amy

tw: implied teen pregnancy, non-graphic mentions of past SA, zero romantic miscommunication, self blame, mentioned wounds + eye socket, substance abuse, panic attacks, slight regression, violence, mentions of child death.

The next morning when Daryl wakes up all he can hear is the sound of you retching between pained whines, objects clattering as you move around as quietly as you can despite your sickness to prevent waking him.

He sits up with an apology on his tongue for upsetting you yesterday, he was just trying to protect you, but before he can say a single word you’re glaring at him with teary eyes and slamming the barn doors shut behind you.

Is it strange that all he could think when he saw your face was that it was too hot outside for the long sleeve shirt you were wearing? –That you could overheat, especially since he didn’t see a canteen of water anywhere on you? He was planning to wake up early and get you something special to make you feel better, but you let him oversleep just to avoid him.

Daryl sighs and holds his head in his hands.

He really hopes he didn’t just destroy what little vulnerability you’ve been offering him. He needs to know what happened to you for his own sanity. Not knowing just how badly you’d been hurt is killing him. He wants to help, but every time he’s tried it’s been a horrible misstep.

summary: seeing isaac between your thighs only happened in your dreams, it could never become a reality... right?

AU: where isaac came back from france and stayed for the rest of the series and everyone is going to the same college

pairings: isaac lahey x reader, isaac lahey x fem! reader

word count: 2.8K

warnings: MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', smut, oral fem!receiving, fingering, fluff, reader and isaac being lovesick idiots, implied p in v, characters are aged up to 18+ and in college, title is a lyric from fragile by laufey, kinda edited

a/n: RAHH i haven't written for isaac since july, so apologies if hes a little ooc but i miss him dearly so here's my first smut for him!! again minors please DNI please and thank you <3

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘢𝘤 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

summary: seeing isaac between your thighs only happened in your dreams, it could never become a reality... right?

AU: where isaac came back from france and stayed for the rest of the series and everyone is going to the same college

pairings: isaac lahey x reader, isaac lahey x fem! reader

word count: 2.8K

warnings: MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', smut, oral fem!receiving, fingering, fluff, reader and isaac being lovesick idiots, implied p in v, characters are aged up to 18+ and in college, title is a lyric from fragile by laufey, kinda edited

a/n: RAHH i haven't written for isaac since july, so apologies if hes a little ooc but i miss him dearly so here's my first smut for him!! again minors please DNI please and thank you <3

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘢𝘤 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The leaves part with the push of small red hands, one of the fingertips emerging from the darkness of the underbrush wrapped in a bandaid.

His dragon is hanging at his side, motionless aside from rhythmically bobbing back and forth as he walks, dead shiny black eyes watching him wander.

He’s humming something softly as he goes, gnawing on his chapped lower lip.

Some might take him for a fool, wandering through tangled vines on the outskirts without a weapon or a clue of how to get help when nobody knows where he is. –But most people don’t understand what it’s like to have to fade into the shadows hoping no one looks in your direction for too long.

Most people haven’t had to watch their mother get dragged across the kitchen floor by her hair or see their brother’s pupils blown wide, body shrunken and tense as the monster that lives in their home opens its snout and drips sweet poison into his ear.

Suddenly the dragon is flying through the air, shiny blue and green wings lifting with the wind.

It can see Sam from where it is, the boy’s arms raised above his head from launching it so that it gets tangled in the branches of the tree in front of him. The world spins for the toy, leaves falling as it finally lands on its side, Sam gripping the bark of the tree without bothering to pick the one that fell into his hair as he climbs.

The toy can do nothing but watch when Sam’s foot slips.

It doesn’t matter how badly Sam wants to believe his toys will protect him. They’re inanimate. They do not feel. They perceive. They judge.

The boy manages to catch himself and wraps an arm around a tree branch, reaching with the toe of his shoe to try and bear hug it for support.

His foot slips again and the bark slides off, falling to the ground with a soft rustle.

Sam, for whatever reason, decides he needs to climb higher.

He uses the knots in the tree as a path, surpassing the height of his dragon and continuing up the tall trunk until he’s gone up about five of himself and can see the roofs of the houses in Alexandria, sitting on a thick branch to watch the sun rise.

He kicks his legs out, looking down at the stuffed toy with his head cocked.

“Pete, the magic dragon,” His mother had called it.

He renamed it Lenny after watching his brother’s face get smashed into the TV set for the third time.

Sam leans back, letting his view shift and his hands slip from the bark holding his steady until he’s looking at the world from upside down, his locked legs resting above him the only thing keeping him from falling.

He sees you walking down the street with your hood pulled over your face, looking for something around the neighborhood.

If it’s Carl or Ron, you won’t find them. –They snuck out together hours ago with their run bags.

Sam stretches his hands out, reaching for an apple.

His leg slips forward, pants crying at the grind of wood.

Just a little further.

He reaches out again, scooting forward until his fingers touch the plump red fruit.

He pulls and it comes free.

You walk behind a house and crouch down, sobbing into your hands and hitting the back of your head against the wall.

Sam chews the flesh of the apple, turning his gaze towards the rest of the street.

Tara is running from Judith, the toddler bouncing as she tries her hardest to catch the woman before getting distracted by a green plastic cap on the ground and starts to play with it instead.

The woman puts her hands on her hips.

Sam drops the apple core, tossing it far off in the grass and watching it roll.

A rabbit hops out of the brush and sniffs at it, nose and whiskers twitching curiously.

This is his opportunity!

Sam tries to sit himself up as fast as he can, reaching for a thin branch above him.

It snaps.

---

tw: Merle (in all his Merle-ness), use of the F-slur, implied homophobia, codependency as a coping mechanism, body dysmorphia, implied teen pregnancy, mentions of gender dysmorphia, self-blame, SPOILER: coming out (Carl).

We've got our first shadow!

Daryl didn't realize how late it'd gotten while he was… away.

He can hear a chorus of crickets chirping and see all the stars twinkling in the sky, the way you only used to see them if you'd gone outside the city before. –Now you're right near a major highway and can see them clear as day. No more light pollution. The wonders of the world going to shit, eh?

He stumbles over his own feet, turning around and around while staring up at the bright lights fading in and out of his visions like lighthouses in fog, feet twisting around until he catches himself and stops moving all at once. He feels his stomach lurch as he remembers you, so small when he first found you, clutching your stuffed animals close to your chest while you slept.

Now all he can think of is you being hurt and confused, so scared to let him find out about the possibility of life growing inside of you that you denied yourself proper medical care.

What about when you were locked up? –What had pushed you so far that you committed the massacre you left behind when you both escaped? Did they all… Were they all a part of it? He hadn’t thought of that before… He’d just assumed it’d been once, but what if it wasn’t?

What if…

What if.

Daryl swallows back a string of curse words at the thoughts swarming him, eyes glossy.

He stops outside the barn, trying to quietly push the door open when he realizes that all the lights are still on.

He squints and pushes further, the brightness pouring out to assault his drunken senses.

“Bambi?” He calls, keeping his voice low in case you were just afraid to sleep in the dark. He knows he's having a tough time in the pitch black after being in that cell.

A few seconds pass before you peer over the railing at him from the loft wide awake, your blankets clutched in front of you oddly.

The longer he looks at you, the more of yourself you seem to try and hide with it.

He feels himself sober immediately, posture straightening as he shuts the door behind him. “Bea, what's the matter? –Where's Carol?”

You lower your head. “Away.”

She'd made dinner and some cookies at Maggie's house with your help, and then she'd brought you back here and left you to your own devices. You’re old enough to be left alone. It makes sense. You don’t blame her for what happened.

“Why are you still up?” He asks again, taking a step towards the ladder to make his way up to you, until you rapidly shake your head at him. You don’t want him to see. He stops, looking down at the blanket again. “Is somethin’ wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?”

You bite your lip and shake your head at him, stepping back slightly to obscure yourself from view.

“Show me,” Daryl pleas, voice soft and afraid. “Please just show me, I can't keep… I need to know that you're okay.”

You flush harder with shame, slowly lowering the blanket to show him the dark stain spread down your sweatpants.

It takes him a moment to realize what happened, especially since you've never, ever, in all the time that he's known you, had this particular problem.

“You wet the bed.” He says, more of a bewildered statement than an accusation. “What– Why did you wet the bed?”

You shrink, lower lip quivering with frustration as you avert your eyes.

“Alone,” You say on the verge of tears, nodding towards the deconstructed haybed, several sullied stacks pushed aside. “...Afraid.”

Right. This would have been your first night sleeping alone since you've been back. He didn't plan on this being the first time you got left alone, –he assumed Carol would watch you– but then again she did only say that she was taking you back and feeding you, not that she was babysitting. He got lucky that first night when Carl decided to stand guard over you.

The man sighs, running a hand from the base of the back of his neck to the crown of his head.

“Fuck. Just… come down here, leave the blankets…” He says, motioning for you to come to him. You hesitate, but he watches as you drop the blankets and guiltily approach him like a puppy waiting for a scolding, head and shoulders clamped up against your neck. He points to the door. “Get yourself cleaned up.”

You take a half step, then turn back to him with wet eyes, signing, Mad at me?

Daryl doesn't answer initially, instead closing the distance between you by giving you a long kiss on the forehead. “Mm-mm. I ain't mad at you.”

He should have been here.

“Go,” He urges. “And come back quick, alright? If you ain't back in… twenty minutes, I'm comin’ to look for you.”

You nod, sniffling sadly as you leave to clean yourself up.

In the meantime Daryl tosses the blankets into a pile with some dirty tarps that had already been in the barn when you were both directed to it, noting to himself that when the people on laundry duty come around he'll need to tell them to take them. Then he pushes the dirty haystacks aside like you'd been trying to do, and replaces them with fresh ones. Well, relatively fresh.

This entire situation is bizarre. He never imagined he'd one day have to deal with the things he has been before you both got captured.

The door opens and shuts, your guilty face peering up at him from the first floor while you wring your hands out.

“Yer’ just gonna have to sleep with me tonight,” Daryl decides after a moment, shaking his head. “I'm not lettin’ my– you sleep on bare hay like an animal. –That ain't right.”

At the mention of getting to sleep with him again, you instantly perk up and make a noise of appreciation, smiling weakly at him.

He clumsily comes down the ladder, still somewhat drunk despite coming to his senses when he realized you were having trouble, swearing all the way down when his feet slip on the rungs or he misses the first time he reaches with his hands. He flops down on his bed, patting his chest for you to come join him.

You jump onto the bed next to him, quickly crawling over and sinking into his shoulder, arm around his torso to pull him closer. He tosses his blanket over you and you press your face into his warm, clammy skin.

Then he feels you move, rubbing your eyes.

“You smell funny,” You whisper, laying your head back down and looking up at him like he hung those same stars he'd just been admiring on his way home.

“Maybe I did somethin’ funny,” He whispers back, fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he scratches your scalp to try and put you to sleep.

You shake your head, eyes drooping. “You looked sad.”

Daryl hates how intuitive you are. He likes being able to tell how you feel with a single look or with the tone of your voice, but when you do it back to him he worries that it's another sign he shouldn't have you. Kids aren't supposed to be responsible for how the adults in their life feel. He should be the one looking out for, and taking care of you.

“I was,” He admits slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “But now I'm okay, ‘cause I'm here with you.”

A smile spreads across your face, chubby cheeks getting fuller.

“I love you, D,” You say with one last sigh as your entire body goes slack.

He holds onto you a little tighter.

+

+

+

Daryl’s eyes open to a different ceiling. One made of scratched up, rusty metal and flat rounded screws, a piece of black duct tape in the corner next to the top of the window to prevent the rain from leaking in at night.

He sits up, frowning.

Daryl isn't sure how he got here, but he also isn't sure where else he would be. This is the last trailer he and Merle robbed and squatted in before… something happened. –He doesn't know what.

There's pictures of the older couple that actually owns the trailer, although their faces are obscured he remembers that they're a white couple, both with hair so grey and silver it’s almost gone white. The woman had these funky purple and orange designer glasses that looked like they could cut someone, and the man had pins on his lapel from different things he’d been involved with. Daryl remembers staring at that picture a lot with a heavy feeling in his stomach he now knows is guilt.

He tips the photograph face-down and walks around the trailer, looking for any reminders of what he's supposed to be doing.

He finds more sentimental items that mean nothing to him personally, like a clay pot their grandchild probably made and some memorabilia hung on the walls like trophies. –Anything worthwhile, he and Merle pawned during their first day here, including a silver plated urn.

A dog barks and he hears someone laugh outside, the sound sweet and innocent. He knows that laugh.

He shoves open the trailer door and squints as he's blinded by sunlight, eyes just barely adjusting in time to see a stray dog from the area munching on a hotdog that someone tossed down for him.

There's a picnic table to his left, two figures sitting at it with the sun and trees behind them, gentle breeze making the leaves rustle.

“You gotta work on that pokerface, baby,” Merle says raspily, tone teasing in nature. “They'll eat that cute little ass alive in a real game down at the casino.”

Again, that familiar laughter.

“What are ya’ even supposed to be, anyway? –Fag,” He taunts, laying down his winning hand.

The other person blows a raspberry at him and Merle shakes his head, muttering a few apologies.

“Alright, alright. You shuffle this time, baby doll.”

The kid hums and obliges, eagerly pulling the cards closer to themself and messily trying to shuffle the deck. –Daryl can see their face now, the sun abating to let him see their features between rays. They're bouncing excitedly in their seat, picking off small pieces of some kind of grilled meat to gnaw on. He knows they're important to him in some way, but he can't for the life of him recall how.

Daryl squints at those wide doe eyes and tries to remember.

“Well, look who it is,” Merle suddenly taunts, arms spanned out in a mocking gesture. “Sleepin’ beauty finally decided to join us.”

The kid snorts and taps the cards on the table to line them up evenly.

Daryl scoffs with annoyance, momentarily distracted from the other person. “You could'a woken me up.”

Merle blinks, blue eyes boring into his brother's.

“Mmm… Nah,” The man shrugs, smiling in a soft way that Merle hasn't seen since they were kids. “I was havin’ the time of my life over here, gettin’ to know this little shit and repeatedly kickin’ her ass. –She owes me big time, by the way. Any cigs she finds are mine.”

“Whatever.”

Daryl tries to turn and face her directly, but Merle man-handles him back to looking at him with a hand on the shoulder.

“Now, I like this kid, Daryl,” He says in a warning, pointing a finger at him threateningly. “I like her a whole lot. She's good company. Real sweet. –Trust me, I've been watchin’, and I've seen a whole lot ‘a sweeties less sweet than this one. Less cute too.”

The kid finishes shuffling and sets the deck on the table between them, letting Merle deal. Which is probably why he's been winning this whole time. He's never been good at poker.

He tries to shrug Merle off. “So?”

“So don't fuck it up,” Merle growls, slamming his free fist on the table. The kid looks up, startled, and he backtracks. “Sorry, baby doll. Tryin’a tell my idiot brother not to screw up the one good thing he's got.”

Daryl frowns, brow furrowed. “Me? –The hell you mean by that?”

“I mean, get off your sorry, lazy ass and take care of your kid, deadbeat,” Merle snaps again, picking up his hand of cards and lowering his voice to something disgustingly sweet. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? I ain't got a–” Except he does.

Merle side-eyes him knowingly. “You take good care ‘a her, now.”

+

+

+

Daryl’s eyes shoot open and he grasps anything he can reach, his heart settling when he realizes you're still peacefully asleep in his arms, safe and sound. No blatant theft or Merle probably corrupting you in sight.

The ceiling is as it always was, unsanded wooden beams stretching up into the air. He turns onto his side and drags you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You're safe. He's safe. This is Hilltop. This isn't a cage. This isn't a closet. Or a trailer. This is Hilltop.

He lifts the corner of his shirt and drags his hand across a freshly healed wound spanning from his hip to his stomach, the raised skin pink and silvery.

This is Hilltop. He lived.

“Mmh,” You groan from beside him, face scrunched up from the confusion of being smothered against him. “Whyyyyy?”

“‘M sorry,” He mutters, sitting up slowly and taking you with him. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

You stretch out your limbs and drag yourself out of his lap, standing up to sign at him at the same time as you speak. “Hungry, Daryl. Can we go?”

The action drags a smile out of him. He's missed your voice. As quiet as it was before, he liked how loud you'd get when it was only him around. Slowly, you're getting more of yourself back and stringing together longer and longer sentences. Healing.

“Yeah, we can go,” He agrees, cracking his knuckles and trailing after you when the news has you bouncing on one foot as you tug on your boots and yank the door open. “Bambi, don't run off.”

You ignore his warning and keep sprinting far ahead of him, stopping every now and again until he catches up only to flee the next second before he can get close enough to grab you. Eventually his frustration ebbs and makes way for reluctant enjoyment of the game you're playing.

The next time you stop he sprints, nearly grabbing you until you realize what's happening and take off again, squealing.

You're swift, faster than him usually, but today you're not fast enough. He catches you from behind and bear hugs you, securing your arms to your sides as he picks you up and makes vaguely monstrous noises, pressing his face to your neck. You squeal louder, giggling and kicking your legs to try and get free until he lowers you and ruffles your hair, grinning.

That's much better.

You cough between pants, taking your place at Daryl’s side as you try to catch your breath. You've barely run at all, not nearly as much as you have to in the wilderness or in a fight, but you're winded.

It must be because you're still recovering. The first days you were back, you were probably running on adrenaline and now that you've gotten some restless sleep, it's catching up to you.

Still, it was worth it to make Daryl smile.

You haven't seen him really happy since he found the test, and you honestly don't know when he will be again. Most of the time it feels like things can never go back to the way they were.

“I ain't got a clue where they're eatin’,” Daryl grunts when you make it to the empty firepit, turning around to see if there's anyone he recognizes in the hustle of people rushing to their morning duties. “Guess they didn't think to let us know.”

“Mm,” You grunt in agreement, following him when he starts in the direction of where Rick has been staying, close to Maggie.

He hip checks you a few times during the walk, albeit gentler than he would've before he knew you weren't a boy. –Today feels better than yesterday without the threat of the doctor's office visit hanging over you though, so you decide to chalk it up to him being worried about hurting you while your arm is all messed up and going through the healing process.

Daryl stops outside of the trailer Rick is staying in, a few away from Maggie's while the people of Hilltop work on building more permanent structures, and knocks a few times.

Before he can try again, you both turn at the sound of boots crunching on gravel.

“Bambi!” Carl beams, jogging up from wherever he'd been, his clothes drenched and the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows. When he gets closer you see that there's soot smeared across his flushed cheeks, the wetness on him from sweating. “You look like you're feelin’ a bit better, was Siddiq able to help?”

