Lee

You stand in the doorway, staring, looking around.

Zeno watches you, waiting for you to move or to speak.

That is the first difference.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You glance around again, arms folding slightly around yourself. 

“It’s… different.”

“I did not replicate his preferences, I saw no reason to.”

Something in your chest tightens at that. He wants to be his own person, not a shadow of someone who lived before.

"I mean, this is your space." 

You stop at that because you are still learning him.

Still trying not to measure every movement, every word, against a ghost.

Days passed after you first arrived.

You found yourself watching him when he is not looking. The way he moves through the kitchen, the way he pauses sometimes.

He remembers everything. And yet, he chooses differently.

That is the second difference.

“You’re staring,” Zeno says one afternoon, not looking up from the file in his hands.

“Sorry.”

He finally lifts his eyes to you. “You are comparing.”

“…I’m trying not to.”

Zeno sets the file aside as he leans back in his chair.

“Do not lie to spare me. I know what I am.”

“And what are you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He stands up and begins to walk over to you, closing the distance. He stops in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Not him,” Zeno answers. He lifts his hand, running his fingers along the back of your hand. “But not separate from him either. I am what remains. And what continues.”

There is something in his voice that was never in Wesker’s. Something closer to vulnerability. Albert never showed weakness, and it made your chest ache.

The rings appear a week later.

You find them in a small black box left on the table beside you. You already know what it is. And what it means.

Zeno stands a few steps away, watching you.

Waiting.

Your fingers are shaking as you open the box.

Two rings.

Simple. Elegant. And completely different from the ones you once received.

“I thought… I thought you might want something of your own. Not only something that belonged to him.”

Your hand instinctively moves to your finger.

Your old ring was still there. Even when you told yourself you were moving on. Even when you walked away from everything that reminded you of him.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

Zeno nods once.

“I know. I just need you to know, I'm serious, I'm here. But I will wait for you to come to your decision.”

He had no anger in his voice. No malice or anything unkind. He was there, giving you a choice, giving you time.

And somehow, that makes it harder.

It doesn't take you long. You sit alone, the box open beside you, your thumb brushing over the old ring again and again.

Memories fill your mind.

His voice. His presence. The way he never asked, only took.

The way you gave anyway.

Your chest tightens until it hurts, because letting go feels like betrayal.

You didn't want to hold on anymore.

Holding on would keep you trapped in something that no longer exists.

You take one long look at your hand and then, carefully, you slide the old ring off.

The absence is immediate. Heavy even.

You stare at it in your palm for a long moment before placing it gently into the box.

Your hand hesitates only a second before reaching for the new ring.

It slides into place.

It fits perfectly.

When you look up, he is already there.

Closer than before.

His eyes drop to your hand, and for a moment, he says nothing.

“You chose me,” he says softly.

You nod, your voice quiet but steady. 

“I did.”

His hand finds yours, fingers tightening slightly around it.

And you notice the ring on his finger glinting in the light. 

“I will not waste that,” Zeno murmurs.

It is strange how quickly small things begin to matter. Like the way he watches you in the kitchen. You can feel it before you even turn around.

“You’re hovering,” you say, reaching for a cup.

“I am... watching,” Zeno corrects.

You huff softly, a hint of something almost like amusement. 

“You’ve been watching for ten minutes.”

“I am ensuring accuracy.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It’s coffee, not a chemical weapon.”

“…There is overlap.”

That pulls a quiet laugh from you before you can stop it.

Zeno stills, the sound surprises him.

To him, it matters more than it should.

You turn back to the counter, shaking your head slightly as you finish preparing the cup.

When you hand it to him, your fingers brush.

He takes a slow sip and then another.

“Do you like it?” you ask.

Zeno lowers the cup, his eyes finding yours.

“It is exactly as I remember.”

All you could do is offer him a small smile before you reached for your own cup.

The nights are the hardest. They always have been. That is when the silence used to creep in. When memories felt too loud to ignore.

But now… Now there is something else. 

Him.

You sit beside him on the couch, a film playing on the TV. You are not really watching it, your mind is filled with thoughts.

You are aware of him, of the space between you, or rather, the lack thereof.

Your head rests against his shoulder at first.

With Wesker, that would have lasted seconds at most.

He tolerated closeness, never invited it.

Zeno does not move.

Instead, after a moment, he moves his arm, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer.

“You can move if you’re uncomfortable,” you murmur.

“I am not,” he replies immediately. “You are.”

Something in your chest softens.

You let yourself relax into him fully this time, your hand resting lightly against his chest.

You hear it, that steady heartbeat.

Real.

Alive.

Yours, if you choose it.

You fell asleep just like that, curled against him.

Your fingers are clutching in the fabric of his shirt.

Zeno does not move for a long time, not until your breathing evens out, not until you settle fully against him as you belong there. Only then does his hold tighten, just slightly.

His hand rests against your back, his fingers running random patterns.

“You are mine,” he whispers, so quietly you never hear it.

And for the first time in a long time, you smile in your sleep.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

You shudder at that string of memories. Of the pain and confusion you'd felt when you were lying paralyzed on that ground, Mercer looming above you, his sword dripping with your blood. And suddenly he wasn't your fellow guild member anymore, but someone much more sinister.

Karliah had saved you after that, and though she mended your wound enough to keep you alive, it still ached. Your hand rests gently over the bandaged area of your abdomen. It's not the only thing that stings all these days later - remembering Mercer is still out there gives you the same bitter effect.

You push to your feet as if that will help push the unpleasant thoughts out. You'll figure out the next move with the others soon - for now, you have to try and rest. At least you're finally back in your own home to do so.

You tidy up the kitchen and prepare to settle down for the evening. You do it all with slow movements, taking caution not to stretch the injury at your middle. You've just started to take off some of your leather armor when you hear a thump from behind you.

Slow movements be damned as you end up whipping around, dagger grabbed and already poised in your hand. But the familiar face at the other end of your blade halts you in your alarm.

"Easy," Brynjolf laughs nervously, palms raised and splayed out in a show of peace. "Glad to know your reflexes are still intact."

The icy panic that had gripped you just now melts away. A mix of relief and bewilderment takes its place instead. "Bryn, what the-" You lower the dagger and step back from him. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure you made it home safe." His words are as soft as the olive color of his eyes as he looks you over. "Didn't get a proper time to check on you earlier, what with all that happened."

Your throat tightens as you recall the scene. When you'd brought Karliah in with you to the Guild, and together you shared your findings. The truth about Mercer and Gallus, and how there was finally an explanation for the guild's "bad luck". You felt a new wave of exhaustion at just thinking about it again.

A different thought suddenly interrupts that feeling. "Wait - how did you get in here?" You ask Brynjolf, eyes darting from him to scan the room.

He rubs a hand at his neck. "Uh-"

"Did you break in??"

"No. I didn't break anything. That window in your kitchen wasn't locked. It was actually quite easy to-"

"Brynjolf! You know you could have just knocked?" You sense your hackles raising as you glare at him. You might as well be pointing that dagger at him again.

"Aye. Sorry, love,” he chuckles, though there isn't an ounce of remorse in his voice. "Force of habit."

You roll your eyes, but you do appreciate his concern. You'd heard a ghost of a rumor at the Flagon that he had gone out to look for you when you didn't return from Snow Veil Sanctum in time. Remembering that gives you a deep prod of warmth in your chest.

"Now, are you alright? Really alright?" Brynjolf's question pulls you back to the present.

You look up at him, holding steady in spite of the flip your belly does when your eyes meet. "For the most part."

He lifts his chin like he's going to nod, but hesitates. His gaze jumps down to your abdomen. "And what of your injury? Karliah said Mercer had..."

His words clip off into a stiff silence. Like he physically struggles to get them out.

"Stabbed me," you finish for him. You grab the bottom of your shirt and roll it up just enough to show the patchy bandage. "Thanks to Karliah, it didn't kill me, but-"

"It could have." Brynjolf cuts in to finish the sentence for you this time. Something in his voice shifts - something hard and cold in his tone like you've never heard before. "He could have killed you."

