Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rick spent a long moment staring at the barren expanse of charcoal and rubble that had so recently been the CDC.

Dr. Jenner’s words rang hollowly in his ears, the folded paper pressed deep in his pocket seeming almost hot, scalding the skin underneath in an impossible to ignore kind of way. 

“Everyone is infected…” Those words were alarming, terrifying even, but the rest… the rest was worse, “they tried to make a cure, a disease to combat the infection. It didn’t work, but the - side effects - they’re bad…”

“I don’t understand,” Rick had said, a thousand questions springing to mind but the strange scientist just shook his head. 

There wasn’t time. The red clock was ticking, counting down the precious seconds… There was less than four minutes and multiple levels of stairs between them and the chance of escape.

As Rick took a stuttering breath, the scientist grabbed his hand, pressing the folded paper into his palm.

“Everybody turns… you either become one of the dead, or one of the changed.”

Rick wasn’t sure what any of that meant and there wasn’t time to consider it. He’d bolted from the control room, following his family up the stairs. It had been close. If not for Carol and the grenade she’d pulled from his pants, they’d all be buried under the building, no more than a memory.

The snarling started to gather in the distance, and Rick forced himself to move. The explosion had roused all the walkers in hearing distance and it was only a matter of time before they were surrounded by a sea of undead. They didn’t have the ammo nor the people to take on as many as Rick could see shuffling towards them. They needed to start moving.

And so Rick shifted the RV into drive, the weight of the folded paper in his pocket forgotten in the more pressing matter of survival.

~*~*~*~

They drove until dusk. Single file. The RV in the lead, the redneck’s truck in the middle, loaded with his brother’s bike in the box, and Shane’s jeep taking up the rear. 

The going was slow. They had barely enough fuel to make it the twenty-five miles it took to clear Atlanta; and once he could see enough of the road to determine it was safe, Rick spent most of the time letting the Winnebago coast, feathering the gas only when absolutely necessary to keep momentum. It was dusk when the fuel light came on, forcing them off the highway less they risk running out completely in the dead of night amongst an entire swarm of walkers.

Despite the recent luxury of the CDC, the group was efficient at setting up camp. Daryl and Shane parked their vehicles in a semicircle around the RV, creating a natural pocket of shelter between the walls of steel. It was the perfect spot to build a small fire; easily concealed with entry limited to three narrow choke points. Easy to defend. Easy to guard; a string of cans across each exit to  alert them to anyone or anything that might pass.

A sobering air of despair had settled heavy on the group, but they were used to that by now. Each person immediately took to their self-appointed roles. Dale by setting the small fire in the opening between the vehicles, nestling rocks and small logs to make a good base of cooking coals. The mothers, Lori and Carol, set bedding down in the RV, and settled the children with Andrea to keep an eye on them, although a solid argument could be made for leaving Carl to keep watch over Sophia and Andrea, if Andrea’s empty stare was anything to go by. Daryl, crossbow in hand, headed to the nearby treeline to use what little light was left to prowl for game. And Glenn took T-Dog with him to make a quick dart down the road to scavenge what they could from the couple cars they had passed before the RV had pulled off the road. Rick and Shane patrolled for walkers.

It was only as the last of the evening rays faded from the sky and most of the group had returned to sit quietly around Dale’s fire that Rick finally had a moment to remember the paper, innocuously resting against his thigh. 

Carefully, he pulled it from his pocket, unfolding the neat creases until the full page stood open before him; the lines even and clean. Double spaced all the way through like a report he might pull from the courthouse. The heading read:

Mutation Blood Report

It was both surprisingly thorough, and frighteningly nondescript. Abbreviations and names and dates and terms and percentages that meant so very little to the once-sheriff, and yet had been so important Dr. Jenner had used the final precious seconds of his life to ensure they made it into Rick’s hand. Too bad Dr. Jenner hadn’t thought to give him a manual to go with it.

The evening light faded; Rick’s confused frown deepening until he drew Shane’s attention from across the fire. 