You nod, smiling and trying to step towards him when Daryl’s arm shoots out and stops you from leaving his side.

You look over at him with confusion, smile dimming.

He can't even say it's because of the appointment this time. There's definitely something going on here… You don't like that two of the most important people in your life aren't getting along.

Since you both haven't made any moves to get closer, Carl keeps walking until he's right in front of you and Daryl, eye flicking back and forth between you cautiously.

You reach out to tug at his shirt with the arm Daryl isn't holding back. “Wet?”

“Oh!” Carl flushes, looking down at where his armpits have soaked through his shirt. “I-I was at the blacksmith's booth. He was showin’ me how he makes his blades…” He lowers his head, smiling thoughtfully. “It was pretty cool.”

You make a sword motion with your hand, swinging out at him like you're in a duel. He swings back a few times, then staggers, hand to his forehead as he dramatically lets you stab him in the heart with your imaginary blade.

“I can't bear to fight you, Bambi,” He gasps, pressing a hand to the spot where you'd swung at him.

You give him a mischievous smile and twist the blade, pressing deeper.

“So cruel,” He whines, huffing and staring at you with those half-lidded baby blues. “I'd hate to be at the other end of you with a real sword.”

You're overcome with the sudden urge to jump him and sink your teeth into his shoulder, not enough to break skin but hard enough that it leaves a mark. You want to be close to him again, tame that weird fluttering feeling you get in your stomach when he's in your line of sight.

Something on your face must give you away though, because before you know it, Daryl moves his hand up your arm to get a better grasp and pushes you behind him so that you're nearly out of one another’s view.

“Mmm!” You whine in complaint, glaring at the back of his shoulder.

“We were lookin’ for Rick,” Daryl says to interrupt the playful conversation you had going, souring the mood with an obvious scowl on his face. “Any idea where he is?”

“He's…” Carl frowns slowly as he processes the way Daryl’s been acting towards him recently, posture gaining that calculating edge that's kept him alive this long. “In the junkyard. –Waiting for you, actually.”

You hate that you can hear the hurt and confusion in his voice at being treated like a delinquent by someone that's practically his uncle. He even stepped up when everyone thought Rick was losing it to help care for Judith.

“Fuck,” Daryl straightens, casting his gaze in the vague direction the maze of cars had been in as if he could see it through all the buildings and structures between here and there. “I forgot all about that… we were tryna’...” He shakes his head, flicking his hair out of his face. “Shit. –C'mon, Bea.”

He starts to drag you off with him and you hang your head with a disappointed frown, starting to walk with him again.

But Carl stands in his path, fists loosely balled up at his sides in his iconic sheriff pose.

“Wait,” He says resolutely. “Wouldn't it be better if I took Bambi to get somethin’ to eat while you worked?”

Daryl’s scowl gets deeper, feet turning to try and maneuver around the teen. “I appreciate the offer, but nauh.”

Carl steps back in front of him, the glint in his eye imploring.

“It could take hours, and she still hasn't gotten a chance to see half the cool stuff here. It's a way bigger community than Alexandria,” He points out. “She has to get to know her way ‘round here without you.”

You're confused what Carl’s trying to get at when his gaze flicks to yours, eye exaggeratedly closing for a shorter time than necessary to blink. He winked. He winked at you just now, but why?

Is he… trying to rescue you?

You whip your head towards Daryl, lips pulling into a wide smile you try your hardest to stifle as you wait for his verdict. The man's grip on you falters, then tightens, only to falter again as he stares into your eyes, fighting himself.

He lets go.

“Hah… Okay, fine,” He reluctantly agrees, roughly but fondly pinching your cheek before turning to Carl with a stern look. “Don't you go gettin’ into trouble, and don't do nothin’ stupid, okay? She's… sick. Be gentle.”

You shy away at the mention, but Carl only smiles again, nodding in agreement to all of the loose rules Daryl’s set.

He was never particularly good at that, but it's impossible for someone to predict all the sneaky things kids will do when they're left to their own devices. Especially teenagers.

Before Daryl can even go, Carl turns back to you excitedly. “Have you ever been to a fair?”

Sort of. Nothing particularly big like you're sure they had in Atlanta, even in a place as small as King County, but there are a few hazy celebrations in your memory of people sharing food and dancing together where you're from. “Festivals,” You nod.

Daryl watches the two of you from afar as he slowly tears himself away from you and starts making his way to the junkyard in earnest.

“Well, Hilltop is kind of like a small, permanent festival,” Carl eagerly explains, finally succeeding in taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers now that Daryl isn't here to intervene. “The Kingdom is even better. It's got huge set pieces that make it look like it's straight from a children's book, a big market, fresh fruit and hot grilled meat. Their beef skewers are the best. –And I know you had to have heard about Shiva, Ezekiel's tiger.”

You nod eagerly. Carol had just been telling you more about her last night, how even at night the beautiful beast sleeps purring at Ezekiel's side, guarding him from the floor or the end of the bed with her body curled like a proper cat.

“I wish I could take you,” Carl says longingly, coming down from his ramble with a laugh. “But it's too far to walk and I think Daryl might just kill me if we hitched a ride and I ran off with you.”

Suddenly, that's all you can think of. Running away together, sleeping at each other's side every night, and carving out your own quiet place in this world. It's not practical. You'd never leave Daryl behind, but the way he says it sounds so romantic. Not like when you were alone on the road before they found you.

“Mm-mm,” You blush, giving his hand a squeeze. “I wouldn't let him.”

He squeezes back and leans over to kiss your cheek at the same time you try to kiss his, leading to a very awkward and poorly aimed but sweet peck on the lips that has you both blushing furiously.

You turn away from one another when the kiss is over, flustered even though you're linked at the hands.

It feels… different, in public.

Privately, it's just the two of you feeling what you feel and working around each other like a well oiled machine, but with the added knowledge that people are observing you and the loving touches you offer one another it suddenly feels risque.

It occurs to you that it might actually be a risk. Siddiq had asked you who you'd been with since you've been back and you refused to tell him to protect Carl, but now here you are kissing him in broad daylight where Siddiq could easily round the corner and catch you. You can't let that happen.

You dare to look back at him, tugging his hand forward to get him moving.

He smiles and starts running towards the market, leading you behind him by the hand. Your boots hit the pavement and uneven ground with loud thumps as the trailers and houses become tents and booths constructed from the scraps left over. Right now there's only about two rows of them, both of which you can see the end of from where you're standing, but there's also a few larger buildings from before the fall with their doors open.

“W–” You stop running, bending your upper body so that you can put your hands on your knees and cough.

Carl stops as soon as you slow down, turning to face you and rubbing your shoulder when he sees the trouble you seem to be having catching your breath. “Bambi?”

You shake your head to brush off his concern, reaching into your pocket and popping one of Siddiq's candies hoping it'll at least help your voice if nothing else.

“Where to?” You ask, signing, Slow, please.

He nods, looking serious as he scans the street. “The first thing I wanna do is get you some fresh food. –Somethin’ not too rough on your stomach.”

Nothing hearty. Nothing greasy. Nothing heavy.

At least that's what Lori always told him when he was little and home sick. –She'd make him homemade chicken soup and rub his back while he ate it, loosely humming songs he could never hope to put a name to.

“‘M not that sick…” You complain, pouting that he'd taken what Daryl said to heart.

He embarrassed you in front of Carl, and now the boy's going to keep treating you like you're breakable.

His gaze softens as he looks at you again, understanding.

“The first time I ate here I threw it all up afterwards,” He admits sadly, giving a half shrug like the situation was inevitable. “I wasn't even sick like you are. I just wasn't used to how rich the food was after starvin’ for so long…”

Your lips part, but you aren't sure what to say in response to that, so you lift your interlocked hands and nuzzle your cheek into the back of his.

He smiles softly, head cocking. “I trust you, Bambi, but I don't want to be the reason you get worse, that's all.”

At the new angle he's put his head at, he catches sight of a cart covered in roasted vegetables and skewered fruits made to look like animals, a dragon made of red and green apple slices with skin for the scales catching his eye.

“There!” He points. “That stuff is good quality and if you ask, they'll even drizzle different sauces on it.”

Sauces on… fruit?

The image that comes to mind immediately is someone drenching an assortment of fruits in ranch dressing, and it is not appealing. You stick your tongue out, walking with Carl to the cart.

The man handing the fruit out keeps positioning the skewers to make them look more appealing, while the woman next to him chops up a kiwi and some bananas to make a few bears with ear and stomach details. She ends up with more banana than she needs, so she ends up making one of the bears a polar bear.

“Miss my paper,” You whisper quietly to yourself, looking down at your free hand and remembering the way it felt to carefully fold each animal with your fingers.

The rest of your animals probably burned with Alexandria, you think sadly, mouth turning into a pout.

A kid runs up to the man and excitedly demands the dragon Carl had his eye on, pleading for extra sauce as the man drowns it in caramel. That makes more sense. Carl pretends not to be disappointed, but you see the look in his eye.

Another day, you sign, better dragon to slay.

To your surprise, he actually seems to understand a majority of your sentence.

“Another day,” He echoes, using the sign for animal. “Stronger animals for your kingdom.”

Suddenly you feel something slip into your free hand and see that the woman has given you the banana polar bear, along with a mango kangaroo, and a strawberry dinosaur.

“You are so cute,” She giggles, a big smile on her face as she baby-talks you. “I remember when you first came here with your dad and Rick, I thought to myself– that looks exactly like my baby brother,” She grimaces. “Well, not literally. That'd be weird. But the shy awkward silent thing is just like him! You're such a cute little guy!”

You open your mouth to respond before closing it and bashfully looking at the ground with a flat smile, sighing through your nose.

Your mind is torn between focusing on the fact she thought Daryl was your dad, and the fact she mistook you for a boy, both of which make you extremely uncomfortable right now for different reasons.

Daryl doesn't want to be your dad…

Does he?

He acts like your dad. He cares for you like a dad would. He teaches you like a dad. You love him like he's your dad and worry every time you're separated. You even have your own house (kind of) where you live together, and last night you got to sleep in his bed with him after a nightmare.

You blush, shaking the thought from your head as you bite the polar bear's head off, only to realize that Carl’s been intently staring at you.

Your brows unfurrow and you stop chewing, swallowing with a gulp.

“Hm?”

“Nothin’,” He says quickly, averting his gaze. “There's a lot more I want to show you.”

He tries to pull you away from the stand, but you stay firmly planted, pointing at the man who's actually handing out the fruit sticks.

Pay? Trade?

“Oh, no,” Carl laughs, the awkward tension from before gone as he points at all the other people running up to get sticks and walking away. “You don't have to give them anythin’ for what you get here. It works like that for most places, especially if their product is labor based like fruit. As long as you do your part in the community, everythin’ is free.”

Huh… Weird. You unplant your feet and let him lead you to the next cart, one where an older woman is selling blankets and home made pastries.

It looks like a square donut covered in something white, but the woman tells you that it's a beignet, something famous where she came from before.

She tells you a story about a famous man playing jazz right outside her window, confetti constantly all over the street and beaded necklaces getting thrown up into the flower pots on her balcony. –Says Hilltop is nowhere near as big and bright as her hometown.

You beg Carl to let you try one despite his worries about you getting sick and eventually he gives in, feeding you the pastry by hand. Apparently she's told him this story several times before and always makes him take a bag full of the sweet treat, which she does again. One for each of you.

That leads Carl to make another stop, into one of the storefronts where he pushes you forward and tells the man working that you need a bag. He shows you several, including a ridiculously bright orange one with pink accents and a flower decal, which would instantly get you killed in the woods despite how cute it is.

You settle on a camo backpack with black straps, the logo half ripped off and a few wonky stars drawn in places with a black marker. It's definitely used, but it's tougher than the other options he showed you.

Carl gives you another look, staring, but he recovers faster this time and loads the pastries into your backpack, leading you forward.

As soon as you're outside the shop, the sound of metal on metal can be heard down the road.

A few people abandon their stalls and walk down to crowd around the large tarped permanent structure with smoke billowing out from under it. It stands out from the rest of the places around Hilltop, with its blackened medieval structure and leather tarps, clearly built for durability instead of aesthetic. You'd think the building was for food if the smell of ash didn't rise so powerfully.

“Blacksmith?” You question, tentatively stepping closer with wide eyes.

“Yeah, uh–” He puts his hand in yours again, tugging. You hadn't even realized you'd let go of him. “I don't think we should go there today. –The blacksmith made some new swords and people have been sparrin’ off and on. It could be dangerous…”

That sounds amazing. You have to see it. You want to try it.

“One peek?” You plead, watching the crowd gasp in awe.

He can tell by the mischievous glint in your eye that you plan on pushing him for more the second he gives in and lets you go over there.

“Bambi, I don't think that's a good idea,” Carl repeats more firmly. “You’re coughin’ already, it's only goin’ to get worse if you inhale smoke.”

“But…” You trail off, feeling discouraged by the tension in Carl’s posture.

You used to spar all the time, get into good natured fights that left your knuckles and noses bleeding. It was fulfilling. He fought with the skill of someone trained by a cop, and you fought with the cunning of someone used to ripping their way out of restraints. At the end of the day you'd pushed each other past your limits and learned how to defend yourself better.

“I don't wanna see you get hurt,” Carl says, urging you away from the crowd and back towards the rows of market.

You frown, sighing as you unplant your feet to continue letting him lead you around. “Okay.”

He only has your best interests at heart, it's not his fault everyone's treating you this way.

“I promise we'll come ‘n see him together. –Another day when it's less busy and the coals aren't goin’,” He comforts.

“Mm,” You hum noncomittally.

The two of you wind up exploring a majority of the market Hilltop has to offer. You excitedly follow Carl to every booth he leads you past, trying to map it all out in your head despite the overload of colorful visual information and sound you're receiving.

You try to convince him to dance with you when you come across a man playing the violin in a group of drunken people taking a break, but he flushes and refuses, promising again that the two of you will dance when he’s sure you’re feeling well enough to.

Eventually the sky begins tinting orange and Carl leads you to a neighborhood, collapsing into sitting down against a cinderblock holding up a trailer, sighing contentedly.

“So… how was your first real tour of Hilltop?” He asks with a grin as you shove a vegetable skewer into your mouth, licking your fingers in a way that reminds him so much of Daryl he does a double take.

“Awesome,” You smile, licking your lips. “I need to do it like a hundred more times, I feel like I'm already forgetting where we started.”

“Good, because I want to take you there a hundred more times,” He laughs, then slowly the smile on his face turns into a contemplative frown.

“Carl?”

He takes your other hand in his so that he's holding both of them, squeezing and rubbing with a serious look on his face.

Is this it? Does he know? Did he figure it out, or worse are you showing somehow?

“I have a question,” He says softly, voice honest. “And don't take this the wrong way. I don't care what the answer is, I want you to know that. It's you I care about.”

You swallow hard, chest aching with sadness.

You'd barely gotten the chance to be with him the way you'd wanted to be and now it's all over. He'll never trust you again, hell, he might not even talk to you. He probably hates your guts and only pretended to want to hang out with you today to give you closure because he's kind like that.

“Are you a boy?” He asks abruptly, pulling you from your thoughts.

You raise your eyes to his, face scrunching up with confusion as you look between him and pointedly at your chest, which he's seen bare.

“No… I mean,” He pauses, making a soft scoff because he can't think of the right words. “Are you a boy?” He accentuates by pointing at your chest and shifting the aim to your face.

“Mm? Mm-mm,” You shake your head, puzzled by the question.

“Well… are you a girl?” He asks next.

You think about this one longer, frowning with frustration at the memories of looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering why you were so inadequate. Nothing like the women you wished to be like, chest flat, shoulders too broad yet too soft to be a man's. You wished you could be seen like a girl, wished to be worthy of delicate items you held like glass, worried your existence would tarnish them. The way Enid and Judith and all the other girls stared at you like an outsider despite knowing yourself that you were disguised.

You lower your head. “I just don't think it should matter…”

You'll never understand why people fixate on your gender so much.

“It makes me mad,” You say slowly, a frown on your face. “I do my best and it's never good enough because people expect worse now. They treat me different.”

And you're constantly afraid.

Your shield has been taken. –And as soon as it was, the worst thing that could have happened did.

Before Daryl found you, you'd been hiding yourself for a long time because you knew what happened to girls that got caught. You knew what sick and twisted things they'd do, especially to the ones that were alone like you were. Yet the time that you finally faced this reality, you'd been surrounded by a group you were a part of, chest bound and hair cut short.

It was all for nothing. You punished and pushed yourself to the brink just to be taken advantage of anyway because you were weak.

Carl nods slowly, taking the information in. “Okay… I think I get it.”

He doesn’t. Because he doesn't know. Because you've been lying to him.

“You say you don't care about the answer, but clearly it means something or you wouldn't have asked,” You whisper, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

He never used to pay you any attention. You wouldn't be here like this if he hadn't found out that you were a girl.

You try to pull your hands out of his and he bites his lower lip, squirming where he sits as he holds them tighter.

“Bambi,” He coos.

You turn your head away.

“Please?” He asks. “Just listen?”

You nod. You can do that. Listen to him and give him a chance to explain what he's thinking, even if you don't want to hear it.

“I… never… like, suspected that you weren't a guy or anythin’…” He gulps with a shaky voice, cheeks dusting a light pink. “But even before I knew, I… I liked you a lot–” He chokes out, grip tightening on you anxiously. “I liked spendin’ time with you, and laughin’ at stupid jokes, and havin’ you in my room...”

You smile softly. “‘Liked you too.”

He shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Bambi, I…”

He takes another deep breath.

“I thought you were cute… and amazin’. There was nothin’ you couldn't do if you set your mind to it. Every second of your voice I got to hear –every laugh or sigh I managed to get out of you– played on loop in my head every time I tried to go to sleep…” He pauses, looking very much like he wants to cry. “I-I tried to forget about it, but I couldn't. I didn't care if you were a guy, I liked you. –It's never mattered to me what you are, as long as it's you.”

By the end of his explanation he's lightly panting through his mouth, teary eye pleading for you to be okay with this, to not judge him.

Me too, you sign, leaning in and giving him another kiss on the lips.

He moans in relief and appreciation, grabbing the back of your neck to gently hold you in the position until you decide to pull away or deepen the kiss.

You pull away, staring into his eye and the bandage covering his empty socket.

You want to yank the gauze right off his face and press kisses all along the seam of his scar, stare into the depths of the beautiful crater keeping him alive.

“You're beautiful,” You tell him, because it's true and he doesn't hear it enough.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh that comes out more of a huff than anything else, looking away from you for a moment.

“So are you,” He sighs, rubbing his hand along your jaw and down to the base of your neck. “Every version. No matter what.”