You look up and you're surprised to see a subtle but unmistakable darkness in his eyes. You would recognize anger anywhere, even in the gaze of someone like Brynjolf who is always calm and collected.

Then it's gone as fast as it came, his expression softening again. "Does it hurt?" He asks, looking from the wound back to you.

You shake your head loosely and roll your shirt back down. "Not much anymore. Karliah said it will heal soon, just not without leaving a scar."

His brows knit together in concern as he nods. He takes a step closer to you. “I’ll be careful, then.”

His arms come up and wrap around you. You tense up out of sheer surprise at first but you are quick to relax and sink into it. He is indeed very careful, embracing you with just enough pressure to sweep you up in warmth, but not enough to risk pushing on your injury. Through all his roughened leathers and the muscular build underneath, he feels surprisingly soft, and secure, and safe.

“I thought I had lost you,” he murmurs. His head falls into the crook of your neck, where you can hear the vulnerability in his voice and feel the shaky breath he exhales. He squeezes you just a tad more. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

The tide of emotion that hits you would have rendered you too weak to stand on your own, so thank Nocturnal he’s holding you. A tightness takes hold of your chest and throat as your own arms snake around him, not even caring when the movement stretches your wound. It’s easy to overlook the pain anyway when you’re this close to him, almost overwhelmed by relief and comfort after everything you’ve endured recently.

“Me too,” you admit in a near whisper. You are momentarily taken back to Snow Veil Sanctum, when Mercer had chillingly said he'd "give Brynjolf your regards”, and the thought of never seeing him again had been just as scary as the life seeping out of you. “I was terrified.”

Brynjolf holds you a moment longer before reluctantly stepping back, and you already miss the feel of it. “Does he know you survived?” He asks.

You shrug. "I'm not sure. He might."

"Then he could come back for you. You're in danger."

Without meaning to, you snort out a laugh. "Oh, right. Because our line of work has been sooo safe up until this point."

"I'm serious, love." Brynjolf's voice is firm, but his gaze is gentle. His hand grabs your shoulder, prompting you to look him dead on again. "This isn't like one of our little jobs, I know you can handle those easy. If Mercer finds you, with the resources he has now, he really could..."

He trails off again, swallowing the words as if they were a stone in his throat. You've never seen such a range of emotions in those eyes before, never have felt that unsteady squeeze he gives your shoulder, never have thought that he could worry so much, like you're not just a recruit under his wing anymore, but something more.

You draw in a breath of air that feels a little too thin. "He can try," you say with a half smile.

Brynjolf shakes his head. There go his eyes again, darkening to a deeper green color. “I won't let it happen. I'll make sure he never comes close enough to touch you again."

Your heart stutters, and your half smile turns into a smirk. "Oh, so you're a bodyguard now?"

"Heh. For you, love, I could be." His eyes warm back up with amusement. He starts to drop his hand from your shoulder, but not without it lingering on the outside of your arm for a second.

You're half tempted to bring that hand right back. To lean in and embrace him again because it’s easier to forget your aching side and the dark floor of the sanctum and the looming shadow of Mercer when you can focus on just him instead.

Your thoughts cease when Brynjolf speaks up again. "I should start by staying here tonight. To keep an eye on you."

Your pulse leaps at that suggestion. "I doubt Mercer's going to track me down tonight, Bryn," you say lightly, a noticeable lack of protest in your voice. It would be nice to have his company after constant days of being on edge and looking over your shoulder. You might finally be able to get a good night’s sleep.

"It's not just about him. It's a dangerous city. After all, a thief could break in at any moment." He gives a pointed look to the window in your kitchen.

You let out a snicker. "If they're anything like you, I'm not too worried."

His face lights up with a grin at first, but after a second it dissolves into a puzzled frown. "Wait - is that a flirty comment or an insult to my thieving skills?"

You start to step around him but pause to pat his chest lightly. "I'll let you decide that one."

You raise a confused brow and he leans in. "Vampire," he clarifies, and your eyes widen.

"And who are you, might I ask?" you take a sip from your solo cup.

"Oh surely you've heard of me. The original hybrid." you choke on your punch and his grin grows. "Ah, you do know who I am. Fantastic."

"I was expecting someone... ya know, ancient. Aren't you like 1000?" he laughs and you can't help but chuckle too, hearing how odd that sounds.

"I'll take that as a compliment, love." he replies, and you inwardly swoon over his British accent and use of the word 'love.'

"So what are you doing at a high school dance?" you make small talk, attempting to sip your drink one more time. It's his turn to furrow a brow, seemingly confused why you are making small talk with him, but he doesn't mention it.

"Celebrating. The death of my father. Haven't you heard?" he asks. You stare at him for a long moment, processing what he said.

"No, I don't really keep up with the drama. Don't know much about you other than that you're old and you tried to kill Elena." He eyes you but seems unbothered by your lack of interest. "Celebrating a dead parent, huh? Wish I could relate." you down the last of your spiked punch and crunch the cup in your hand.

"Daddy issues?" he asks with a grin. "Daddy's dead. Wish my mother was." you clarify. His confident grin falters for the first time in your conversation and he observes you. Before he can respond, one of the guys with him - which you are know piecing together must be hybrids - whispers something to him. You don't bother with your vamp hearing as you don't care much and it was a quick comment, but he nods and looks toward the Lockwood mansion.

"Afraid I got to go, love. Things to attend to." his grin returns, and he starts moving to walk away, but your body acts before your mind can and you reach out to grab his bicep.

"Wait," you look around briefly before leaning in and whispering. "I think they're up to something tonight. Just so you know." you warn him. Why the hell did you do that? His grin falls into a deep scowl but he nods at you and seems appreciative of the info.

