Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An array of agony builds— blindingly hot as it grips Rick’s skin in a cauterizing hold. His arms and face were tacky with blood; some his, some others. The pain was paralyzing, and as he stumbled through smoked fields, dragging his feet over bodies and isolated fires, he felt his body become overwhelmed with the incessant sensations. His muscles contracted and jerked randomly, seemingly giving out but self correcting out of sheer will. The grass below sloshed beneath his feet, and he looked down to see he was walking in pools of frothy red muck that had started to coagulate on his boots. A walker moaned wetly beside him, dragging its pathetic, limp body towards him; jaw clacking loudly, hands outstretched and starved. Rick watched it for a moment. The governor was dead, along with all of his people. Their lifeless bodies lay peacefully on the grass. They almost looked unreal, like mannequins. Some had turned, laying pitifully in their filth, begging to be fed. Others lay still. Rick felt apathy veil him in that moment; for when he looked around at the terror, at the approaching walker, at the cadaver of the prison, he felt nothing at all. Everything was gone and he had felt all of the grief he could possibly bear.

The walker stomped hard in the slush, getting close now. It was a woman; her brown hair nearly shed completely and her skin rotted away revealing sets of gnashing jaws. As it reached out, there was a gleam on her finger caught by sunlight. But only for a moment, as it blinked away as quickly as it came.

Rick spat a glob of blood into the disgusting grass bellow and limped heavily away, observing the ruin of what was as he went. The sky dimmed subtly with the approach of dusk, the sun crawling its way to the horizon. The judge has excused the jury, and the sentence has been determined.

Night is coming.

“Carl!” Rick boomed as he entered the prison courtyard. It was silent save for the crackling of lingering fires and the soft moans of distant walkers. All that answered him was the echoing of death, its sorrow ringing through the camp. Rick kept on, limping horribly and screaming out for Carl. His chest rattled sharply and the tightness there began to blur his vision. Silence continued to meet him, and his body slowly became weaker as his hope dwindled. Emotions rushed violently back to him now and his swollen eye smarted as tears flowed down his face.

“Carl! Judith!” He wailed, “Please!”

Nobody was alive here.

Rick collapsed. The loss then was heavy and felt like the death of something human inside him. Then there was nothing. Things seemed to happen all at once, yet not at all. Every scene surrounding him morphed into overlapped frames until it was indiscernible torture. His body constricted in its agony, even if he no longer actively felt the pain.

Walkers snarled nearby, trudging closer.

He could be inside. Carl could still be alive. And if not, someone else could be.

Don’t give up on Carl and Judith.

Rick grunted with exertion, and heaved himself to turn onto his side. He gagged through the pain, his ribs feeling as though they were shredding him from the inside. Blood drizzled from his mouth and pooled on the concrete below. What wasn’t dripping from his lips rattled horribly in his lungs. He imagined the blood then, filling thickly until he drowned in it, stumbling through the prison courtyard in search of his family only to die alone.

The walker was close enough to be a problem now, so Rick rolled on his front and used the momentum to push himself upright and on his feet. Pain cracked through him, nearly forcing him down again. He pushed forward in a clumsy sprawl, staggering a few feet away only to meet concrete once more. His heart was racing now as he came to terms with how weak his body was. He pushed the ball of his foot into the ground, his entire leg shaking with exertion as he struggled to stand. He was weak and ashamed. Rick crawled a length away, attempting to stand again, tears and sweat dripping from his face. He screwed his eyes shut and saw Carl’s round, young face falling into disbelieving tears as he raced towards Rick and into his arms. He just wanted it to be over.

There was a loud crack behind him and the subsequent spray of brain matter on the ground. Rick had no idea what was happening. He was laying on his side now, exhausted. Two fingers pressed to his neck and a voice came to him muffled and incoherent. It almost sounded like another voice had joined, but it all began to fade rapidly and Rick was plunged into stagnant darkness.

-

Daryl felt like a vulture as he stalked the prison courtyard looking for his dead friends, his gaze fixed through the scope of his bow. Carl followed close behind him, holding Judith’s carrier. His eyes were focused but frantic, shifting rapidly, searching for his dad. He wouldn’t call out, though. Neither of them were ready to speak.

There were many dead, but besides Hershel there was no one he cared about among the bodies. Daryl wanted to feel relief, maybe even hope, but the cycle was familiar to him now. He never got too comfortable when things were going well. That always changed eventually, and he needed to be ready for it. He definitely won't be wasting his time expecting things to work out the way he wants them to anymore, either. It’s a bad habit. If Daryl has learned one thing in this life, even before the Dead, it would be that the bad always follows the good and spoils the hell out of it.

They rounded a corner and Daryl’s muscles seized with alarm as the sounds of struggle became audible. Through the scope of his bow he immediately recognized Rick hunched over on the ground vocalizing in pain. He shot an arrow through the head of the Walker going after him while Carl rushed forward carefully to check on his dad.

“Dad!” He called anxiously, wanting to reach out but his hands seemed to be fused to the handle of the carrier and could do nothing but stand gaping in horror.

Daryl glanced around quickly before pushing Rick onto his back. Rick looked fucked up. His entire face was crusted with blood, he had bloody drool trailing down his chin, and his left eye looked like it had damn well burst. He was looking up at Carl, seeming incredibly weak and unable to do anything more than that, before his eyes began fluttering shut.

“Jesus,” Daryl muttered, “We have to get ‘em out of here. He’ll die like this.”

Carl finally placed the carrier on top of Rick’s outsprawled legs and lifted his shirt up, feeling his ribcage with gentle pressure. The bruises on Rick’s chest were nearly black and covered such a vast amount of skin it looked almost like an infection that festered— Daryl had never seen anything like it. He felt himself go a little cold and his stomach turned disagreeably.

“He’s got broken ribs. Probably a concussion, too. And he’s not gonna be able to walk…” Carl muttered mostly to himself.

Daryl stood, relieved Rick’s legs of the carrier, handing it to Carl, and swung his crossbow onto his back, “Move.”

Carl took the carrier, peering down at baby Judith with a fussy motherly look, and inched back. He watched Daryl as he picked his dad up in a bridal carry.

Rick sputtered in pain and was quiet once more. Up close, his face was covered in purple bruises and blood was still slowly leaking from his nose and eye. It was real bad. If Rick died he didn't know what the hell he’d do. Without Rick there was no group and no group means Daryl will be alone again. He still upholds his disdain for new people, but he can’t deny that being a part of something has grounded him and he sees how it’s changed him. He’s got a family now and after so long of having it he’s not sure he could survive complete isolation again.
“Where are we going?” Carl asked.

Daryl shrugged, “I’on know. Away from here.” He turned away and headed towards the road, “We’ll find a neighborhood ‘n hole up in a house, wait for Rick to get better, then go from there.”

Carl seemed to mull this over and Daryl already knew what he would say.

“What about the others?” Carl asked moments later, “What if we don’t find them again?”

Daryl said nothing as he stared ahead.

“What if my dad doesn’t make it?”

Daryl’s gaze shifted down to watch as Rick’s limp head bobbed with every step he took.

“I’on know,” He replied curtly. He wished he had an answer, not only for Carl but for himself too.

He looked over to Carl whose face was red and wilted in a frown, eyes bulging with tears that he was too stubborn to let fall. The twinge in Daryl’s chest had him sniffing passively and saying, “We’ll figure it out.”

Carl kept his eyes forward and stayed silent as he tried to steel himself, obviously trying not to have a moment, so Daryl let it be.

Judith stirred in her soft haven, wriggling around and fussing with a cry. Carl turned his attention towards her, toying with her stout little hands as she gurgled. Once they stepped on the road, Daryl looked down its long, seemingly endless trail. The blurred figures of walkers morphed and shifted vaguely a ways down as millions of green fingers looked to be reaching for them from the sides. Despite its setting, the sun still beat on them mercilessly. A drop of sweat flicked from his chin and onto Rick’s shirt and a simmering burn had already started festering in his muscles. He heaved a long sigh and together he and Carl went onwards.

-

They had to stop eventually. Rick’s a grown man and Daryl can only carry him for so long. His arms had burnt something fierce before they’d gone numb 20 minutes ago. Carl was looking tired too, his face drooping and arms surely burning too. Judith was ultimately silent, thanks to Carl’s careful carrying, but the time would come when she’d have a fit over one thing or another. They didn’t talk much aside from a, "Can you check?”, from Carl to which Daryl would dutifully respond in the silent ritual of placing his fingers over the pulse of Rick’s beating heart. He hadn’t woken up the entire walk, even as the sun settled itself below the edge of the Earth.

They came across an antique store tucked into a plaza packed with vacant storefronts. The place looked to be untouched which wasn’t all that surprising considering it was just an antique store. Carl knocked on the murky display glass and waited a while. When no sound of walkers came he tried the door which was fortunately unlocked. Carl went and held it open with his foot while the beam of his flashlight jerked about the room. Deemed clear, Daryl shuffled sideways into the store with Rick with Carl following behind.