You look down at your feet guiltily, thinking about how he's going to react when he finds out about what happened and still might be happening to you right now. –You're not stupid enough to think a boy his age will want to stick around in the apocalypse if you find out that you're… pregnant.

You remember hearing people laugh about teen boys from your town running out on their pregnant girlfriends, never to be seen again. You were just a little kid back then. You couldn't really grasp what they were talking about.

“You know you can tell me anythin’... Don't you?” Carl whispers, hand starting to massage your neck with a steady squeeze and release, mimicking the tight full body squeezes that soothe you.

You nod half-heartedly.

“Bambi…?” He coos again, leaning back in so close your noses are almost touching.

You lower your head, cheeks flushing as you stare up at him through your lashes.

He starts to grin, voice turning sing-songy. “Bambi, come on. Tell me what's wrong.”

You shake your head, lips turning up into a slight smile at the sight of his.

He starts to laugh when a duffle bag drops down into the dirt between you, jagged metal pieces clanging together loudly as it hits the ground and you jump away from noise.

“Hah,” Daryl pants, grin pulled tight on his lips as he glances between you. “I finished early ‘n decided I'd come hang out with ya’.”

“Oh, you don't have to–” Carl is cut short when the man plops down between you, putting his arms around both of your shoulders to keep you firmly separated. “Uh… Okay.”

Daryl stares Carl down, tongue tucked into his cheek.

“So what're we doin’, ah?” He asks, clearly wanting Carl to explain what the two of you are doing and why you were so close together. The more lost Carl looks, the harder Daryl’s glare seems to get.

“Talking…” You answer quietly.

Daryl turns his attention to you next, patting you on the back so hard with false enthusiasm you have to move your foot to keep your balance.

“About what?”

You cringe, looking away from his prying gaze uncomfortably.

A few moments pass in awkward silence, your hands fidgeting in your lap and Carl’s in his, before the pressure is just too much to withstand anymore.

Carl stands and your heart sinks.

“Bambi, I think I'm gonna go,” He grumbles, but then instead of standing up and backing off like he'd done yesterday, he leans over Daryl to wrap his arms around you in a hug, snuggling into your neck with a concealed peck before he pulls away. “I'll see you tomorrow,” He smiles, waving as he walks off.

You pull your lips into your mouth, trying and failing to hide the grin on your face as you wave back.

Daryl scowls, grumbling as he watches him go.

“Don't let that boy do anythin’ you don't want him to,” He warns. “Grabbin’ you like that is just askin’ to get punched.”

“I like him,” You say softly, staring after him with so much adoration it’s scary.

Daryl gulps.

“I’m bein’ serious. Don’t let him do anythin’ to you, Bea,” He repeats, voice wavering. “Friends are great, but… that doesn’t mean you owe ‘em anythin’. I-I know it can be confusin’ when you, you know, start feelin’ a certain kind of way as you get older, but–”

You cringe so hard it physically hurts, audibly sucking a breath in through clenched teeth.

“I’m just sayin’ I don’t want the two of you makin’ a mistake,” He finishes awkwardly by regurgitating Rick's words to him, turning his head away from you.

You think about letting the conversation end there, busying yourself with relacing your boots despite the knots they were in being perfectly fine, but you decide to test the waters. You want to know what he thinks as someone who –sort of– knows what happened to you.

“...What if I like him as more than a friend?” You ask slowly, heart pounding fiercely in your chest.

“You can’t,” He says quickly.

You raise your head to look at him with confusion, feeling something inside you start to crack. “I… can’t?”

You're looking to Daryl for advice in one of the most delicate situations of your life, and looking at those big, wet eyes he doesn't know what to say. –Saying the wrong thing here is not an option, but picking the right thing is like stepping into a minefield of ways to misinterpret it. It could change the rest of your life and the way you see yourself.

“You shouldn’t,” He amends, looking panicked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Carl’s a good kid but you’re–”

Not, your brain supplies when he fails you.

You feel your heart shatter into a million pieces as you watch him stumble over a few more words he can’t get out, unable to find a nice way to break it to you. –You’re damaged, that’s all. He doesn’t have to tell you.

You tried so hard to be good, but you just can't. You're always going to fail Daryl, and Carl, and everyone else you love.

Your entire body is shaking where you sit next to him, knees against your chest and fingers slowly flexing against your calves in a way that looks angry.

“Bea,” Daryl says, trying to reach for you.

You smack his hand away, snatching up your bag and running off as fast as you can.

---

Fic Chapterlist

You pull at some of the sheets underneath you, wrapping yourself up in them. “I hate being responsible.”

“I think we discussed that already,” Carl says with one of the largest smiles you’ve gotten from him.

He pulls on his jeans and boxers, bending over as he works his belt to–

You jolt when he kisses you on the cheek, his mouth just barely catching on the corner of yours.

“I’ll see you later, okay? –Eat up.”

You’re stunned to silence, heart going a million miles an hour in your chest.

This game of he loves me, he loves me not it starting to get sickening. Half the time all you can think about is how heartbroken and alone you’ll be when all of this is over and he and Enid reunite.

This is their love story, not yours.

---

tw: mentions of SA, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of STDs, mentions of menstruation, secondary traumatic stress (Daryl), self-blame, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of child death, dark intrusive thoughts (Daryl), *DARYL “SMUT”* -> read at your own risk, dubious consent, miscommunication

You hear the first set of double doors to the building open and shut, two sets of footsteps coming to a stop right before the set that you're standing behind. It’s quiet for a moment, your breathing slow and soft enough that you can hear the pair's clothes shuffle when they turn their heads.

If this were any other moment in time you might have closed your eyes to enjoy the peaceful, occasionally interrupted silence like the soft shushing of trees in the woods, but it's not.

Your hands are hidden behind you, and your back is pressed up against the wall, head angled low so that your hair shadows part of your face. You think it's odd that they haven't said anything, but you wait through another odd moment of silence from the two adults before you raise your head to look at them.

They're farther away than you initially thought they'd be, and apparently they haven't spotted you in the corner… Which makes sense, because technically you were trying to hide when you picked that spot to wait.

“Think she went in already?” Carol asks hesitantly, shifting on her feet to look down the hallway instead of facing the direction you're in. –When she turns back, you duck your head behind the door to avoid being seen. “...What are the chances?”

For what feels like the millionth time today, Daryl rubs a hand down his face, index and thumb pausing to rub tiredly at the corners of his eyes.

“She wouldn't have,” He sighs, breath shaking on the exhale. “Is there any other way out of this building?” He asks, and to your surprise he doesn't sound the least bit disappointed or angry at you, even thinking you tried to escape the appointment.

“Not that I know–”

You let out a cough to get their attention, knocking on the wall behind you.

Daryl's eyes flick up to the source of the noise, then soften when they meet yours.

“Bea, sorry,” He apologizes, looking relieved. “Thanks for waiting, kid.”

“Mm,” You hum, shrugging.

Daryl pauses when he notices some faint movement behind your back, one of your hands digging into the other arm to try and prevent your hands from shaking the way that they are.

You're getting better at hiding things from him. If he hadn't noticed, your poker face would probably have been too good for him to notice anything else was amiss.

He turns away from you, looking down the hallway towards Siddiq's office.

The walls are clean and smooth like they’ve just been painted, the grain of the wood flooring twisting to hypnotically lead his eyes to a single room. His vision begins to swim and go dark at the edges when he stares at the clinical, hospital-like hallway for too long, the natural daylight –the only light in this building– too dim to focus as sharply as he would be able to outside in the open.

It feels like the hall stretches on forever.

‘Makes him feel sick.

“You doin' okay?” He asks, already knowing that all you're going to respond with is a shrug and a noise to let him know that you heard the question before you do it.

You're so easy to read.

Daryl turns back to look at you, jaw clenched as he takes another deep breath.

“Well, I'm scared.”

A jolt of panic goes through you at the admission, your eyes growing wide. If he's afraid and he's not even the one being examined, how should you be feeling right now? How are you meant to hold it together when Daryl, the strongest person you know, can’t?

Your hands fall to your sides, still shaking as your lip begins quivering and your brows turn up in a panic.

Carol snaps her head towards Daryl, giving the man her best What the fuck? look, but he ignores her and steps forward, holding his arm out to you.

“–Will you hold my hand?” He finishes, his voice cracking with the weight of the emotions he's trying to keep at bay.

You look down at it, then back up at him, before eagerly clasping your hands together and squeezing his palm tightly. Your shoulders come up to shield your neck and you step close to him, taking your place at his side with a soft, dry sob.

“You’re alright,” He hushes, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “You’re safe. –I’ve got you, Bea.”

He takes a single step towards the infirmary, pausing to look down and make sure you’re doing alright before he takes another and so on. By the time you’ve made it to the open door at the end of the hall, the tremors have made their way up through your arms and to the rest of your body.

Siddiq looks up from his desk and you squeeze Daryl’s hand tighter, swallowing hard.

He squeezes back.

“Ah– Hello again, Bambi,” The man greets sweetly.

Carol walks in after you and leans up against the doorframe, preventing it from shutting all the way. –Which you don’t notice, but not hearing the deafening sound of the door shutting behind you like back in that cell at the Savior’s base significantly reduces the amount of stress you’re under.

You take a seat on the exam table, not letting go of Daryl’s hand, even as you struggle to climb onto it. Once you’ve gotten situated you turn around to look at Rick standing in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, who briefly softens to offer you a tight, weary smile.

Jerk. He's why Daryl made you come here.

The sound of wheels gets your attention and you face forward, surprised to see Siddiq has wheeled over to you on his chair with a notepad in hand.

“All settled?” He asks, the subtle smile on his lips never wavering.

It weirds you out that he’s acting so differently than the other adults in the room, but it’s also kind of a relief that he's not putting so much pressure on you and what's going to happen here.

You shrug at him with one shoulder, scrunching up your nose with a sniff.

He nods to himself, like he expected as much. –Mostly because he did.

Siddiq tried to tell Rick he wasn't qualified for this kind of thing –especially since he's hardly a doctor as it is– but the man wouldn't take no for an answer and it was kind of difficult to refuse with Daryl actively trying to throttle him a few feet away, so he agreed.

And he read. A lot.

He pretty much turned Hilltop inside out looking for any books that might help him help you, from medical journals and psychological analyses to somewhat dramatized retellings of the impact of being victimized at your age. It was hard, but it helped give him some parameters to work with and he began practicing what he was going to say and how he would act in the room with you.

He decided to avoid standing up if he could so he wouldn’t seem physically imposing, to raise the pitch of his voice slightly, but not enough to come across as condescending or like he’s baby-talking you, and to avoid looking at you for too long. –Hence the notepad and pen, which could also double as a method of communication for you if need be.

“It’s nice to see you,” Siddiq says cheerfully, directed at you, but with a fleeting glance to the adults in the room. “Although I'm sure you'd rather not be seeing me right now.”

The room is completely silent.

“Ahem. So…” He clears his throat, making his voice softer, "Do you know why you're here?”

You nod slowly. The test.

“Good, good. That's good,” He says in response to the nods, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second as he scoots back a bit, looking down at the notepad. “Have you been feeling any… discomfort?”

You touch your stomach with your free hand. Hurts.

“Okay, some stomach pain. I heard you've been nauseous lately too,” He writes something down, then looks back up at you. “What about elsewhere? Have you been… itchy or does it hurt when you use the bathroom at all?”

Your upper lip curls involuntarily at the thought and you shake your head.

“Okay, that's good too,” He says, smile getting tighter like he's struggling to maintain it while he thinks about his next question, sending a nervous glance to the man standing at your side. “Uhm, Bambi, do you have any idea when your last menstrual cycle was?”

You blink at him, feeling Daryl’s hand twitch in yours.

“...Before,” You say scratchily, not willing to let go of Daryl’s hand for any complex signs.

Siddiq scrunches his nose at the sound of your voice, kicking back until his chair hits the desk behind him, then rifling through the drawers until he finds a small off-white pouch. “You like candy, don't you, Bambi?”

You narrow your eyes skeptically, starting to turn your head towards Daryl for direction when Siddiq opens the bag and holds one of what he was looking for up for you.

It looks like a cough drop, small and oval shaped except it's flat, and the bag is filled with a bunch of different colors.

“Hm?” You hum in a questioning tone.

“This is like candy, except it's going to help with your voice and your throat,” He explains, dropping it into your free hand from a distance to let you inspect it. “–And it's not medicated, so you don't have to worry about waiting between them. Take as many or as little as you like.”

Daryl stares down at it, ready to toss it if he hears anything he doesn’t like. “What's it made of?”

“Honey, a bit of tea, some fruit… an alternative to sugar, and some starch they had leftover from the bakery,” The man answers, his voice dipping until he looks back at you, realizing his slip up. “I promise it's good.”

You roll it over in your palm, frowning.

Then you tip your head back and pop it into your mouth, using your tongue to push it around as you try to decide if it's agreeable or not. It's hard, but it leaves this weird coating on your throat like lotion, and it's only vaguely sweet because of whatever flavor it's supposed to be.

You lick your lips anyway, loosely signing, Thank you.

A genuine smile spreads across Siddiq's face when you decide to trust him, relief joining the mix soon after when Daryl backs down seeing you accept the candy.

“You said the last time you bled was before you were taken… Do you know how long before you were taken?” He asks, holding eye contact for slightly longer than he had before.

“Hm…” You squint, trying to think back, but coming up empty. It was definitely... longer than it should have been. “Mm-mm.”

It was so infrequent before that when it came you were more focused on hiding it than the actual process of it… Not to mention you often found yourself in the woods, covered in walker blood without access to any hygiene products. It's not like they can go look at the burned up supply logs from Alexandria and check when you took (stole) some.

“Do you remember how long they would last? –Were they regular, to your understanding?”

You shake your head. “Short.”

“I see…” He mutters, brows raising as he sets the notepad and pen down, scooting closer. “May I touch your stomach?”

You make a noise of protest, yanking away despite the man not having lifted a finger to actually touch you when he slides closer. Daryl catches you with his free arm before you can fall backwards off of the table or run and wraps it around your chest.

“S'okay, you're okay,” He mutters into your hair while you growl, getting louder as he announces the second bit. “I ain't lettin’ nobody put their hands on you.”

He glares at the doctor, who slides back again while he patiently waits for you to calm down with his hands visible in his lap.

You aren't scared.

You aren't. You're angry and uncomfortable. –Nervous too, about whatever’s going on between the adults and why they’re so deadset on trying to hide the obvious conflict from you.

If things were normal, then Daryl would be acting normal instead of frantically whispering into your ear like you’re a ticking bomb, Carol would be gone by now, and Rick wouldn’t be here at all. Especially not watching like this, like he knows something you don’t and has the right to make choices for you like forcing you to come here.

He can push Daryl around, and by consequence, you. Which makes you want to do anything to prove him wrong. Show him he's not as in control as he thinks.

You could throw a fit, smash everything, or try to run away…

But you don't want to be bad, you want to be good, for Daryl.

You let out an angry chuff through clenched teeth while staring at the doctor, lifting your shoulder to put some room between Daryl’s face and yours, still unable to shake the feeling you woke up with this morning.

Siddiq's eyes are soft and understanding, even as he meets the malice in yours. He lifts his hands in surrender.

“It's alright, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. I mostly asked that as an example anyhow,” He says, voice softer again. “...Some of the questions I'm going to ask you today might make you feel uncomfortable or scared, and when I do, feel free to not answer. –I won't push.”

You hate this. You hate him. You hate that he's being so nice to you when you know you really don't deserve it at all.

He leans forward in the chair, lacing his fingers together and fidgeting slightly as he gives another unsure glance to the rest of the room. “Do you understand what consent is?”

You nod against Daryl’s body.

“So you know whatever happened there... in the bad place, was wrong, right? –And you know it wasn't your fault?” He asks, trying to get you to look at him and put your trust in him again.

You press yourself further into Daryl, briefly disengaging.

“Siddiq,” Rick warns from the corner of the room.

It's a single word, his name, but it sounds so harsh and angry.

The doctor sits up straight, looking at the other man with hesitation. “I was just trying to–”

“Move on.”

“But, she–”

“Move on,” He repeats with more emphasis.

Siddiq looks back over at you, concern blanketing his features, but he swallows and slowly seems to manage to push it down for the sake of getting through this appointment. You're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

He seems progressively more uncomfortable in the situation they've forced him into by asking him to have a look at you, and you feel for him. You don't want to be here either.

You take a deep breath and try to settle down the familiar rattle in your skin.

“Before you were gone, had you ever had any encounters that might have led to pregnancy?” He asks delicately, showing no signs of judgement.

You shake your head.

Siddiq pauses before his next question, looking contemplative. “...What made you think you needed a test?”

Everything.

From the sensation of hands across your body to the pain of being taken at whim and thrown around like a ragdoll, the torture room, then the helplessness of hunger like you've never known, and then coming back to the only place you felt safe, only… you are different. Every fear you didn't have a name for came true before you could articulate it, and now it feels like you're permanently marked. –Hurts worse than any brand or burns on your skin ever could.

But that's impossible to explain, so instead, you shrug.

Again and again, that's all you ever seem to do.

“Okay…” Siddiq says slowly, eyes narrowing as he cocks his head at you, trying to put the incomplete pieces he has together. You're not making it easy on him.

He straightens out, leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms over his chest, slouching.

“Let's talk about something else, then,” He says, skipping past his last question. “What about since you've been back?”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Mm?”

“Have you had any sexual encounters since you've been back?” He rephrases, not backing down.

“Hey,” Daryl hisses at him, letting go of you. “I've been with her this whole time. Ain't nobody been near this kid like that! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

At the same time, Rick’s arms drop and he starts shouting from the corner, stepping forward. “Siddiq! That's enough.”

The doctor shrugs them off, giving them stern looks. “Victims of–" He stops, eyes flicking to you, then back. "Victims are more likely to be assaulted again than people who've never been assaulted. Not to mention, if someone has been close enough to get a better look at the totality of her injuries they might be able to give us a better picture of what we're dealing with. –So sit down, and let me do my job… please.”

Rick looks thoroughly chastized, slowly moving back to the corner with his shoulders tensed.

But Daryl doesn't go back to holding you, instead starting to round the table to make his way over to Siddiq.

“Nauh! You're standin’ over here talkin’ about how this kid might be raped again on our watch!” He shouts angrily, fists balling up. “You're probably scarin’ the shit outta her!”

Your lips part at the word he uses and you lean away from him on the table, humiliation burning your cheeks.

“Daryl!” Carol shouts furiously, grabbing the back of his shirt to stop him.

“Get the fuck offa’ me!” Daryl shoves her away with his elbow, making sure the joint doesn't actually connect anywhere on her to do any damage. “I'm gonna kill him!”