"Thanks, love." And with that he heads off toward the mansion. You can feel something brewing in the air and decide that you want no part of it, so you chuck your crushed cup in the trash and call it a night early, heading home.

~~~

| Next Chapter >

Bo Sinclair

yeah, Bo would make you take your meds

"I already have to deal with running this whole town, don't make me run your medicine schedule."

I don't think he'd care much, but he gets pissy if you don't tell him when you are in need of a refill soon and wait til last minute so he has to go into town THAT DAY, he gets so mad about it

"Don't even try that 'I forgot' shit again,"

He just needs someone else sane around here

overall 7/10 he keeps you straight but lets you regulate yourself

Vincent Sinclair

Yes, and gets serious about it

He knows exactly how many refills you have, how many are in your bottles, how many milligrams, all of it

Only because he cares though

He will let you deal with it yourself, but he always makes sure to check at least once a day to see if you did

Whether it's shaking your bottle like a bag of cat treats or passing you a little note, he knows that it is important that you stay on them.

10/10 really nice about it, just wants you safe

Lester Sinclair

"If we gotta pay for 'em, you're takin' 'em"

I think that sums it up pretty well

5/10, never checks but gets upset about it

Bubba Sawyer

Not sure if he entirely understands

He would eventually come to the connection that days you take them are better than days that you do not,

If you explain it to him, he will definitely make sure to check in.

He would urge you to take them, but that's about it, it's more so just a thing in your busy lives.

3/10, you could get away with not taking them

Nubbins Sawyer

Let me hold your hand as I say this, he thinks that if you don't take them, you will die.

He just kind of has the connection that medicine = sickness, no matter how many times you try to explain it to him

He gets so scared

please don't do that to him

He will watch you take them please just take them sweetie

"Are you going to die-"

10/10 please he's shaking

Chop-Top Sawyer

He understands and does not give a shit whether you take them or not

He gets his own prescriptions from the VA hospital and Drayton keeps them locked up and regulated because he's convinced Chop would overdose or snort them,

not that Drayton cares, he just has too much going on.

"Shit, you don't wanna take 'em? Give 'em to me, I'll take 'em for ya, now we're both happy."

Don't do that

Drayton will know

1/10 will eat them like tic tacs for you

Drayton Sawyer

"Don't take 'em, I don't believe in that woke shit anyways."

Once he sees your doing worse though? He's singing a different tune

"Come on sugar, I'm already dealing with enough loonatics"

he didn't mean it that way I swear

He gets paranoid that you're gonna give them to Chop so he locks them up with his and you both go to him each morning and bat your eyelashes as he unlocks the cabinet and counts them out for you like an old man

8/10 you can't go wrong with it

Billy Lenz

Hell no

Bro doesn't even take his own medicine are you kidding?

He actively avoids his medicine, left them all at the facility

If you want to take them though, he could care less, but he also sort of urges you not to

he's a dick like that

Lowkey wants to get experimental with it

"h-how would B-Billy's p-piggy react if I m-mixed them with the others piggys pills?" meanwhile he's like drooling and shaking

hit him

don't let him poison you like that babe

I feel like though that he'd be a dick and when shaking Claude's treat bag he'd shake your bottle like they were treats

again hit him with a frying pan, you deserve better treatment then this

-5/10 I would lose my mind

Otis Driftwood

He doesn't believe in medicine unless he has a hangover or HE'S the sick one

Kind of like Drayton he wouldn't care if you didn't wanna take them unless you start causing him problems,

he wouldn't be as nice about it though

"You want me to shove them down your throat? Huh? That what you want? Didn't think so."

Just save yourself the trouble and take them

1/10 I would cry I think

Baby Firefly

Unpopular opinion, she'd get you to take them

I feel like if you're cool enough that she's noticing you not taking your meds? She cares about you. She's not just gonna let you ruin yourself

that's her job

"Hey sweetheart, got you this spoon of peanut butter, totally not anything suspicious."

sometimes you have to do what you have to do

She would trick you into it

"Well you ain't any fun if you're just... having a bad day."

7/10 her heart is in the right place

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

They both would be pretty adamant about it

Billy gets all worried that this could somehow lead to them getting caught

Stu cares more about how it's affecting you

I feel like if they found out you weren't taking them, they'd have a sit down talk with you about it

Billy would make a schedule, he seems like a schedule guy

Stu would probably work in bribes or do what I like to do and chant "SHOT SHOT SHOT" with your chaser

10/10 pretty simple not much to write home about

RZ Michael Myers

he doesn't care

after all the different meds he was pumped with? He doesn't want that for you

he doesn't understand that they could help you

he 'loses' them for you

0/10 the worst, take your meds guys they aren't bad

Carrie White

she gets worried, poor thing

"If they weren't meant to help you, the doctors would not have given them to you."

will hold your hand through it

she doesn't really understand why you struggle with it, but she is supportive about it nonetheless

"medicine is here to help us :)"

11/10 I love her

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham

you're in troubleeeee

Will freaks tf out

He just knows how beneficial medicine can be and this is very irrational to him

Hannibal being a literal psychiatrist isn't very pleased with you

he finds ways to like cook them into food or hide them

??/10 I didn't know really what to do with this one

Brahms Heelshire

He doesn't really understand why you're so against taking them

Isn't medicine here to help us?

He gets upset cause how are you supposed to take care of him if you're having a bad day?

8/10 picks up on it so fast

The Lost Boys

Chapter 4: Motorcycle Kisses

The night is young; so young that I can hear Mary’s soft snoring from the other room. I’ve been up since sunset, unable to fall back asleep. The low fading light transforms my bedroom into a hazy dream-like place. It was a soft, gentle way to wake. 

The opposite of how my dreams were while I slept. 

I scrunch my eyes close, pulling myself deeper into the small alcove under my window. The window seat is a hard particle board, since I haven’t gotten around to finding a cushion just yet. The glass is still warm from the day time sun and I place my cheek against it. 

I’m not one to dream. Typically when I sleep my mind falls into a deep, dark, empty space. There is no replaying of the day's events in my mind's eye, no sleep times fantasy, or heart racing dreams. 

Except for last night. Last night I had the first dream I’ve had since being turned all those years ago. 

I close my eyes again, as the images fill my mind. 

The front door creaks open. 

The sound thankfully pulls me from my spiral into that horrid nightmare. 

I look down from my window, and watch as Abigail steps down the front porch. She pauses to smooth her skirt, and adjust her blazer. She must be on her way to finish up the papers for the new store. 

She continues walking down the drive, and pulls open the car door. She pauses, turning her head up to me. Our faces meet, and she gives me a curious look. Probably wondering why I’m up so early. 

Before I can tell her through our bond that I couldn't sleep, her eyes flash to the shovel leaning against our fence, and then back to me. Gone is the soft Abigail in that moment that taught me how to brew the perfect cup of tea, who has for the most part been good to us. 

In her place is someone I don’t recognize. Someone who is willing to take drastic measures to keep us in line.  One who makes silent threats.

 I pull at the loose string on my shirt, to stop my hand from shaking. Just as quickly as this new Abigail appeared, she leaves. Smiling at me softly, Abigail waves getting into the driver seat. She backs out of the driveway and starts in the direction of Baston Boulevard.  The locals just call it the Boulevard since there aren’t many shopping districts here in Santa Carla. It’s a small strip of stores that the wealthier tourists like to shop at during the summer and it’s only about 30 mins from the Boardwalk. 

Once I can’t see Abigail's car anymore, I stand deciding not to sulk all night. One bad dream isn’t going to throw me off, and neither is Abigail's descent into boy crazy madness. 

I grab my gardening journal from my shelf and start to thumb through it. I’ve been thinking of dabbling in flowers recently, could be a  good way to earn some extra cash, maybe Abigail could sell some….

Something is moving out on the front lawn. 

At first, it looks like a floating dark shadow. But as I creep closer, I can see a thick mane of shoulder length, black hair. 

I release my  breath. It's just Juniper. I’m surprised she is up this early, typically she doesn’t sleep in as long as Mary, but I wouldn't have expected to hear her radio blasting for at least another hour. 