“What’s that?” The question, spoken more to break the silence than for curiosity, worked in drawing a half dozen eyes to Rick.

“A list,” Rick said lamely, avoiding their gazes to continue puzzling over the page. As if the meaning would suddenly leap from the spaces.

“A list of what?” Shane asked.

“I don’t know,” Rick admitted. “Jenner gave it to me.”

Shane’s expression shifted, his disgust mirrored nearly instantly to lesser degrees in the expressions of Glenn, T-Dog and Lori. 

“Was that before or after he tried to kill us?” T-Dog grumbled, and Rick wasn’t sure if he was meant to have heard it.

He answered anyway. “After.” 

It sounded like an admission of guilt. Like the paper with its double spaced lines of text in fresh black ink was the reason they were sitting in the dark on the side of a deserted highway. Rick refused to wallow in the feeling, distracted as he was by the puzzle the report presented. This was important; so important that it needed saving from the inferno that had become the CDC, and yet Rick couldn’t figure out what any of it actually meant.

With a disgruntled huff, he dropped the hand holding the list, his other hand raising to rub at the headache forming behind his eyes. It felt hopeless. A fool’s distraction so that they might forget their real problems of starvation, lack of gas, and a neverending supply of hungry walkers.

Carol looked up, her soft grey eyes gentle and inquisitive. “What’s on the list?”

Maybe they could all use a distraction. Rick held out his hand and she gingerly took the page from him, her eyes squinting as she scanned the neatly typed rows. Rick watched carefully for any sign of recognition in her face, but there was nothing; the terms apparently as foreign to her as they were to him. Still she nibbled her bottom lip, considering it for an extra moment before glancing back up to lock eyes with Rick and then turning to acknowledge the others settled around the fire.

“Our names are on it,” she said quietly. 

“Let me see that.” Shane reached across the fire and she quickly handed the page to him. Nearly immediately the same puzzled expression Rick had worn spread across Shane’s face. 

“AA?” His eyes narrowed, humming softly as he quickly scanned over the page. “Well, whatever it is, apparently I have ninety-five percent.”

“What an AA?” Glenn asked, curiosity colouring his face. 

Shane was shrugging before the question had fully left his mouth.

“Beats the hell outta me,” the once-deputy answered. “Seems you’re Bb.. like capital B, little B… Fifty-five percent.”

“Let me see that.” 

Glenn held out his hand and Shane practically threw the page to him, seemingly immediately annoyed by the paper and data that with no context was only as useful as the fire-starter it was written on. 

Glenn spent much longer studying the page, muttering as he did, “There’s a legend… Omega… Beta… Alpha…”

“Alpha? Like a dog?” Dale looked up from where he’d been staring into the fire, trying not to look too obvious about casting occasional worried looks at the RV window.

“Maybe,” Glenn pursed his lips. “It looks like it’s some kind of genetic testing.” After a long moment he looked up, locking eyes with each of them before finally landing on Rick. “AA stands for Alpha. Bb is Beta. O is Omega.”

“Did Jenner say what any of that actually means?” Lori asked quietly, eyes darting to Rick, who was already shaking his head.

“No. He just gave it to me.”

The rustle of bushes interrupted anything more he might say on the matter.

As one, he and Shane stood, fingers on triggers and weapons drawn ready until the shadow of a crossbow emerged from the trees, followed by the more definite shape of Daryl Dixon with a small turkey slung over his shoulder. Like a shadow, the hunter slipped between the cars, ducking under the string of cans and making his way into the clearing. 

“It ain’t scrambled eggs, but it’ll feed us,” the redneck said, a small smirk pulling at one side of his face as Rick and Shane settled back down into their positions.

With a clatter, he dropped the bow next to the open flame, plopping down beside it to begin cleaning the bird. If he noticed the varying expressions of alarm and disgust surrounding him, he didn’t acknowledge them. 

Which didn’t sit well with Lori. 

“Could you not do that somewhere else?” Her hand went to cover her nose, as if she might unsee the dead bird if she blocked her sense of smell. 

