaline, paws sinking into dirt that was soft and cracked instead of frozen. His breath came out in ragged pants, his wolf form huge and solid, the thick coat of black, gray, and cream catching the glaring sun.

He lifted his snout, tasting the air. It was wrong.

No sharp pine or cold river water. Instead, the scent of hot asphalt burned at his nostrils, mixed with smoke from somewhere distant — dry, choking, and oily.

There was the scent of meat, but faint, like a ghost in the breeze.

And something else.

Voices.

Words in a language he didn’t know.

Erik stiffened, ears swiveling.

The voices came from a place nearby, but not close enough to be a threat yet.

They were sharp, clipped syllables that didn’t roll on the tongue like Swedish. The sounds were fast and rushed, punctuated by occasional laughter and shouts that felt urgent but unfamiliar.

He couldn’t understand a word.

His mind flickered back — half a memory, half a dream. The Alpha’s voice, deep and commanding, cutting through the chaos.

Stay with me, pup. Fight. Don’t go.

But the light had taken him.

He shook his head, trying to focus. His paws trembled as he stood, muscles tense and ready. This place was not home. Not his world.

The forest smelled wrong. The air tasted wrong. And yet—

Something inside told him to move forward.

Erik padded cautiously forward, the dirt under his paws soft and dry, cracking in places like brittle old bones. The heat pressed down from above, a heavy blanket that made every movement feel slow, like wading through thick water.

His wolf senses, sharp as ever, strained to make sense of the new smells and sounds. Birds called out — sharp, unfamiliar chirps that had none of the sweet resonance of the Scandinavian forests. Small insects buzzed past his ears, their wings slicing the humid air with an alien hum.

The scent of grass was there, but different — freshly cut, green and sharp, not wild and soft like home. It mingled with a strange chemical sting that made his nose wrinkle.

Ahead, the dull roar of engines hummed—a noise he’d never heard before, loud and continuous, like thunder but coming from the ground instead of the sky.

Erik’s instincts told him to hide, to find cover beneath the sparse trees and wait. But something gnawed at his curiosity, that stubborn spark the Alpha had always praised. So he kept moving, careful, silent.

At the edge of a clearing, he froze. A tall, flat stretch of black ran straight through the landscape—a road, slick and shimmering under the blazing sun. On it, large metal beasts roared past, carrying humans whose faces were sharp and unfamiliar.

His fur bristled with tension. He lowered himself to the ground, belly scraping the dirt, and slunk into the shade of a nearby fence.

Behind the fence, two children played in a backyard garden. They were laughing, their voices high and musical but utterly foreign to him. One pointed excitedly in his direction.

“Look at that dog! It’s huge!” the girl squealed.

Erik’s ears flicked back, his instincts screaming both warning and curiosity. The children approached the fence cautiously, one holding out a hand as if inviting him.

He growled low in his throat, a warning not meant to hurt, but to keep his distance.

The children froze, startled, but didn’t run. Instead, they whispered to each other, fascination shining in their eyes.

Erik’s stomach twisted painfully—a sudden reminder of hunger. He had eaten nothing since the battle, and the smells here were foreign and confusing. His wolf mind urged him to hunt, but there was no familiar scent of rabbit or deer. Just strange smells, unrecognizable and distant.

He licked his dry tongue and retreated silently into the thicker brush.

The day dragged on with agonizing slowness. Erik’s senses remained on high alert, every rustle and distant shout sending his heart racing. The world was too bright, too loud, too hot.

The distant shouts pulled at Erik like a faint beacon through the haze of confusion. His heavy paws pressed into the dry earth, moving cautiously but with growing curiosity. Every muscle tensed, ready to flee or fight if needed.

The scents of humans grew stronger—sharp with sweat, leather, and metal—and mingled with something new: the unmistakable musk of other canines, smaller but alert and barking.

Erik slipped silently into the shelter of a thick thicket, his massive form blending almost invisibly among the tangled branches and dry leaves.