I watch the back of her head as it bobs in and out behind the porch, then a bush, then to the tree line by the fence. It’s almost like she is trying to stay hidden…..why would she….

I jump, as the sound of an engine roars to life, breaking the still silence of the yard. 

She wouldn't. 

I watch as Juniper shimmies behind the trees, and hops the fence. 

She would. 

I drop my journal, as I turn and run out of my room and down the hall.  I yell through the bond to Juniper

“Come back, right now!  You have no idea what you're doing”

No response

Did she block me? That bitch. 

What a stupid, fucking, dumb…..ugh! I think as I almost fall down the staircase, throwing open the front door. I run down the walkway that leads to the road. I swirl my head around the trees, but I’m too late. She's gone with whoever picked her up. I frantically look around me. Panic starting to set in. I don't even know what direction she went. How could she be this stupid? This selfish? When Abigail finds out, we're all done for. 

No. 

Abigail's not going to find out. I’m going to find her first, and knock some sense into that girl. I swirl on my heel, ready to go get Mary. I stop mid swirl, and almost face plant into the cement. 

Maybe I shouldn't get Mary. 

If Mary came along, we would find Juniper quickly, loudly, and with all the theatrics she likes to ensue. No one can know that Juniper left, Mary would never snitch, but she is like a bull in a china shop and no matter what I do, everyone will know that we left this house.

No. 

I have to find her alone. 

I take a cautious step off the property line. It feels wrong, on a deep instinctual level to disobey Abigail. But isn't this why she turned me? To rein her girls in? 

Yeah, that sounds right. 

 My second step is more confident, as I walk in the direction of the boardwalk. The engine I heard sounded like it belonged to a motorcycle, and as far as I know, there's only one group of people Juniper knows with bikes.

 Oh, I’m going to ring their necks when I find them. 

The anger that fills me as I walk, pushes me on,  helping me forget, momentarily, the punishment that awaits us If we get caught. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's busy tonight. Hundreds of people scurry around like ants from store to store, ride to ride. I try to be as inconspicuous as I can under the circumstances, but fear keeps setting in my gut the longer I go without spotting Juniper or the boys.  I feel like I've been here for hours, my feet hurt, I forgot my jacket, and I’m pretty sure there is popcorn in my hair, but I'm too frantic to waste time looking. 

I lean against a railing, looking out at the crowd below me. They have to be here, where else could she have gone? I run my hands through my hair. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If I can’t find her…..I've seen Abigail dish out a punishment once.  It was a long time ago, and it was the most horrific scene I’ve ever witnessed.

Bile bubbles in the back of my throat.  I grip the rail tighter, scrunching my eyes closed, trying to control my breathing. 

“How could you do this Juniper? How could you not think of your sisters?” I scream down the bond. 

I feel someone approach me from behind. 

“You're early!  You just couldn't resist hanging out with us could you?”

I whirl around, and see Paul. His face is plastered with a looped sided smile, but quickly vanishes when he sees my state. 

“Where is she?’ Is all I ask.

Paul's head tilts, and his eyes dart side to side.

“Who?” he asks 

I lunge for him,  grasping the collar of his jacket, pushing him against the graffiti covered concrete wall. 

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. She.” I growl my eyes shifting to gold.  

Paul's eyes go wide, forgetting that he, too, is a vampire, and could easily throw me off of him. He  frantically shakes his head and says “I don't know! I don't know!” over and over again

Two strong arms wrap around my middle, and aggressively pull me from Paul. I kick and pull against the phantom arms, and my fighting takes on new fury when I see who the arms belong to. 

“Let me go David!” I growl into his face. 

Grinning, David replies “As much I would love to watch you kick Paul’s ass….” but he doesn't get to finish his statement before I interrupt.

“Where is she?! Do you have any idea how much trouble we are in if Abigail finds out?” I scream.

David's head tilts just like Paul’s a few seconds earlier.  

“Who are you talking about?” he asks

I try to kick him, but he moves out of the way and tightens his hold.

“Juniper! I know one of you picked her up, I heard the engine!”

David gives me a puzzled look.

“Juniper isn’t with us.”

Just then Marko and Dwayne approach. Marko’s eyes are filled with glee at the  chaotic scene before him. Paul is still pressed up against the wall, of his own accord with fear in his eyes. David is holding me tightly as I  thrash against him, cursing up a storm. Dwayne’s gaze darkens, as his eyes latch on to David's arms  wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed to my back, and his mouth too close to mine for his liking. 

David's eyes meet Dwayne’s; a silent conversation occurs between them that ends in a grin on David's lips, and an evil stare from Dwayne.  At the same time I try to kick David again, he releases me and I fall forward to the concrete. Before my face hits the ground, Dwayne catches me. 

The stern expression that once painted his face melts away slightly. I pause, catching my breath. Dwayne’s hand rests on my shoulder, serving to center me more. 

“Whats wrong?” he asks

Tears start to fall, and I place my hands over my eyes. 

“Eliza?”

Words tumble out, faster than I comprehend. 

“I don’t know where she is, she snuck out and someone on a bike picked her up. I thought she was with you guys, if I don’t get her back before Abigail finds out…….” I trail off gulping for air. 

Marko inches closer "she's not with us. We all just got here.”

Panic sets in again. Dwayne's hand moves from my shoulder, to my arms. 

“We’ll help you find her.” he says 

“How? I’ve been here for hours and she's not here. I didn't think she knew anyone around her besides us and you y’all.”

David hums, from his spot against the railing. 

“Did you see anything else when she snuck out?” he asks

I close my eyes and try to remember. I saw Juniper's head boobing on the front lawn, I heard the engine….oh.

“There was a symbol on the body of the bike.”

Marko looks to me quickly, and his eyes dart between all  four of them.

David's jaw clenches. 

“What did it look like?” he asks.

 Dwayne's grip on my arms tightens slightly 

“It looked like one of those little symbols on a deck of cards? Oh gosh I can't remember what it's called…” 

“A spade?” Marko asks his voice holding no inflection.

“Yes ! That's it, it was a black spade on the bike.” I answer.  

Despite the loud noise of the boardwalk, everything goes silent. 

Looking between them I ask, “what's wrong?”

Marko bites his thumb and starts to pace, Paul bounces back and forth on his heels, David pulls out another cigarette. 

I look at Dwayne, meeting his eyes. His expression can only be described as concerned. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask again.

“If what you saw is correct, Juniper hitched a ride with a Shark.” he responds

David hits his fish against the metal railing causing a visible indent like out of a cartoon. 

“A what?” I question.

Marko huffs, half watching David out of the corner of his eye as he explains.

“They are….another group of vampires that has been giving us trouble for some time. Their territory is close by, but significantly smaller than ours, well Max’s.”

“They’ve been a consistent issue, ever since they were turned by a lone vampire a few years ago.” Dwayne pauses. “Why is Juniper hanging with them?”

Four sets of eyes hone in me.

“I don't know!”  I say, shaking my head. “ Until a few hours ago, I didn't even think Juniper was capable of sneaking out of the house, let alone  associating with a vampire gang right under our noses.”

I place my hands around the nape of my neck. My sisters are going to be the death of me, either by the hand of  Mary’s rage or Juniper's recklessness. 

I feel a soft pressure between my shoulder blades. I look up and meet Dwayne's eyes.

“I need to find her, quickly, and quietly.” I say to him. 

For some reason, I feel connected to him right now. Like we are the only people here, like even if I was silent he would have known what was going on and how to help. Like he can feel my panic, and my fear. 

He nods.

Someone coughs.

“Jeeze get a room, kids.” Paul remarks

I pull my gaze away from Dwayne’s. 

“Where do the Sharks hang out? I only have a few more hours to find her.” I demand 

Paul laughs, and rolls his eyes “Why would we know where they are, baby? We don't have tabs on every supernatural group in town.”

I can feel my anger bubble, my power caressing the inside of my mind, whispering that  it wants to come out and rage, to show these little boys who really has the power. 

Tilting my head, I lock eyes with David. 

“You're telling me that you share a border with a rival vampire gang, that is a constant pain in your ass, and yet you know nothing about them and their whereabouts?” I challenge, inching closer to David. 

David stubs out his cigarette on the railing, and takes his time adjusting his gloves. 