A narrow-eyed glare darted up from what was quickly becoming two separate piles at the hunter’s knee; feathers to the right and body parts - feet, innards, etc - to the left. 

She shrunk back under the weight of that stare, glancing nervously at Shane - a point Rick chose not to let himself dwell on.

“Could let ya starve, if that’d suit ya better.” Seemingly in spite of her, the redneck drew the hunting knife from his hip, neatly severing the head off the bird and tossing it into the fire.

The flames were too small to consume the flesh in any reasonable amount of time, and instead the sparse feathers singed, leaving a ghastly, haunted thing in the coals that even Rick preferred to look away from. But when he did he met Lori’s gaze. It had turned to him nearly the moment the redneck had severed the head off the bird, and Lori threw a small jerk of her chin at the man when Rick locked eyes with her, clearly expecting Rick to respond to the perceived slight. A reprimand that seemed just as ill-mannered, given the meal the young hunter had returned with.

“There’s more light near the fire, Lore,” Rick said reasonably, drawing her irritation instead of placating her. 

He didn’t miss Shane’s look of surprise, nor Daryl’s mistrusting frown at his response. Clearly no one - not even Daryl - had expected him to side with the redneck against his wife.

“Doesn't mean he’s gotta leave all the guts and stuff right here, does it?” Lori countered. “What if the children see it?”

The redneck snorted, but before he could do more than roll his eyes, Rick was speaking, knowing full well it was a useless effort. Lori didn’t respond to reason when she was in this kind of mood,

“Don’t thank a lil’ bit of blood is gonna scar them now, do you?”

She bit her lip, a thin crease forming between her brows as she flushed at the rebuff, but her ire still smoldered beneath her eyes. Rick saw the tension build in the seconds it took Lori to lose faith in Rick’s willingness to confront the redneck’s uncouth behaviour, and almost unwillingly, her eyes darted across the fire, seeking his best friend.

Shane bit his lip as the fiery attention locked on him. His wide, dark eyes darted to Rick’s, but after a moment returned to hers and hardened as if cast in steel. Protective and cold, as if the hunter’s slight were a jab at him too. The ex-deputy’s expression narrowed and he turned to where the redneck was cutting through the bird’s ribcage.

“It don’t mean we gotta behave like animals.” Shane’s words cut, maybe not deep, but Rick could see the redneck’s hands slow, lips pinched as he pretended he wasn’t listening. “Because we ain’t animals, are we Daryl?”

A sharp pull against flesh had the knife slipping as it hit bone, the sharp blade severing through at the wrong angle and diving into the hunter’s thumb. Not a deep cut, but a thin line of blood oozed down his hand. Daryl cursed, popping the finger briefly into his mouth to suck the blood clean before spitting and returning to his work, still willfully ignoring Shane.

Something the ex-cop could never let pass. People didn’t get to ignore Shane Walsh.

Rick saw the rage building in Shane’s eyes, but before he could do more than utter “Shane…” in warning, his best friend was leaning forward, that look on his face. That familiar, mean, snarling look that had locked on so many criminals back at the station. Only, back then the only time they’d ever interact with a man like Daryl Dixon would be over the interrogation table.

“Hey, Dixon,” Shane growled, expression darkening more yet when the redneck didn’t look up, “I’m talking to you.”

The rage grew. He scoffed, picking up a rock and throwing it into the fire. The sparks jumped, drawing a flinch from the redneck’s head, but still Daryl ignored the ex-deputy. Shane’s ire grew.

“Say Rick,” Shane’s biting tone drew the eyes of the others who had been studiously quiet during the exchange, “is Dick-son on your list?” 

“Don’t start that…” Shane had seen the paper. He already knew the answer.

“What?” The dark eyes glittered as he leaned closer, his palm unconsciously stroking the rifle’s stock, fingers curling nearer the trigger. The threat was clear. His words were a growl, deep and serious, “Think he can’t show even a tiny bit of respect?”