The air was thick with dust and the whole room was just a mess of clutter and muted paisley. There was such an overwhelming amount of stuff that it looked almost like an infestation of the past. Shelves lined the walls and their occupants stood frozen in time, silently watching. Tiny painted figures of merry children, sparkling crystal animals paused in play, dulled gold clocks with elegant feet, real embossed leather of which could be smelled all throughout the room. Daryl set to laying Rick down on a couch farther back, feeling irritated when the thing let out a puff of dust when he set Rick on it. Daryl let out a shaking breath as the release of tension seemed to bring a renewed wave of pain through his muscles. They pulsed hotly beneath his skin and the heat reminded him of home.

He and Carl checked the room twice over before settling down.

Salvaging anything useful was unsuccessful, not that Daryl had expected it to be anything but. Carl had already resigned from the task, opting to swing the front door out and in to funnel out the thick, stifling air. The flying moats of dust that had begun to rise frightened Judith, who began fussing in her carrier. Daryl scooped her up gently and held her to his chest, feeling little fingers grip at his jacket. They’d have to go out tomorrow and find food and water– and baby formula. Daryl sighed to himself; it was already hard enough to get ahold of it, now with less people searching it’ll be a blessing if they find any. But like hell he’s gonna let her starve; they’ll find a way.

In light of the thought, Daryl’s stomach gurgled noisily, reminding him earnestly that he’d not eaten since the day before. As if queued, Carl rummaged through his pack, fishing out a mangled looking slim jim which he began eating quickly as he stared out at nothing.

A stout hand smacked softly on Daryl’s cheek, then grabbing a fistful of skin with an alarming strong grip.

“The hell you doin’, Lil’ Asskicker?” He asked, taking the hand and putting it up to his mouth, pretending to eat it with minimal theatrics. Judith giggled wildly, her eyes big and mirthful.

Carl had seemingly finished his meal and was now heading towards his pack, out of which he retrieved his water and a rag. He frugally poured the water on a bundled corner of the cloth and crouched next to Rick’s body. He dabbed and wiped away at his face silently. They wouldn’t be able to do much of anything else til tomorrow. It was far too late to try and go look for any medical supplies and neither of them were doctors.

“Judith’s gonna need to eat soon, I grabbed a couple bottles of formula when everything started falling apart; they’re in my pack if you wanna get one,” said Carl, not turning away from his work.

Daryl grunted and set Judith in her crib for a moment, retrieving the formula and coming back to hold her once again. He stood up with her now, bouncing her lightly as she drank.

“How’s he lookin?” Daryl asked a few minutes later when Judith was about done with her meal.

Carl heaved a great sigh, “He’s breathing.” His voice was flat and bothered, and when Daryl looked over at him he was shaking his head. “This would have never happened if he had just killed the Governor…” Carl muttered, staring at his dad’s slack face.

Daryl clenched his jaw, uncomfortable and unsure how to respond. He understood what Carl was feeling but he wasn’t good with shit like this. He felt responsible to take the mantle of authority for Carl, to redirect him, and hadn’t a damn idea how to go about it.

“Listen; it’s his first time in the apocalypse too,” Daryl replied, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, as it just seemed to further piss Carl off; his brows pinched tight and his eyes narrowed sharp. He shot a scathing look towards Daryl and said, “Hershel died today. The Governor beheaded him right in front of everyone– in front of Maggie, in front of Beth– there is no excuse.”

Judith seemed to be picking up on the tense energy, her chubby face twisted sadly in upset, so Daryl set her in her carrier to rest and said to Carl, “Your dad may not make the best decisions all the time, nobody does, but you can’t blame him for wanting to show mercy–.”

“His mercy got people killed!” Carl seethed, raising his voice now.

The last thing they needed to do was go and have a spat after everything, but Daryl knew better than to let Carl go on with the mindset he had. That type of thinking is dangerous. It makes you into people like the Governor, like Shane. It wasn’t convenient, that’s for sure, but even before the world fell apart and he knew there was shit you had to do to keep your humanity. If they went around killin’ everyone like no tomorrow, how could they say they’re any better than those who came after them before?

“People woulda died no matter what. If he’d killed the Governor earlier, who knows what coulda happened. I’m not sayin’ he’s right or wrong, I’m sayin’ he did what he thought was best by not killin’ ‘em when he first had the chance. What’s done is done and we just gotta focus on movin’ on,” Daryl replied, now shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

Carl looked at him for a good long moment, his eyes hard as ever and shining with passion, before sighing sharply with a shake of his head and turning his attention back to his dad. Daryl thought maybe it was a good sign that Carl had resigned from the conversation peacefully, and set about doing his own thing while Carl did his.

Daryl set up a sleeping area for himself in a vacant corner by the front door, and afterwards took an old rusted shower curtain and fashioned it as an alarm right across the inside entryway. On the hook holes he found anything that could make noise and tied them to it with sewing thread. By the time he was done Carl had finished his nurse duties and made his own bed on another couch flush to the adjacent wall; but not before checking Rick’s pulse one last time, after which he sulked to his sleeping spot. They didn’t bother to set up watch, for the exhaustion was beginning to seep through the lingering adrenaline, demanding rest. Both of them settled into their beds fully clothed with weapons close. Daryl lay on his back, fingers worrying where he’d clasped his hands on his stomach, with the only thing on his mind being whether he’d wake up to Rick dead and turned or not.

“Goodnight,” Carl said.

“‘Night,”

-

With only a bit of haggling, Carl managed to have Daryl agreeing to watch Judith and allowing him to scavenge. He looked pissed and annoyed but let him out anyway with little resistance, seeing him off without a word. The way Daryl shook his head as he vanished inside like Carl was some

You know what? Screw him too. Carl didn’t want to see either of them. If Daryl and his dad were such good leaders, how come they kept getting mixed up in all this shit? Why did people keep dying? What they had at the prison, it was good, probably the best they’d ever get; and now it’s gone. All of it gone in a matter of hours. Carl scowled to himself, watching it all play out in his mind

Tears pushed with a force behind his eyes and burnt like shame as they welled, and he sucked in a rage-filled breath because of it, refusing to be weak. He trudged on, but not far. He’d promised Daryl not to go anywhere but the plaza, despite how it irritated him. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he’d wish they’d all realize it and stop treating him like he was 5.

There was a Quick-Mart just down the street, and while the storefront windows had already been smashed in, he wouldn’t want to miss out on what may be left. Once at the front of the store, Carl wrapped his knuckles against the doorframe. The silence that met him seemed like an invitation and he took a step forward before scuffling to a halt. The backside of a Walker could be seen looming idly in the store between two isles. It was huge, nearly as tall as the isles themselves and seemingly equally as generous in its bulk. Carl watched it for a moment, and knocked on the frame once more. Yet, the Walker didn’t move despite the noise. It stayed statue-stiff. He knew the smart idea would be to use his knife, as shooting it would be a waste, but something about this was different. He felt stupid for it, as it really wasn’t based on much other than the stillness. The Walker was completely frozen, as if it weren’t even real. Usually they’d at least be grinding their teeth like some fucked up, upright, rot-ridden cow; but this one didn’t even sway. Getting up close and personal with it was probably the last thing he’d want to do.

Abashed with his childish fear, he shook his head clear and unsheathed his knife, being sure to come up carefully. As he set foot within the store, his shoe immediately sounded with glass crushing beneath it. Carl clenched his jaw and cursed himself, thinking surely it would have been going for him now, but the Walker didn’t move. It looked almost unreal. He kept on, being slightly careless with his noise level as he tread. He made it right behind the Walker, eyes fixed on its giant shoulders in astonishment and fear as the thing still hadn’t moved. His heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest and his eyes began to smart from how long he’d been keeping them fixed on nothing but the Walker.

He was right behind it now, and sure enough it was real. The stench was noxious and small flies hung around its rotting flesh. Carl gripped his knife and raised it high to compensate for its height, eyes boring into the back of its head. He watched it close for a second more.

Now.

Carl made to bring the blade down, and in the process he’d stepped toward the Walker in haste, slipping from the shards of shattered glass embedded into his shoes and plunging the knife only a clumsy quarter of the way into its skull. The Walker whirled ‘round suddenly as if brought to life, ripping the blade out of its own skull as Carl was still gripping the handle. Carl shot back with a yelp of surprise, but quickly righted himself, ready to take on the big ugly thing. The Walker stomped towards him, hand outstretched and grasping, but Carl was ready. He rushed forward, too fast for the Walker to react, and plunged the blade deep into its skull. The dead giant was finished almost as quickly as the whole debacle started, and as its massive weight crashed onto the tiled-floor the Walker seemed just as still and vacant as it had standing undisturbed between the isles moments before.

Carl realized then he was breathing hard and the mad rush of blood in his ears was nearly deafening. He felt good, though– proud. He can do just as good as any other adult out here, and he’s certain once he’s told his dad about what happened he’ll surely see now that Carl no longer needs to be coddled.

Fingers curled around his shoulder painfully making Carl dart away, ending up sprawled out next to the giant Walker in his rush, his hat tumbling along with him. There were two Walkers trudging over, most likely drawn by the noises being made, and the one that grabbed Carl fell to the ground and grasped his shoe. Panic zipped through him like a bullet and he used his free leg to push away. His eyes ached with tears and just as soon as Carl had felt swelling pride he then felt deep shame. He was such an idiot.