“Look Sweatheart…”

I lose it. 

I feel my power reaching its boiling point, and I let it come out to play.  Fuck them. They will respect me. They will lead me to Juniper.

 A while back I learned a trick from an older vampire who had a similar talent as me. She showed me how to focus the energy around me to one point, and if you push that energy hard enough you can break someone’s skin like a knife. 

I throw one of those knives now, the energy directed for David's right shoulder. My intent is to wound, leaving a deep cut. If he were a human, he would have died from blood loss within a few minutes,  but for now the attack serves a warning. 

He clutches  his shoulder, and looks at the blood on his hand. 

I quickly send four in quick succession towards Paul pinning his clothes to the wall, and shoot one through Marko’s foot. He screams in pain.

“Shut. The Fuck up. My name is Eliza. Not Baby. Not Sweetheart.” I growl.

 I turn my head to Dwayne, and for a moment I almost attack him too.  

He takes a step back, watching me with what looks like fear or surprise on his face.

 He smirks. 

Gosh, I love his damn-beautiful face.  

I turn back to David. 

 “You will help me find my sister, or so help me the next one goes through your throat, and Max will have to  rebuild his little family from scratch." My eyes aren't yellow, they're molten gold as I stare David down. 

Marko is still cussing in the background as he cradles his foot. Paul struggles, as he is still pinned to the wall.  David’s face contorts with anger, and he looks like he might return my attack. 

 And damn, for a moment I wish he would. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to fight someone. I crave the impact, the struggle, the feeling of triumph when I win. I can feel the thrill that shoots up my spine at the thought, and my hands un-clench ready to get into a fighting stance. 

But David doesn’t lean forward to fight…. The anger retreats from his face, and he eyes me curiously, and then he dares a grin.

“Oh, we're cooking with fire now….” He comes closer, Dwayne presses against my back . 

I brace to throw another energy knife again, but his mouth opens. 

"there's a tigress among the house cats, boys…..and oh isn't that something”

 He practically cackles, and walks past me to his bike, and mounts it. 

“Come on, we're going to pay the sharks a visit.”

What just happened? I threatened his life and the lives of his brothers, and somehow that convinced him to help me? I look to Dwayne.

He just shrugs his shoulders, and walks over to his bike. Marko limps to his own, and gives me glare. I return his glare. His foot is probably already healed anyways. 

David reaches out his hand to me. “You’ll need a ride, where we're going is too far to walk.”

A growl sounds from behind me, as an engine roars to life. 

“She rides with me.” Dwayne's voice is a rumbling storm.

David grins, "She's a grown woman. I think she can decide who she wants to ride with.”

I can feel the tension in the air, David is playing a game that Dwayne doesn't want to play.

I turn and throw my leg over Dwayne's bike.

“He’s the only one that hasn’t managed to piss me off tonight, so I ride with him.”

 I wrap my arms around Dwayne's waist. I feel his chest puff out, in a stupid sign of male confidence. I roll my eyes, and resist the urge to bury my face in his neck. 

“Hey guys…” 

We all look over, seeing Paul still stuck to the wall. 

I’m about to apologize, but I bite my tongue. I release the energy hold, he flops to the ground face first. 

The boys laugh, as Paul pulls himself up. He scurries to his bike, his eyes downcast as if he is afraid to make eye contact with me.

Good. 

Fear me. 

I grip Dwayne's waist tighter, feeling confident in my ability to make them bend to my will. 

David drives off, followed by Paul, Marko, and Dwayne and I.  Before Dwayne pulls off to follow them though he leans back and says

“That was badass, by the way…..” he lets a breath pass. “I think we should…” The bike surges,  I'm jolted forward, my lips graze his neck. 

He stiffens. 

I quickly intake a breath. 

“I’m sorr…”

But before I can finish my apologies he cuts me off.

“Don’t be.” He turns his face back to me, his lips are close, his breath ebbs and flows hitting my lips, but not touching. My breathing quickens.

“Hey!” We watch as Paul drives back towards us.  “Get going! You know David hates when you lag behind Dwayne!” Paul yells as he circles back around us. 

Dwayne doesn't respond. Just revs the engine, and cuts in front of Paul. 

I silently thank Paul, for breaking up the moment, despite how exciting it was. This is not the time for….whatever that was. 

But, it's never the right time is it? I’m always so wrapped up in keeping our family together, pouring so much mental energy into keeping us all on good terms with Abigail…..It's not fair. I never get to have anything that is just for me, I never get to be a little reckless. 

The thought pops into my head quicker than I can counter it, and I press my lips to Dwayne's neck again, on purpose this time.  Leaving a soft kiss. 

I feel him tense, and  I speak softly into his ear. 

“Thank you.” I say, and feel his shoulders relax. 

The tension in his body releases for a moment. I can feel it, though I don't know how or why. 

The lights from the boardwalk soften in the distance, as we pull on to a main road.

I hear Dwayne chuckle. 

“Whats so funny?”

“If I had a nickel for every time I have helped you track down one of your sisters….”

Playful, I hit his shoulder. 

“You can’t choose your family.” I say

Paul whirls past us then, popping a wheely and almost running over a pedestrian and a dog. 

“No, you cannot” Dwayne laughs 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: The boys are going to love you

The leather creaks under my fingertips as I grip his leather jacket tighter. The wind whips against my face, forcing my hair into tangles that I know will take hours to get out. 

But I don’t care. 

He smells like licorice, salt, and pure danger. I pull my face closer to his neck, feeling his earring lightly sway back in force, hitting my check. 

I inhale again; his lips quip upward-

“Y/N?”

My eyes fly open, as I quickly sit up on the half deflated air mattress. 

My little cousin stands in the entry of my tent, dressed in a matching Five Nights at Freddy’s pj set. 

Shifting from foot to foot he opens his mouth. “I have to go to the bathroom.” 

I sigh and look at the fitness watch on my wrist. It’s 2am. 

“Just go in the trees, where your dad showed you yesterday.” 

He shakes his head. “I have to go number 2.”

“Of course you do.” I say with a smile as I untangle myself from the sleeping bag. 

“Go wait by the fire pit, and I will be right there to walk you to the bathrooms.”

Eagerly he nods his head and runs out of the tent. 

I search for my pants, since the oversized tshirt im wearing is not enough clothing for a walk to the camp bathrooms. 

I hum as I shift through my back pack, and then look behind our drink cooler, then my….

Oh, there they are. My leggings hang from a hook in the corner. I forgot that I had hung them up the night before. We had gone kayaking, and my doofus of a brother had capsized us in an attempt to impress some college girls in a canoe.  

I huff, pulling them down from the spot. They're still wet, but I have no choice so I pull them on. As I struggle to roll them up my body, I think back to the dream I had. 

It was a nice dream. The same one I’ve had for the past few months. Sometimes it changes, like the man driving the motorcycle will smell like hairspray or gasoline instead. Or the leather jacket will change style or color. It’s an odd dream to have, but it’s better than a nightmare I guess. 

I walk out of the tent, and zip it up behind me so no critters or mosquitoes will get in. I spot Mitchell sitting on a log by the fire pit. 

It’s dark, and the fire has long since been out, but the coals still hum red, and offer a source of light, though it be a small one. 

“Give me one more second Mitch.” I say as I turn to my parents tent. 

“Okay, but hurry up! I don’t know how many more seconds I have left.” 

Chuckling at my cousin’s comment, I unzip my parents tent half way and peek in. Their cuddled up together under a giant flannel sleeping bag. My mom’s cheek rests on my father’s chest. 

I know I should wake my father and have him walk Mitch and I up to the bathrooms, or at the very least tell him where we are going. But they look too peaceful, so I decide not to wake them. I’m sure I will get an ear full tomorrow morning when he finds out I walked all the way to the bathrooms, in the dark, by myself. 

But, that's tomorrow y/n’s problem. 

I unzip the tent a little more and pull the locked gun case towards me. 

My father never goes camping without protection and neither does any of my aunts or uncles. It may seem a bit paranoid, but we’re in bear and mountain lion country, and you can never be too careful. I type in the 6 digit passcode and the box clicks open. I pull out the hand gun, and grab a magazine of bullets. I check the chamber of the gun and make sure there is no bullet in there. 

I take a step back and zip my parents back up. 

My father has drilled gun safety into my head since I was a pre teen. I know how to handle a gun, and I know from previous camping trips he is fine with me taking his for occasions like this.