Through narrow gaps, he caught sight of a clearing buzzing with activity—people clad in dark blue uniforms moving with focused purpose. Faces set with concentration and urgency, commands shouted crisply across the space, mingling with the sharp barks of dogs and the steady stomp of boots.

One man stood slightly apart from the others. Lean and alert, with a buzzed haircut and eyes that swept the clearing with a predator’s focus. His presence radiated confidence, tempered by a quiet, watchful calm.

Erik’s gaze locked onto him, muscles coiling instinctively.

The man’s eyes flickered wide with surprise. Without hesitation, he lowered his body into a cautious crouch, one hand reaching out slowly in an inviting gesture.

Erik’s ears flattened, torn between wolfish wariness and a spark of something deeper—curiosity, maybe even hope.

The man’s voice came soft but firm, words unintelligible but soothing in their tone.

“Hey there, big guy. You lost?”

Erik cocked his head, struggling to make sense of the strange sounds. The meaning escaped him, but the gentleness was clear.

A sharp whistle cracked through the air.

The man clapped his hands once, a sharp, clear sound that echoed through the clearing.

Erik flinched instinctively but held his ground.

The man took a slow step closer, deliberate and calm, never breaking eye contact.

The muscles along Erik’s spine tightened, his body ready to bolt or fight, but the man did not move like a predator. No sudden gestures. No hostile stance.

Instead, the man knelt, lowering himself closer to Erik’s level. His eyes softened, warm with patience and understanding.

“Easy, boy,” he said, voice low, steady. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Erik’s gaze flickered, confusion and caution warring within him. He sniffed the air cautiously, catching the man’s scent—earthy, unfamiliar, but not threatening.

Tentatively, Erik inched forward, curiosity pulling him despite the warning bells in his mind.

The man extended a hand, fingers relaxed, palm up. “Come on. No tricks.”

The seconds stretched thin.

Then, with a hesitant step, Erik closed the last few feet between them.

The man’s hand met thick fur, gentle and sure. He scratched behind Erik’s ears, careful to keep his touch light.

A deep rumble, almost a purr, vibrated from Erik’s throat—a fragile thread of trust weaving between beast and man.

“Good boy,” the man whispered, a small smile playing on his lips.

For the first time since he arrived in this strange world, Erik felt something like hope stirring beneath the wildness.

Days passed in a blur of new sights, sounds, and smells. Erik—now Bailey—was learning, slowly, to navigate this strange world tethered to a man who seemed determined to earn his trust.

Shane moved at Bailey’s pace, never pushing too hard. He watched for the flicker of understanding in those sharp green eyes, the subtle shifts in body language that meant “I’m listening” or “I’m scared.”

Their training sessions were short and simple at first. Shane used Polish commands—“Usiądź,” “Zostań,” “Chodź”—his voice patient and clear. Bailey obeyed when he could, faltered when overwhelmed, but never shut down.

Each small victory was a thread weaving between them, a fragile bond growing stronger.

Shane learned to read Bailey’s growls and whuffs, adjusting his approach—softening his tone, offering a reassuring hand, waiting patiently when Bailey needed space.

Outside the training yard, Shane began to teach Bailey the sounds of English. “Sit,” “Stay,” “Come.” Bailey’s sharp mind caught the rhythm and emotion behind the words even when the meaning was still a mystery.

By night, Shane would sit beside the kennel, speaking softly, telling stories English. Bailey would rest his massive head on Shane’s knee, the tension easing from his muscles.

They were a team now—two souls from different worlds learning to trust, to understand, to fight together.

And as the first stars blinked awake in the sky, Shane knew this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The day began like any other — a sweltering southern sun glaring off cracked asphalt, the air heavy with the mingled scents of gasoline, old dust, and the faint tang of heat-baked tar. Bailey padded close at Shane’s side, the snug weight of his K9 vest hugging his ribs. It marked him for what everyone thought he was — a police dog, trained and loyal, a working partner.