“Get a hold of yourself!” The woman shouts back, pulling as hard as she can until Daryl finally gives in, slamming his fist into the wall and leaving the room with her.

…Leaving you alone with Rick and Siddiq, who noticeably gets further away from you, sighing.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Rick shakily whispers to himself, pinching his brow between his fingers.

You hear Daryl yelling in the hallway for a while, but eventually the sound fades and you hear the doors to the building open and slam closed, sending another burst of panic through you.

He just… left.

You can hardly believe it. He left you alone when he knew you were absolutely petrified to be here.

Siddiq turns when he hears you make a noise while pulling your knees up to your chest, watching you subtly rocking yourself for a moment before he says anything else.

“Bambi…?” He calls softly, waiting until you look at him. “Do you want to stop? We can always pick up another day and–”

You rapidly shake your head.

You don't want there to be another day of this. You can't handle having to go through this again.

“Okay, that's alright,” He agrees, keeping his distance. “Are you willing to answer my last question?”

You close your eyes, slowly working up the courage to nod without having the added pressure of seeing the inevitable disappointment and disgust that will cross his features. They’re going to be angry. They’re going to think all kinds of horrible things about you because of what you did when you came back.

When you nod, it’s jerky, your reluctance showing through it.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper quietly, voice breaking apart.

While your eyes are closed, Rick perks up in the corner looking absolutely mortified. He feels nauseated. If Siddiq hadn't asked that, if they had cut the man off earlier, they never would have known. You could have been victimized over and over again, in their new home by one one of their own and they never would have guessed. –You certainly wouldn’t have said anything about it.

The doctor has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything like before or letting a string of incoherent cursing out.

“Was…” He chokes on the word, the air in his lungs vanishing. “Was it consensual?”

You nod again, faster this time.

He doesn't know what he would have done if you had said no.

Rick lets out a sigh of relief, tipping his head back and lightly hitting it against the wall, which elicits a cautionary half-turn from you.

“Do you feel like you want to do more things like that now? –Like it's the only way to feel good?” He continues, feeling his palms start to sweat nervously. He doesn't like this line of questioning. It makes him feel sicker than he already does, but it's necessary, he reminds himself. All of this is necessary. “How often are you…?”

You shake your head, whispering, “Once,” so broken it's barely audible.

“You–” Siddiq finally breaks, voice cutting out as he turns his head away. “Sorry, I– I need a minute.”

One minute becomes two, then three, before he's able to face you again with the positive attitude he started the appointment with.

He just has to remember, you're a child taking cues from the people around you. If he's nervous and panicky and breaks down right here or worse, snaps like Daryl did, it's going to set a precedent for you. You might be less inclined to speak up in the future.

He’s no psychiatrist –again, barely a doctor– but he thinks that might cause you some long-term psychological damage.

“You've only been intimate with someone once since you've been back?” He repeats for confirmation, giving you a small smile when you nod again. “Okay. –That's okay. Did the person use protection?”

You shake your head.

He cringes on the inside. That could be a problem. “Am I allowed to ask who–”

You shake your head harder, your back starting to tingle because you can't watch it with your eyes closed and Daryl isn't here to protect you anymore. He left. He left you and you want to cry, but that’s not going to make him come back.

“Why are they a secret?” He asks gently, smile beginning to fade again. “…Did they ask you to keep them a secret?”

You slow the shaking of your head, looking away from him as you answer, “I'm bad.”

There are a lot of things you can’t control anymore, but there’s one person left you can protect. They can force you to do whatever they want, but you’ll never give Carl up. He's innocent.

“No, you’re n–” Siddiq chokes again, this time harder, but he spins around in his chair so that he's facing away from you before you can see it.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, every terrible thing he read coming back to haunt him, but he absolutely refuses to let them fall with you in the room.

He pulls himself together and turns back around, voice trembling with anger as he tries to reassure you. “You're not bad, Bambi. –I am so, so sorry that people are making you feel this way. It's not fair, none of this is, but I promise you it's not true. You aren’t here right now because you’re in trouble, or because you hid things from them. You're here because everyone loves you and they’re scared.”

You don't respond, using the toe of your shoe to scuff the table.

Siddiq can't take this anymore. He needs a break from all this tension.

It might be harder to enjoy yourself without your guardian around, but Siddiq is going to try and keep you soothed for as long as you're in his care.

“What kind of music do you like to listen to, Bambi?” He asks, gliding over to the CD player in the corner.

+

+

+

“I’m not going to make her take the test,” Siddiq says hesitantly.

“What?” Rick gapes, keeping his voice low.

Daryl, who had been coaxed back inside by Carol after another lecture, feels a massive weight roll off his shoulders despite himself. It would be better to conclusively know whether you’re pregnant or not, but Daryl doesn’t like the mental image of you being forced to take a test like that. –Especially after the way he acted in the room with you.

He can still see the look of terror in your eyes, unable to communicate enough to stop him or make it through the shouting as he left.

Siddiq purses his lips, teething the bottom one as he tries to articulate his reasoning.

“Given her situation… I don't think it would be right to push her on this. It's the only thing she wants control over. Forcing her would be violating,” The man pauses, looking a little uncomfortable. “Quite frankly from what she's told me, and what I've observed, I don't think it matters whether she's pregnant or not. –It's not viable.”

The relief he felt just moments ago halts, frozen by the news. Even Carol goes uncharacteristically straight at his side, quickly grabbing his shoulder in the hopes of preventing another outburst. “What'dya mean?”

“Her hormones are out of balance so she never developed properly, she has poor nutrition, she's under a lot of stress, she lives in a community where she's constantly around smoke…” He lists out. “If the pregnancy actually took, it probably wouldn't last long. –Certainly not to term. Her body can't physically handle it.”

Siddiq looks at the door of the exam room, picturing you sitting on the table right now, waiting to be told you're free.

“I'd be more apologetic about that bit, had she seemed to want it at all,” He amends, purposefully avoiding the fearful looks he's getting.

Rick clenches his jaw. “Let’s be glad that’s not something we have to deal with.”

“She can't physically handle it, what does that mean?” Daryl repeats under his breath, his heart pounding dangerously in his chest. “You're sayin’ she don't need to take the test, but you're also sayin’ she can't handle bein’ pregnant? –What does that mean?”

Carol squeezes his shoulder so that her fingers dig into his skin, the pain an attempt to distract him.

“What if it does? –Last?” Rick asks anxiously.

The doctor's response doesn't inspire confidence.

“There's no way,” Siddiq says with a grimace, shaking his head. “If that child gives birth, she'd die. Not even. She probably wouldn't make it through the first few months with a baby taking as much nutrients as it does. –And no matter how far the baby makes it, there's absolutely no chance it would come into this world healthy. Then without a mother, well… you get the picture.”

Daryl swipes a hand down his face, starting to get that same overwhelmed panicky feeling he got in the exam room again. –The feeling he got when he realized he was completely incapable of helping you. “How do we even fix that? A hormone imbalance in the damn apocalypse…”

Carol loosens her grip, starting to reassuringly stroke his back instead of holding him in place.

“Is it hurtin’ her?” Rick asks.

Siddiq hums, brows furrowing as he thinks through what he knows. “Difficult to say…” He mumbles. “If I had to pick symptoms that Bambi might be experiencing that are exacerbated by it, I'd say the quick weight loss, anxiety, maybe some depression… if the vomiting isn't a sign of pregnancy, that too.”

“No, no, no,” Daryl says in a wheeze, turning away like he's going to walk again. “Carol, please take her… Please?”

“I'll take her back to the barn,” Carol says tersely, a deep frown settling on her face.

She looks at Siddiq for permission before slipping into the office and closing the door behind her, then shortly after comes back out with you in tow.

Siddiq gives you a sad smile, his eyes still bloodshot from holding back earlier. The second he left the room he vomited.

“Goodbye, Bambi,” He says softly, raising his left hand. “I hope you feel much better the next time we meet.”

You stare at him.

Ultimately, when he offered to play music he ended up playing two blues songs and an old rock CD that had Rick tapping his foot, and eventually, full on dad-dancing in the back of the examination room.

You couldn’t help the light laughter it pried out of you– it was ridiculous.

And where Siddiq could have given you any old medicine or forced you to drink bitter tea leaves, he went out of his way to turn what you needed into an enjoyable, familiar-looking candy.

You smile softly back at him and Siddiq's own falls to something stunned, the rest of the adults following suit when you slap your hand against his in a high-five.

“I get why Carl likes you,” You say softly, tonguing the candy in your cheek.

The man breaks out into the most genuine smile you've seen on his face all day as he stands up straighter, giving Rick and Daryl knowing looks in a silent communication you're not a part of.

“C'mon, let's go get you some food, kid,” Carol says, starting to walk off. She doesn't get very far before you rush to her side, shoulders brushing. “I feel like cookin' today, are you interested? –I might even make a batch of my cookies.”

You nod excitedly, rushing out a, “Yes, please!”

Daryl watches the two of you go and feels his gut twist painfully. –He wants to be the one at your side, comforting you in all the right ways and sure of what needs to be done next to keep you safe, but when he's back here looking at the two of you he could almost mistake you for mother and daughter.

It feels right.

Carol lost her daughter, and you lost your parents. It makes sense that you'd fill the empty places in one another’s lives.

Daryl certainly didn't lose a daughter or sister. He's got no right.

“I’m ‘onna go get a drink,” He grumbles bitterly, brushing off the concerned words of the other two men as he leaves the building and walks in the opposite direction of the barn.

“Daryl, stop!” Rick calls from the steps. “What are you doin’ man? You keep boltin’!”

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead extending his middle finger up behind him.

“Don’t run from this,” He hears from behind him just before he gets out of range. “You’ll regret not bein’ there, brother, trust me.”

Daryl ignores his warning and keeps walking, only to find that the group from earlier around the pit has disbanded, most if not all of the containers left behind sucked completely dry. It looks like the wreckage a college frat would leave in their front yard.

“Damn it,” He hisses, lifting a beer bottle and hucking it across the cold firepit when he finds that it too is empty.

It rolls off a flipped bucket and hits the ground without breaking with an annoyingly polite clink.

He suddenly hears footsteps behind him and slowly turns around, expecting to see someone he knows ready to lecture him. –Probably Carol, based on the withering look she gave him before she led you off, but he also wouldn’t discount the possibility of it being Michonne with the concern she showed earlier.

But where he'd been tensing up for getting another stern talking to or an unbearably one sided conversation, he's instead met with an entirely new face.

And a pretty one, at that.

“Lookin’ for a drink?” The woman asks with a falsely high voice, cocking her head.

She's got dark hair down to her lower back and is, well, Daryl’s not gonna lie, she's well-endowed pretty much everywhere except where her waist dips slightly right at her hip bones.

He wouldn’t care enough to notice if it weren't for how much effort she seems to be putting into putting them on display accentuating those features, something shimmery spread across her cheek bones and the peak of where her breasts meet her rather obviously purposefully cut up shirt, little bits of soft skin standing out from the color of the material.

Which begs the question– Why on earth is she over here talking to him?

“Me?” He asks, sounding completely disinterested as he turns around with a scoff.

“Yeah, you, hot stuff,” She purrs, getting closer. “I dig the whole–” she motions up and down the length of his body, “–wet dog, lone wolf thing you've got goin’ on.”

Daryl stares at her, incredulous. “Me?”

The woman sighs and rolls her eyes, sick of keeping up the character she was going to play if Daryl’s not going to play along. It makes it less fun.

Her voice drops to her regular southern accent. “Yeah, you. –It's hard to find people to fuck nowadays, if you hadn't noticed… So are you interested in doing this or not?”

Short answer, no.

Long answer, absolutely-the-fuck not.

Daryl opens his mouth to let her down, tell her that he should probably be getting back to the kid that's depending on him, his kid, but what comes out instead at the thought of going home is, “Only if you've got booze.”

The woman laughs in her natural register and starts leading him back to her place with a flick of her wrist. It's a small trailer nearly at the opposite end of Hilltop to where the infirmary is. The whole place is messy, clothes and wrappers strewn about everywhere, a few containers of body glitter and a cup of brushes sitting on a bench in front of a mirror like a makeshift vanity.

“What're you lookin’ at?” She asks in that extremely hyper falsetto she'd done earlier, a hand coming up to cover her chest as if offended he's searching her home with his eyes. –And like most things he's discovering about her, it's too much.

“Nothin’...” He shrugs, letting her get close enough to wrap her arms around his neck, warm skin on his.

Up close, the woman reeks of the dead, like she spent all day mucking through their guts and letting it dry in the Virginia sun.

Somehow, though, the proximity makes her less intolerable. From this distance he can see all the streaks in her iris, slow blinks and the careful way she's staring as she leans into his neck, gaze imploring, but her hand ready to reach for her knife if the situation gets out of control.

She doesn't look trained, probably wouldn't even get to sink the knife into him if he was out to hurt her.

He tries not to dwell on any of that, none of it matters, and before long she's got her mouth on his and he's got his around the mouth of a bottle.

He doesn’t know how they manage between all of the tongue and teeth to make it to her bedroom, hell, he only notices because she’s suddenly taking the bottle away from him and setting it on the nightstand, leading his hands to her breasts.

He obliges with a squeeze and she giggles, pushing up into him.

“I think I might like that, mister wolf,” She gasps, back into whatever character she’d been trying to play. “So big and bad. –Handsome, too.”

“Uh-huh,” He agrees mindlessly.

She strips off her shirt and jeans with minimal help, all the while trying to get him to do it for her. He doesn't take the hint, nor does he see all the weird red flags this interaction is raising. He tangles his fingers in the thin straps of her bra and forces the wire clasps open instead of unhooking them.

“Damn it,” She clicks her tongue, pushing her breasts up and laying back on the pillows for him, her skin smooth and tanned from the sun. “Well, it was old anyway… Your turn.”

Daryl ignores the request, reaching over to the bottle on the nightstand to take another swig before he pulls his shirt off and reaches down to unbuckle his pants.

He pauses. “You need anythin’?”

He doesn't want to be rude, but this all happened kind of fast and he's not exactly a lady killer. He's ended up scaring off more women than he's scored with his rough hands and animal pelts.

The woman stares up at him with half-lidded, glazed over eyes like she doesn't really comprehend what he's asking for a moment, until it dawns on her and she cringes, looking away with a frown. “You aren't suppos’ to ask me stuff like that. –Just take it.”

Daryl rolls his eyes with some form of grumbled agreement, reaching for the nightstand himself– but she catches his wrist before he can open it.

“What now?” He grunts, giving her a once over with his eyes. “You ain't gotta be embarrassed, I'm sure I've seen worse than whatever’s in there.”

She spreads her legs, putting the soaked core of her underwear on display for him, batting her eyelashes despite how lewd the whole move is.

“Please, mister wolf?” She whines. “I want it now.”

Daryl turns his head away, massaging his temples. –This ‘mister wolf’ thing is seriously turning him off. It makes him feel creepy.

“Yeah, okay.”

He reaches down and starts to slide her panties off, –but again– she catches his wrist and stops him because whatever he's doing isn't what she wanted him to.

“I thought you were supposed to be rugged and feral,” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You certainly look like you haven't touched a woman like this in ages.”

“What d'you want from me, huh?” Daryl finally snaps, jerking his arms away from her. “Did you expect me to be some asshole, throwin’ you around ‘n shit?”

Her lips part into a smile and she finally seems to relax beneath him. “That. –Exactly that. Be rough. Push my underwear aside and don't worry about anythin’ except yourself.”

No.

“Fine,” He agrees, pushing his pants down to his knees and caging her beneath him with his arms. “I don't understand why you thought I was gonna be some kind of animal… ‘s offensive.”

“Shut up and–” The woman gasps when he pushes himself inside of her, throwing her head back against the pillows and letting out a desperate moan.

Daryl winces.

He tries to stop and let her readjust, but she starts canting her hips up to meet his, desperate to be filled now that she's had a taste.

“Come on, please, please, please,” She begs, voice high and whiny.

It makes the room temperature beer in his stomach curdle as he thrusts in and out of her a few more times, watching himself disappear into her body.

He keeps seeing things. Tiny flashes he knows his brain made up, but now that he's seen them he can't get them out of his head. Pain. Pain. Pain. It's horrific to imagine being the one doing the damage, but he can't help associating these pained whines with–

The woman lets out this high pitched squeal, a few tears streaming down her face and Daryl just can't take it anymore. He jerks out of her as fast as he can.

“I can't,” He says angrily, his breath shaking as he ducks his head above her. “I can't, I'm sorry.”

“What?” The woman asks, sitting up after him. “You didn't even finish, what the hell is your problem?”

Daryl doesn't answer, pulling up his pants and reaching down to pick his shirt up off the floor on his way out of her home, his skin still crawling.

---

Fic Chapterlist

Very Daryl-centric, Daryl-ly chapter

tw: imposter syndrome, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of child abuse, brief wound descriptions/touching, mild paranoia (Daryl), dark intrusive thoughts (Daryl), secondary traumatic stress (Daryl), internalized misogyny, overprotectiveness

So sorry, I’m about to absolutely torture this man these next few chapters

“I don’t want to wake her up,” Daryl says softly, running a hand through your warm hair.

The sun is hitting it just right, shining through and giving it an amber quality that makes it look like it’s glowing. You still look so sleepy, and even though it's mid-morning and you usually would have been up by now, you haven't stirred except to take his spot when he got up to get dressed.

“Then don't,” Carol shrugs, refusing to look at him. “You and I could go out there right now and make sure she can sleep as long as she wants.”

Daryl’s hand pauses and he shoots her a glare.

Carol knows how much he wants to, how much more tantalizing that offer gets the more he hears it. Every time he looks at you he feels like he might break everything in sight, but all of this could be over. So easily, he could leave with her and kill those men to make an example out of them. Daryl’s been to The Sanctuary. Gotten the whole run down on how the Saviors work and what's expected of them. If Negan knew what they did at that outpost, he wouldn't stand by them and he wouldn't retaliate. –At least, not directly.

What they did goes against the Saviors’ rules, the man can't be seen supporting it, otherwise the workers might try usurping him.

Now on the other hand, if say, some rogue Saviors were to go after the remainders of rebel Rick's group and smite them for killing two bases of good men the workers are at least vaguely familiar with, that's a good look. A leader who doles out fair punishments and understands their people's need for justice in a time of grief? That's exactly what he needs right now to get more support. You'd all be playing directly into their hands.

She must understand doing such a thing would also mean betraying Rick and taking risks that shouldn't be taken right now. It would mean putting you, your stability, your home, in a precarious position…Yet she keeps throwing this in his face and has the gall to imply he doesn't want to do it for you when he says no.