I place the magazine of bullets in my back pocket, and the gun on my other side. 

I turn back to Mitch, who currently looks like he is going to explode. I quickly grab a Coleman Lantern, and thrust it into his arms. 

“Okay little man, let’s get going.”

He jumps up from his seat and starts walking down the wooden path toward the bathroom. I follow close behind. 

The light from the lantern is bright enough that we can see the path ahead, and a few feet around us. 

It’s not a long walk, maybe seven or eight minutes tops. We make it about two, when Mitch speaks.

“I’m scared.”

I softly smile, though I know he can’t see it. 

“I used to get scared too, out in the woods at night, when I was your age. Do you know what Uncle Damon would do to make me feel better?” 

“What?” He asks, tilting his head back, but still keeping pace. 

“We would sing his favorite song.” I smile again, remembering how scared I was on that very first camping trip.

There’s a short moment of silence, the sounds of the forest at night, and our shoes hitting the dirt ground filling the atmosphere. 

He says, “can you sing it now?” 

“Only if you sing with me.” I reply 

He slows his pace a little, so that we are walking alongside each other. 

“I’ll start, and if you know the lyrics join, okay?” I say 

Mitch nods his head. 

I clear my throat. 

“Rising up, Back on the street, Did my time took my chances….” I start. 

Mitch looks up to me “I don’t know this one.”

I smile down at him “yes you do! Just listen!” 

“Went the distance now I’m back on my feet, just a man with his will to survive!”

I can see his face light up when he recognizes the song and we hit the chorus right as we see the flood lights outside the bathrooms. 

We reach them, laughing and singing “ it’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight! Rising up to the challenge of our rivals!”

Mitch turns to me and hands me the lantern, before he runs into the men’s bathroom.

I love that kid, I think, taking a seat on a bench. 

The bathrooms act as a little island of light, breaking up the darkness of the woods. 

I continue to hum to myself as I wait for him to be done, and switch off the lantern to conserve the battery. 

I look up at the sky. This must be the clearest night we have had in a long while, since I can see every constellation. There’s Cassiopeia….the Big Dipper…..Hercules…..

A branch snaps

The sound jolts me back down to earth, and I survey the foliage surrounding us. My heart beats quickly, but I don’t see anything. It’s was probably just an animal- 

Another branch snaps, and I can see the outline  of a shadowy figure walking toward us. It’s not coming from any of the paths which is odd, since you’re only allowed to camp on official sites, you can’t make your own…

A red flag raises in my mind. 

I stand from my seat, and mentally check that the gun and bullets are on my person still. In the same breath, I mentally yell at myself for being so paranoid, they're probably just a regular camper who got a little turned around.  The world would be a much better place, if we were all more trusting and had a little more faith in humanity I tell myself. 

I breathe deeply through my nose, and then let it out through my mouth. 

The figure penetrates the ring of light the bathrooms cast.

For a moment I have a hard time processing what I’m seeing. 

The man is tall, with broad shoulders. He has a pair of computer geek glasses on his nose, and a sharp jaw line. The strangest part about him, though, is he is wearing a suit that's at the very least three decades out of fashion. He has a twig sticking out of his collar, and dirt covers his pants. He must have tripped and fell I guess? 

Our eyes meet. He smiles with all his teeth. The wind picks up and blows some litter between us. An owl hoots from deep somewhere in the tree line. 

“Hello, there.” 

The second red flag shoots up to attention. 

I was raised to be an inclusive and loving person, by my parents. To never judge someone based on their appearance or beliefs or ideas. But the vibes are hella off with this guy. I mentally check for the gun again, and nod  friendly, and yet sternly back to him. 

Hopefully he will get the message.

He doesn’t. 

“I seem to have gotten a bit lost….do you have a map by chance?” His voice is crisp, and precise. 

The sound of a toilet flushing fills the air, as I nod my head no. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t….” I pause trying to think of a way to get him to leave. “I believe there’s one up by the main office though. That way.” I point behind the bathrooms. “It’s a straight shot, no way you could get lost this time.” I try to push out a laugh to ease the suspense in the air, but it ends up coming out weak and high pitched. 

I hear small steps, and then a faucet turns on. 

The man just stands there and stares at me. 

He takes a step towards me. 

The third red flag flies. 

I’m tempted to take a step back at first, but that would put me against the building wall. So I stand my ground, casually lifting my shirt up,  pretending to itch my side, to show the hilt of the gun. 

It works, and his eyes quickly follow the movement down to my side. 

His head tilts, then his expression darkens.

The faucet turns off. 

Small footsteps get louder, and Mitch walks out the door to my side. He looks at the man, confusion on his face as he then looks at me. 

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. 

“Let's go, Bud.” I say as I turn the lantern on and hand it over. My eyes never leave the man as I do this.

 Something is wrong, really wrong. 

I push Mitch in front of me and tell him to walk. He does as he is told, sensing the tension in the air. I slowly walk behind him, but never fully turn my back to the man. 

As we walk back into the woods, the man gaze never leaves mine until we’re out of eyesight. 

Mitch is mumbling about something, but I’m not listening. 

I take the gun off my side and reach for the magazine, I load it. 

Mitch turns his head at the clicking noise , and stops walking. 

“Keep walking, don’t stop.” I say sternly. His little brown eyes go wide at my tone. Never having heard me speak to him that coldly before. 

He turns back and does as he is told. 

I listen carefully as we walk, every sound has me on edge. I can hear my father in my head yelling at me for loading the gun, “you should never load a gun unless you are intending to shoot.” He would say. “Guns are not toys, every time you pick one up, remember there is always a possibility someone could get hurt or die.”

I breathe through my nose, trying to calm my racing heart beat. 

I’m sure this will be a silly memory tomorrow morning, that I will laugh at myself for as we all sit in the sunlight, eating scrambled eggs from a cast iron pan and drinking crappy coffee. 

A branch snaps.

Mitch stops walking. 

I grab him by the arm roughly, and pull him along with me “don’t stop!” I hiss. I can hear the panic in my voice , and I know Mitch can hear it too. 

He starts to cry “you’re scaring me y/n.”

My heart breaks for a moment, but I can’t feel it now, as adrenaline starts kicking at my heart like a rabbit who’s realized they've gotten a little too close to a snare. 

I keep pulling him along, we are almost back to the site. 

Something big moves through the foliage. 

I look down at Mitch

“If I tell you to run. Run. You understand me? You run and you don’t look back, and you wake everyone up okay?”

He starts to sob, I grab his check 

“Mitch, you are the strongest boy I have ever met and I know you can do it. You are so much braver than you think.” 

Another branch snaps, and this time I can feel him behind us. 

I whirl around, and raise the gun up. 

The man smiles again, and I can feel my skin crawl. 

I clip the safety off. The sound is deafening. Final. Deadly serious. 

“If you take one step closer to us, I will kill you.” I muster as much confidence as I can as the words leave my mouth, but my voice still shakes. 

He tilts his head again. 

“Now, miss, there's no need for threats. I just want to talk.” 

He takes three, quick steps forward with his hands out reached. 

A thousand and one headlines run through my head.  Dead girl found on side of road, woman with head and feet missing found in lake, the list goes on and on. And the rage of that knowledge,  the rage of hundreds of thousands  murdered and missing women fills me. 

And I refuse to be another statistic. I refuse to die that way, at the hands of a man’s violence. 

I pull the trigger. 

For a moment I watch it all happen from above. I see the red. I see him fall backwards to the ground .I hear Mitch scream. I yell at him to run. He runs, the light of the lantern disappearing with him. 

I’m frozen.  Left alone in the dark, with a dead man on the ground. 

That I…..

I killed. 

I jolt. I feel cold and hot at the same time. I fall over and vomit. 

I just…..I….he….fuck…..

I vomit again when I see the blood on my hands and shirt.

I’m still griping the gun so tight I know I will have an indent in my hand tomorrow, but I can’t let it go. My mind won’t let me.

I stare at him. There’s a massive hole in his chest, from where I shot him. 

I dry heave. 

I know I should move, try to walk back to camp. Get help. But I can’t. 

His head moves.

My mind doesn’t accept it at first. It must have been a trick of the mind, I’m not thinking straight. 

He moves again. 

I jump back, on my hands and knees. 