To most eyes, he looked like an oversized German Shepherd crossed with a wolf, his coat a swirl of silver, black, and cream that rippled over powerful shoulders. But beneath that fur was something no one here could imagine — the mind of a seventeen-year-old, trapped in this form by a witch’s curse, flung into a strange world where his kind didn’t exist. The muscles and claws were his now, but so were the thoughts of the boy he’d been.

The radio on Shane’s belt crackled, static snapping through the stillness. They were parked roadside, the squad car idling, the smell of warm engine oil drifting lazily in the heat. Rick leaned against the hood, arms folded, posture easy. Bailey caught his scent — calm confidence, the comfortable smell of a man who trusted the people beside him. He’d already decided Rick was safe.

The voice from dispatch cut through the air:
“Unit 1-27, we’ve got a high-speed pursuit heading east on Route 18. Suspects are armed.”

Shane’s head turned toward Rick, his mouth pulling into that half-smile that was more grit than humor. Rick’s answering grin was looser, lighter.

“Sounds like our lucky day,” Shane muttered, slipping into the driver’s seat.

Bailey leapt into the back, claws clicking against the metal floor as he settled, muscles drawn tight. His ears swiveled, tracking every note in Shane’s voice, every scrape of gear. This was what he knew now — riding with these men, scanning for danger before it struck, protecting the ones who had become his new… pack.

Sirens wailed as the chase began, the wind pushing hot air through the open window. Bailey smelled burning rubber, the acrid bite of overheated brakes, the sharper tang of adrenaline pumping from both men in the front seat. The squad car jerked hard left, Shane’s voice low but clipped as he called their position into the radio.

The first shots came without warning — sharp, ugly cracks in the air. The scent of gunpowder rolled in, metallic and bitter. Bailey’s hackles shot up, a growl rumbling low in his throat. Every nerve screamed at him to leap from the car, to bring down whoever was firing.

“Stay!” Shane barked, the single word cutting through Bailey’s instincts like a whip crack. He froze, muscles coiled so tight they ached, golden eyes locked on the chaos outside.

Then it happened.

Rick moved forward, calm and sure as always, and the suspect turned. A flash of silver, a deafening crack. Rick went down.

The scent hit Bailey instantly — blood, hot and fresh, spilling fast. Not the harmless tang of training scrapes, but the deep, heavy smell of a wound that could end a life. His bark tore out of him, raw and loud, claws scraping against the door as he fought the urge to charge in.

Shane was already moving, grabbing Rick, hauling him back with a shouted call for backup. Bailey caught the sharp scent of Shane’s fear, buried under the grit of his voice.

Something shifted then. It wasn’t the air or the heat — it was deeper, like the world itself had taken a wrong step. Bailey didn’t understand it yet, but some instinct told him this wasn’t just a bad call gone worse. This was the first crack in something far bigger.

Rick didn’t die. Not right away. Not while Bailey was nearby.

The hours dragged on, thick with sterile smells and whispered fears. Bailey’s paws were quiet on the hospital’s cold floors as he stayed close to Shane, tracking every breath Rick drew — shallow, uneven, but still there. The constant beeping of machines wove a tense rhythm, each pulse a reminder that life was hanging by a thread.

The antiseptic scent mingled with something darker beneath the surface. Bailey’s wolf nose twitched, picking out faint but unmistakable notes: fear, sweat, exhaustion, and beneath it all, something alien — the faint coppery stench of decay beginning to creep in.

Shane moved with a weight Bailey could feel — a tight coil of guilt and desperation. He didn’t say much, but the tilt of his jaw, the line of his eyes, spoke volumes. He visited every day at first, sometimes pulling Bailey with him, the wolf slipping silently behind like a shadow no one else noticed.