The hard pressure on his foot as the Walker holding him bit down on his shoe was enough to send renewed energy rushing through his body. Carl jerked his foot away, leaving his shoe caught in the Walkers teeth, and scrambled to his feet; after which he then snatched his hat and made a mad dash for the exit. He ran and didn’t dare look back or stop, regardless of the burst of pain that came from stepping his shoeless foot on the soiled tile. He ran straight for the antique store, at which he arrived winded and aching.

Daryl had seen him run up in a state, stopping to pant heavily outside, and opened the door to see him. Carl didn’t bother to acknowledge him yet, more focused on controlling his breathing and keeping the pressure off his abused foot. By the time he looked up at Daryl, his eyes were unreadable. That was much worse than anger, as at least he had been expecting it.

Once Carl was right Daryl shouldered himself off the door frame and went inside. Carl followed reluctantly, looking over at Judy napping in her carrier for comfort.

“Well? You find anything?" Daryl asked in a way that implied he knew the answer.

Carl’s face went in flames and he had to turn away in utter embarrassment. He’d forgotten what he’d even gone out for. If he had been tasked with scavenging for the group back at the prison he would have let them down and made a big fool of himself. Scorn choked him as he thought of how stupid he was and the sizzle of embarrassment hot on his skin further added to the misery.

“What happened?” Daryl’s tone was disconcerting and completely even as he said it.

Carl told him everything, forcing strength in his voice when all he wanted to do was run and hide from his folly.

“I just wanted to prove I can do it…” Carl added quietly when he was done, his body deflated in defeat as all his flaws were bared for display.

Daryl rubbed his hand on his forehead with a long sigh, seeming stressed. Carl waited anxiously for a response, oddly accepting Daryl as a reasonable authority.

“I’m not your dad, and I’m sure as hell not your babysitter; but you can’t be doin’ shit like this. When your dad wakes up he’s gonna need you alive. You’re good, Carl, you don’t need ta’ prove it by getting yourself killed.” Daryl said, voice stern and annoyed, but worried all the same.

Carl looked down at his feet saying nothing.

“Tomorrow I’ll go out— too late to do anythin’ now,” Daryl added before looking down at Carl’s bum foot which was being placed with obvious caution on the ground. Daryl nodded towards it in question.

“The Walker took my shoe when I got away. There was shattered glass on the floor near the entrance and I ran over it.”

Daryl huffed, “C’mon, lets get it cleaned up.”

The next 30 minutes were long ones as Daryl carefully plucked the tiny shards from his foot with his fingers. Luckily, most of the shards had fallen off during Carl’s running and those that were left behind were all removable. Daryl washed the foot off with water and dressed it with the last of the gauze in Carl’s pack. By the time it was all done the sun had retired from its zenith and was now making its way to the horizon.

“How was he?” Asked Carl when he saw Daryl move to check on his dad.

“Fine. Hasn’t moved or nothin’, but he’s alive,” Daryl replied, peering intensely at Rick’s dressings.

Carl felt uneasy at this. “What if he’s in a coma?” He asked.

Daryl shrugged, lifting the gauze off of Rick’s forehead wound for inspection, “Can’t do shit about it. We ain’t doctors. But if he’s in a coma I got a feelin’ he’ll be fine; surely ain’t his first time.”

Carl found himself shaking his head with a smile at the crude joke, but felt none the better about it all. He went over to Judith, and seeing as she was squirming in her carrier now wide awake he lifted her out of it and onto the floor.

“Hi, Judy,” Carl said softly as she crawled to him with her sweet, gummy smile.

He played with her for a while, making use of all the peculiar items in the shop as toys. Spending time with Judith was probably his favorite part of the day. He didn’t have to worry about proving himself or fighting Walkers or dealing with people who wanted to kill him or looking at everyone’s utterly depressed faces; instead, he could be in his own little world with Judith and for just a moment it felt like he was back at his old house. He could smell the ghost of warm, homely scents in his memories and imagined him and Judith, comfortable and clean, playing carelessly in the living room. His dad would be standing at the kitchen island, looking over reports for work, and his mom would be alive and smiling, watching them from the kitchen as she stirred her coffee. If Carl got lost enough, he could almost feel the sensation of their soft living room carpet on his legs as if it were real.

Judith made an unhappy noise, and when Carl looked down at her, she had her face twisted in a sad way. It took him a moment to realize she was mirroring him. He felt awful instantly, and forced his face into an explosion of a smile. Judith didn’t look so sad anymore, but she definitely wasn’t convinced.

“I do think your dad needs to teach you how to survive,” Daryl spoke up suddenly.

Carl looked up to see Daryl standing and already looking at him.

“ Ain’t gonna help us none to shelter you. Especially since all it’s been doin’ is makin’ you stupid. Once your dad’s up and can watch over himself, I’ll take you out to practice.”

Carl wanted to be excited by the offer, but found it hard to overcome his doubts that his dad would live. He’d been avoiding the idea of it, and the general fact that his dad was laying unconscious and beaten on the old couch before him. It scared him– really scared him. More than the Walker at the antique store, more than the prospect of the Governor taking his home. It made him feel frenzied with fear; out of control and panicked. Made him shake and smell the tang of blood so overwhelming that all he wanted to do is curl into himself like a child.

Judith was beginning to cry properly now, her hiccups bringing Carl back to reality. Daryl had begun to walk over, seeing that both Carl and Judith were in a state.

“Can you watch her?” Carl said quickly, already getting up and heading for the door.

He was outside before Daryl could even answer, walking a ways down the sidewalk so he wouldn’t be seen. After he was a good bit away, he let himself break down; sobbing so hard he was silent. He crumbled into himself, his dad’s hat falling to the ground as Carl bowed his head.

It had been so perfect, what they had. What had they done to deserve this? To have it all taken away so brutally? They were so happy, and they had a community. They could have made a town like Woodburry– better than Woodburry, and could’ve taken people in. It was so cruelly unfair and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He wanted to be mad at his dad, wanted to blame him, blame something for it all. He needed someone to yell at, to curse to hell for all they’d done to him. Someone he could seek revenge on, to hate. But the Governor was dead–his dad was nearly there too– and only they and anyone else who escaped were the ones left to suffer through the aftermath.

He lay still in the grass after he’d cried all he could. The sky was beginning to take on its dusky tinge and the air was light and cool as it mingled with the trees. Carl went back inside shortly after he’d stopped crying. He kept his eyes down, not wanting Daryl to ask, and went straight to his bed. He lay down facing the wall with his head pounding irritatingly from his teary fit. He tried to fall asleep despite it, almost aggressively willing himself to go unconscious, but before he’d made any progress he heard Daryl walk up to him and stop. There was silence for a minute before rustling sounded and a light hand was placed on Carl’s shoulder.

“We’re gonna be alright. All of us.”

Carl squeezed his eyes shut and let out a careful sigh, feeling emotional again. He didn’t respond, and it seemed Daryl didn’t expect him to, as he got up right after and his footsteps grew distant. Carl curled in on himself, pressing his face into the couch cushions, and drifted to sleep before he even knew it.

-

Daryl awoke to darkness, which wasn’t unusual for him. The night was quiet and pleasantly cool with a steady hum of cricket calls from outside. He peeled his eyes open and stared into fuzzy blackness, watching the particles squirm like maggots in the abyss. There was something special about waking up at night; it felt like a forbidden sliver of peace tucked away into the idle hours of the day. Subsequently it made him anxious, as peace never comes without destruction following close behind.

Something moved in the room, stirring Daryl right awake and staring hard into the ceiling. Another thud and some shuffling and Daryl was gearing for a fight. He groped for his knife and grasped it, closing his eyes and shifting over to lay on his side as casually as if he were only readjusting in his sleep. Now he faced the direction of the noise, and squinted his eyes open to look. Immediately he loosened the grip on his knife upon seeing that it’d just been Carl moving from his bed and to the couch where he now sat up against it, eyes closed and his head leaning onto Rick’s arm which was dangling off the couch. Daryl forgot he was just a kid sometimes.

Something sad and wilting gripped his heart when he saw it, but he didn’t know what to do. Swallowing thickly, Daryl turned onto his back and let out a shaking breath; and willing away the twist in his gut he fell suddenly into empty sleep.

Chapter Text

Daryl was out by the first crack of light. Stepping into frigid air he observed the yellow beams bursting from the tree line and how they crested the tall grasses in a glow. Gnats whisked through the light and dragonflies zipped by his head in a blur along with two racing Sparrows whose red caps bobbed as they flew. Daryl stood there for a short while, absorbing the rare serenity and committing every detail to memory in case he never saw it again. A Blue Jay screeched shrilly within the forest, flaying the silence, and Daryl followed, ducking into the luminescent retreat with his nerves strung in anticipation of the hunt. He’d caught two rabbits by the time the sun had fully sprouted from the edges of the Earth. Its rays fell warmly on him and the game slung over his shoulder thudded rhythmically against his back as he walked. He felt refreshed and grounded as a time spent alone in the woods always leaves him, and as he approached the Antique Store he felt his spirits were not so dour as they had been last night. Breakfast was served with haste, as Carl was notorious for souring when hungry; and Daryl, Carl, and Judith ate in relative silence save for the occasional coos and hums from the baby. When Daryl went to check on Rick after they’d finished, he was largely the same; not that Daryl had expected to see any changes, though he hoped. He had half a mind to save some meat for Rick, in case he woke while he was gone, but knew he had no salt to preserve it in. 