“You know I want to,” He snaps, shoulders squaring.

He wants to throw something again, anything. –Make his muscles sore so that he has a valid reason not to take her up on the offer and hightail it out of Hilltop. If he’s weak and exhausted maybe he won’t feel so desperate to leave this place and get his hands bloody. Maybe.

That maybe is doing a lot of work.

Carol turns towards him where she's standing with her arms and legs loosely crossed, her back against one of the wooden support beams keeping the loft up.

“I don't know that I do,” She waves off, feigning ignorance but daring him with her eyes to do something about this.

“Stop it,” Daryl demands, turning away so that the temptation is out of sight. The woman's been dressed and armed to the teeth since she first got him calm yesterday, completely ready to walk out and leave Hilltop at a moment's notice.

“Don't do this to me. I fuckin’ need you right now,” He says desperately, a plea entering his voice. “I ain't got nobody on my side ‘cept you. Everyone else is lookin’ at me like I've lost my damn mind for bein’ this worked up. I need somebody lookin’ out for the kid besides me.”

Carol stays silent.

Her disappointment still reaches him regardless, burning deep inside his chest and pressing up against old wounds.

“I would do anythin’ to fix this,” He hisses, tears coming to his eyes. “When it's safe to, when Rick gives the go ahead, and we get our hands on those bastards, I'm gonna make ‘em feel every bit of terror and pain that–”

“Daryl,” She says in a warning, poker face falling to something more focused.

He turns his head in your direction just in time to see your limbs stretch out as you wake up, comfortable in the spot he'd been laying before. He clamps his mouth shut, wishing he had wire to keep himself from nearly saying anything stupid like that in front of you again.

“Ey, bambino,” He tries lightheartedly, but his voice sounds pained.

He sniffs and tries to subtly wipe at his wet eyes as if he was still waking up himself, when in reality he barely slept at all last night. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

When your limbs relax, you curl into Daryl’s side, looking between him and Carol trying to figure out what's happening without interrupting, but whatever conversation they were having seems to have ended the second you came into the picture.

“Wa's goin’ on? ” You say in a tired slur when they both go quiet, bodies still stiff with unresolved tension.

Daryl hesitates to answer, mouthing a few things but always stopping before he can make a real sentence with the pieces.

He's hunched over on the edge of the bed, his legs spread with his elbows on his thighs and his hands limp between them, looking sleep deprived. –It's not a new look for the man, but the sorrowful, helplessly defeated energy radiating off of him is. It's worrying.

Carol doesn't wait very long after he's failed to answer in his place, looking more than displeased. “He's takin’ you to see Siddiq. The doctor.”

You immediately snap your head up in Daryl’s direction, nervously pushing the blankets from your chest and sitting up. “What? ”

You knew he was going to make you go eventually because Rick was making him, but you didn't expect to be jumped with it first thing in the morning. Couldn't he have woken you up a little sooner so you could wrap your head around the idea first before being crammed into that sterile room? –God, you're feeling nauseous already. Is he going to want to look at you? Touch you? Make you take the test right in front of him?

You wouldn't be able to refuse, and that alone is enough to shake you to your core.

“No,” He lulls when you start scrambling to get up, setting a hand on your shoulder to push you back down. “We aren't,” He maintains, seeing the hurt and confusion all over your face as your eyes jump to his clothes and shoes. Damn Carol for saying something like that when she knows how freaked out you already are. “I promise we ain't goin’ right now. –First thing we're gonna do is go get some breakfast.”

You lick the back of your teeth, glancing at the woman watching you both until she turns away and silently descends the ladder.

She wouldn't have said something like that just to scare you. There had to be a reason.

“Come on,” Daryl coaxes, pushing a bundle of fresh clothes closer to you and standing up to go wait by the ladder.

When you unfurl them, they're different from the other clothes you've gotten from the people of Hilltop. Baggier. Big enough to try and hide it if you were to gain a decent amount of weight… less girly than the other clothes too. It makes you a little upset to stare down at the neutral colors, no redeeming frills or lace to annoy the crap out of you but have your cheeks flushing from the enjoyment you secretly get out of wearing it at times. You're starting to miss that neon yellow shirt you got that you were sure you'd never wear.

You don't put up a fuss.

You pull off your pajamas and tug the shirt on. It's ugly. A shade of grey that's just dark enough to look wet. When you try to imagine someone picking this for you out of all the clothes in Hilltop, all you can feel is the shamefulness of it all. The sight almost tips words of complaint from your mouth, but you decide against it. This is all because you lied. The least you can do for Daryl is keep being an easy child. Right now what that means is getting dressed without complaint. You quickly tug on the dull maroon sweatpants that are about three sizes too big, visibly sagging on your hips. By the time you've finished, your throat's closing up. Having it on makes you even sadder, despite how soft and comfortable the material is. It doesn't fit you right, and you hope to god it never will.

“You ready?” Daryl asks, turning back around to look at you when he hears you've stopped moving behind him.

He can see your eyes filling with tears where you're sitting on the edge of the bed, but you nod anyway, dabbing at them with your sleeves and going down the ladder ahead of him.

When you step outside of the barn, he puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you flush against his side.

That contact would normally be comforting to you, but when he looks down at your face you seem indifferent to it. –Despondent, but only because you're trying so hard to be brave for him and not cry.

“S'okay,” Daryl says so softly it's not even audible.

He's not sure if he's trying to convince himself or you, but either way it's not working.

Safe… I love you, he signs somewhat hesitantly, pressing it to your chest.

Daryl wants you to know that he's still here. For the silent words push past all the thoughts he's sure are swarming your panicky little brain right now. He's almost certain that all the things you need to hear are all the words he can't bring himself to say.

Your frown gets deeper.

He just can't get over how sad you look. It's ripping him apart, even more so because he doesn't know how to help.

He should, shouldn't he? He knows you better than anyone, but every time it comes down to something he's pretty sure is fatherly, he fails. You need more than he can give you. There are things a kid your age needs to know that don't have anything to do with survival and he doesn't have the right words to teach you. Everyone else seems to know just what to do. Rick, Michonne, Carol, hell even Maggie and her baby's still in utero… He really tried to be there for you in that way –out of necessity, at first– but whatever prepared them for that kind of responsibility must have skipped him. It kind of makes sense in his head sometimes, when he thinks about what a shithead he used to be before the world fell apart.

But then he remembers that you're standing here, parentless and possibly pregnant, and all logic goes out the window.

He felt like he was finally making some progress before all of this, enough that he was willing to tap into his more emotional side and try to discuss all the scars he saw on your skin. There was finally something he could use all the pent up emotions from his upbringing for, threading all the messy thoughts and memories of running through the wilderness with Merle, cigarette burns, and belts on his bare back into coherent lessons for you… but it wasn't enough.

Survival training, –surviving– isn't enough on its own.

With every horrible thing happening, it’s all he knows how to do right now. Keep you alive. –Which sounds so pathetic in his head he almost wants to laugh. People keep houseplants alive, you’re a full blown human being endowed with free will. He can’t just give you food and water and hope you’ll thrive alone. You’ll have questions, and problems, and relationships, and friends. You’ll get sick. You’ll have hobbies. You’ll keep doing that thing where you bring things to him with puppy eyes, looking for more approval than he knows how to give.

You'll grow up.

His grip with the arm that's around you tightens, firm, but nowhere near painful.

Daryl hates that one. Every time he thinks about it he wants to smother you into staying exactly the same for the rest of time. His baby Bambi. His little Bea.

He knew that before you came back, sure, but things have changed for him since he found out you were a girl. Before, he would just do his best to imitate the masculine relationships he saw on TV and in movies. Brotherhood. Fishing trips. Hunting. Polishing guns, and roasting your kills together… It seemed easy at first and once you fell into a routine it actually made sense.

Still, it wasn’t –and would never be– enough to raise a child. You looked for something in him that he didn’t know how to give you, this scarily unyielding trust in your eyes when everything was left up to him.

Daryl still isn’t sure if you got whatever it was.

You seemed happy enough with him though. Giggly. –And that was enough for him before. That you loved him and you weren’t afraid so long as he was there with you. He liked being there for you. Liked knowing that even if he didn't look, you were right there under his arm.

…Then you were both separated and when you came back, everything was different. New all over again.

Well, not everything. He still loves you, you clearly love him, but the mounting pressure with each new reveal and everyone's conflicting accounts of what he's supposed to do with you (even when he knows it's completely the wrong thing) has him overthinking all the time you spent together. Instead of hunting trips, should he have been having pretend tea parties with you? Instead of arrows and ammo, should he have brought you dolls? Had he completely failed you? Was not noticing what you were hiding an admission that he was incapable of caring for you properly?

He knew from the very beginning that he wasn't father material, but he at the very least thought he could care for you.

Maybe he was wrong.

His grip on you loosens again with something akin to guilt.

You should have had someone to talk to about the things you felt like you couldn’t tell him. If he would have left you alone with Carol more often before, would things have been different? You could have told her. He's sure the woman would have taken you with her to The Kingdom and gotten you everything a girl your age needs.

Instead, you were stuck with him and all his inadequacy. Trapped.

The worst part is that there was some small, shameful part of himself that he didn’t know existed anymore until you came back. The part of him that remembered his mother wasting her life away at the bottom of a box of Malboros and the circus of drunk women Merle would bring back to their trailer at night. The part of him that would sit on the curb with Merle when he was in middle school and wolf whistle at any girl unfortunate enough to walk by them. The part of him that smacked women on the ass in his early twenties when he passed by them because it was just a joke. A compliment.

The part of him, he knows, that never would have accepted you or agreed to take care of you in the first place had he known the truth.

He doesn't think he can ever tell you that.

That's what scares him the most. Outright rejecting you. Losing all of this before it could even start because of his own mistakes. Because he would have judged you for something you didn't have a choice in before he even bothered getting to know you.

That part of him crumpled when he saw your bloody tear tracked face at the Saviors’ outpost, but it's still terrifying to think about.

Daryl realizes that sometimes he’s his own worst enemy.

And it's not like it mattered. Daryl never suspected you weren't who you said you were. Not once. Which means it never really mattered in the first place. His attachment was to you, not to the idea of having a little brother or whatever you are to him. His ward.

All his life he'd been making these subtle distinctions between who someone could be as a boy or a man, then life gave him you.

You like hunting.

You like origami.

You like stuffed animals and toys.

You decidedly don’t like the smell of nail polish. The first time Enid had gotten some back in Alexandria, you screwed your nose up and gagged.

–But you did like the pretty colors of the paint.

It never bothered him before to see you pick up a doll or fold paper as a boy, so why should it be any different to imagine you holding a gun now? –If this were before the fall maybe he'd have different feelings about it, but it’s a fact of survival now. He prides himself in being able to say you have great aim. He's always wanted you to be strong.

Daryl always accepted the women in the group without judgement, never playing gentleman or pulling punches on female assailants. For survivors there is no need for titles like woman and man, the only thing that matters is what you can do for the good of the group. He had never thought about that fact, it just… was.

It wasn't a mistake to do the things you did together. No matter what anyone else implies, nothing you did for the group under his care was a cruel punishment you were forced to endure. Your eyes would light up with pride every time you managed to strike dinner down with his bow.

It’s no different than Michonne shooting down and bleeding out elk, or Aaron making blankets to prepare for the colder months.

You’re you, and you like what you like. You do what you do, and Daryl’s always going to support you in that. His father might not have taught him well, he might not know how to “parent”, but he knows he doesn't want to beat lessons into you like his own father did and that's a start.

Keeping you safe and alive, telling you that he’s right there with you even if he doesn’t know what to do– That's how he can help you right now. That’s what he can do.

Daryl turns and plants another one of those decreasingly rare kisses on the top of your head, continuing to lead you to the firepit where the remaining people from Alexandria have loosely gathered.

Almost immediately you're both assaulted with the noise of chatter and excited shrill laughter, people rushing around one another and passing things back and forth. Kids that Daryl's never seen from Hilltop running up to people, and adults hauling supplies stopping through to talk about plans and have a drink. It's hectic, but at the center of all the chaos there's a box filled with rations.

Your teary eyes have dried since you left the barn, replaced with an overwhelmed look you try to hide by looking vacantly into the distance instead of at him. –And you succeed. He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy trying to stop all the thoughts he’s having from showing on his face.

“Thought there’d be less people since we came late…” He grumbles.

You don’t respond.

After a brief pause where he takes everything in, Daryl pushes forward, his hand still on your shoulder until you're a few feet from the box at the center of it all and he releases you to dig in.

The laughter all around you, the same uncontainable joy he’d been feeling when you both made it out of that base alive, all feels so distant. He can’t imagine what was going through your head when everyone kept moving on like nothing ever happened while you were still dealing with the consequences.

If it feels anything like what he feels now, he’s surprised you didn’t snap. He feels like ripping out his eyes, otherwise he might cry himself to death.

“Ey, look at this,” He tries instead, putting a small smile on his face for you as he rifles through the food. “They've got… granola? …Chips? …Chocolate? –Ah, you shouldn't eat chocolate right before we go to the doctor…” He growls quietly, pushing it aside and going deeper. “What ‘bout this can of peas?”

He steals a glance back at you, but you're barely paying any attention, scanning the group while chewing on your lower lip anxiously.

It feels like you're about to pass out. Your heart won't stop racing and you keep forgetting to breathe.

“A’right…” He sighs with defeat, handing you a few oat protein bars filled with preserve from the box. They claim to be made with real fruit, so they should be good for you.

When he turns back around to look for himself he can hear you thumbing the wrapper, groaning softly.

“Almost there, kid,” He hushes. “I know.”

Michonne appears behind him while he's digging through the box of rations, her hands in her pockets as she looks between you with a forced smile on her face. –She, like Carol wrongly assumed when she first met you, thinks that you can't tell the difference.

“How's the barn?” She asks after a moment, words filled with genuine concern for his well-being.

Her voice barely makes it through Daryl's internal turmoil. The man's on a mission and he can’t stop now. He's gotta get you fed and away from all this shit.

Case and point, some asshole just threw a potato for Gabriel over your heads like football instead of walking it over to him. He didn't catch it.

He growls to himself.

Daryl plans on turning around and giving Michonne a half-way decent answer about your living arrangements when he sees the expression on her face and realizes that she’s fishing, subtly hinting with her eyes that she's trying to give him an opportunity to vent about what’s happening with you.

He’s grateful, but there’s more pressing issues and he’s almost certain that if he tries to discuss what’s going on he’s going to flip the fuck out again.

“‘S fine,” He answers vaguely. “I'll talk to you later, alright?”

He returns his hand to your back, gently pushing you to a less chaotic spot, away from most of the people but still close enough to occasionally join the conversation.

There's no fire currently going, but there are a few people that have taken to sitting on the stones making up the pit. They’re the ones making the most noise, drinking even though it's barely mid-morning.

Daryl motions to the log in front of you, sitting down on it with an exaggerated groan in the hopes you'll at least crack a smile. You don't. There's more than enough room for you to join him, and anyone else who can keep things mellow.

You stay standing.

You're far more interested in what's going on between Rick and Carl than the food or sitting with people you barely spoke to before, and definitely haven't spoken to since, your return. You know they're not bad people, you do care about them and genuinely want to know how they’re doing, but it'd be overwhelming. You could barely speak to Daryl when you first came back and you adore him.

Plus, they're drunk, so… It’s better to keep your distance and gauge how they’re handling your secret being exposed anyway, you remind yourself.

“Look me in the eye and–!” Rick says something else that's just far enough out of earshot where they're standing that you can't hear it, and Carl responds with one of the most adverse reactions you've seen from him. He points a finger at Rick and starts yelling, his arms gesturing wildly in the space around him like whatever the man said was completely insane.

You really wish you could hear what they were saying, you've never seen him react that way. Especially not to Rick. You know how much he savors what little time the man spends with him when they're not actively engaged in a fight with another group, or on the road looking for a safe place to rest their heads.

It goes on like that for a little while before Rick's face hardens, his head cocking as he starts whisper-shouting back at him.

“Bambi,” Daryl says, nudging you in the side. You barely register it, not taking your eyes off of the argument as you make a slightly annoyed but questioning noise. He taps the protein bars in your hand. “Eat. –Even if it's just a little, okay?”

You tear open one of them without looking at what it is and bite into it, tearing a piece off.

Rick’s brow furrows and his posture abruptly falls, like he just can’t stand to be angry at his son anymore. He reaches for Carl’s shoulder, barely having touched it before Carl shrugs him off, shaking his head. He looks miserable.

“...What does that mean?”

Most people are pretending not to notice their argument, but Daryl finally does and starts watching with you, tugging you a little closer to himself with a frown.

“None of that–”

Carl stops shouting, seemingly trying to desperately reason with the man in front of him and for the first time since you noticed, you start to wonder if the argument has something to do with you. –If maybe he’d found out about all the terrible things you’d brought back with you and decided you needed to be punished for doing what you’d done with him knowing full well it could mess everything up. He could hate you right now. He could hate you and you wouldn't even know it until he decides to do something to hurt you.

The food in your mouth suddenly tastes bitter. When you swallow it feels like a handful of pebbles.

And then he points at you.

Your heart stops for a split second. It’s a loose gesture, more of a hand waved over the entire group than an index poked out at a single subject, but when he does it he turns slightly and his eyes lock onto yours, hand freezing above you.

It stops in a spot where from Carl’s perspective it sort of looks like his hand is shielding you from the sun. He almost wants to laugh. Maybe he would if his dad wasn't throwing a hissy fit behind him, and you weren't looking at him with such a serious expression.

Regardless, he's done with whatever conversation he’d been having.

He shoots one last unreadable look at his father, then turns around and starts walking through the firepit of people quickly averting their eyes, still pretending they weren’t watching. His fists are loosely balled up at his sides, and his chest is still rising and falling quickly like he hasn't completely caught his breath from the fight, eye narrowed into a glare.

He reaches you and Daryl, coming to a stop about three feet from where you're standing.

You brace yourself. Here it comes–

“Are you feelin’ any better?” He asks, all too innocently for someone who received the kind of news he would have, his eye softening.

You blink. He has no idea.

You know Carl’s not stupid. He’s going to figure things out eventually, but knowing that for now he's still safe from what's happening is a massive relief.

His eye drifts down to what you're wearing, his confusion only growing as he scans the sweatsuit. “Your outfit looks… comfortable? –I almost wish I'd worn my pajamas to breakfast. We could have matched.”

That earns a quiet but genuine laugh from you and he seems encouraged by it.

He steps closer.

“How’s your, uhm,” He swallows hard, glancing at Daryl quickly as if he's just remembered that the man is there. “–Your arm? Is it botherin’ you?”