Daryl’s ears reddened. His hands stopped moving, but he didn’t look up. Choosing instead to stare into the fire; his shoulders stiff, the thin line on his thumb already bled dry.

“Glenn! Read what it says, man.”

The former pizza boy stammered, drawing the many eyes to where he still held Dr. Jenner’s report.

“Uh… oh… okay,” Glenn stuttered, nervous eyes darting from Shane to Daryl and back as if sensing the danger but unable to discern exactly which direction it would come from. “Omega… ninety-nine percent.”

“Omega…That’s interesting…” Shane’s dark glare turned to the old man sitting nearest the RV. “That’s like a bitch, isn’t it, Dale?” 

The grey beard bristled, and pale eyes narrowed. “Actually-”

“You know what?!” The redneck’s explosion cut him off. “Fuck all y’all!”

The nearly clean bird slammed into the fire, sending up a much bigger burst of sparks than Shane’s rock and nearly smothering the blaze in Daryl’s flurry of motion. Then the redneck was on his feet, snatching his bow before casting a shining-eyed glare around the group. When stunned silence met his glare he rounded, an explosion of hollow metal clattering together announcing his departure through the walker-alarm.

“The term Omega comes from the Greek,” Dale said, to no one in particular, but more to fill the lingering awkward silence. “It symbolises the best and most perfect form of the human soul. For Alpha is the beginning but Omega is the end. And Alpha can not be complete without Omega…”

“I don’t think Dr. Jenner was sane enough to put all that together,” Lori muttered, still wrinkling her nose at the dead animal, but looking somewhat pleased. She inched closer to Rick, but he shook his head, halting her approach.

“Shane…” Rick let the disapproval sit heavy in his voice as he stood up, adjusting his holster to hang flat against his thigh. “What the hell was that about?”

Shane spat, standing too, but only to pull the turkey carcass from the fire and go about rearranging the small burning logs in hopes of saving the blaze. 

“‘Bout time someone told him how things are gonna be. Asshole walks around here like nobody can touch ‘im. Thinks that a couple of squirrels is a free ticket to behaving like a little shit.”

“He’s just a kid.” Rick protested, eyes narrowing on his friend. 

“Open your eyes, Rick. We’ve put guys away for life that were a lot younger than him, and they weren’t half as irritating.”

“Rick,” Lori’s voice was quiet, falling just short of placating, but her tone made Rick look at her. “I know you don’t agree with his methods, but Shane was right to do what he did. What if Carl starts acting like him?”

“Then we deal with it,” Rick answered, as if it should be obvious. “But that’s no excuse to treat people like that. We need everybody-” he locked eyes with Shane until his partner bowed his head, biting his lips, “-everybody-” he stressed again, “to work together.”

“Then you go talk to him, cuz I’m done playing his games,” Shane said, bowing to Rick’s authority but not quite subdued. “He either smartens up, or I’ma send his ass packing.”

“You don’t mean that,” Rick huffed, shaking his head. “‘Sides, he’s the best hunter we got. We need him.”

Shane’s lips pursed in irritation, conceding the point. “Fine. Go deal with him, ‘cuz if I have to, he ain’t gonna like it.”

Rick wanted to argue, but he knew that was as close to a truce as he was likely to get under the circumstances. Still, he muttered, “There’s something different about you now, brother.”

Shane shrugged. “Maybe it’s the Alpha in me.” But he said it with a snort, as if the words were nothing but a humourless joke.

Rick huffed again, but turned and started after the young hunter.

“Daryl?” He called cautiously, ducking under the string of cans.

It had gotten dark quickly; the Georgia sky darkening to a blue-black that blended against the silhouettes of the trees so that there was no clear line between earth and sky. Even the stars, so pale and sickly, did little to light the way, as if even they wanted no part in illuminating what the world had become.