Lori came once. Her face was drawn and pale, the weight of uncertainty heavy in her eyes. Carl clung tightly to her hand, his small frame trembling just enough to catch Bailey’s attention. The boy’s confusion echoed Bailey’s own — a stranger caught in a world unraveling too fast.

Days blurred into nights, then back again. Time lost meaning. Through the murmur of medical machines and hushed conversations, the first whispers started to surface — strange calls crackling over the police radio. Officers who never checked in. Families reporting loved ones acting... wrong.

Bailey was already on edge. His senses sharpened by a thousand years of instinct beyond human understanding told him this was no ordinary illness. The air changed — the wind carried sour rot that twisted through the sterile corridors, the scent of dead meat and something alive but broken. His fur bristled where Shane could only see smooth black hair.

Then came the morning the world tilted off its axis.

The hospital erupted into chaos.

The moment the evacuation order came, the atmosphere snapped like a live wire. Gunshots echoed down the long hallways — too many, too fast, overlapping screams and shouted commands. The stench of death mixed with sweat and antiseptic filled every corner, thick and suffocating.

Bailey’s muscles tensed as he followed Shane, close at his side, matching the sharp sweep of the officer’s gaze. Shane’s service pistol was steady in his hands, voice calm but urgent as he barked orders through the chaos.

They fought their way to Rick’s floor, weaving past panicked staff and patients fleeing the outbreak’s first violent strike. Bailey’s senses absorbed everything — the quick breaths, the pounding hearts, the unnatural groans growing louder.

Rick lay pale on the bed, his chest rising and falling weakly beneath the thin hospital sheets. Machines hissed and beeped, battling to keep him tethered to life. Shane’s steps faltered as he looked down — the weight of what they faced settling heavily over him like a shroud.

Bailey caught the hesitation, the unspoken pain radiating from Shane.

“I’m sorry, man,” Shane whispered, voice rough, breath tight.

With a swift motion, Shane pulled the hospital bed away from the door, using its bulk to wedge the entrance shut. The sound echoed hollowly, a desperate barrier against what was coming.

Bailey growled low, deep in his throat — a warning, not of anger, but of awareness. He could smell them, just beyond the door. The dead. The infected. The monsters stalking just out of sight, waiting for a crack, a mistake, a weakness.

The wolf instincts screamed at him to fight, to protect, to tear through the barrier and keep Shane safe. But Shane was the alpha now — the leader Bailey instinctively followed. The human had no idea what Bailey truly was, but in this moment, Bailey vowed silently to stand by him.

Shane turned, voice clipped and urgent, “We’re moving. Now.”

Bailey’s powerful legs coiled beneath him as they moved, staying close to Shane’s side as they navigated back through the wreckage of the hospital’s halls. The last time Bailey looked back, the dim flickering light cast long shadows across Rick’s pale face — still breathing, but trapped behind that barricade.

The weight of the moment pressed down on Bailey’s chest. The world was breaking, and all Bailey could do was move forward — wild, alone, and unseen as what he truly was.

The days after were survival on instinct.
Shane didn’t waste time, didn’t waste words. He had one goal — Lori and Carl — and every step toward them felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of teeth.

Bailey had been at his side for over a year now, first as his K9 partner on the force, now as something far more vital. They had chased down suspects in back alleys, tracked missing kids through dense woods, and stood side-by-side in the kind of danger most people never saw. If Shane had learned anything in that time, it was that Bailey’s senses never lied.

Now, as they moved through the outskirts of the city, Bailey ran point. His paws landed soundlessly over cracked pavement and brittle grass, ears swiveling toward every faint sound — the low moan of something unseen, the scrape of a shoe over gravel, the whisper of leaves disturbed by a presence that didn’t belong.

The dead were everywhere now. They had spilled from the city into the farmland, through abandoned suburbs, and into fields where corn once grew high. They moved slow but never stopped, drifting like a disease that could not be burned away.