What he really wants to ask is if Daryl has calmed down at all from yesterday, considering the death glare the man is currently giving him. He hopes things have at least been okay between the two of you, but from looking at Daryl he has a feeling asking right now might set him off.

You shrug, pulling up your sleeve and holding out the scarred flesh so he can touch it if he wants to, the memories of the last time you'd done this making your heart pick up speed.

Even though you’re ashamed to admit it, you honestly wish he’d wind up in your bed again despite not wanting to trick him. It felt like a weight off your chest to wake up and see his baby blue eye looking back at yours.

“It looks less irritated. That's good…” He mumbles, giving the healing skin a brief, gentle stroke with the tips of his fingers. His eye flicks up to yours while he’s doing it, as if he’s searching for something.

Then once again, he steps closer, lowering his voice so that you're the only one able to hear him. “I don’t mean to pry but you’re not signin’ or talkin’, you’re just… quiet. Is everythin’ okay?”

You shrug again, shying away from him.

Daryl used to think it was cute that you got so nervous around Carl, sweating and blushing and stumbling over your words, –or hiding behind him when Carl came into the room– because at the time he was under the impression that you wanted the “older” boy to think you were cool. It was adorable how hard you tried to be friends with him before it happened, your limited social skills much like his own, repeatedly delaying that very thing until Carl noticed and acquiesced.

But now that you've come back, a lot of those behaviors have mellowed out. You seem to trust Carl almost as much as you do on him, and the boy seems happy about your friendship. He's a good kid. Daryl should be happy your friendship is moving so smoothly…

And yet, he senses this tension between you. –Maybe it was always there, maybe he's making something out of nothing, but when he looks at the two of you without really taking a moment to think about it, he notices all these little things.

Like, for example, the way you're digging the foot your weight isn't resting on into the dirt like you're nervous. –The way you look at him, all smitten, with those big doe eyes, the light, almost nonexistent blush on your cheeks, or the way Carl just keeps getting closer. All the excuses the boy seems to make to brush you, touch you, talk to you…

Half of Daryl wants to believe that this is a good thing, like at the safe house when Carl stepped in to comfort you.

The other half is not so generous.

The boy is practically sniffin’ around you like a dog in heat and he doesn't. fucking. like. it.

AT. ALL.

Carl's not a bad boy, he knows that. –Damn near helped raise the kid himself. He has his own fair share of character flaws and enough trauma to fill more books than a complete set of encyclopedias, but he has a good head on his shoulders and a big heart. He’s moral. Not cruel, but honest. Daryl isn't worried that you'll hate what he's doing, or won't speak up for yourself when you've had enough of it. In fact, it's the opposite.

He's worried that you like it.

“Bea,” He says sternly, and you turn to face him owlishly, slipping your hands behind your back like he'd caught you doing something wrong.

But for the first time today, you don't look like you want to run away crying.

“Mm?” You hum questioningly, eagerly tipping your head towards Carl as if to ask, Can I go?

“No.” He replies sternly, the words sounding too fast and too harsh to his own ears. Daryl can only imagine what you're thinking right now, having him suddenly snap at you like that. “We… We have to go to the doctor, ‘member?”

He watches you deflate.

“Siddiq?” Carl cuts in, looking concerned. “Why?”

“We just do, kid. ‘M sorry,” He replies with a semi-false sympathetic tone, unable to shake his thoughts. You and Carl haven't done anything wrong. It's just… the situation.

“Oh…” Carl's shoulders kind of slump, brow furrowing like he's deep in thought.

You try to make eye contact with the boy again, still pouting, but he doesn’t look back at you until he gets a good grip on what he should say to being told that he can't spend time with you for no apparent reason. Siddiq won't even be in for at least another hour.

“Uhm, I'll see you after?” He says, trying to sound brighter as he turns to you, hand awkwardly reaching for yours then pulling away just as fast when he fails. “I'll be… y'know… around.”

You nod sadly, the joy draining from your face as he walks away.

Daryl watches you watch him go, his heart aching when he hears you start sniffling again. He just wants you safe. He didn’t mean to be so domineering about it.

He reaches out and sets a hand on your forearm, squeezing it to comfort you even though he's the one making you the most upset right now. Ever since this morning you've felt angry at him and you don't know why. You just woke up feeling bad.

You love him so much you'd do anything to make him happy, but you just can't seem to do it right. Everything you do is almost always the wrong thing lately, even when you're doing it to protect him, like hiding what happened.

“C’mere,” Daryl says quietly, pulling you back over and patting the spot next to him.

You sit down slowly, sniffling all the while.

You want to go back to bed.

You don't want to go to the doctor and have that stranger poke at you, you want to go home. You want to go with Carl.

Daryl turns to look at you and you curl a fist into one of your eyes, rubbing to hide the tears bubbling up again.

“Eat,” He says softly, tone apologetic.

You take another bite, then stuff the rest into your pocket, unwilling to force yourself to consume any more.

*

*

*

Nearly forty minutes later Rick gives the most subtle signal he can come up with for the two of you to follow him to Siddiq’s office from across the firepit, already starting that way himself.

You clench your teeth so hard they feel like they might shatter, an unpleasant rush of adrenaline starting to course through your veins.

Your chest is on fire. You clutch the center of your shirt with one hand, trying to steady your breathing. Every exhale is harder to come back from than the last, it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself. Is it the binding? No. You haven't bound your chest since Carl ripped it off of you because you saw how bad it was getting.

You look up at Daryl in an effort to communicate with him, but he silently stands up next to you, a deep frown on his face as he waits for you to take your place underneath his arm.

He looks tired. Run down. This morning he kept rubbing his eyes before he looked at you like he had to mentally prepare himself before he could look you in the eye again…

If you tried to tell him about what you're feeling right now, would it even lead to anything meaningful? He'd probably think you were making excuses to try and avoid seeing the doctor.

You swallow hard, slipping into place next to him with a nervous glance he either doesn't see or doesn't acknowledge. –Though you’d be lying if you didn’t say the closer you got to having to sit in that office, the more you considered going on the run or hiding somewhere so they couldn't force you into this.

His arm is heavy on your shoulders, too loose and too low, with none of the genuine adoration and pride the action is usually filled with. It's not like you want him to parade you around right now, but having him walk next to you with his shoulders hunched shamefully is just as bad. It only serves to make you feel worse. He doesn't understand. –And that makes you angrier, which makes you want to scream and cry because you love him so much it hurts.

You're also scared because maybe, just maybe, he's found it in himself to put your history aside and be rightfully humiliated to associate with you.

No. Daryl wouldn’t abandon you like that… would he?

You try to stop to talk to him, “Da– Mmph,” only to be effectively silenced as he bumps you into his arm, squeezing you tighter.

He’s walking too fast. Smothering you. He probably wants to get this over with quickly, you understand that, but with every step building on your impending sense of doom you wish he’d give you some time to acclimate. Can’t he tell that rushing you is making this so much worse? Doesn’t he know that you need him right now?

Or, a little voice in the back of your head whispers, he doesn’t care anymore. You’ve already put him through so much as it is, maybe you owe it to him to just be quiet for now.

You bite your tongue until you taste blood, consciously avoiding the part that was previously severed so it doesn't have to be treated again. They’ve already put so much effort and resources into treating you as it is.

Up ahead, you can both see Rick peer over his shoulder before entering the building, but just as you’re about to catch up someone familiar steps into your line of sight. She has a deep frown on her face, jaw subtly flexing as she blocks your path to the infirmary.

She's furious.

“Go play for a minute,” Carol abruptly orders you, snapping her fingers and raising her arm to point at the nearest kids.

You send a glance their way, not recognizing any of them, before jerking your head back to look up at Daryl with confusion.

You've heard Carl talk about how cultishly friendly they all are with the exception of a select few new kids who are still dealing with personal problems, but you don't really feel the need to connect with them. It feels like they're on a different planet.

“–And don't go too far,” She tacks on as an afterthought, scrunching her face slightly.

Despite you not having moved to comply with the request, Daryl’s grip on you tightens again.

“The hell are you doin’?” He balks at her.

“We need to have a little chat,” She says, crossing her arms. “Alone.”

“Now?” Daryl asks, frustration clear as day.

Her eyes twitch, flicking to you and then back. “Yes, right now.”

They hold eye contact with one another for a beat. Steeled, unyielding gaze up against steel, unyielding gaze. It looks like a continuation of whatever weird struggle was happening between them earlier, except now they're openly doing it in front of you. It's weird. It makes you upset.

Daryl releases you, glowering at the woman. “Go inside.”

You snap your head up to look at him dead-on, concern blanketing the fear growing in you at the prospect of having to go in alone. “Nn?”

“Inside,” He all but growls, narrowing his eyes without turning to look at you.

You clench your fists at your sides, holding your breath as you hesitantly step forward, looking between the two of them before vanishing into the building.

It’s not like you really have a choice in the matter, you’d rather not force him to drag you inside and make a big fuss.

Daryl turns his attention back to Carol in front of him. “Now what–”

He doesn't get to finish his question, the woman quickly stepping forward and poking him in the chest. “What is wrong with you? –I seriously hoped you were going to make the right choice and come with me to fix this, but instead you're rushin’ straight into what Rick told you to do.”

“And what's so wrong with that, huh?” Daryl shouts defensively, his hands starting to shake with thinly veiled anger and insecurity. “Rick knows what he's doin’.”

And I don't, he refrains from adding.

“No he doesn't,” Carol scoffs, rolling her eyes. “If this situation's made anything clear, it's that Rick's too stubborn to hear anyone else out when it's a topic that makes him uncomfortable. He thinks he knows what’ll keep them safe, but when it's too late to stop bad things from happening he's out of his depth. –You saw what happened with Carl earlier.” And with Sophia, her mind whispers.

He did. Daryl has no idea what they were arguing about, but he did. Then the boy came directly over to you and Rick had this nervous look on his face, like he was itching to lock Carl up in the house for the rest of his life…But Daryl doesn't like hearing her say that it’s too late to save you from what happened, even if he knows it's true. He can't erase your time held captive no matter how hard he tries.

“I don't know what kinda’ grudge you're holding against Rick, but I won't let it stop me from gettin’ the kid help,” He says pettily, trying to ignore the truth in her words. “I want her to get better.”

Carol bulldozes him with a single look. Her eyes narrowed with clear offense at his weak attempt to make it sound like she doesn’t care about you, her lips curled into an even deeper, sadder frown.

One of the worst parts about trusting someone enough to tell them everything, –letting them see the deepest, darkest parts of yourself– is knowing that when you inevitably try to shut them out and twist the knife in their back, they’ll look you in the eyes the whole time and not be surprised in the slightest. That they can see through all the bullshit you say to protect yourself and the pretty little worlds you make up in your head to avoid having to confront reality.

“Better's not going to happen for a long while,” She laments. “Longer, if you do the wrong thing here.”

“Don't say that,” He spits, taking a step back. “She's– That's not true.”

He doesn't want to have to imagine a world where this is still affecting you this much until the day you die, doesn’t want to have to keep picturing you holding a baby you wish didn't exist, spending the rest of your life trying to raise the child of your–

“Stop saying things like that,” He begs. “She's goin’ to be fine. Siddiq’s goin’ to help her.”

“Have you even taken a second to think this through?” She asks, tipping her head to the side.

“‘Course I–” He starts, then falters.

Did he? He wonders, doubt creeping in again. He's so completely out of his depth when it comes to you.

“Yes.” He answers, trying to sound as sure of himself as he possibly can.

“And you thought that it was a good idea to have her in a room full of men, poking and prodding at her?”

Daryl makes a wounded noise, physically taking a step back.

“Don’t say it like that. We ain’t men, we’re family,” He snarls back, wetting his lower lip.

“Trauma doesn’t always follow logic,” Carol says softly. “I’m just telling you what’s objectively happening. Three men with a young, terrified girl, behind a locked door.”

When she puts it like that it sounds so obviously wrong. But that can't be. All they're doing is taking you to the doctor to make sure that you're going to be okay. None of them would ever hurt you like that, and you know it.

You do know it… don’t you?

You were so uncomfortable when you first came back that you wouldn't let Rick, Siddiq, or any man other than himself touch you even when they were just trying to take away your pain and make you more comfortable, you'd rather have stayed in metal handcuffs than let Rick get a hold of your wrist.

No wonder you've been so quiet all day, you must hate him for this.

But because he asked you to, you'd complied.

“She trusts you…” Carol goes on, averting her gaze. “She would never say no if you lead her somewhere dangerous, because she trusts you’ll look after her.”

And what if he was a bad person? What if you had ended up putting your trust in the wrong man and when you got into that room he– Daryl nearly vomits, mouth tingling painfully as bile rises in his throat. She’s right. You’d never say no. He seriously doubts that you’d fight back against him if he tried to hurt you, and that thought terrifies him to his very core. That you'd just let him–

“Daryl…” Carol says, softer when she sees the tears in his eyes.

“I can't do this to her,” He cries softly, watching as the finger poking his chest softens and starts to rub it soothingly. “I don't know what to do…”

“You're spiraling,” She hushes.

“You have to– You have to take her, Carol,” He begs, letting a few tears fall. “I can't do this no more. I ain't her father and I don't know what to do, she needs help. Please– You have to take her from me.”

“Hey,” The woman hisses, lowering her voice and peering over her shoulder to make sure no one heard that. “Do not let her hear you say that. Not right now.”

He clamps his mouth shut, sighing shakily.

“I’ll be right there with you,” She nods, waiting until he starts nodding along with her. “That's why I'm here. I'm going to be right there with you both… okay?”

“Mm-yeah,” Daryl nods, taking a deep breath to get a handle on his emotions.

He can't let you see him cry. Not today. Not when you're already at your lowest and terrified. He's gotta be strong for you. The same way you tried to be for him when you hid all this from everyone.

“Ready?” She asks after a moment.

The man takes another deep breath through his nose, feeling more unprepared than ever, then slowly lets it out through his nose.

“...Yeah.”

---

Fic Chapterlist

tw (SPOILERS): body dysmorphia, imposter syndrome, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of teen pregnancy, implied SA (more on that later, nothing explicit said for now), self blame, internalization

I'm so sorry Bambi :(

Daryl makes his way over to your pillow fort in the loft and crouches down, pushing some of the blankets and things the people of Hilltop left you aside to make space for himself. As he looks at all the neatly organized offerings he thinks about how glad he is that under Maggie’s leadership the people of Hilltop not only have enough to give surplus to people they’ve never met, but also that they’re so willing to give. He doesn’t want to think about how hard things would have been for you if everyone here treated you like an outsider and you had to struggle for scraps while recovering.

His hands find the half-eaten cheese cloth of cookies and he laughs to himself, the image of you stuffing your mouth full of cookies until your cheeks bulge making him smile as he takes the remaining half of one and pops it into his mouth, continuing to work.

He can always get you more. In fact, he plans to get all of your favorite foods even if it means having to work extra for them. He likes it when you’re happy, and since you’ve been back he’s rarely seen you look unburdened.

Grunting, he pushes, then smashes down some of the hay barrels in an effort to make the whole bed less pokey for both of you. Which he wonders why you didn't do the first night you had to sleep on it. It could have been much more comfortable.

“Dummy,” He snorts.

Daryl is almost finished, just straightening the blanket you have laid down over the hay as a sheet back into place, when his hand hits something strangely smooth hidden underneath it.

It's a completely different texture than any of the rest of the bed, and when he pushes down with his fingers he finds that the bulging object is completely separate from the barrels, seemingly intentionally put out of sight there. His concern mounts, Rick’s words creeping their way into his mind despite his efforts to hold them back and think of an innocent explanation.

He pulls back the blankets and finds the thin pink box you'd hidden, his heart dropping so fast he thinks he might pass out.

Part of him thinks he should back out, pretend he hadn’t seen it and tell Rick and the others about it so they can take care of you. –Take you away from him, just like they should have the moment they found you. Daryl’s not meant to be a father. He’s irritable, rough around the edges, and even though he has much love to give, sometimes love just isn't enough. He knew he wasn't meant to be a father. This is proof enough of that.

But he can hear your footsteps approaching the barn, alone, and his rising emotions get the better of him.

Daryl quickly snatches up the box, gripping the cardboard so hard he might break the contents right along with it if he's not careful, making his way down the ladder before you've even stepped foot inside.

You're softly smiling to yourself when he comes to a stop right before the doors, blocking your path.

“Why?” He seethes with so much hatred that it startles you and you look behind you to see if there’s someone else here, but no, right now it’s only the two of you. He holds the test up, shaking it in front of your face so much that you hardly recognize it at first. “Why? ” He repeats again, voice getting sharper.

You don't shrug this time, your body is frozen solid, skin on alight with shame.

“Why? Why do you…” His voice breaks, and worse than the anger, Daryl looks like he's about to cry. “Why? ”

You shrink back.

“Bambi.” He shouts warningly, refusing to let you run. You've never run from him.

Carol's footsteps catch up finally, and she's suddenly standing at your side trying to figure out what's going on. “Daryl?” Then her eyes go wide at the sight of the pregnancy test and she snaps her head to look at you, face mangled with disgust as if she’s sickened.

You take a step away from her.

“Answer me,” Daryl pleads loudly, reaching out to grab your arm only to be narrowly stopped by Carol. “Why? Why, Bambi? Why d'ya need this?” He continues shouting helplessly, doing his best to fight Carol off so he can get to you. The woman keeps holding him back.

“Daryl! –Daryl stop it!”

He throws the test at you and you flinch, jumping back like touching it directly even for a second burned your skin.

“Why?! ” He says again, voice going hoarse as he clings into Carol's arms for dear life, crying. “Why?! ”

You take another step back at the sight of the damage you've caused.

Then another, and another, until you've turned your back on them completely and walked away.

Your legs feel numb and your stomach hurts. It hurts so damn bad, but you know it's not real. You're making yourself sick, doing all of this, hurting the people you love, keeping all your secrets and vaulting everything up until someone finds it.

Rick sees you, the dazed look on your face, and tries to ask you what’s wrong but you don’t stop to talk to him. You ignore him until he stops asking and lets you keep walking.

How could you do this to him? Daryl loved you. He considered you his family, tried to take you under his wing like a son, and you repaid that love, that trust, by hiding things from him twice now. Big things that would alter his life for the better not to have to deal with.

You hit the wooden walls of Hilltop and press your face against it, letting the tears stream down your face as you rub your cheek against it.

Who are you kidding? You were just being a coward. What's new? You've never been able to live up to what Daryl’s expected, no matter how hard you try because this body–

Gripping your unbound chest as hard as you can, you turn around and slam the back of your head against the wall with a muffled scream.

–Fucking hates you. It does everything it can to get in the way of what you want at every turn, everything to make you hurt. You wish you could slip this skin. Life would be so much easier.