He left again at sun-high with an empty pack this time, only planning on searching the plaza stores and further if need be. He first checked the Quick-Mart Carl had been to the day prior, and he was shocked to see the Walker was a big fucker. He assumed it only looked so to Carl ‘cause he was a kid, but the thing was massive with its hulking mass sprawled awkwardly on the tile floor. Some canned foods along with some stray bottles of water were found, but not much else. It was enough for the three of them to last off, but Judith was still in need of more formula and diapers. With no daycares or houses in the plaza, Daryl set to spending the rest of the day in search of a neighborhood. He looked up to the sky with only the slab of his hand to mercy him and reckoned he’d better not count on being back before nightfall. Daryl stopped by their camp one more time to drop off his salvage and let Carl know what the situation was, who accepted the fact with this general air of distraitement he’d now taken up. He ruffled little Judith’s wispy head before ducking out of the store and hurrying off.  Just ‘cause it’s cold didn’t mean that the sun was any less brutal. He thought to walk on the edge of the wood to save his skin the trouble but it would only slow him down. No matter how well your feet knew the Earth, if you really were minding your step like you ought to then it’ll be adding time to your trip. He’d also nearly succumbed to the temptation of searching for a car, even tried one right before he was on the main road, but it was a bust and even if not he had no gas and no way to syphon any.

After an hour or two’s walk Daryl took a side road and was delivered to a peachy little cookie cutter that looked a picture of southern life. Daryl felt his face twist subconsciously into a grimace, he’d reckon, and he wiped the look off as if someone could have been watching. He picked the first house he saw and, after testing its vacancy, carefully entered. All seemed to be in relative order within. Some cabinet doors were thrown ajar in a rush and items like car keys, a pocket knife, and a tiny school backpack with papers spilling from it were left strewn about. It disturbed him sometimes to go into a home and imagine what state the owners had been in before abandoning it; to see the moment their world changed forever. Daryl tried not to let thoughts like those simmer too long, they never did anyone any good anyways.

The house had some minor loot, but nothing he was looking for. He tried the next, another obnoxiously prim thing, but this one was much different. Upon stepping in the presaging smell of death and rot was demanding as it rushed forth in a gust that brought with it some few flies in their measly death battalion. The kitchen was paraded with putrefied foods; plates of once edible items were now blackened with decay and unrecognizable in their states. Daryl imagined it all as if it were the old world again; a happy, naive family gathered round for celebration. Stuffing themselves full with food and times of bliss, how could they know their moments of gorging on luxury would soon be assassinated so brutally? Aiming his bow, he went on to the dining room where he was struck still and staring in foreign shock at the scene before him. It would have been a grand thing; tiered towers of white ceramic dotted the dining table, holding what would have been some attractive cake or pastry that became subject to the same blackening as those in the kitchen. The table was gilded in shiny-gold doilies, upon them one simple plate with a heaping portion of  bloated detritus. All of the chairs and their long backrests lay in disarray on the floor, and flung cutlery glinted like stars on the black carpet. There lay a person in the doorway to the living room, not turned, but simply dead which was curiously an uncommon sight. They were face down, and their body was blackened as well from its time left forgotten; some flies jumped and flew over the remains, and a large pool of black encircled the scene. An open cavity that blossomed out from the back of their skull told Daryl enough about what had happened there. In the very corner of the room sat propped up on the wall was what Daryl assumed to be a child; the small body was hunched over exposing its marred scalp which had been torn open to bore an empty, black abyss. The entire top half of the head seemed to have been savagely devoured, but that was the only identifiable injury as the rest of the body was too decomposed to tell anything else. The arms and legs looked almost infected by death; his skin being awash in a necrotic hue which left it unnaturally particolored. Daryl felt something disturbed and sickly turn in his stomach. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. This was different than just finding a Walker, it was almost like a crime scene. These people weren’t turned, just plain dead and gone, and somehow this was all the more horrifying than if they up and came back alive. 

Daryl forced himself to move eventually, holding his mind carefully blank and preparing himself for the horrors he knows he will find. There was nothing more to see on the first floor so he moved on to the next, where he was surprised to see a Walker standing aimlessly with its back turned against the banister. Daryl stepped on the first stair whose creaking roused the Walker from its stupor. It growled sonorously and stumbled towards the stairwell, but Daryl shot it down within seconds leaving the house quiet once again. He went up, ripped his arrow from the Walker’s head, and in looking down the hall he spotted another Walker. She sat with her back against a desecrated door like a human bulwark; legs sticking straight out before her, and her hands stretched out to Daryl with the wisps of her remaining hair jerking as she clacked her teeth at him. Her legs were shredded with only sinews of tendons and flesh holding them to the rest of her body, yet she seemed as though she were making to get up several times despite it. Some emotion stirred deep within him, something full of sorrow and sentiment, but he denied himself the fact and shot her in the head impulsively. She dropped limp and Daryl checked the room next to him so he didn’t have to look at her for a minute. When his source of doors turned to a drought, he had to eventually check the last remaining room which was still being valiantly guarded by the corpse he’d left there. He pushed open the door, feeling the sting of guilt when the Walker’s head fell back to hit the carpet with a thump, and was met unexpectedly with a spritely pink child’s room filled to the brim with anything a baby girl could need. To Daryl’s regret the smell of death only rose stronger here as if it’d been festering uninterrupted for some time. To the right sat a quiet little crib that sent a stone of dread sinking deep within his stomach. He could already see through the bars the blackness spilling over pink blankets, and, after only inching up a bit further and peering into the crib to see a mound of unrecognizable rot, he shot out of the room and staggered downstairs to the front door. He kept his nose buried in his forearm until the shock of cold wind affirmed his security, then took a long breath of air.  

He couldn’t think about it– he wouldn’t. He felt tears smart in his eyes despite and due to his self-abnegation and images from the past intruded his mind. He saw the Mother with her back against the door, guarding her baby with her life, kicking and pushing the Walker away as it crowded her against the wall. He could hear the shrill wails of the infant as it cried for its mother. In an act of maleficence, his mind bore an image of Judith, her small red face twisted in discomfort and fear as she died slowly and alone in her crib. Daryl dropped into a crouch on the ground, and while holding the back of his hand to his lips he felt waves of tears drip down his face. His eyes screwed up and his breath threatened to choke and stuttered. Emotions and thoughts flew with such frenzy in his mind he was struck into a state of torpidity and all he could do was let himself shake and cry. Despite how destroyed he felt, he got up eventually. He went back inside and after only a few minutes of self-preparation retrieved stacks of diapers from the cupboards along with powdered baby formula from the baby’s room. He paused at the doorway after, but went back to gather soft pink sheets from the closet to drape over the infant and mother, as well as the remaining dead downstairs. As he opened the front door to leave, the bitter, cold air nipped at his warmed cheeks and it became apparent that night had already fallen. Daryl refused to sleep in that house, so he went back to the first and lay with his eyes staring unblinkingly into the ceiling for the better part of 5 hours. 

As soon as the sky began to wake with its morning hue Daryl was up and gone, and before the sun could make it more than a quarter way up from the skyline he could see the tan statues of the plaza morphing into view. He fell still for a moment, as when he got closer he could see movement at the front door. Not being able to tell what was going on, he came closer only to see Carl bending down with an outstretched hand to some white and black-spotted shorthair mutt who lapped up whatever was there with frantic licks and a flying tail. Not wanting to interrupt, he stood awkwardly a ways away, still unnoticed by both the dog and Carl. It wasn’t until a minute later that Carl looked up and upon recognizing Daryl he smiled. 

“She’s friendly! Come here!” Caryl beckoned.

. The dog, startled by Carl’s call, looked around frantically, and after noticing Daryl she bayed in fright and shot off into the woods. 

Carl’s face fell into a ruin, “I should have known..” he began to mutter, but Daryl walked up and clapped a hand gently on his shoulder, saying, “We’ll leave some food out for ‘er. She’ll come back, no doubt she’s hungry.” 

Carl seemed to be placated by this, but still glanced anxiously at the tree line as they headed inside the Antique Shop. They easily fell into work organizing the newfound loot, changing Judith’s diaper as well as feeding her, and preparing a plate of broken up slim-jims and a bowl of water for the porch. 

“Everything alright while I was gone?” Asked Daryl as he inspected and redressed Rick’s bandages. 

“Yeah, not much happened. Well, other than Moo,” Carl replied, equally as preoccupied with clearing shelves for them to store food on.

 “Who?” Daryl asked, turning to Carl, who just laughed and said, “The dog, dumbass.” 

“That’s stupid,” Daryl replied, but he kept his face towards Rick to hide his smile.