He hoped the hunter hadn’t gone far. He had little doubt Daryl could handle himself in the forest, even at night, but it was dangerous to wander anywhere without a clear head these days, and it was foolish for Rick to even try to follow the hunter into his domain in the dark. Rick was about as likely to stumble upon walkers, bandits or worse as he was Daryl Dixon. Still, he pulled his pistol from his hip, thumbing the barrel to ensure one of the three remaining bullets were lined up in the chamber. If finding Daryl meant traipsing around in the woods, he would go.

Thankfully, the glowing end of a lit cigarette saved him from having to actually attempt it. He rounded the RV and came up short on the shadow of a crossbow leaning against the metal side, narrow eyes and gnarled fingers shining in the faint orange glow.

“Here to play ‘good cop’?” The lit end of the cigarette burned brighter on the inhale and a cloud of smoke announced the hunter’s opinion on the matter.

“No,” Rick said grimly, returning the colt to its holster but leaving his palm resting on the stock. One never knew when a walker might show up.

“Then wha’d’ya want?” The redneck flicked some ash to the ground.

“Look, I know Shane’s an asshole,” Rick said, inching closer so that he could better see the dark pools of the hunter’s eyes behind the smoke. “He gets like that when he’s worried.”

“Don’t defend his bullshit,” Daryl snarled. 

“I’m not.” Rick shook his head. “He shouldn’t have said that; but Daryl, you gotta understand…” 

Rick reached out to grip the hunter’s arm, hoping the touch would convey what his words were lacking, but Daryl jerked back, yanking his arm free of the sheriff’s hold, leaving Rick’s hand hovering empty in the space between them. 

Rick’s face must have read his surprise at the violent response, because after another glow of the burning cigarette, Daryl muttered, “Sorry,” eyes darting away when Rick spent an awkward moment studying him. 

Finally recovered, Rick dropped his hand back to the python and continued, “Look Daryl, most of the group, they ain’t raised like you.”

“Hell, I know that,” He couldn’t see it, but he could imagine Daryl’s snort as the cigarette burned brighter for a moment and a glowing pillar of ash fell from the end. “They think the world is all unicorn shit and rainbows.”

“I think we’ve all seen too much to believe that.”

“Well they think that it ought to be.”

Rick conceded that with a dip of his head. “You’re right, and I’m not saying you’re doing the wrong thing, it’s just Lori…” Rick licked his lips, seeing the hunter’s eyes tighten as they returned to Rick to watch him struggle for the words. “This is all already so hard on her.”

“So you want me ta what? Stop huntin’? Leave?”

“No,” Rick shook his head, immediately resolute. “No, I don’t want that. There ain’t nobody here who’s a better hunter than you. If you weren’t here, there’s a good chance we’d all be starving.” 

If Rick wasn’t watching, he’d have missed the small flush that passed under the hunter’s cheeks and the way the gleaming eyes darted away again.

“So trust me when I say I appreciate what you can do; what you've been doing. It’s kept us alive… just, I need you to be a little less…” Rick bit his lip, the right word finally finding its way to his lips and then getting stuck when he realised what it was, “Dixon.”

The hunter snorted, his head bobbing with the movement and the crossbow bumping the side of the RV. 

“I feel like I should be insulted by that.” Rick was about to apologize when the hunter straightened, dropping his cigarette to crush it beneath his boot, a half-smirk pulling at his lips. “But I get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded. “I do.”

“C’mon.” 

Rick wondered if he should be concerned about how relieved he was that the hunter not only seemed to understand, but was also still standing there with him. Rick turned, instinctively reaching for the hunter before remembering the visceral reaction to touch and dropping his hand instead to simply wait for Daryl to follow. 

“I can’t hunt for shit, but I do make a mean barbeque turkey.”

Daryl snorted, but moved off the RV wall, falling into line behind Rick. And while he didn’t say it, Rick sensed a new comradery between them. A truce. Not quite easy, but natural. Right.

He wondered if there might not be something to Dale’s ramblings about Alpha and Omega, especially when he considered the letters typed next to his own name on Dr. Jenner’s report:

Rick Grimes - AA - 100%