You slip down the wall and pull your knees up to your chest, burying your face into your arms.

Stop crying, you repeat to yourself, rocking back and forth. You don't get to cry.

If this were before you'd both been taken you wouldn't have cried. You were so… different. So strong. People respected you and took what little you said at face value because they trusted you enough to think you knew what you were doing.

You didn't deserve that trust.

You gag, hard, but swallow the bile in your throat to prevent yourself from throwing up. It must be the guilt.

You hate when Daryl yells, it's scary. But you hate it even more when he cries, and this time you made him cry. You. It's all your fault. Everyone must hate you now if they didn't already. Including him. You're such a disappointment.

Not only did you fail to live up to the name he gave you when he took you in and taught you like his own, now you've gone and made his life so much more complicated. You lied, liar. You went and got yourself…

Squeezing your arms tighter, then biting into the flesh of your forearm, you whine into your skin.

You're in real trouble now.

*

*

*

It's a few hours later when somebody finds you, your face buried in your knees, teetering on the edge of sleep.

They don't seem in a hurry. When they find you they don't call out to tell anyone else. They just sit down beside you, even when you curl tighter in on yourself, they simply rest a hand over the top of one of your shoes.

You want them to leave. In fact, you wait nearly half an hour for it, but they don't. They stay right where they are, their warm hand heating the toe of your boot.

It's comforting, and you don't like that. You don't deserve it.

You glare up at them defiantly, hoping that by some miracle the look will inflict some real damage and they’ll leave you alone… but the moment your eyes focus on your victim, you feel ashamed all over again, the guilt twisting deep in your gut like a knife.

Ducking your face down again, you cower from the patient look in Carl’s eye.

“I don't know what happened,” He says quietly, his gaze not faltering from you. “Carol said everyone should give you some space and wait for you to come back on your own, but I was worried…”

He shouldn't be worried about you. The second you came home and he saw what you were, what you'd been hiding from him, he should have been disgusted and felt betrayed. He should have pushed you away before things went too far.

“Can you at least sign something to tell me if you're okay?” He requests, voice growing softer. “Because you don't look okay.”

Without looking up from where you've hidden, you set your hand over his, tugging on his sleeve until he understands you want him to come closer.

He slides to your side and hesitantly puts his arms around your shoulders, watching as you unfold and curl into his side like you were meant to fit there.

“You cut your hair,” Carl observes, reaching down to rake his hands through it.

It wasn't like he hadn't already noticed from the moment he spotted you, but seeing it and getting to feel and rake his hands through it is a whole different experience he feels needs to be verbalized. It's soft. –Even at the much shorter ends where it used to be splitting apart, it's cleanly cut.

“Are you mad? –Do you still… want to be like this? ” You ask softly, running your hand across his chest.

The question throws him for a loop despite what a relief it is to hear your voice. His heart skips a beat, and not in a pleasant way.

“Bambi…” He pauses, knowing there's so much he wants to ask, especially when it comes to the way you present yourself. “Why would I ever be angry about somethin’ like that? Of course I want to be like this, I don't care about your hair as long as it makes you happy.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me crying, please,” You request, looking up at him.

You think the others hearing about this would make them think they were right to treat you like you're breakable, when they’re not. Everyone goes through emotions. Just because you’re younger, and a girl, doesn’t mean that your problems and reasons for being upset are any less real. You wish it wasn't a constant fight to prove yourself, when you already did before all of this.

“Is Daryl still…? ”

Carl grimaces, looking off into the distance.

“He was flipping out. He wouldn’t stop yellin’ at my dad and trying to lunge at Siddiq,” Carl pauses for a moment, his hold on you twitching like he’s not sure if his hand should be there or not, the emotions on his face turning cold as he recalls the moment. “Nothin’ he said made any sense. He was hysterical.”

You guide his gaze back toward you to get him to stop making the face he is, sitting up so you can rest yourself on the edge of his shoulder. “But you don't know what was going on? ”

“...No,” He says after a moment of hesitation, trying to make sense of the desperate yelling the older man was doing. “But you do, don't you? –Because it was somethin’ to do with you, and you don't want me to know,” He adds, sounding hurt.

You know it’s not possible to hide something like this from him forever. It’s just nice to pretend like everything’s gonna be okay for once.

At least in the dark, Carl doesn't have to think about all the horrible things waiting for him on the other side.

You give him a somber look. “I'm sorry, Carl.”

“Don't be,” He dismisses easily, pulling you into the crook of his neck and resting his head on top of yours. “Just… focus on getting better.”

You almost want to laugh at how simple he makes it sound, like with one snap of your fingers you can suddenly erase weeks worth of torture and psychological agony from your memory. You were already dysfunctional to begin with, now that everything's out in the open you can't see a world in which anything gets any better. It's only going to get worse because of what Daryl found, and what it means for the rest of your probably short life.

“I don’t know if I can,” You whisper bitterly, closing your eyes again.

He was never supposed to see that. –Never supposed to have a chance to think about what might have happened to you behind closed doors.

The mind wandering is a dangerous thing.

“I'm here,” Carl says when you shiver under him, putting a slight pressure into his hold like Daryl would after you first came into their lives.

You feel your heart starting to slow, trying to untense your muscles starting with your jaw and working your way down to your feet, then back up again. It's not enough. Every time you remember what's waiting for you when you return to the barn your stomach churns with anxiety.

“Harder, please,” You request, squeezing your eyelids as tightly closed as you can.

“Mhm,” Carl puts more pressure into it until it's almost bruising, the kind of grip you'd use to knead clay. “Better?”

You let out a sigh, allowing yourself to relax. “Yeah. ”

For all the stupid things Merle had said and done, he was right about this. Deep pressure is soothing, like a weighted blanket or a hug, and it forces your body to flood your brain with dopamine… Even if he initially intended for Daryl to use the technique when stealing their neighbor's livestock. If Daryl hadn't known it when he met you, things could have gone horrifically awry. You probably wouldn't have trusted him as much, not having the reassurance of being literally tucked underneath his arm unharmed to cite as a reason to, and you definitely wouldn't have wanted to stay. You were petrified.

Daryl wishes you'd gotten to meet Merle. You do too.

Things could have been different.

Despite everything he did, all the horrible things Merle learned from their father, and all the horrible names you're sure he would have called you if he would have been alive in Alexandria, underneath it all he was still the boy who used to tell Daryl jokes to keep him calm when their father prowled the house with a belt. The boy who told Daryl to run for the hills, for his life, who tried to teach Daryl what he thought was the only way to survive in the old world, and then again in the next. In a big way, he's part of the reason Daryl took you in.

He could have been so much more, could have changed just like Daryl did even though he was much farther gone. You feel his absence despite never having met him, an empty place setting in your and Daryl’s dynamic where he would slide in perfectly.

It's not a place that can be filled by anyone else, nor is it a painful void that Daryl tries to fill. It's just grief. A nick in his heart that he's shown you, because that's how much you mean to him.

He would never hurt you.

“I need to talk to Daryl,” You say after a moment, turning to press a tentative kiss into the pale skin of Carl’s neck.

He lets out an appreciative noise, smiling as he angles his head to give you more access to his skin, but you shake your head apologetically. You need to get going.

“Okay,” He says just above a whisper, nosing the square of your jaw and your cheek. “Come find me if you need me.”

“I will. ”

You stand up, offering your hand to help Carl up off of the ground despite how he snorts when you do it. The action feels so familiar, almost routine to you from the days you'd spent exploring the woods outside of Alexandria, boosting one another up and such, but to Carl it feels strange now. He isn't sure why, but you helping him up feels awkward. It looks… weird.

It's probably just because of the way his dad's been looking at the two of you recently. He just needs to shake it off.

He ducks down and plants one last kiss on your forehead. “Be safe.”

You nod, turning away and trying to steel yourself for what's ahead.

Every step you take is like being under a spotlight, the bulb melting your skin with the hot light of shame. It feels like everyone you pass knows what Daryl found, but clearly that can't be true. If it was, Carl would have known.

That doesn't seem to stop their eyes from sticking to you for what feels like far too long, though.

You cross your arms over your chest and walk faster.

*

*

*

Daryl is sitting on Maggie’s porch with his head in his hands when you find him. There are two short glasses sat on the railing with a golden brown residue in them, a cigarette butt in one. His eyes are searching the dirt for answers, but it seems he comes up empty because he swipes his hands down his face. He looks exhausted. Cried out.

You walk towards him, slowing to a stop a few feet away from where he's sitting to brace for his reaction to your presence, but he doesn’t react. He stays right where he is, eyes not moving up to look at yours, shoulders only slumping further like even having you nearby is a huge weight on his shoulders.

Like you're a burden.

Tears sting at your eyes and at the back of your throat but you stay strong for him. You come to sit beside him quietly, leaving enough room between you that if you wanted to touch you'd have to move closer to bridge the gap.

He finally reacts in the form of a sigh, angling his head towards you for a moment like he's going to say something– only to come up short and turn away from you again.

That's okay. He can take his time.

It took you a long time to wrap your mind around the idea too. You toyed with it while it drained you of any willpower to fight, your body showing increasing signs of sickness and exhaustion as if to say, very quietly, “I'm still here!” in the back of your mind every time you thought you had a chance of forgetting what happened. What could be happening to you as a consequence.

You pull your knees up to your chest again and rest the side of your face there, staring at him. Running your eyes over all of his features that you have memorized, only now they look withered with the weight of what he discovered. He's not drunk. It seems more like his friend, Maggie, gave him a drink to take the edge off and calm him down from the outburst Carl was talking about.

After a long while, he looks back at you, suddenly angered again by whatever went through his mind.

“You didn't take it,” He says sharply, like it's an accusation.

It doesn't land nearly as hard when he can't even bring himself to yell at you or name the object you've both been terrorized by, but it gets his point across and hits you right where it hurts regardless.

“Because I didn't want to know,” You answer immediately, digging your fingers into the flesh of your thighs so you don't break down. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. You can't right now, not until you've set things right. “And… I didn't want you to know.”

Daryl almost snaps at those words, mouth readying to yell at you and tell you that if you would have just said something to him everything could have been fixed sooner, that they might have wasted valuable medicine on you that you might not have even needed because they were symptoms of a different, worse condition, but he stops himself because you keep talking.

“I-I'm… I'm not ready… I want it all to go away,” You whimper quietly, shoulders raising to cover your neck. “I let you down. I couldn't protect myself when I actually needed to and now I ruined everything.”

The anger is punched out of him almost immediately. Another tear slips down his face, then down his arm until it rolls off onto his jeans.

It's not your fault that something like this happened. Even if you hadn't been lying about your gender before, if someone were going to do something like this to you it would still have happened no matter what you were dressed in. –But having his worst fears all but confirmed by you, that this really is a possibility because of the Saviors, absolutely destroys him.

“Will you?” He asks delicately. “Take it soon?”

You nod, lip quivering too much to be conducive to conversation.

He turns away from you again, rubbing his forehead with his bloody, freshly bruised knuckles.

He must've punched something.

“How?” He asks, softer, voice cracking at the edges. He just needs to hear it from you, hear how it happened and what you had to go through because he wasn't there to protect you. “How could this– How? ”

You turn away from the question.

“Do you even know how?” He asks in a sob, like the question is too much for him to even consider.

He shifts his legs on the stairs so he can close the distance between you, pulling you into his arms until he can knock his head into the side of yours, nuzzling into your hair with a deep inhale.

People do this with their children all the time. Daryl used to worry people would look at him sideways if he did something like that with you out in the open, reserving his real hugs and affection for when you were alone or hurt, but now he finds he doesn't really care what other people have to say. He needs to feel you in his arms and know that you're safe. He needs to smell you and hear you laughing from a distance while you play outside. He needs this.

Carol was right, it is everything.

Whether you're a mother or a father, a brother, or whatever Daryl is to you, losing a child like that means losing yourself right along with them. He might be able to imagine forcing himself to live in a world where you aren't anymore, but he doesn’t want to. He can't live in that world anymore, not now that he knows what it's like when it's your own.

He loved Beth, but Beth wasn't his. She had a family she needed to get back to. You don't. It's a different feeling. With her, he always knew that she had options, a father and a sister who loved her to pieces and would defend her with their lives if they needed to. He never had to worry if while he was out hunting she'd get so lonely she struck out on her own to find him, or lie awake wondering if she got her fill at dinner instead of quietly watching from a distance. Not because she'd been older, but because with you, he's all you've got. There is no passing you off to better people, no letting them take you away like he wishes they would have at first.

Daryl would never be able to move on without you, especially not knowing you were still alive somewhere, needing and missing him.

So for the next hour or so, that's all he does. He keeps you close to his chest, on and off sobbing as he rubs his hands up and down your back.

He's so fucking sorry. You have no idea how sorry he really is.

If he hadn't found you, if he hadn't trapped you, if he hadn't brought you back here, if he would have noticed sooner, none of this would have happened. You'd be safe. He failed, and Rick knew it even before they all knew it. You needed someone who could take care of you, and he wasn't there. He's no father.

But there's no going back on you now.

The sun is just beginning to set, the exhaustion of being out and active all day –since you returned, really– is starting to take its toll on you again. Your body needs rest, and you're sure his does too. He's been straining himself to work when you know he still has to be hurting from whatever torture they inflicted.

You put your hands on either side of Daryl’s face, wiping the last of his tears away.

“Can we go home now?” You say at full volume, voice strangled because of the effort it takes. “I promise to tell the truth from now on…”

Daryl lets out another cry as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into a tight embrace. Your voice just sounds so… small. Innocent. Fragile. Like the baby Bambi he found in the net that day.

He can't picture you having a baby. Your still so small frame being forced to carry the weight of another person, being sick and miserable all the time just like Lori and Maggie, when you've only just begun getting better. Then what? You give birth to the damn thing? Nobody was sure that Lori would survive with medicine, Maggie with a doctor, and they're fully grown women. What's going to happen to you?

What's going to happen to his baby, Bea?

The kid who still cries when stuffed animals are mistreated? Who crawls into bed with him half the time because the world is scary and thunderstorms are loud? Who barely knows how to hold a shotgun, let alone a full blown baby. You liked to play with Judith, but it was just that, play. He can't imagine you waking up to screaming and crying, having to feed it in the middle of the night. He can't imagine you dropping your lessons about hunting and target practice to learn how to change diapers.

“I'm gonna fix it,” He promises, rocking you in his arms. “I ain't gonna let nothin’ bad happen to you, okay? –I'm gonna make it all go away.”

You shake your head knowingly, chest aching at the desperation in his voice. “You can't.”

“I can,” He doubles down, voice grave. “And I will. –I will make this fuckin’ better if ‘s the last thing I do. You don't deserve this. Any of this. You didn't do nothin’ wrong.”

“Daryl…”

You don't believe him, and it shows in the look on your face. It's not that you think he wouldn't go to the ends of the earth trying to find a way to find you, no, you know he'd do that for any of his family. –But sometimes things just can't be fixed. You don't want him thinking he let you down when the whole thing falls apart. This is on you. Not anybody else. He did everything he should have, taught you everything he could, you were the one that failed.

Despite all your efforts, a few tears manage to slip down your cheeks.

Daryl stands up with you still in his arms, giving you no choice but to rest your weight on your feet. “C'mon kid,” He urges, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to usher you back to the barn like there's nothing in the world that could separate you.

He keeps his arm around your shoulders all the way up until Carol sees you, then he lowers it to your hip.

Her icy gaze sends a chill down your spine, but when she notices you're looking at her she softens.

The disgust that had shown on her face earlier wasn't directed at you at all, it was the realization that horrified her. The violence hit too close to home, an all too real possibility their group has had the misfortune of dealing with both before and after the virus. Most recent in her memory, Maggie and the Governor. Carol doesn't request that Daryl let you go, or make any efforts to hide what she's feeling right about now. You're sure she and Daryl, also apparently Rick and Siddiq, had a long discussion about what should be done about this already.

She stands very close, ducking down to whisper to you.

“They won't get away with this, won't get the chance to do it again. I will kill every last one of them,” She whispers, meaning to be comforting as she tucks a few curls behind your ear. “Every. Last. One.”

It's a lot to put on you at once, so you just give her a disturbed look with a slight shake of your head.

Breaking back into a Saviors base, especially for something as emotional as revenge, sounds like a horrendous idea. People on both sides would probably die as an unintended consequence, and then you'd have to deal with knowing you were the reason behind it all.

The Saviors are going to lose, one way or another, some day, and you hope she gets to be a part of that for everything they've taken from her and the rest of the group. –But you can't be the reason they rush into it and risk ruining everything. Alexandria is already gone, you can't risk losing Hilltop right now.

“Carol,” Daryl says in a warning tone, teeth clenched as he pulls you flush against his side. “That ain't the plan. –Listen to Rick.”

The woman looks like she's going to argue with him, but before she can get the chance Daryl’s already guiding you to the loft and nudging you up the ladder. You peek at him over your shoulder, but he nods for you to continue on without him for the time being.

You slip out of your clothes and change into the same set of pajamas you've worn since you got here.

As you get into bed, you hear Carol and Daryl softly arguing below.

“You can't honestly not want to do anything about this,” The woman hisses quietly.

“Look, we don’t know whether she is or she isn't. What matters right now is figurin’ that out and gettin’ her treated,” Daryl growls back. “I don't want to sit on my fuckin’ hands, but what else is there to do? Huh? –You think I don't want to kill them? They took people from us. Good people.”

“Pregnant or not, they still–”

You pull the blankets over your ears, turning over so that you're facing the wall instead of the railing. The talking isn't gone, but it's muffled enough that you don't have to hear it unless you try to.

Eventually the two of them stop arguing and Daryl comes up the ladder, startling you by setting a hand down on your waist.

You sit upright, pulling the blankets away from your ears.

“Sorry,” He sighs tensely, sitting down beside you. “I thought you were asleep already.”

You softly shake your head, staring intently as you sign, C-A-R-O-L?

“She's down there,” He confirms, nodding towards the railing. “Ain't in a talkin’ mood, but I'm sure she'd be okay if it's you.”

“Mm-mm,” You hum in disagreement, pulling the covers up to your chest.

No offense to Carol, but there's no way in hell you're going down there to talk to her when she's in such a dangerous mood. You've had enough craziness for the day.

“Agh,” Daryl grunts as he flops onto his back, backing up until he's reached the pillows next to you.

You similarly flop sideways down onto his stomach so that you're staring up at him, nestling into his hand when he starts to lovingly rub the notch in your ear.

It's making you sleepy.

“Y'know you gotta see Siddiq tomorrow, right?” He mentions, eyes softening at the sight of you melting into his side. “Rick said you have to, and I… want to make sure you're alright.”