“Whatever– it’s cute, she looks like a cow, and she liked it, so…” Carl trailed off, as though some melancholic spell was fixing to overcome him at the mention of the dog; but he righted himself quick, and abandoned his task to tickle and baby talk to little Judith who had been watching him with excited, flailing arms as he worked, and now shrieking with delight at the attention. 

Daryl clicked his tongue as he gazed at Rick’s slack face, watching his pulse jump beneath the skin of his neck and letting his fingers linger on a patch of lukewarm skin adjacent to a fresh bandage. “Moo it is then,” he declared, pushing himself up to stand. He went over to take on Carl's forgotten work and a lull of soft silence fell over the room, blanketing the soft murmurs of Carl and Judith and the twinkling clink of glass and tin. About an hour passed before there was a scrabbling and scratching of claws sounding on the porch and Carl jerked his head up. 

“That’s Moo!” He said, with a newfound enthusiasm. 

Daryl went quickly to gather up Judith in his arms and let Carl do his thing. “Be careful, man. She may be friendly now, but you still don’t know her,” Daryl called to him.

“Got it,” Carl said heedlessly as he raced for the door, being mindful of opening it slowly so as to not frighten the poor thing again. Daryl stepped a bit closer to peek through the door to see a big, square head leaning forward to sniff and lick at Carl's knuckles which had been offered to her. 

“Hi, girl!” Carl said excitedly, which jacked Moo up and had her wiggling like a poked worm. She bared her teeth in non-threatening excitement and bowed her head submissively. She didn’t have a collar, but Daryl would put rations on it that she’d been a family dog before. Probably ran off or was left behind in the chaos of things when it first started. Carl rubbed the side of her chunky, square head and Moo tilted to meet the affection. 

Looking back, Carl said conclusively, “We’re keeping her.”

Daryl moved out of sight of the doorway in order to not send Moo running, and said, “Let’s see how she does with Judith, and if she can learn to stand me long enough not to run.” Daryl held the aforementioned baby firm to his chest, now feeling more anxious than ever at the prospect of harm befalling Judith or Carl on his watch. He looked over to Rick on the couch and felt himself in the depths of a quandary, but after looking over to the door again it seemed the choice was made for him as Carl had to block Moo from barging inside. It seemed she’d noticed Daryl in his musings and, upon deciding to forfeit her past prejudice, she had taken on a spirit of frantic zeal and fought against Carl to get into the room, her body bending to and fro with her wild excitement. 

“Oh, Lord… Come in and get Judith. We can’t have the dog inside yet. I’ll go out there and say hi.”

Carl pushed Moo out and closed the door, hurrying over to carry Judith, after which Daryl carefully went outside. Moo had backed off, no longer on the porch but on the ground just before the two-step. She seemed apprehensive now despite herself, as her tail still wagged lightly but her body was stiff and apprehensive. Daryl stood awkwardly staring at her for a minute, unsure on how to go about this, before deciding to just let Moo come to him and went down to sit cross-legged on the weathered planks. This seemed to soothe her a touch, as her ears perked a bit and her tail relaxed to that of a friendly wag. Daryl looked to see a piece or two of a slim-jim left in her bowl, so he gathered it up and rolled the pieces in his fingers before offering them to her with an outstretched hand. Moo leaned forward eagerly, coming up one step and then sniffing his hand with passion, before hurriedly forgetting herself and lapping up the remaining bits of meat as well as taking the liberty of frantically cleaning off Daryl’s hand and then his face. 

“Oh–! Jesus!” Daryl grunted as Moo jumped up the last stair and planted her forepaws on his shoulders, letting loose a slobbery fury on his face. He could hear Carl laughing at him from inside. 

It was clear the poor thing just wanted to have a family again, to be loved, and Daryl could understand that. He and Carl spend the rest of the day checking Moo for ticks and fleas, rinsing her down with bottled water and some elbow grease, and letting Judith watch her from the display glass as well as letting Moo get familiar with Judy’s scent from her blanket. All this to have her in by dusk, as Carl would not have Moo out another night on her own, and they did. When she first came in, Daryl held Judith in his arms and he and Carl watched Moo sniff nearly every inch of the room, stopping periodically to huff and puff at strange smells. Both had clearly forgotten about the idea of introducing Rick to Moo, and cold dread washed them both as Moo made her way to Rick’s couch, sniffing his face then his bandages. She didn’t pay him any particular mind, though, and continued her inspection as if he had been another smelly object in the room. By the time night had fully fallen Judith was fast asleep and so was Carl, who was laying face-up on his couch with Moo curled up between his legs at the end. Rick, too, was asleep, if you could even call it that. The room seemed to have settled with something warm and familiar that nearly relieved him of the sickly unease that his previous scavenging trip had imprinted on him. He lay a protective hand on the rim of the wicker basket they had fashioned as a crib for Judith, peering at her resting face and, after carefully pulling her closer, settled in his bedding. There was a single moment where he lay on his back; wide awake and lost in the fray of darkness, stuck in a stand still with the weight of everything he’s ever felt. Looking over an existential cliff and into the distant crashing waves, braving the torrent as it flies towards him with the fury of wild winds and pelting rain. The rush is deafening, overwhelming, then it’s nothing; and Daryl falls asleep to silence. 

  ❦

The next morning brought with it the promise of a productive and equally laborious day. Daryl was up before the sun and nearly out before it too, eager to get shit goin’ and find some breakfast. It was about that time of the year where the morning dew began to frost silver and the air echoed your breath; the world fell just a bit quieter and time seemed to slow down in its annual repose. The chill was crisp and undeniable, but the game didn’t seem to mind, and that’s all that mattered to Daryl. He caught a white-tail that morning, field dressed it quick, and lugged his prize back home. It was skinned, butchered, and cooked by the next hour and thereby scarfed down through means of three hungry mouths. Judith had a feast of her own and drank her generous fill of powdered water, which was gone nearly as quick as it was served. They all sat around Rick’s couch when finished; with Carl leaning his shoulder against the edge closest to his dad’s head,  Judith in his lap grappling at the fingers on Rick’s dangling hand, and Daryl half-sitting on a measly patch of unoccupied cushion with a hand pressed gently to Rick’s chest, feeling his heart, all with the ambient notes from Moo’s thorough bone-gnawing. The changes had been slow, almost imperceptible in their progression, but improvements had been blooming and were now noticeable. Rick’s breathing, which had been stuttered and disturbed at first, was now smooth and deep, and his skin no longer roasted nor chilled, but remained at a relative temperature that felt like one a human body ought to have. A small but exhilarating win that Daryl couldn’t deny himself, and the fact that he did have hope, and really believed Rick would pull through was something he could now comfortably settle with. He couldn’t say the same for Carl, who on the other hand had his face pinned with tension anytime he got a moment too long with his dad. Daryl could see it plain as ever; the quick descent into a personal Hell as every next thought brought with it nothing but another collar and chain. Daryl could only lend so much reassurance and suffer through so much lamenting before he himself felt sluggishly depressed and was forced into the role of optimism— which did not often become of him. 

But Moo truly seemed to have swept in to relieve him of the burden, as upon her arrival to the fold Carl was strictly devoted to her and Judith. It seemed a dog had filled in the final crevices of Carl’s fragmented mind and allowed him an outlet, or a distraction; though either are acceptable, as Daryl was not emotionally equipped to bear the weight of his preliminary grief. But now, Carl was much too preoccupied seeing to the every need of his girls with the reverence of a boy desperate for something to hold on to. It was funny how back at the prison Carl hated doing women's work, but now he really threw himself to it like water on a fire. He was truly glad Carl had something to keep him sane; and it appeared Daryl had found his own refuge too, as keeping people fed and supplies stocked wasn’t simple work. He set out again midday to pick up some things for Moo in the Neighborhood; not sparing even one glance at that house as he came. A bag of acceptable dog food, some flea and tick shampoo, stuffed toys (along with some for Judith), and two soft fleece blankets of deep blue were taken. He’d found a true dog bed at one point, but it had been so thoroughly layered in hardened blood that Daryl didn’t believe any sort of washing would be able to remove the imprint of Death from it. He felt the call of proactivity after he’d gathered all he knew he could physically carry back, and decided to try and fix up one of these places for them to move to, when the time was right. There wasn’t any way in the hottest Hell they’d all be staying in the Antique Shop  longterm, especially with Rick’s healing; he needed to be somewhere not so stuffy and dungeon-like. There was one house near the back end of the neighborhood, standing proudly in its ruinous glory, that Daryl had been scouting since he found the area. All of its downstairs windows had been smashed in from the outside, with not many stains besides some telling streaks and smatters here or there, and inside cupboards and in hidden corners were stray salvageable– though it wasn’t exactly what he was here for, but he counted it as a good omen nonetheless. All beds in the house were clean and it seemed mostly untouched and forgotten besides some occasional looters.