The first one came from the side, not the front. It broke through the treeline in a sudden, stumbling lunge. Shane had his pistol halfway up, already finding the front sight, when Bailey exploded forward.

The snarl ripped out of him before his paws left the ground. He hit the walker hard, weight and momentum driving it to the dirt. His jaws clamped down on its throat, tearing through flesh that gave too easily, releasing a taste thick with rot and something colder. It wasn’t just death. It was wrongness in its purest form.

Bailey didn’t let go until the thing stopped moving. When he lifted his head, gore darkening the fur around his muzzle, Shane was staring at him in a way he hadn’t before. Not just as a handler to his K9, but as a man seeing the partner he’d trust with his life.

That trust didn’t fade for the rest of the journey.

The quarry camp sat in a shallow bowl of earth beside the lake, its ring of tents and tarps surrounded by a rough barricade of cars. Smoke from a low fire curled into the air, carrying the smell of charred wood and whatever meager food was cooking in the pot above the flames.

Shane’s arrival drew attention immediately. Conversations cut short. Faces turned. Children froze mid-step.

Lori was there — relief softening the tight set of her features as she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him. Carl clung to her side, his gaze locked on Bailey. The boy’s eyes held a mix of curiosity and wariness, his small fingers knotting in his mother’s shirt.

The others emerged or turned from their tasks. Dale’s slow, measured steps carried the calm of a man who had seen too much to be startled easily. Andrea stood back, sharp-eyed and unreadable, her crossbow cradled close. Glenn’s light, quick movements marked him instantly as a runner, his scent still carrying the tang of asphalt and adrenaline.

Bailey took them all in. He knew their rhythms, even if they didn’t know his. The children hung back, whispering about the wolfish dog by the fire’s edge. Some were afraid. Some were fascinated. None were foolish enough to get too close.

Night dropped over the camp like a curtain. The fire’s glow reached only so far, leaving Bailey in the shadows at the edge of the barrier, where the world beyond was nothing but shifting darkness. His breathing was slow, steady, but his muscles stayed coiled. His nose sifted through the scents — woodsmoke, sweat, canned beans warming over the fire — and further out, the faint stink of decay drifting closer on the night air.

This was not his world. His pack was gone. His Alpha’s voice, the one he had once followed without question, was lost.

But here, with Shane at the center of this fragile cluster of survivors and danger pressing in from every direction, Bailey found something that felt close enough to purpose.

He would guard them. Hunt for them. Spill blood for them if it came to that.

And if this strange, broken world thought it could take them — it would have to go through him first.

Bailey didn’t sleep. The humans did.
He waited for the dead to come.

Chapter Text

The quarry camp had its own rhythm now — fragile, brittle, the sort of balance that felt like it could splinter apart with a single bad call.

Mornings began with the same collection of sounds: the faint hiss of water brought to boil over the campfire, the steady swish of clothes being scrubbed raw at the lake’s edge, the muted clink of spoons against dented tin bowls. Dale’s hands were always moving first, careful and precise as he adjusted the pan on the grate, his eyes scanning the camp in that quiet, watchful way of his.

The air was layered — damp canvas from tents beaded with dew, the cold ash of last night’s fire, the sharper bite of wood smoke curling from the kindling Shane had coaxed into flame. Underneath it all lingered the tang of unwashed skin, sweat ground deep into clothes, a smell that no amount of lake water could ever quite chase away.

Erik — Bailey to them — knew this rhythm as well as anyone. His part in it took him farther than most. His patrols always started before the sun had burned the mist from the quarry. He’d slip out past the tents, paws whispering over dirt and leaf litter, his hulking frame moving with a predator’s ease.

Even now, at seventeen and not yet fully grown, he was enormous — the size of the biggest Great Dane anyone had ever seen. His back came almost to Shane’s Chest when he stood level, and when he reared up, his front paws could plant solidly on a man’s shoulders. Lean muscle rippled beneath his coat with every step, and his deep chest gave his breathing a low, constant rumble.