He moves his head right and left, like he is testing it. 

His eyes open. 

They're yellow. 

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. This can’t be…..no I’m hallucinating….

I open my eyes again,  now he’s staring right at me.

A rumble moves through his chest, as a laugh escapes his mouth. The hole…the hole isn’t there anymore. 

I try to jump to my feet but I just fall backwards on my butt. 

This…can’t….what?….

His laugh grows louder as he slowly pulls himself up. He towers over me. 

“It’s been awhile since someone has shot me,” he laughs again, knocking his head up to the sky. “Ah…..And of course you're their mate. They couldn’t be bonded to an easy to handle girl, no, they had to be with Annie Oakley in the flesh!!” 

I hear yelling in the distance. Footsteps trample the forest floor. My mother is screaming. My father is yelling. Someone is running towards us.  

I raise the gun at him again. 

He tsks, while tilting his head. 

“Are we going to do this again, young lady?” 

I keep the gun raised 

“Who the fuck are you?!” I yell. Hoping to keep him distracted till my family can get to me.

His eyes gleam then, a grin takes over his face. 

“Now, now, don’t use that type of language with me. You’ve got a foul mouth on you just like my boys.” 

He takes a step towards me. I scoot back.

Before I can even comprehend it, he lunges, grabbing the gun in one hand, throwing me over his shoulder with the other. 

I scream. 

But he only tsks again, and starts walking into the forest off the path. 

“Help! Help!” I scream “let me go!” I hit his back as hard as I can with my fists and swing my legs to try and get leverage. But nothing works, he’s like solid stone.

“Now I will have none of that.” He growls out, clutching my legs so tight I swear something sharp pierces them. His voice reeks of authority, and it sends raw fear down my spine. 

I freeze. I know I should fight. I should scream. 

“See? That’s better. I would have liked this evening to go in a different direction, but destiny must have had another plan.” He pauses, rummaging through his pockets. He stops when he  finds what he was looking for, and throws it on the ground. 

A wave  of strong….wind….energy? Bursts around us, my vision goes white. The world swirls around us, there’s deep pressure on my skull.

I think I’m going to pass out. 

He starts to talk again.

“Oh, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Max, your future sire.” 

My what?…… my vision goes black, and I feel myself slip into unconsciousness. 

But before it does I hear him say 

You glanced up through your lashes, eyes finding the familiar figure of Daryl Dixon seated just behind you, one knee bent up and his arms resting lazily over it. His crossbow was laying on the grass, unatended and out of reach, for once. His other hand was slow and gentle as it ran through your tangled hair, working out knots from the bottom up, brushing with his fingers instead of an actual brush because he said “plastic ones always snap” and “ain’t nothin’ wrong with doing it the old way, girl.”

You didn’t argue.

Not when his fingers were so careful. You could fall asleep like this.

His touch was steady, warm. Callused fingertips ghosting through your hair like it was something precious. Every few minutes he’d drag his thumb over your temple or mutter something under his breath like “you gotta stop sleepin’ with it wet” or “we gotta trim these ends soon.”

But you knew he didn’t really mind.

You felt it in the way he kept going, combing with his hands, over and over, like it was a rhythm he could lose himself in. Like it was his way of resting.

“…You fall asleep yet?” he muttered after a while.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to.

Not because you were mad, but because opening your mouth would ruin the quiet. This was nice. This was slow and soft and safe, and if you had your way you’d melt into the grass and never leave.

“bambi.”

Still, you kept your eyes closed and gave him a tiny hum in response.

He chuckled low under his breath. “Knew it. Lazy thing.”

You smiled into your arm.

Daryl leaned over you, his weight shifting. You felt the lightest tap of his knuckle against your cheek. “Y’ain’t had a nap in weeks. Guess I don’t blame you.”

“M’not sleepin’,” you mumbled.

“Uh huh. And I don’t got a temper.”

You cracked one eye open and stuck your tongue out at him.

He flicked your forehead. Gently.

You giggled.

The breeze ruffled the ends of your hair as he went back to brushing, slower this time, more like petting. And you let him, letting out a long sigh as you rolled onto your side to face him, your cheek now pillowed on your arm.

“I missed this,” you said quietly.

He glanced down at you, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“This. Grass. Sunshine. Peace.”

Daryl blinked. You could see him getting that look again, the one where his eyes soften but his face stays the same. He didn’t talk much, not about emotions. Not directly. But you knew how to read him. You always had.

“I did too,” he said after a long beat, eyes back on your hair.

You both sat in silence again, the breeze brushing over your skin, the grass dancing in the corner of your vision. Every now and then, you felt a tug and a tiny pinch as he worked through a tangle.

“…You remember that old motel we passed?” you asked quietly. “The one with the sunflower mural on the outside?”

He nodded. “S'been a hot minute, ainnit? Before the CDC.”

“Yeah...”

“I remember you ate half a box of stale cereal and threw up behind a bush.”

You whacked him in the knee. “Daryl.”

He snorted.

You pouted. “I was sick! It had marshmallows! And I hadn’t eaten in days!”

He gave your hair a tiny tug, just enough to make you squeak. “Ain’t sayin’ nothin’, baby girl. Just joggin’ your memory.”

You rolled your eyes, but it was warm. Familiar. It felt like old times. Except—better. Slower. Like time had finally stopped trying to kill you both and the group for five minutes.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quieter, low and scratchy. “You doin’ okay?”

You blinked.

“Lately, I mean. You ain’t been sayin’ much since we cleared the yard.”

You looked down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I don’t know. Just weird, I guess. Bein’ safe for once. My brain still thinks something’s gonna explode.”

Daryl didn’t say anything at first.

But his hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, warm and firm, grounding you. “I get that,” he said. “Still wake up expectin’ to run. Sometimes I sleep with one boot on.”

You laughed, a short watery one.

“…You know i'll protect you at all times, right?” he added, softer now. “Always.”

“I know,” you said. “I guess I'm just.. i dunno…tired. But not sleep tired.. the other kind.”

He gave a thoughtful grunt and leaned over you a little more, wrapping an arm around your side so he could pull you gently up onto his chest.

You didn’t fight it. In fact, your body folded into his like second nature. Your head tucked under his chin, one arm slung over his ribs, the other curling into the loose fabric of his shirt.

He started brushing your hair again.

“I like your hair,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“It’s looks like squirrel fur.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like, it’s soft in a rugged way. Like you.”

He snorted. “You ain’t right in the head.”

You smiled, sleepy and warm against his chest. “You love me.”

“Damn right I do,” he muttered, hand never stopping its path through your hair.

It was quiet after that. The kind of quiet that makes your bones relax and your chest ache with the weight of safety. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. The soft hum of life buzzed in the yard. For the first time since the world had ended, you felt… human again. Not just a body trying to survive.

Just a kid. Laying in the grass.

Held by someone who loved you.

Eventually, you whispered, “Will you always do this?”

“What?”

“Brush my hair. Let me lay on you like this. Even when you're old and cranky.”

He huffed a soft laugh and tightened his arm around you. “I'm already old and cranky.”

“Daryl.”

“I’ll do it forever,” he said. “Happy now, girl?”

You smiled against his chest.

“Good,” you whispered.

And there, in the sunlight, with his fingers in your hair and your body molded to his side, you finally—finally—let yourself fall asleep. No fear. No dread.

Just Daryl’s steady breath.

And overgrown grass under your cheek.

Merle’s already pushing through a gate, sprinting across what looks like a side yard, shoving open the back door of a small, nondescript house nestled between the outer buildings.

The inside is… clean.

Too clean for Merle Dixon.

It’s quiet here — insulated from the chaos outside. A folded blanket on the couch. Dishes in the drying rack. The distant boom of gunfire sounds muted behind the walls.

Merle doesn’t stop. He storms down the hall, past a half-empty shelf, past a pair of small, worn shoes by the door, into a bedroom. Daryl follows, breath catching.

There’s only one bed.

And you’re in it.

You don’t wake at first. You’re curled under the thin blanket, half-sprawled on your stomach, long lashes brushing your cheek, one arm tucked under your face. Soft pajamas — printed with tiny blue stars — cling to your form.

Sixteen. No older. Could be younger.

Daryl’s stomach turns.

“The fuck is this?” he barks.