He filled the rest of his day fixing up the place; he got some boards laid out for whenever they were ready to block up the windows, he took care discretely storing any goods he found in the house under loose floor boards or buried beneath the depths of musty closets, and wiped clean any surfaces encrusted with gory reminders. It looked well enough by the time he was done, and he almost thought to begin on some fortifications, but there was no telling how long till they’d be here to settle, and anyone could stumble upon the house any time and see for sure people were trying to get something going there. Daryl has understood now more than ever that those who are currently alive are the strong, but not strong like Rick or anyone from their group; they’re strong like the Governor or Shane. Their intentions seem harmless, even good, at first; but the cracks always show and they become people capable of anything if it means surviving– even pillaging another family to feed their own. And sometimes it wouldn’t even be for that or the benefit of anyone else; it becomes only a means to fulfilling their desire of power and domination. Daryl couldn’t stand it, and the thought of someone stripping him of his home and people again got him hot in the face with rage. He’d never really had a place he wanted to be, or was wanted in return, ever in his life; and now that he’d been allowed a taste of that warm and tender life he’d always known he wanted it was now unbearable to leave it. He thought all of his trials of isolation and abandonment would have prepared him to shoulder the loss, but it seemed to have only left him weak and desperately disconsolate. 

It didn’t matter, though, as he still had a broken shard of his family left, and he’d do anything he could to prolong their presence, even if he knew he may never be secure enough to admit his tender fidelity to any of them. Daryl slept that night in the freshened house with his heart jumping and his mind roiling with tortuous thoughts of nothing helpful or soothing. He was thoroughly annoyed with it, but did fall  into sudden, exhausted sleep after a few hours of quiet steaming. The next morning he was uncharacteristically sluggish and dawdled anxiously, as if preparing for some sort of horror when he got back. He double, triple checked the house, gathered his lot, and headed off with a pounding head and a sore heart.

After two and a half hours worth of dismal traveling, the oblong obscurities of the plaza came to view; yet this time there was no spectacle there to surprise him at the front door, which oddly did not comfort Daryl at all. He sped up, adjusting the stack of blankets he had draped over his shoulder; but before he could make it to the porch Carl burst through the door. Daryl nearly sent himself into a state at the scare it caused him, but after understanding there was not fear or blood on Carl’s face, but something intense, alert, and excited, Daryl knew almost instantly what words were about to come from Carl’s mouth.

“He’s awake.”

Chapter Text

The realm between the waking world and the one that lay far beyond what we could surely comprehend was a sliver of time wedged quietly between the two. A waiting room, perhaps, for those in line to meet either mercy or a cold guiding hand. Rick found himself there for five long days, pacing the tile floors of his mind in perpetual rumination and listening intently to the way his heart beat in time with the click of his heel as though if he stopped the pulse would too. But not even his existence could be extinguished under the fanning fuel of his sheer will, and soon enough the door to his stoic brig began to sprout hands from its cracks and arms that scraped the walls till there came a fleet of teeth and hands to drag him away with nothing to do but watch as the doorway became but a small rectangle of white, and then nothing within the black.

 The waking world could almost be seen as a demotion from the dismal paracosm, as there he at least felt no pain in the dark. Now, as he was slowly delivered into reality, it encroached from all sides until it was everywhere all at once with no relenting. It was not the same pain he had felt after the battle at the prison, Rick noticed with relief, as this was more of a deep ache from the effort of the body successfully mending itself rather than an immediate suffocation that presaged probable death. He lay awake for quite some time with his eyes closed and his body still under weight of weakness. In his idle stupor he heard all sorts of unexpected sounds and he could hardly picture where all this time had landed him. First, to his heart-wrenching delight, he heard Judith coo, he then heard Carl mumble and move around in response followed by the low purr of Daryl’s voice and some sort of aggressive snuffling. It was fair to say he was thoroughly disoriented and had absolutely no idea what was going on.

He lay there for a few minutes more, allowing himself the time to regain his bearings, before a stab of  hunger sliced  into him with little mercy and constricted his stomach painfully. He went to roll on his front to push himself up, but hadn’t bothered to open his eyes yet to see that he was lying on a couch, so he just fell painfully to the floor with an alarming thud and groan.

“Dad?!” Yelled Carl, his voice pitched in alarm.

Rick tried to call out, but found his throat and mouth to be so dry that his attempt ended in him coughing faster than he could replenish his breath. He heard rapid footsteps approach and felt a warm hand on his back followed by the feeling of something hard and cold pressing against his lips.

“Drink it!” Carl urged, and once Rick realized what was happening he drank so fast he nearly sent himself into another fit. 

“Carl,” Rick said softly when he had finally finished. He took a look at his son and, despite the traces of concern and alarm that had taken shape, immediately was soothed by the sight of healthy, full cheeks and somewhat bag-less eyes. Rick pulled him forward with a hand on the back of his neck and Carl fell to him, wrapping his arms around his dad and sending his hat tumbling softly to the ground in a way that revealed his surviving boyish tenderness. Their reunion was soon ambushed by a curious snout attempting to wedge itself into the hug. Rick pulled back in alarm, silently noticing the glimmering streaks that now trailed down Carl’s face, and stared at the black-and-white dog that was now looking up expectantly at Rick. Against his better judgement, the dog's soft, blithe expression triggered his instinct to pet; for this weakness the dog was eternally grateful.  

“Who’s this?” asked Rick as he watched the dog bask in the steady tempo of his effleurage. 

“Moo,” Carl replied, looking exceptionally devious as he said it.

Rick felt a smile tug at his lips and shook his head. There was a soft cooing coming from their right and Rick attempted to shoot up from his spot to see Judith, but his body forbade him, and he was then reminded of the fact that he had literally just woken up from a coma not even 30 minutes ago. Carl was furious, and ushered him back to his couch with a hard look that would have earned him one in return if he hadn’t been in the right. Rick sat up on the couch and held his arms out for Judith, whom Carl had rushed to retrieve for him after getting Rick settled. Seeing her felt different from seeing Carl; he knew Carl was more than capable of taking care of himself should anything happen, but Judith was only an infant, and not even an apocalypse could turn an infant to a warrior. Her chubby, cylindric fingers reached for him from the depths of her pink fleece cocoon, and Rick felt his heart’s stony fortifications crack and bleed with relief. He held her warmly to his chest and kissed her wispy head with a tenderness that he had thought he’d lost in himself. His eyes ached with tears and he looked to Carl who was watching them silently, his face looking like a guarded reservoir that held the world’s weight in emotion. Rick held his free hand out wordlessly to his son and the dam that seemed to separate them then shattered and washed away. Carl clambered into his lap carefully like the small child he had once been, and still was in some ways, with his body curled into Rick’s and his chin resting on his shoulder like how he used to be when Rick would read to him before bed as a toddler. In that moment it felt as though Rick’s soul, once shredded and in tatters, had now begun to sew itself together again; like this very moment and every aspect of it had saved Rick from losing his sensitive humanity. 

After a few moments more of the embrace the moment scattered like dust from a puffed up pillow and Carl began to debrief his dad on what had happened while he was unconscious. He told Rick about the Prison and the state they had left it in, the Quick-Mart Walker (he’d rather it come from him than Daryl), the neighborhood Daryl had found, and, of course, Moo. 

“You guys certainly kept yourselves busy. Did you plan to stay here when I woke up? Or head somewhere else?” Rick looked around the cramped store and his nose itched from the musty smell of mold.

“I’m pretty sure Daryl wants to take us to the place he found, but I’m not sure. I think it’d be better, though; we’d have actual beds to sleep in,” replied Carl.

Rick felt a tingling sense of pride and gratitude for Daryl flutter up inside him at hearing how readily he seemed to have taken the reins of keeping Rick’s family, and he himself, safe and alive. During their most fortunate year at the Prison he had finally started to get a sense of who Daryl truly was under his roughness– which was ultimately much softer and more sensitive than he would have ever thought. His conversational stills were still laconic at best and more often than not people annoyed the shit out of him; but he put up with them surprisingly well and made it work in his own moody, grouchy sort of way. He’ll never forget, either, the lengths Daryl went to to find Sophia; how many days and nights he spent devoted to tracking her, and how distraught and volatile he became when she ended up being dead all along. He could see what he was doing wasn't just for himself or even for Carol, but for Sophia. Daryl truly cared about finding her alive and well, even if he never knew what it was like to have or lose a child. He realized now that Shane's iniquity when it came to finding her should have been a red flag to him. 

“Daryl take good care of you guys?” asked Rick. He already knew what the answer would be, but he wanted to hear it from Carl himself.

Carl had a small smile on his face when he said, “Yeah, he did.”

Rick absentmindedly petted the snout that had begun to dig itself underneath his idle hand on the couch cushion, “Good. I’d have to have a real talk with him if he didn’t.” He was only half-joking. 

“Ha! What, are you gonna ground him?” Carl laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll put him in that corner right there,” Rick said, motioning towards a corner in the room.

Carl’s grin was bright and genuine and Rick felt he had grown up so painfully fast.

“I’d pay to see you try and put Daryl in time-out; he’d laugh right in your face.”

It was Rick’s turn to laugh now at the silly image that brought, “He probably would. Then he’d put me in the corner.”