Most of the camp had gotten used to the sight — sort of. Children gave him a wide berth unless Shane was close, and even then, they hesitated before reaching out. Adults looked twice, still caught between awe and unease, because no “dog” had eyes like his — sharp, calculating, intelligent enough to feel like he was measuring them.

Every loop was a map refreshed in his mind: the sharp metallic tang of the rusted truck bumper parked half-buried under vines, the damp richness of loam along the lakeshore, the sour-sweet stench of a half-burned walker corpse buried shallow beyond the ridge.

Shane’s voice lived in his head even when they weren’t together. A sharp whistle meant eyes forward. A low, steady “czujność” told him to keep alert. And when Shane needed him frozen in place, there was that clipped, no-nonsense siad — Sit. Hold. Wait.

It had been a quiet loop — until the wind shifted.

Halfway through his circuit, Erik froze.

It wasn’t a sound that stopped him — not at first. It was a scent. Dust and sweat, leather cracked and sun-baked, faint traces of soap long worn away, and under it all… asphalt heat and the same tang of cologne that used to hang in the police station’s locker room.

Rick.

His ears shot forward, nostrils flaring. Every memory of the man — late patrols with Shane, the steady voice giving orders, the warm, firm hand ruffling his fur after a shift — burned in him all at once. His massive paws carried him forward before his brain caught up.

“Zostań!” Shane’s voice cracked through the clearing.

Erik halted mid-stride, the ground shivering slightly under the weight of his stop. His tail lashed once, twice, body quivering with barely restrained energy, eyes locked on the treeline. Voices were coming now — multiple, getting closer.

And then Rick broke through the green. Thinner, dirtier, moving like every step cost him. But when his eyes landed on Erik, they widened, softened, and the months between then and now simply… fell away.

“Bailey?!” Rick’s voice caught.

Restraint shattered. Erik surged forward with a deep, booming bark that made a few heads snap around in camp. His strides ate the distance in seconds, tail whipping so hard his entire rear swayed. He hit Rick’s legs with the impact of a charging deer, circling tight, brushing against him with his full weight, nearly bowling him over in his urgency.

Rick instantly had hands going to the thick ruff at Erik’s neck. “Look at you,” he breathed, his voice breaking between shock and relief. Erik shoved his head into Rick’s chest, inhaling deep, grounding himself in the familiar scent buried under dust and road grit.

Around them, camp life faltered — voices quieted, eyes lingered — but Erik didn’t care. For the first time in a year, the world had given back something he thought was gone for good.

Rick’s hands gripped his thick neck, fingers digging deep into the fur as Erik pressed harder, nuzzling, sniffing, trying to absorb every note of sweat, leather, and dust that made Rick him. The bark, the whining, the circle-dancing — all instinct, all joy, all relief.

“You’re still here,” Rick murmured, voice low, almost reverent, as Erik leaned into him, paws braced against Rick’s chest. The weight of his body — solid, muscular, far beyond normal canine size — made Rick shift back a little, but he didn’t pull away.

Erik’s ears swiveled, catching every movement around the clearing: Shane’s posture tense behind him, rifle lowered but ready; Dale scanning the treeline, calm but alert; Andrea’s hand hovering near her holster. Even the kids — Carl and Sophia — clung to Lori, wide-eyed, whispering to one another as they tried to process the enormous wolf that had just practically plowed into Rick.

Rick finally managed to settle Erik slightly, scratching behind the ears and along the broad shoulders in that familiar, grounding rhythm. Erik leaned harder, rolling onto his side briefly so he could shove his massive head into Rick’s chest, tail thumping against the dirt like a jackhammer.

Glenn’s voice broke through first, tentative, curious: “Rick! You made it…” His sentence trailed off when he saw Erik, massive, fur bristling slightly, but calm now with Rick’s scent anchoring him.