You grunt ambiguously, closing your eyes.

He pulls the blanket up from your chest so that it's sitting over your shoulders, covering both of you entirely. “G'night Bambi.”

“Good night,” You say back. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” He returns, but you're already asleep.

---

Fic Chapterlist

tw: angst, mentioned child loss, body dysmorphia, mentions of time held in captivity

You're laying in the middle of one of the fields just outside of Hilltop, fingers weaving blades of dew dampened yellow grass together to make a chain. You aren't sure what it’s going to be yet, but if you had to guess what it's becoming, you'd say a crown. It’d be nicer if there were some flowers around you could add, but with the heatwaves and flash rainstorms leaving the earth around you cracking, that’d be like asking to find the ends of a double rainbow.

Carl tugs your ankle from underneath you. “Stop moving.”

Your legs are resting across his ribs, his comic tentatively propped up against the bend of your knee.

“Stop tickling me and I will,” You say hoarsely, grateful that the community had enough medicine to treat you when you first returned, then again when you got home soaked from the rain with a fever yesterday.

As much as you hate using your voice, you can't imagine a life where speaking wasn't an option.

“What, you mean this?” He teases, slowly turning the page of his comic book so that the edge of the pages and the tips of his fingers tickle your skin.

You yank away from the sensation, giggling as you lift your legs off of him and shift away on your hands. It's a half-hearted escape attempt and is quickly thwarted when he sits up on his elbows and pulls you right back in, an uncharacteristically large smile on his face.

Carl can't help it. Hearing your laughter again after everything is just too sweet. He missed the sound. –Even if now it fills him with dread for your next bout of silence. It always comes back because that's what's most comfortable for you.

“Where d'you think you're goin'?” He asks, ready to follow wherever you decide to scramble to. “Come here.”

He gets a hold of your thigh and you let him guide you back until you're in the position where one of your legs is across him again, which you quickly utilize to straddle him, smacking your foreheads together. Carl falls backwards against the ground after the hit, playing dead. His single baby blue is closed, a blank expression on his face without so much as a twitch in the rest of his body… It's actually a little chilling to see him so lifeless.

You anxiously lean over him, hoping he'll jumpscare you or something, but he doesn’t. He just starts smiling again, peeking at you through his lashes because he can't help himself.

You scoff, sitting back on your haunches.

Carl stares up at you, watching the clouds pass by, the sun at your back, as you continue wasting the day lazing all over one another.

Before, the two of you wouldn't have allowed yourselves the luxury of getting this familiar, but being separated for five weeks kind of puts things into perspective. You both need this. But more than that, you want it. You were both left to think about everything that might have been, –had you been just a little faster, had he grabbed his gun and hauled ass just a little bit sooner, he thinks he could have saved you from this pain– but all of those pointless alternatives led to the same conclusion about what should have been; Enjoy it while it lasts.

One day this’ll be a distant memory. –A fond one, but just that. You’ll both die, in one way or another, be left to mourn something that was infinitely complex and packed into a single four letter word that could never encapsulate it. Why bother denying the connection between you ‘because it’s not the right time’ or you don’t have a name for it yet? There is no right time. There’s just time, and it’s running out.

His throat tightens and he reaches up to brush your hair out of your face again, –because you still haven't learned to do it yourself automatically when it gets in the way, you just leave it there– and as cute as that is, it blocks your vision and gives you a new blind spot.

He watches your eyes move upwards, to the horizon, and you squint, but then your smile starts to fade and you get off of him in a panic.

“What's goin’ on?” Carl asks, reaching for his gun and whipping around on his knees to face whatever it is that you'd seen behind him. “What? What is it?”

All he sees is a caravan of people bringing back the supplies they traded for in The Kingdom, a few tame horses with flicking tails being led inside by a scrawny little man he's never seen before, and– Oh.

Carol, sitting on the back of that caravan.

Carl sits up, blocking your view of the woman. He doesn't know what it is about her that's got you so startled, –How could he when you haven't told anyone about her abandonment of you the day you were taken?– but he knows enough from your reaction to tell that you don't want to be seen by her.

“We'll sneak in after they go through, okay?” He suggests, standing up and lacing your hands together with his eye on her. “I know… Carol can be a lot with her whole I'm-a-poor-abused-housewife-no-wait-I-have-a-gun! thing, but she really is a good person. –You don't have to be scared of her.”

“I'm not scared,” You hiss, narrowing your eyes.

You just don't want to see her after what happened last time, and especially not like this. Seriously, look at you. You went from being some badass silent kid who could hold your own fighting alongside her and Daryl, to being demoted to just another girl in their group. It's not fair. You don't want her already seemingly low opinion of you to get even lower by losing all the favor you worked so hard to earn from her, and you don't want to have to remember the chill that spread through your body when she abandoned you like it was a minor inconvenience.

It’s easier not to think about.

Carl picks his comics up off of the ground and shoves them into the back of his pants, above where his shirt is tucked, but below the belt.

*

*

*

“Ey!” Daryl shouts when he sees Carol walking up on him and Rick where they're lounging, waiting for more work to get assigned to them. Daryl does a double take of the way the woman is dressed, baggy earth toned clothes like something straight from a renaissance novel. “Where the hell have you been? –Look like you jus’ crawled out of a costume shop.”

The woman smiles faintly. “That's not too far off.”

She wants to let the conversation stay light, but this isn't a visit meant for pleasure. Carol came because she heard Daryl was back and she fully intends on fessing up and telling him what happened the day you and he were taken, because in her mind you are without a shadow of a doubt, dead as a doornail. Deader, even, if that's possible. –And she's finally ready to accept whatever kind of life-long resentment comes with the confession.

“How are you doing after…” She waves a hand in the air. “Everything?”

Daryl groans at that, flicking his head towards the barn. “Feel like shit, smell like shit, work with shit, drinkin’ crap that tastes like shit, –Same as always, and that's the way I like it. Ain't home without you people.”

Carol is a little surprised by his positive outlook, but glad to hear he's doing so well given how attached he was to you. It does her heart good to see him happy.

“Well isn't that nice?” She laughs along with him, maybe for a little bit too long as they stall the inevitable turn they both know this conversation is going to take. When the laughter dies down, she changes the mood with a longing sigh. “You mind me asking what they did while they held you captive?”

Daryl’s lip quirks up, but he fights it and tries to shrug all the memories assaulting his periphery off. “Try again later,” He responds like an 8-ball, turning his head away.

“Right, well,” Carol begins again, swallowing hard. “I think we both know I didn't just come here for a friendly chat, so I'll cut to the chase.”

“How kind,” Daryl responds with a healthy dose of good natured sarcasm.

“It's my fault that your boy is dead.”

Daryl’s eyebrows raise and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look particularly moved by the confession. She takes that as a sign to keep going, as he's probably in shock at the news.

“I don't know if you were taken by that point or what, but Bambi tried to get in the way of me and The Saviors, and they grabbed him,” She says, her eyes start to get misty, but no real tears form.

She's shed too many on other lost children to have it hit her as hard again, especially with one that's not her own.

“There were too many of them. Even if you were there I doubt we could have taken them without guns…” She explains, hoping to give him the answers she wished she could have had so many times before. She doesn’t want to leave anything out, she doesn't want him to wish he had been there. “He was struggling against them, looking to me and I didn't try to help him. I walked away. Now he's dead. –I'm so sorry, Daryl. I never meant for this to happen. This is a pain I never wanted you to feel.”

Rick and Daryl exchange a look.

“Hate me,” She finishes, voice gaining a cold edge. “I understand this isn't the kind of thing to be forgiven. –If I were in your position, I wouldn't forgive me, but I couldn't just go on talkin’ to you. You deserved to know.”

Daryl takes a moment to breathe and think what she's told him over, –You still haven't opened up to him about the night you were taken or what happened while you were captive, but neither has he. This is something that takes time. He's just glad Carol is at least telling him something he can work with to help you heal– so even if he's more than a little angry about what she did he's not going to blow up in this moment. He understands why she felt like she needed to do what she did.

“So you're tellin’ me you spent a little over a month thinkin’ you got Bambi killed and didn't do anything about it?” He asks after a moment, lips quirking into a small smile despite himself. “Can't say I'm not pissed about this, but it's real hard to be when the kid's alive and kickin’ ass.”

Carol's jaw goes slack for a moment. “What?”

“Bambi's alive, Carol,” Rick repeats for her to solidify the news, raising his drink. “–A little beat up and skittish as ever, but alive nonetheless.”

Carol thinks she might actually burst into tears now, reaching up to touch her chest where she has something important tucked away, trying to fight the waterworks she thought she was stronger than.

This is unheard of. You actually came back to her, alive.

“You can cry, y’know,” Daryl says flatly, trying to play it cool. “I sure as hell have more than once thinkin’ about the alternative.”

She shakes her head, getting ahold of herself and reopening her eyes to them. “No, no, I'm just… I'm so relieved. –You don't even know how many times I've replayed that moment in my head, thinkin’ about how he must have felt. He trusted me. I was one of the lucky few who got his trust, and I betrayed it.”

The three of them spend a while in that moment, letting themselves feel the emotions they save for when they can break down in private and let their fears consume them.

Carol sniffles and keels over, the noise quickly turning to a laugh as she realizes how ridiculous this must look. “Oh, jesus.”

“Daryl, I really am sorry,” She repeats, “I just… When I saw him, and them, and the way they were surrounding him and dragging him down I couldn’t help thinking about–”

Sophia.

“–And because of my mistake you almost lost everything.”

She could see what the two of you were building here. What he was dedicating himself to by taking you in and teaching you, letting you pile on top of him to sleep and taking you deep into the woods to hunt.

“Not everything,” Daryl says solemnly.

Don't misunderstand, a huge part of him would die with you, but if he's learned anything from this new world it's that you pick yourself up and keep surviving. –Even if that means you don't want to anymore.

“Yes,” She insists, stepping closer. “You don't know how much it means to lose a child until it happens to you. –Until you're scrambling and holding onto the last scraps of their existence, pulling the hair from their brush and smelling their pillow at night, sobbing into it because you can't understand why something like this would happen without rhyme or reason, but it's reality.”

Daryl feels a lump forming in his throat and tries to look at Rick for help, but the other man looks away. He still blames himself for what happened to her even though there was nothing more he could have done. She was dead the second she left the spot Rick told her to wait.

“You wish you were there,” She accuses, the words bouncing back at herself. “Because the biggest scariest nightmare came after them, and no amount of looking under the bed or in closets can make it stop. They die, and there's nothing you can do. You can't comfort them. It's over. –And you have to live with it.”

Neither man answers her, so she takes the rare opportunity to nail her point in.

“Everything,” She hisses. “It means everything.”

*

*

*

Your foot has not stopped bouncing since you came over here, and it's starting to worry Carl.

He sets a hand on your thigh to stop your leg and gives you a questioning look, giving you the opportunity to open up and tell him what's bothering you about Carol. He knows she can be an overwhelming presence, but never so much that someone would have to work to avoid being seen by her.

It almost looks like you're going to say something to him –your mouth opens like you're going to– but then this look of complete and utter shame passes over your face and you close it.

Water, you sign as an explanation as you stand up and leave him sitting on the front steps of the supply house.

Carl’s shoulders fall and he looks down at the ground between his feet, disappointed he couldn’t have done more for you.

He knows what it’s like to be held captive and led around like cattle, to not know if in the next few moments your life will be taken from you, or if you’ll get the sick allowance of living long enough to watch someone else die in your place. If he could go back and speak to himself after escaping the train car they were held captive in at Terminus, he’s not sure what he would say to convince himself he was safe. He’s not even sure there’s anything he could say, especially not anything everyone hadn’t already said to try and convince him that everything was going to be fine, because it wasn't and it still isn't.

All that to say Carl knows how perilous the moments after something like that feel, but he’s still dejected that he couldn’t somehow use that feeling to help.

“She’ll be okay…” He mutters, more to himself than anything else.

He lived through it, so you can too.

After darting out of his line of sight, you make your way over to the tall pitcher pump near the crops and bend over in front of it, pushing on the lever to get a small stream of water to drip out so you can drink it down. It’s warm. Not satisfying in the slightest, but the act of drinking makes you take a breather to calm yourself down.

You release the handle and stand up straight, dusting your hands off on your pants as you take a look around.

It’s been a few hours since Carol got here and you haven’t seen her yet, which probably means you’ll end up bumping into one another soon, whether it’s because you bump into each other in a common area, or because you both tend to lurk around Daryl, you’ll be seeing each other soon.

Your hands start getting clammy where they rest at your sides so you ball them up, glaring straight ahead with reluctance.

You’ll just have to find her first.

–Especially if you don't want her to have the upper hand. It'd be better if she was surprised to see you walking straight towards her, than her sneaking up on you before you can get your bearings.

You start walking towards the section of Hilltop filled with scrap metal and broken down vehicles, searching for Daryl with your eyes as you pass through the rows of cars. –This is where he works during the day now, when he’s not out hunting, utilizing skills he learned before the fall then fine-tuned when the group was focused on expansion and development at the prison before your time.

He taught you a bit about cars before the Saviors took you, even generously letting you work on his bike with him a couple times.

You hear Rick’s laughter from your right and slip underneath a truck, crawling your way out to the other side to get to where they are faster. –With any luck, that’s where Carol will be too.

You knock on a car to get Daryl’s attention before you get too close to the men from behind and he smiles at you, the woman you were searching for nowhere in sight.

Guess you’re not lucky.

“Ey, Bambi!” Daryl says cheerfully, raising his moonshine in mock cheers to you joining them. “Y’okay? –Still feelin’ nauseous?”

You hold your hand up and give him a so-so motion, turning around to check your surroundings, still more focused on finding out where Carol went. The nausea you had a few hours ago almost immediately subsided when you were back on your feet, but the after effects of almost throwing up still linger.

“You aren't feeling well?” Rick asks, cocking his head at you. He sets his bottle down. “I heard you took some medicine and your fever went away… Do you think you're comin’ down with somethin’ more serious?”

You shrug and shake your head slightly, coming to Daryl’s free side and resting on his shoulder.

The man looks down at you, brow furrowing.

“She’s not bit or nothin’ like that,” Daryl dismisses, seeing the path Rick is starting to go down again. They don't need to rehash that conversation, but they especially don't need to rehash it in front of you. “I took her for a ride earlier, down the highway,” He grunts, throwing his hand up towards his bike. He tries to keep his tone light, laughing slightly as he says the next bit so that you don't feel bad. “She almost puked all over my back. –Worst motion sickness I’ve seen since Denise.”

You're a kid. Kid's puke, it's not that big of a deal, Rick should drop this.

“But you’ve ridden before, haven’t you?” Rick asks, leaning forward to get a good look at your face from where you’re borderline hiding behind the other man.

You shrug again, averting your eyes from his prying gaze as your cheeks flush with shame.

“Siddiq said the pills he gave her for the pain are makin’ her stomach upset, Rick,” Daryl whispers, cupping a hand over your free ear. “Just leave it, okay? I don’t want her thinkin’ about everythin’ that might be wrong. She told me she was fine, there's no need to go questionin’ her and stressin’ her out.”

You already revealed the biggest secret you'd been hiding from them, and you'd only been hiding it because you were worried for your safety. –If there was anything else like that, Daryl trusts you would have come to him by now.

“Okay,” Rick says tensely, holding his hands up in submission as Daryl takes his hand away from your ear. “I didn’t know.”

The two men make eye contact, holding yet another silent conversation about what should be done about your secrecy –against Daryl’s will– until he breaks it off with a roll of his eyes.

“I'm done. Leave it, okay?” He growls, turning back to you and patting the side of your head. “What’cha need, kid?”

You start to sign, C-A-R–

“I thought Carl was with you earlier?” Rick interjects, frowning. “He might've gone to feed Judith.”

–O-L, you finish with a glare.

Daryl bursts out into laughter, slapping Rick's arm as he watches the other man shrink away with embarrassment at having interrupted you thinking he knew what you were trying to say.

“Aha, she should be comin’ back any minute, Bea,” Daryl chuckles once he's calmed down, patting the spot next to him on the trunk for you to come sit. “She went to talk to Maggie.”

Maggie, huh?

You take a look out at the rows of vehicles and decide to climb on top of a car across from the two men, hardly listening when Rick calls out a delayed “Careful!” when he realizes what you're doing.

From up there you can see Carol ducking between the cars with a tupperware tucked under her arm, of course, expertly disappearing between them every now and again in an indecipherable pattern.

You jump back down, hands ghosting over the dirt as you get your footing and start making your way in her direction. –It doesn't take long, only a few attempts at popping out from behind the wrong car for you to finally guess right and crash into her.

She looks deceivingly startled at first and you can tell by the twitch of her hands she's gearing up to play the innocent den-mother, but then her eyes lock onto your facial features, squinting.

“...Bambi?” She lets slip from her thoughts.

You almost start to sign something out to her only using letters she only halfway knows when you decide against it, licking your lower lip to wet it and trying to project confidence. “Yeah.”

As easy-going as the woman looks on the outside, Carol is actually quite taken aback by your appearance, eyes doing a double take on the hyperfeminine clothes you've apparently taken to wearing. –She hadn't been aware that you’re a girl, but now that she's looking at you like this it makes a lot of sense. The puzzle pieces she'd been collecting since she first met you start slotting into place in her mind.

“Are you gonna try and kill me?” She questions after a few seconds, taking a step back to prepare for a fight if it comes down to it.

She'd try not to hurt you, of course, probably end up locking you in a car until Daryl could come scoop you up.

“What? No,” You exclaim raspily, holding up your hands in surrender but preparing yourself to bolt away from her if need be. The moment you realized it was a possibility, you mapped all the nearest exits with your eyes. “A-Are you? ”

“Me?” She questions, raising her brows. “No. –If anyone should be angry here, it's you.”

“Well… I'm not,” You reiterate, glancing away. “–Not at you, anyway.”

An awkward beat of silence passes after you both realize the other isn't going to do anything hostile, shoulders falling and muscles untensing as a shared sigh squeezes its way out of the two of you.

“Well, that's always a good thing to know,” She says with a soft snort, refocusing her attention on the conversation at hand rather than the subtext in your body language. “But if you weren't here to try that, then why were you looking for me?”

She noticed that you were following her? But you were doing everything Daryl taught you… although you do suppose Carol is smarter than some pea-brained weasel or Savior, so it makes sense she would catch on. In fact, now that you’re really thinking about it, maybe the woman had been letting you stalk her the whole time. Like a lioness with her cubs. Their teeth are too small to do any real damage, their bodies easily crushed, so the mother allows them to take small swings for practice knowing she could stop it at any moment if she wished. Carol knew she could take you, and she knows you know it too.