They continued talking about all things past, present, and future until they heard Moo crying and scratching at the front door. Carl got up to take her out, but upon looking out the glass doors he glanced back at his dad, throwing a quick, “Be right back!”, at him before disappearing outside. Moments later Daryl came through the door with Carl in tow, and there was this still moment when their eyes met where Rick had no idea what to say or do. It felt like there was nothing that could be done to express the gratitude Daryl was owed. But there was also this barrier between them still, one that, in this case, could only be deconstructed with time and careful effort. But this moment was brief and Daryl huffed in what sounded to be disbelief, saying, “Not even the Reaper could take Rick Grimes, huh?”

“You’re damn right he couldn’t,” Rick replied, and for once in what seemed like ages every face in the room was smiling. 

  ❦

Rick melted into routine as easily as they all expected, though at this point quick adaptation was an immediate requirement for staying alive–which was something that Rick felt he was getting pretty good at. It took him another three days of caution and care before Rick was back in business. He spent his time doing fuck-all; just small stretches and haunting the store with his boredom. In the meantime Daryl had brought him back clothes from the Neighborhood; some dark straight-leg jeans, tan lace-up boots, a plain white undershirt, and a choice dark brown leather jacket with tan fur at its flat collars. While standing on fresh, sore legs he dressed himself in privacy after everyone including Judith went outside with Moo, and took a moment to not only assess his outfit, but himself as a whole in the reflection of an ancient, oblong mirror in the depths of the store. He didn’t look nearly as fucked up as he thought, for which he was thankful. His eyebrow, cheek, and lip still had angry red gashes from where the skin had busted open, but other small marks had faded. His face seemed gaunt and his eyes were wide and dull, but he knew that with time it would be sorted. A secret weight seemed to have lifted– all of his wounds were mendable.

The air was surprisingly crisp when Rick stepped outside, not at all like the unwavering heat of artillery and fire he had left off with. He closed his eyes, letting the warm sun wash him clean and the birds sing to him in their sweet way before another sharp tune stuck itself out of the choir. Rick looked over to see Daryl wolf-whistling at him and Carl behind his back holding Judith and grinning wildly.

“Well look at you all gussied up, Sheriff,” Daryl teased.

“Thank my designer,” Rick replied, nodding at Daryl and tugging at his jacket lapels. 

“Jesus…” Carl muttered as he shielded Judith’s eyes, which made Rick feel old.

Daryl only shrugged, as though his aptitude for fashion and Rick’s for foolishness were obviously natural.

They had big plans today; Rick had sworn that morning he was ready to make the trip to the Neighborhood, and after some persistence Daryl relented in letting him come and not leaving him knocked out cold in the store, “For your own damn good,”, as he’d put it. Daryl was itching to get the hell out of the antique store and Rick was inclined to share the sentiment despite his short conscious stay there; so they planned to head to the Neighborhood that day and fully secure their new spot. Carl had reluctantly agreed to stay; and though he tried to insist that he went and not Daryl, Rick denied him. He needed to talk to Daryl alone. So much had happened in such a short span of time, he needed to wrap his head around the ever-changing reality around him. 

“Stay here, Carl, do not leave unless you absolutely have to. If someone comes you make sure you’re ready and-”

Daryl nudged Rick softly with his elbow, “Kid’s gonna be fine Rick, he’s been alone here before. He knows what to do.”

Rick whirled to face Daryl, “You’ve left him here? Alone?” He felt himself break out into a nervous sweat just thinking about Judith and Carl being left here by themselves.

Daryl only looked confused, a bit frustrated, even, as he said, “I had no choice. How else you think we were supposed to get food,  huh? Someone had to hunt for it, and find water when our packs ran out. If  I took ‘em both with me when I went  it’d just get us all killed.”

Rick rubbed an anxious hand over his mouth as he processed.

“Rick,” started Daryl, looking at him, “He ain’t  a baby like Judith. Not anymore. He’s gotta learn how to get on on his own. He needs to know how to fight, how to shoot and hunt and all that– how to be by ‘imself. ‘Cause there might be a day when we ain’t here for ‘em, and he’s gotta be ready for that.”

The tendons in Rick’s jaw rose and fell like a beating heart as he kept clenching his teeth,  but eventually the tension seeped out of him as he realized Daryl was right. He didn’t like it, he didn’t want Carl to grow up yet despite the fact that he already had, but he knew that the longer he sheltered him the more likely it was that Carl would end up dead.

“Alright,” Rick said softly, looking down to Carl, then glancing to Daryl, “I trust you.”

Rick leaned forward and tapped a fatherly finger on Carl’s shoulder, “We’ll talk more about it when we get back, okay?”

It was hard to tell what his kid was thinking, it seemed that was the case more often than not these days, but Rick knew when Carl pissed at him, and this wasn’t that. He looked guarded, like he was carefully choosing his expression.

“Okay,” His voice gave little away.

Rick nodded to him, then looked to Daryl who nodded back and began turning around and slowly making his way towards the main road. Rick took a minute to stoop down and kiss Judith’s head, then lay a hand on Carl’s shoulder, “I love you, Carl,” he said.

His son didn’t smile, but his face softened and he said, “Love you too, Dad.”

Rick watched him go back into the store, waving as Carl turned his back to walk further inside, before jogging up to meet Daryl who hadn’t gone far. The first few minutes were silent save for the cheer of rustling tree-leaves roaring around them, and Rick was content with that. He needed a moment to ground himself after that; but no matter how hard he tried it felt like everything was so far away and unreal, like in a moment it could all disappear like a dream. He felt alarmingly out of touch with himself.

“Is anyone else alive? Did you see if the bus made it out?” Rick asked, suddenly needing something to keep him occupied from his thoughts.

He watched the shades of Daryl’s face flicker and fall before he said, “Didn’t see nobody, but the bus was gone. Just gotta hope they made their way somewhere safe.”

A silence stretched out before them as Rick mulled over this information, staring out into the infinite road ahead.  The bus had been prepositioned in a spot that led straight into a one-way road, so they had a better chance of finding it and its passengers should they go back and look.

“Once I’m healed up we can go back lookin’ for ‘em.”

“Yeah, maybe. Who knows how far they’ve already gone, though.”

Rick felt a familiar bundle of anxiety begin to simmer and swell in his stomach, and was almost overcome yet again with the magnitude of all he’d  lost in just a day. He wanted so badly to find them; knowing that they were their own leaders at the end of the day but still feeling at heart that they are his people and that, when all is said and done, he is responsible for their lives, whether they’re presently with him or not. 

“We should try.” Rick pressed, trying to untangle the web of apprehension that Daryl seemed to be wound up in. 

More silence. Rick watched Daryl chew intensely on his lip before jerking his head in a nod, “Alright.”

There was an opportunity unfolding here; one where Rick could press, inquire further about Daryl’s disposition, or let the moment pass and forfeit a chance at understanding him. It was difficult, getting through the absent, mysterious air that seemed to shroud him constantly. Rick felt if he tried to pry even a little bit that all of their miniscule progress would be lost and Daryl would retreat into himself fully once more. Either that, or worse; leave. But before Rick could doubt himself further, the words tumbled from his mouth, like they had been pushed forcefully out by his tongue.

“You have doubts,” He said it as a statement, because at least one of them had to be sure about something. 

Daryl looked like he immediately wanted to run from the interaction, but didn’t. Instead he took in a long drag of air before saying, “I’m just tired of watchin’ people die.”

“I know. Me too,” Rick consoled, and he too drew a long breath, expelling after the sight of Maggie standing at the gated stairs with something red and squirming and Carl with his head down and gun still gripped in his small hand. 

“But we have to try,” Rick added, because it was true. They could be alive, and just because they feared the worst didn’t mean they could just avoid the situation. They were afraid everyday of what life had become and what now lay within it, but they didn’t stop living, they got stronger. And even if their people were dead he at least wanted to see it for himself; maybe bury them if he had the chance. He couldn’t just not know.

Daryl didn’t say anything for a while, and Rick had resigned to the fact that he’d lost him, until he spoke up a minute later saying, “I know. We’ll look for ‘em once you’re all fixed up.” He sniffed the air around Rick, “And had a shower too. You fuckin’ stink.”

Rick felt a gush of breathy laughter puff out of him in relief of the broken tension, only mildly offended by the comment. He shoved Daryl, “Jackass,” he muttered, but he was smiling, and if he looked hard enough he could see the edges of Daryl’s lips tremor in a suppressed way. 

“Carl says you wanna move us up here,” Rick starts, nodding up the road towards the Neighborhood. 

Daryl looks out there too, eyes squinting in the sunlight, “Ain’t no way we could stay in that musty ass shop forever, and we got a full house now. Need more room than that tiny ‘ole thing. I’ve already got it ready so we don’t gotta worry about much.” 

There was a cathartic relief that flushed through Rick, “Thank you.”

Daryl, humble as always, only shrugged.

“No, seriously, thank you for everything you’ve done– especially while I was out. You kept my family safe, sheltered, and fed; I can never repay you for that.”

Their walking had slowed down now, and Rick could truly see the narrow eyes peering at him through their canopying fringe, “Don’t need to repay me shit. I did what I needed to. Ain’t just gonna leave two kids and their vegetable dad to fend for ‘emselves.”

Rick grinned despite himself, but he replied earnestly, “Yeah, I know. Still, thank you. I won’t forget it.”

Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes on Rick’s.