Rick straightened, scanning the camp. Dale nodded in recognition, Andrea’s sharp eyes never leaving the newcomers. Erik stayed pressed close to Rick, every instinct alert — even here, even in relief, even in joy, he marked the perimeter with nose and ears.

Lori stepped forward, running into Rick’s arms, Carl close behind. Erik’s gaze tracked the reunion, noting the scents: sweat and dust from their long trek, the fear and relief in Lori’s skin, the faint tang of tears from Carl. Even with Rick here, Erik cataloged every risk — every human movement that could signal danger — because he’d learned long ago that nothing was ever simple.

Shane moved a few paces closer, eyes on Rick, hand resting near his rifle. Erik shifted slightly, brushing Shane with his side, as if reminding him silently: I’m here. I’ve got this. Shane’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to; Erik’s body said it all.

Rick crouched again, brushing the thick fur along Erik’s shoulders, face close to his snout. “Buddy… I can’t believe it.” Every word vibrated into Erik’s fur, into the muscle beneath it. He leaned harder, paws braced against Rick’s legs, nuzzling and circling, the tail now a pendulum of sheer, unfiltered happiness.

The humans began speaking over one another — introductions, questions, reassurances. Erik tracked them all, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring, body still tense beneath the weight of excitement. Even the smallest shifts in posture, the faintest sniff of fear or sweat, registered immediately. His head stayed close to Rick’s, but his body subtly swept in an arc, scanning the treeline, the tents, the perimeter.

Shane’s hand touched his shoulder, brief, deliberate. “Siad,” he said quietly. Erik lowered himself into a massive sit, still towering, still alert, still pulsing with the residual energy of the run-in.

Daryl’s sudden arrival broke the pause — bounding from the treeline like a coiled spring, crossbow in hand, eyes blazing. “Merle!” he yelled, voice raw fury. Erik’s massive frame tensed instantly, muscles coiling like steel, tail flicking over the dirt in quiet warning. The air smelled of adrenaline, sweat, fear.

“Get your ugly ass out here!” Erik heard Daryl shout again Erik’s massive frame tensed instantly, muscles coiling like steel, tail flicking over the dirt in quiet warning. The air smelled of adrenaline, and sweat. It was impossible to tell if Daryl was exhausted or in a rare good mood.

“I got us some squirrel, let’s stew ‘em up!” Daryl shouted again, and Erik could feel the sharp edge of frustration in the words. Normally Merle would have a comeback, but silence only made the danger feel more immediate. Erik shifted slightly, nose twitching, sensing the mix of human panic and calculation.

Rick stepped forward, hands raised. Erik stayed pressed close to him, body coiled but grounded by the familiarity of the man’s scent. “He’s alive,” Rick said steadily. “But he’s trapped. Last we saw him, he was… chained on a rooftop.”

Daryl’s eyes widened, face twisting with a mix of anger and disbelief. The tension thickened in the camp, a tangible pressure that made Erik’s fur bristle. His tail swept the dirt behind him like a pendulum of quiet warning. Shane’s hand rested briefly on Erik’s broad shoulders, anchoring him, a silent signal: Stay steady.

The discussion ended quickly — decision made. Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, and Glenn would return to Atlanta at first light. Erik’s ears remained forward, tracking every movement, every subtle shift in the humans’ expressions, ready to spring if the situation tipped toward danger.

Night settled over the quarry, firelight stretching shadows across the tents and makeshift barriers. Erik lay near Shane’s side, paws tucked beneath his massive frame, head raised, ears swiveling constantly. Every rustle in the trees, every distant birdcall or shifting wind carried meaning. The camp had stabilized for now, but Erik’s instincts hummed just beneath the surface.

Tomorrow, they would move back into the city. The walkers wouldn’t be the only threat. Humans could be just as dangerous, and packs could fracture. Erik’s weight pressed into Shane’s shadow, body coiled like a spring, eyes fixed on the treeline. He was ready.