Merle ignores him. Walks straight over, his boots quieter now. Gentler.

You’re already stirring.

You were always a light sleeper —learned that the hard way. You wake with a gasp, blinking up blearily at the shape above you.

“Merle?”

His hand finds your arm. “Get the bag, lamb. The one under the bed. Boots on. We gotta go. Now.”

The urgency in his voice is like a jolt of electricity. No softness now. No cooing or teasing. Just danger.

You sit up fast, heart racing, limbs already moving before your brain catches up.

You don’t see Daryl yet. All you know is the sound of gunfire outside is closer now. Shouting. Screams.

You grab the gym bag, just like he taught you. You tug on your boots, no time for socks or your coat or your sanity. You’re still in your thin cotton pajamas — the old blue ones with little faded flowers — and the cold bites down your spine.

But Merle doesn’t tell you to change.

Merle’s pulling you by the wrist and saying “good girl” like that’s all the armor you need.

And that’s when Daryl finally finds his voice again.

“Who the hell is she?!”

You blink, startled.

Your eyes meet his for the first time —face sharp like Merle’s but not like Merle’s. There’s something steadier behind his expression, even if it’s currently being swallowed by rage.

“How old is she?” he barks. “You got a goddamn kid in your bed? Are you—?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it right now,” Merle snaps, checking his gun and peeking out the curtain in one seamless motion. “Just help me get her outta here.”

Daryl can't stop staring, his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. A horrified fish out of water.

“There’s only one bed in this house.”

“Yeah,” Merle shot back. “There’s also one door, one closet, one toilet, and one person I give a shit about enough to come back for while the whole town’s burnin’.”

Outside, the world is red.

Fires burn in corners of the street. Gunshots echo like thunderclaps.

You don’t look back.

The two men guide you like you’re glass —one ahead, one behind. Merle keeps barking orders at Daryl. Daryl keeps snapping back with questions.

“Who is she?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Merle—”

“She’s mine, alright?”

Daryl follows at Merle’s back, fuming, barely keeping it together.

“She got no goddamn clue what you are,” he shouts. “She looks at you like you’re some goddamn hero! And you got her in fuckin’ pajamas, Merle!”

“She was sleepin’, you dumbass,” Merle grunts, never stopping. “Would you rather I left her for the goddamn walkers?”

“You shoulda left her outta your bed in the first place!”

Merle snorts, tugging you behind a dumpster as soldiers run past in the distance. You stay quiet, clutching his sleeve.

“Oh come on, Daryl,” Merle says over his shoulder, clearly thriving in the outrage. “Ain’t you ever slept next to a girl who trusts you to not be a bastard?”

“She’s sixteen!”

“She ain’t naked, is she?”

“MERLE!”

“I ain’t touchin’ her, goddamn!” Merle finally shouts, whirling around as the three of you crouch behind a half-burned SUV. His face is blood and fury. “She saved my ass once, and I kept her alive since. That’s it. I ain’t a fuckin’ creep —even I got standards, baby brother. She’s just… mine.”

Daryl stares at him, chest heaving.

You speak up.

“I’m fine,” you spit fiercely, already fed up with this same situation repeating itself all over again. “He never—he never made me do anything. He just protects me, for god's sake.”

Daryl looks at you.

Merle smirks at Daryl again, leaning closer, voice dripping with mockery. “See? I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

Daryl punches him.

Right in the face.

They’re still arguing when you reach the ridge outside of Woodbury —the road long and cracked and dark ahead.

The car is already running when you get there, dented, engine growling low. You don’t recognize the faces in the front.

There’s a man in the driver’s seat with a sheriff's uniform and a storm behind his eyes. Out of the car , a dark-skinned woman with blade-callused hands and fury in her jaw. In the driver's seat, another man, Asian, lip split and eyes narrowed with a pretty, short-haired, brunette girl squeezed next to him.

They all turn to look at you.

And the silence is violent.

You freeze. You must look insane : a sixteen-year-old girl in pajamas and half-laced boots, clutching a dirty gym bag like it holds your soul, eyes wide, face pale, holding Merle Dixon’s hand like it’s an anchor.

The sheriff's jaw tightens.

The sword woman takes a step out of the car—fast, predatory—but the driver throws an arm out to stop her. “Michonne.”

Merle pushes you gently behind him, one hand still on your arm.

“Y’all can put the pitchforks down. She ain’t what you think,” he says, cool as hell, even as Michonne looks like she wants to carve his guts out. “She’s not a hostage. She’s mine.”

“Goddammit,” the sheriff man sighs. “Just get in!”

Now you’re being shoved into a car.

Not by Merle this time —by him. The younger one. Daryl. His brother. His “baby brother.”

You can barely process anything. There’s shouting, boots pounding, doors slamming.

“What the fuck is he doing here?!”

You flinch.

“And who the fuck is that?” the young asian man snarls, pointing at you.

You shrink back against Merle’s side instinctively. His arm slides across your shoulders before anyone can even blink.

“That’s my lamb,” Merle says flatly. “Back the hell off, Chinaman.”

“You don’t get to call me that—!”

“Then stop actin’ like one!”

“Both of you, shut up!” The driver’s voice snaps through the car like a whip. “Glenn, sit back. Merle, you speak again without being asked, I’ll throw you out the goddamn door.”

Merle just chuckles darkly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Nice to see you again too, Rick.”

You glance around the car.

You don’t know any of these people.

Except Daryl. And Merle. Your Merle.

“Jesus fuck,” Glenn mutters, pressing a hand to his face. “He’s got a kid. A literal kid. What is this shit?”

“I’m not a kid,” you immediately retort, nose wrinkling into a scowl. Oh, how tired you are of people calling you a kid as if you haven't seen as much death as them.

“You’re wearing pajamas,” Glenn snaps, incredulous.

“Hey.” Daryl twists in the front seat, voice like gravel. “Ease up, Glenn. She’s scared outta her mind. Ain’t her fault Merle’s a crazy bastard.”

“Crazy bastard?” Michonne repeats, low and venomous. “He’s a criminal. Worked for that psycho. And now he’s got a girl chained to his hip like some prize?”

“I’m not chained!” You squeak out, embarassment and anger curling behind your eyes all the same. Why does everyone keep on thinking you're some kind of tragic victim?

“Bullshit,” Maggie mutters, arms crossed tight.

“She saved my life,” Merle says, loud and sure, like he’s trying to sear the words into the car’s metal frame. “Back in Atlanta. Long time ago. Pulled my sorry ass off the roof you all left me to rot at.”

Rick glances at you in the rearview.

“You were in Atlanta?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“With Merle?”

“I—um, well, I found him. He was… handcuffed to a pipe. Alone.”

“She’s been with me since,” Merle cuts in. “Two weeks ‘fore we even got picked up by Woodbury. I ain’t done nothin’ but keep her safe. You all can lose your shit later.”

Nobody says anything.

For a moment, the car is only the sound of tires chewing up asphalt.

Daryl breaks the silence first.

“You got a name?” he asks you, turning in his seat slightly.

You nod again.

Merle answers for you. “Lamb.”

“That ain’t her real name.”

“Don’t matter, fuckin' chinaman. It fits.” One of those, I'm going to make it even worse, smirks of his crosses his lips slow before: “She’s soft. Gentle. Like a lil’ lamb.”

Glenn groans. “I’m gonna puke.”

“I ain’t touched her,” Merle says. “You think I’m that far gone, you best get your head checked.”

Michonne bristles. “You think we believe a single word out of your mouth?”

Merle shrugs. “Don’t care if you do. Daryl knows. That’s all I give a shit about.”

You tug on Merle’s sleeve, voice barely a breath: “Who are they?”

Daryl hears. He glances to you from your right side, eyes a little softer this time.

“They’re with me,” he says. “The man drivin’— that’s Rick. He’s our leader. He’s a good man.”

You nod slowly.

“The guy in the passenger's seat —that’s Glenn. He’s alright, just real protective. The girl’s Maggie. She’s his.”

You glance at Maggie, who’s glaring out the window with a sour frown.

“He and..um, Merle, have some problems to work through.”

“No shit” Merle snorts, rolling his eyes.

Glenn is quick to chime in with a defensive: “We are not going to work through anything!”

“And Michone” you complete, eyeing the woman with the sword. Daryl nods, sparing Merle a quick glance that clearly conveyed 'you two know her?' to which Merle just shrugged.

You look back at him. “Do you trust them?”

Daryl hesitates for half a second.

Then: “Yeah. I do.”

You believe him.

From the front, Rick finally speaks again.

“We’ll talk more when we get to the prison.”

It still doesn’t make the tension in your chest ease. You’re still in your pajamas. Still in the backseat of a car full of strangers who clearly want your protector dead. Still not sure where you’re going or what’s waiting when you get there.

But one thing you know for sure, everybody seems to have a huge ass problem with the man who's kept you safe for the last three months and a half.