The rest of their walk was filled with idle chatter until they veered off onto the backroad leading to the Neighborhood. Daryl led them to the house he’d picked, showing him all he’d worked to get prepared; the food stashes, boarding for the windows, the garage’s workbench, fresh clothes, sundry boot and pocket knives (as it seemed the previous homeowner had an obsession with them), and most promising of all, the well preserved solar panels that were atop the roof. Hope stirred but so did an ominous, black pit of all that could possibly go wrong. Houses like this were a luxury, and if another group passed they’d sure as hell fight over it. In fact, someone could have been watching Daryl all this time he’d been going back and forth, waiting for them all to be in one place. The Governor’s flat, desolate face watched Rick through his own reflection in the master bedroom mirror, and Rick searched his eyes and face but found pathetic nothing. Just two dead eyes staring into his. 

Clutching the half-empty tube of toothpaste, he snarled at the face in the mirror and uncapped it,  squeezing a dollop on his toothbrush and scrubbing his mouth rather aggressively. Daryl passed by the open doorway, stopping short at the sight and twisting up his face.

“Chill, man. Gonna scrub the damn teeth out your head.”

Rick held the brush still in his mouth and the pain from scrubbing his gums began to blossom in the pale pink softness. He shot a glare at Daryl before spitting a foamy glob of blood into the sink and listening to the systematic thumping of Daryl’s feet as he roamed around. Grimacing, Rick uncapped his water pouch and washed the red froth down the drain and out of sight. 

“Hey!” Daryl called from down the hall, “Ain’t got no runnin’ water, but there’s a lake outback if you wanna wash up.”

As if on queue, the gravity of his own filthiness became unbearable and he could feel the grime from days of inertia patching his skin like a disease. Suddenly a bath was the only thing he could think about.

“I’ll head down now,”  Rick called back, wiping his mouth on a stray towel. He stared again at his reflection again, making sure it was his face he had on, and no one elses’, before he headed out the bathroom and met Daryl at the bottom of the stairs

  ❦

A soft blanket of stratus stretched low in the sky now, with blooming grey bruising that held with them the promise of rain. The air had chilled significantly since they’d been inside and it had manifested as a wispy sheet of fog that now settled delicately over the surface of the lake’s water. Everything was shades of grey, green, and white. It felt like some sort of dream to him; like he had found himself tucked into a small alcove in the vast wilderness of time, unnoticed and unaccounted for, living in a vacuum that revolved around nothing but itself. He dipped his barren foot into the water and sucked in a breath as the cold knife flayed right into his skin and shot pins up his nerves. He adjusted, then walked forward into the water, not stopping till he was chest-deep. Rick closed his eyes and forced himself to experience the painful cold; like he could pin the feeling down and force it into submission just by perceiving it. The discomfort soon subsided, and Rick began to move around to warm himself up. 

Rick looked within himself and tried desperately to salvage some of  his earlier happiness, to scour even a morsel of relief, but those old friends had abandoned him, leaving him to grope into the limen for something that was no longer there for him. He tried, he really did, to be grateful; to be grateful his family is alive and safe, that he’s still here another day, but his mind refused. He saw the new world paradigm, and felt the compulsion to resign to it. No matter how safe you think you are, how strong you are, how much firepower you have, how many people you have– none of it matters. There will always be someone watching, waiting, just stalling for the right time to tear them all apart. For a sound reason or not, no one was safe, and even the thickest, tallest walls couldn’t guarantee a thing. So what was the point? What was the purpose of building everything up, establishing community, and trying to make something out of the ruin when, just as soon as you’ve settled and convinced yourself maybe this peace can be forever, someone will be right there waiting to take it from you when it hurts you most. All of these people he’s killed, all of his own people he’s lost and put into danger for the sake of protecting them– it felt like playing God. His clumsy fingers shifted and moved pawns frantically, but in the end people always died. People always suffered. Why would he try to start again when he knows he will just be setting the people he loves up for failure?

Rick felt his tears warm the cold skin of his cheeks and chin. It felt useless, all of it. Every second spent trying felt like another step towards the preordained fall, and, thinking of Judith and Carl, the waves of agony churned viciously as he came to realize the suffering they experienced was almost fully because of him. His emotions didn’t explode then and there was no stream of tears and uncontainable physical agitation, but they fell flat and came weakly like a whimper and his body only felt heavy and old like a machine as he stood still and let it consume him. 

Rick plunged his head under water and screamed into the cold darkness. Raging bubbles of his captured cries blasted like balls of flame from his mouth, only to rise and pop quietly and gently at the surface as if the chilled palms had transformed the captives and delivered them, transformed, to freedom at the surface. Rick flipped his head up, sending a smatter of water to chime atop the dullness of the lake. There was a rustle in the wind and then the rhythmic stamping of feet. Rick turned around and saw a Walker trudging to the bank. It gurgled, snapped its jaw, and trudged towards him. Rick watched it come, and felt reluctant to have his sanctuary disturbed, despite the fact it hardly felt like sanctuary at all. He rubbed the skin between his brows with a sigh and made to trudge onto the bank, eyes locked on his crumpled jeans that he knew had a pocket knife wrapped inside. 

A high squeak sounded in the air and suddenly the Walker was falling forward with a curious, bright green feather in its head. Daryl emerged like a predator from the treeline, his movements quiet but sure. 

“M’not lookin’,” Daryl muttered, bending down to unsheath the arrow from its burrow. 

Rick said nothing as his eyes tracked Daryl as he prowled across the edge of the bank. The arrow sat loosely in the cradle of Daryl’s fingers, and Rick watched it bob, entranced, like it were a pendulum. He saw Daryl rummage into the spacious pockets of his pants and retrieve a glass bottle, three-quarters full of dark brown liquor, and shake it around in the air.

“For later,” He called over his shoulder, smoothly tucking the prize away after.

“Thanks,” Rick heard himself call, but it was merely instinctual. 

He watched Daryl walk up to the back door all the way up until he disappeared behind it. He still stared after that. He looked down at the skin of his arms and chest that were still patched in dirt, and splashed up the bank to grab a bar of soap he’d brought. He cleans himself with single-minded focus and swipes the bar over his skin in a systematic manner. He rinses himself and wades back to the bank where he grabs a towel and dries himself. He looks up at the second and first story windows of the house and sees no one. 

He forces his clothes back on his stubborn wet skin and only after he’s slipped into his shoes does he wonder how long Daryl had been watching him. 

And it takes him until he’s got his hand around the backdoor-knob to realize that he liked it.

❦

Truth is, he hadn’t been watching long. He had wandered into the woods as Rick did his thing with the intention of keeping Walkers away. He knew Rick needed his time to sort shit out and to catch up on the present in peace. He noticed that there were less of them in the cold. They moved slower, too, and were dumber. Sometimes, they’d just stand in place swaying, not rousing till you came right up at ‘em. He watched some of them for a minute, and when his eyes lost focus they seemed to waver in tandem with the grass and leaves. 

He hadn’t meant to look, but he did. After 10 minutes of silently pacifying Walkers and waiting, Rick made a loud splash in the lake. Daryl noticed a Walker that had heard and now started to make its way over. He lifted his bow, ready to shoot, but saw instead the angular lines of two rowing shoulder blades under pale skin. Rick had his hands in his hair, sliding his fingers through wet curls before turning to the sound of the Walker who had now broken the treeline. Daryl could see the firm line of Rick’s nose and the permanently stressed furrow of his brow. He could see the water drops clinging to his beard and mustache and the way they clung and trembled as Rick moved his head. Some sort of hunger had a hold of him then, and he just couldn’t help himself no matter how hot he began to feel and how that heat started to burn like shame. It didn’t confuse him either, the way he felt, he knew exactly what it was to its core; and that just made it worse. Daryl jerked the scope of his bow to the Walker and shot carelessly, miraculously hitting it straight on. He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face before going to grab his arrow.

“M’not lookin,” He muttered, dutifully keeping his eyes on his target and ripping it from the Walker’s skull with a wet crack. 

He still refused to look up even as the silence began to sound like Rick had seen him lurking in the woods. In an effort to be casual, Daryl pulled out the whisky bottle he had wanted to surprise Rick with and shook it in the air like a peace offering. 

“For later,” He’d said, and to his relief Rick called out a thank you as Daryl walked away. 

As he came to the backdoor he felt stupid for what he did. The words fell flat on the ground but sizzled out like an insinuation. Like he subconsciously threw Rick a bone. 

Why the hell would he do some shit like that?

 He knew why, he knew what he wanted; but he still didn’t understand. Why now? Why here? Why Rick? Daryl stepped through the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, only then realizing, by the bodily pounding of his heart, that he’d begun to panic. The dissonance between his actions and his fear shook him. It’s gonna be fine, Daryl told himself. He’d just give Rick the bottle and act like nothing happened. He’d leave it well enough alone and they’d forget about it. 

Daryl took a shot, feeling the burn wash down the back of his throat, savoring the feeling. On his way to the front door he snatched a battered pack of American Spirits from his bag and threw himself into one of the front porch’s chipped rocking chairs. He took another shot straight from the bottle, lit himself a cigarette, and waited.